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+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM         
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS  
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE    
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+
+
+1609
+
+THE SONNETS
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+                     1
+  From fairest creatures we desire increase,
+  That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
+  But as the riper should by time decease,
+  His tender heir might bear his memory:
+  But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
+  Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
+  Making a famine where abundance lies,
+  Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
+  Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
+  And only herald to the gaudy spring,
+  Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
+  And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
+    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
+    To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
+
+
+                     2
+  When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
+  And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
+  Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
+  Will be a tattered weed of small worth held:  
+  Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
+  Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
+  To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
+  Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
+  How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
+  If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
+  Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse'
+  Proving his beauty by succession thine.
+    This were to be new made when thou art old,
+    And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
+
+
+                     3
+  Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
+  Now is the time that face should form another,
+  Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
+  Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
+  For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
+  Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
+  Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
+  Of his self-love to stop posterity?  
+  Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
+  Calls back the lovely April of her prime,
+  So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
+  Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
+    But if thou live remembered not to be,
+    Die single and thine image dies with thee.
+
+
+                     4
+  Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend,
+  Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
+  Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
+  And being frank she lends to those are free:
+  Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
+  The bounteous largess given thee to give?
+  Profitless usurer why dost thou use
+  So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
+  For having traffic with thy self alone,
+  Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive,
+  Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
+  What acceptable audit canst thou leave?  
+    Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
+    Which used lives th' executor to be.
+
+
+                     5
+  Those hours that with gentle work did frame
+  The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
+  Will play the tyrants to the very same,
+  And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
+  For never-resting time leads summer on
+  To hideous winter and confounds him there,
+  Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
+  Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
+  Then were not summer's distillation left
+  A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
+  Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
+  Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
+    But flowers distilled though they with winter meet,
+    Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.
+
+
+                     6  
+  Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
+  In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:
+  Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place,
+  With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed:
+  That use is not forbidden usury,
+  Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
+  That's for thy self to breed another thee,
+  Or ten times happier be it ten for one,
+  Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
+  If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
+  Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
+  Leaving thee living in posterity?
+    Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair,
+    To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
+
+
+                     7
+  Lo in the orient when the gracious light
+  Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
+  Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
+  Serving with looks his sacred majesty,  
+  And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
+  Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
+  Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
+  Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
+  But when from highmost pitch with weary car,
+  Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
+  The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are
+  From his low tract and look another way:
+    So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon:
+    Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.
+
+
+                     8
+  Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
+  Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
+  Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
+  Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
+  If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
+  By unions married do offend thine ear,
+  They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
+  In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear:  
+  Mark how one string sweet husband to another,
+  Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
+  Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,
+  Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
+    Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
+    Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'.
+
+
+                     9
+  Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
+  That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
+  Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
+  The world will wail thee like a makeless wife,
+  The world will be thy widow and still weep,
+  That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
+  When every private widow well may keep,
+  By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
+  Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
+  Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
+  But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
+  And kept unused the user so destroys it:  
+    No love toward others in that bosom sits
+    That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
+
+
+                     10
+  For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any
+  Who for thy self art so unprovident.
+  Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
+  But that thou none lov'st is most evident:
+  For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate,
+  That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire,
+  Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
+  Which to repair should be thy chief desire:
+  O change thy thought, that I may change my mind,
+  Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
+  Be as thy presence is gracious and kind,
+  Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove,
+    Make thee another self for love of me,
+    That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
+
+
+                     11  
+  As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st,
+  In one of thine, from that which thou departest,
+  And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
+  Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest,
+  Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase,
+  Without this folly, age, and cold decay,
+  If all were minded so, the times should cease,
+  And threescore year would make the world away:
+  Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
+  Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
+  Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more;
+  Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
+    She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
+    Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
+
+
+                     12
+  When I do count the clock that tells the time,
+  And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
+  When I behold the violet past prime,
+  And sable curls all silvered o'er with white:  
+  When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
+  Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
+  And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
+  Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
+  Then of thy beauty do I question make
+  That thou among the wastes of time must go,
+  Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
+  And die as fast as they see others grow,
+    And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
+    Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence.
+
+
+                     13
+  O that you were your self, but love you are
+  No longer yours, than you your self here live,
+  Against this coming end you should prepare,
+  And your sweet semblance to some other give.
+  So should that beauty which you hold in lease
+  Find no determination, then you were
+  Your self again after your self's decease,
+  When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.  
+  Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
+  Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
+  Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
+  And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
+    O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know,
+    You had a father, let your son say so.
+
+
+                     14
+  Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
+  And yet methinks I have astronomy,
+  But not to tell of good, or evil luck,
+  Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality,
+  Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;
+  Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
+  Or say with princes if it shall go well
+  By oft predict that I in heaven find.
+  But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
+  And constant stars in them I read such art
+  As truth and beauty shall together thrive
+  If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert:  
+    Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
+    Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
+
+
+                     15
+  When I consider every thing that grows
+  Holds in perfection but a little moment.
+  That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
+  Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.
+  When I perceive that men as plants increase,
+  Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky:
+  Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
+  And wear their brave state out of memory.
+  Then the conceit of this inconstant stay,
+  Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
+  Where wasteful time debateth with decay
+  To change your day of youth to sullied night,
+    And all in war with Time for love of you,
+    As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
+
+
+                     16  
+  But wherefore do not you a mightier way
+  Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time?
+  And fortify your self in your decay
+  With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
+  Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
+  And many maiden gardens yet unset,
+  With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
+  Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
+  So should the lines of life that life repair
+  Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen
+  Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
+  Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
+    To give away your self, keeps your self still,
+    And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.
+
+
+                     17
+  Who will believe my verse in time to come
+  If it were filled with your most high deserts?
+  Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
+  Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:  
+  If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
+  And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
+  The age to come would say this poet lies,
+  Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.
+  So should my papers (yellowed with their age)
+  Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
+  And your true rights be termed a poet's rage,
+  And stretched metre of an antique song.
+    But were some child of yours alive that time,
+    You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme.
+
+
+                     18
+  Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
+  Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
+  Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
+  And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
+  Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
+  And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
+  And every fair from fair sometime declines,
+  By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:  
+  But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
+  Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
+  Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
+  When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
+    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
+    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
+
+
+                     19
+  Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws,
+  And make the earth devour her own sweet brood,
+  Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
+  And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood,
+  Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
+  And do whate'er thou wilt swift-footed Time
+  To the wide world and all her fading sweets:
+  But I forbid thee one most heinous crime,
+  O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
+  Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen,
+  Him in thy course untainted do allow,
+  For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.  
+    Yet do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
+    My love shall in my verse ever live young.
+
+
+                     20
+  A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
+  Hast thou the master mistress of my passion,
+  A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted
+  With shifting change as is false women's fashion,
+  An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling:
+  Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth,
+  A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
+  Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
+  And for a woman wert thou first created,
+  Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,
+  And by addition me of thee defeated,
+  By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
+    But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure,
+    Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
+
+
+                     21  
+  So is it not with me as with that muse,
+  Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
+  Who heaven it self for ornament doth use,
+  And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
+  Making a couplement of proud compare
+  With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems:
+  With April's first-born flowers and all things rare,
+  That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
+  O let me true in love but truly write,
+  And then believe me, my love is as fair,
+  As any mother's child, though not so bright
+  As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:
+    Let them say more that like of hearsay well,
+    I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
+
+
+                     22
+  My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
+  So long as youth and thou are of one date,
+  But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
+  Then look I death my days should expiate.  
+  For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
+  Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
+  Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me,
+  How can I then be elder than thou art?
+  O therefore love be of thyself so wary,
+  As I not for my self, but for thee will,
+  Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary
+  As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
+    Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain,
+    Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.
+
+
+                     23
+  As an unperfect actor on the stage,
+  Who with his fear is put beside his part,
+  Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
+  Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
+  So I for fear of trust, forget to say,
+  The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
+  And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
+  O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might:  
+  O let my looks be then the eloquence,
+  And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
+  Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
+  More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
+    O learn to read what silent love hath writ,
+    To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
+
+
+                     24
+  Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled,
+  Thy beauty's form in table of my heart,
+  My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
+  And perspective it is best painter's art.
+  For through the painter must you see his skill,
+  To find where your true image pictured lies,
+  Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
+  That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes:
+  Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
+  Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
+  Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
+  Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;  
+    Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
+    They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
+
+
+                     25
+  Let those who are in favour with their stars,
+  Of public honour and proud titles boast,
+  Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars
+  Unlooked for joy in that I honour most;
+  Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
+  But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
+  And in themselves their pride lies buried,
+  For at a frown they in their glory die.
+  The painful warrior famoused for fight,
+  After a thousand victories once foiled,
+  Is from the book of honour razed quite,
+  And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
+    Then happy I that love and am beloved
+    Where I may not remove nor be removed.
+
+
+                     26  
+  Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
+  Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;
+  To thee I send this written embassage
+  To witness duty, not to show my wit.
+  Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
+  May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;
+  But that I hope some good conceit of thine
+  In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it:
+  Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
+  Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
+  And puts apparel on my tattered loving,
+  To show me worthy of thy sweet respect,
+    Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee,
+    Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
+
+
+                     27
+  Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
+  The dear respose for limbs with travel tired,
+  But then begins a journey in my head
+  To work my mind, when body's work's expired.  
+  For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
+  Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
+  And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
+  Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
+  Save that my soul's imaginary sight
+  Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
+  Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night)
+  Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
+    Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
+    For thee, and for my self, no quiet find.
+
+
+                     28
+  How can I then return in happy plight
+  That am debarred the benefit of rest?
+  When day's oppression is not eased by night,
+  But day by night and night by day oppressed.
+  And each (though enemies to either's reign)
+  Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
+  The one by toil, the other to complain
+  How far I toil, still farther off from thee.  
+  I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
+  And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
+  So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
+  When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
+    But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
+    And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger
+
+
+                     29
+  When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
+  I all alone beweep my outcast state,
+  And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
+  And look upon my self and curse my fate,
+  Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
+  Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
+  Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
+  With what I most enjoy contented least,
+  Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
+  Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
+  (Like to the lark at break of day arising
+  From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,  
+    For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
+    That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
+
+
+                     30
+  When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
+  I summon up remembrance of things past,
+  I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
+  And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
+  Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow)
+  For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
+  And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
+  And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.
+  Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
+  And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
+  The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
+  Which I new pay as if not paid before.
+    But if the while I think on thee (dear friend)
+    All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
+
+
+                     31  
+  Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
+  Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
+  And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
+  And all those friends which I thought buried.
+  How many a holy and obsequious tear
+  Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye,
+  As interest of the dead, which now appear,
+  But things removed that hidden in thee lie.
+  Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
+  Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
+  Who all their parts of me to thee did give,
+  That due of many, now is thine alone.
+    Their images I loved, I view in thee,
+    And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.
+
+
+                     32
+  If thou survive my well-contented day,
+  When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover
+  And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
+  These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover:  
+  Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
+  And though they be outstripped by every pen,
+  Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
+  Exceeded by the height of happier men.
+  O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought,
+  'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
+  A dearer birth than this his love had brought
+  To march in ranks of better equipage:
+    But since he died and poets better prove,
+    Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.
+
+
+                     33
+  Full many a glorious morning have I seen,
+  Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
+  Kissing with golden face the meadows green;
+  Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy:
+  Anon permit the basest clouds to ride,
+  With ugly rack on his celestial face,
+  And from the forlorn world his visage hide
+  Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:  
+  Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
+  With all triumphant splendour on my brow,
+  But out alack, he was but one hour mine,
+  The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
+    Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth,
+    Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.
+
+
+                     34
+  Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
+  And make me travel forth without my cloak,
+  To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
+  Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
+  'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
+  To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
+  For no man well of such a salve can speak,
+  That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
+  Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief,
+  Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss,
+  Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
+  To him that bears the strong offence's cross.  
+    Ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
+    And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.
+
+
+                     35
+  No more be grieved at that which thou hast done,
+  Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud,
+  Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
+  And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
+  All men make faults, and even I in this,
+  Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
+  My self corrupting salving thy amiss,
+  Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are:
+  For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,
+  Thy adverse party is thy advocate,
+  And 'gainst my self a lawful plea commence:
+  Such civil war is in my love and hate,
+    That I an accessary needs must be,
+    To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
+
+
+                     36  
+  Let me confess that we two must be twain,
+  Although our undivided loves are one:
+  So shall those blots that do with me remain,
+  Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
+  In our two loves there is but one respect,
+  Though in our lives a separable spite,
+  Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
+  Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
+  I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
+  Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
+  Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
+  Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
+    But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
+    As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
+
+
+                     37
+  As a decrepit father takes delight,
+  To see his active child do deeds of youth,
+  So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite
+  Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.  
+  For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
+  Or any of these all, or all, or more
+  Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
+  I make my love engrafted to this store:
+  So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
+  Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
+  That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
+  And by a part of all thy glory live:
+    Look what is best, that best I wish in thee,
+    This wish I have, then ten times happy me.
+
+
+                     38
+  How can my muse want subject to invent
+  While thou dost breathe that pour'st into my verse,
+  Thine own sweet argument, too excellent,
+  For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
+  O give thy self the thanks if aught in me,
+  Worthy perusal stand against thy sight,
+  For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
+  When thou thy self dost give invention light?  
+  Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
+  Than those old nine which rhymers invocate,
+  And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
+  Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
+    If my slight muse do please these curious days,
+    The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
+
+
+                     39
+  O how thy worth with manners may I sing,
+  When thou art all the better part of me?
+  What can mine own praise to mine own self bring:
+  And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
+  Even for this, let us divided live,
+  And our dear love lose name of single one,
+  That by this separation I may give:
+  That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone:
+  O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove,
+  Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave,
+  To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
+  Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive.  
+    And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
+    By praising him here who doth hence remain.
+
+
+                     40
+  Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all,
+  What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
+  No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call,
+  All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more:
+  Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
+  I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest,
+  But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
+  By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
+  I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief
+  Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
+  And yet love knows it is a greater grief
+  To bear greater wrong, than hate's known injury.
+    Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
+    Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.
+
+
+                     41  
+  Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
+  When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
+  Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits,
+  For still temptation follows where thou art.
+  Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
+  Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed.
+  And when a woman woos, what woman's son,
+  Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed?
+  Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,
+  And chide thy beauty, and thy straying youth,
+  Who lead thee in their riot even there
+  Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth:
+    Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
+    Thine by thy beauty being false to me.
+
+
+                     42
+  That thou hast her it is not all my grief,
+  And yet it may be said I loved her dearly,
+  That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
+  A loss in love that touches me more nearly.  
+  Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye,
+  Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her,
+  And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
+  Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her.
+  If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
+  And losing her, my friend hath found that loss,
+  Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
+  And both for my sake lay on me this cross,
+    But here's the joy, my friend and I are one,
+    Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone.
+
+
+                     43
+  When most I wink then do mine eyes best see,
+  For all the day they view things unrespected,
+  But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
+  And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
+  Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright
+  How would thy shadow's form, form happy show,
+  To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
+  When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!  
+  How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made,
+  By looking on thee in the living day,
+  When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade,
+  Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
+    All days are nights to see till I see thee,
+    And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
+
+
+                     44
+  If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
+  Injurious distance should not stop my way,
+  For then despite of space I would be brought,
+  From limits far remote, where thou dost stay,
+  No matter then although my foot did stand
+  Upon the farthest earth removed from thee,
+  For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,
+  As soon as think the place where he would be.
+  But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought
+  To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
+  But that so much of earth and water wrought,
+  I must attend, time's leisure with my moan.  
+    Receiving nought by elements so slow,
+    But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
+
+
+                     45
+  The other two, slight air, and purging fire,
+  Are both with thee, wherever I abide,
+  The first my thought, the other my desire,
+  These present-absent with swift motion slide.
+  For when these quicker elements are gone
+  In tender embassy of love to thee,
+  My life being made of four, with two alone,
+  Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy.
+  Until life's composition be recured,
+  By those swift messengers returned from thee,
+  Who even but now come back again assured,
+  Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.
+    This told, I joy, but then no longer glad,
+    I send them back again and straight grow sad.
+
+
+                     46  
+  Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
+  How to divide the conquest of thy sight,
+  Mine eye, my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
+  My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right,
+  My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
+  (A closet never pierced with crystal eyes)
+  But the defendant doth that plea deny,
+  And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
+  To side this title is impanelled
+  A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
+  And by their verdict is determined
+  The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part.
+    As thus, mine eye's due is thy outward part,
+    And my heart's right, thy inward love of heart.
+
+
+                     47
+  Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
+  And each doth good turns now unto the other,
+  When that mine eye is famished for a look,
+  Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother;  
+  With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
+  And to the painted banquet bids my heart:
+  Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
+  And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.
+  So either by thy picture or my love,
+  Thy self away, art present still with me,
+  For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
+  And I am still with them, and they with thee.
+    Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
+    Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight.
+
+
+                     48
+  How careful was I when I took my way,
+  Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
+  That to my use it might unused stay
+  From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
+  But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
+  Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
+  Thou best of dearest, and mine only care,
+  Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.  
+  Thee have I not locked up in any chest,
+  Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
+  Within the gentle closure of my breast,
+  From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part,
+    And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear,
+    For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
+
+
+                     49
+  Against that time (if ever that time come)
+  When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
+  When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
+  Called to that audit by advised respects,
+  Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass,
+  And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye,
+  When love converted from the thing it was
+  Shall reasons find of settled gravity;
+  Against that time do I ensconce me here
+  Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
+  And this my hand, against my self uprear,
+  To guard the lawful reasons on thy part,  
+    To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws,
+    Since why to love, I can allege no cause.
+
+
+                     50
+  How heavy do I journey on the way,
+  When what I seek (my weary travel's end)
+  Doth teach that case and that repose to say
+  'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.'
+  The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
+  Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
+  As if by some instinct the wretch did know
+  His rider loved not speed being made from thee:
+  The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
+  That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
+  Which heavily he answers with a groan,
+  More sharp to me than spurring to his side,
+    For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
+    My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
+
+
+                     51  
+  Thus can my love excuse the slow offence,
+  Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed,
+  From where thou art, why should I haste me thence?
+  Till I return of posting is no need.
+  O what excuse will my poor beast then find,
+  When swift extremity can seem but slow?
+  Then should I spur though mounted on the wind,
+  In winged speed no motion shall I know,
+  Then can no horse with my desire keep pace,
+  Therefore desire (of perfect'st love being made)
+  Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race,
+  But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade,
+    Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow,
+    Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.
+
+
+                     52
+  So am I as the rich whose blessed key,
+  Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
+  The which he will not every hour survey,
+  For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.  
+  Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
+  Since seldom coming in that long year set,
+  Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
+  Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
+  So is the time that keeps you as my chest
+  Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
+  To make some special instant special-blest,
+  By new unfolding his imprisoned pride.
+    Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,
+    Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope.
+
+
+                     53
+  What is your substance, whereof are you made,
+  That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
+  Since every one, hath every one, one shade,
+  And you but one, can every shadow lend:
+  Describe Adonis and the counterfeit,
+  Is poorly imitated after you,
+  On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
+  And you in Grecian tires are painted new:  
+  Speak of the spring, and foison of the year,
+  The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
+  The other as your bounty doth appear,
+  And you in every blessed shape we know.
+    In all external grace you have some part,
+    But you like none, none you for constant heart.
+
+
+                     54
+  O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
+  By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
+  The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
+  For that sweet odour, which doth in it live:
+  The canker blooms have full as deep a dye,
+  As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
+  Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
+  When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
+  But for their virtue only is their show,
+  They live unwooed, and unrespected fade,
+  Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so,
+  Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made:  
+    And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
+    When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.
+
+
+                     55
+  Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
+  Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
+  But you shall shine more bright in these contents
+  Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
+  When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
+  And broils root out the work of masonry,
+  Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn:
+  The living record of your memory.
+  'Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity
+  Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room,
+  Even in the eyes of all posterity
+  That wear this world out to the ending doom.
+    So till the judgment that your self arise,
+    You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
+
+
+                     56  
+  Sweet love renew thy force, be it not said
+  Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
+  Which but to-day by feeding is allayed,
+  To-morrow sharpened in his former might.
+  So love be thou, although to-day thou fill
+  Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
+  To-morrow see again, and do not kill
+  The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness:
+  Let this sad interim like the ocean be
+  Which parts the shore, where two contracted new,
+  Come daily to the banks, that when they see:
+  Return of love, more blest may be the view.
+    Or call it winter, which being full of care,
+    Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.
+
+
+                     57
+  Being your slave what should I do but tend,
+  Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
+  I have no precious time at all to spend;
+  Nor services to do till you require.  
+  Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
+  Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you,
+  Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
+  When you have bid your servant once adieu.
+  Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,
+  Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
+  But like a sad slave stay and think of nought
+  Save where you are, how happy you make those.
+    So true a fool is love, that in your will,
+    (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill.
+
+
+                     58
+  That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
+  I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
+  Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
+  Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.
+  O let me suffer (being at your beck)
+  Th' imprisoned absence of your liberty,
+  And patience tame to sufferance bide each check,
+  Without accusing you of injury.  
+  Be where you list, your charter is so strong,
+  That you your self may privilage your time
+  To what you will, to you it doth belong,
+  Your self to pardon of self-doing crime.
+    I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
+    Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.
+
+
+                     59
+  If there be nothing new, but that which is,
+  Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
+  Which labouring for invention bear amis
+  The second burthen of a former child!
+  O that record could with a backward look,
+  Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
+  Show me your image in some antique book,
+  Since mind at first in character was done.
+  That I might see what the old world could say,
+  To this composed wonder of your frame,
+  Whether we are mended, or whether better they,
+  Or whether revolution be the same.  
+    O sure I am the wits of former days,
+    To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
+
+
+                     60
+  Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
+  So do our minutes hasten to their end,
+  Each changing place with that which goes before,
+  In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
+  Nativity once in the main of light,
+  Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
+  Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
+  And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
+  Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
+  And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
+  Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
+  And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
+    And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
+    Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
+
+
+                     61  
+  Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
+  My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
+  Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
+  While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
+  Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
+  So far from home into my deeds to pry,
+  To find out shames and idle hours in me,
+  The scope and tenure of thy jealousy?
+  O no, thy love though much, is not so great,
+  It is my love that keeps mine eye awake,
+  Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
+  To play the watchman ever for thy sake.
+    For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
+    From me far off, with others all too near.
+
+
+                     62
+  Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
+  And all my soul, and all my every part;
+  And for this sin there is no remedy,
+  It is so grounded inward in my heart.  
+  Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
+  No shape so true, no truth of such account,
+  And for my self mine own worth do define,
+  As I all other in all worths surmount.
+  But when my glass shows me my self indeed
+  beated and chopt with tanned antiquity,
+  Mine own self-love quite contrary I read:
+  Self, so self-loving were iniquity.
+    'Tis thee (my self) that for my self I praise,
+    Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
+
+
+                     63
+  Against my love shall be as I am now
+  With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn,
+  When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow
+  With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn
+  Hath travelled on to age's steepy night,
+  And all those beauties whereof now he's king
+  Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight,
+  Stealing away the treasure of his spring:  
+  For such a time do I now fortify
+  Against confounding age's cruel knife,
+  That he shall never cut from memory
+  My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life.
+    His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
+    And they shall live, and he in them still green.
+
+
+                     64
+  When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
+  The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age,
+  When sometime lofty towers I see down-rased,
+  And brass eternal slave to mortal rage.
+  When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
+  Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
+  And the firm soil win of the watery main,
+  Increasing store with loss, and loss with store.
+  When I have seen such interchange of State,
+  Or state it self confounded, to decay,
+  Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
+  That Time will come and take my love away.  
+    This thought is as a death which cannot choose
+    But weep to have, that which it fears to lose.
+
+
+                     65
+  Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
+  But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
+  How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
+  Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
+  O how shall summer's honey breath hold out,
+  Against the wrackful siege of batt'ring days,
+  When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
+  Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays?
+  O fearful meditation, where alack,
+  Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
+  Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,
+  Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
+    O none, unless this miracle have might,
+    That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
+
+
+                     66  
+  Tired with all these for restful death I cry,
+  As to behold desert a beggar born,
+  And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
+  And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
+  And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
+  And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
+  And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
+  And strength by limping sway disabled
+  And art made tongue-tied by authority,
+  And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
+  And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
+  And captive good attending captain ill.
+    Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
+    Save that to die, I leave my love alone.
+
+
+                     67
+  Ah wherefore with infection should he live,
+  And with his presence grace impiety,
+  That sin by him advantage should achieve,
+  And lace it self with his society?  
+  Why should false painting imitate his cheek,
+  And steal dead seeming of his living hue?
+  Why should poor beauty indirectly seek,
+  Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
+  Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is,
+  Beggared of blood to blush through lively veins,
+  For she hath no exchequer now but his,
+  And proud of many, lives upon his gains?
+    O him she stores, to show what wealth she had,
+    In days long since, before these last so bad.
+
+
+                     68
+  Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
+  When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
+  Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
+  Or durst inhabit on a living brow:
+  Before the golden tresses of the dead,
+  The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
+  To live a second life on second head,
+  Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:  
+  In him those holy antique hours are seen,
+  Without all ornament, it self and true,
+  Making no summer of another's green,
+  Robbing no old to dress his beauty new,
+    And him as for a map doth Nature store,
+    To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
+
+
+                     69
+  Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view,
+  Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:
+  All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due,
+  Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
+  Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned,
+  But those same tongues that give thee so thine own,
+  In other accents do this praise confound
+  By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
+  They look into the beauty of thy mind,
+  And that in guess they measure by thy deeds,
+  Then churls their thoughts (although their eyes were kind)
+  To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:  
+    But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
+    The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.
+
+
+                     70
+  That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
+  For slander's mark was ever yet the fair,
+  The ornament of beauty is suspect,
+  A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
+  So thou be good, slander doth but approve,
+  Thy worth the greater being wooed of time,
+  For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
+  And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
+  Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days,
+  Either not assailed, or victor being charged,
+  Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
+  To tie up envy, evermore enlarged,
+    If some suspect of ill masked not thy show,
+    Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.
+
+
+                     71  
+  No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
+  Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
+  Give warning to the world that I am fled
+  From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
+  Nay if you read this line, remember not,
+  The hand that writ it, for I love you so,
+  That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
+  If thinking on me then should make you woe.
+  O if (I say) you look upon this verse,
+  When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay,
+  Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
+  But let your love even with my life decay.
+    Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
+    And mock you with me after I am gone.
+
+
+                     72
+  O lest the world should task you to recite,
+  What merit lived in me that you should love
+  After my death (dear love) forget me quite,
+  For you in me can nothing worthy prove.  
+  Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
+  To do more for me than mine own desert,
+  And hang more praise upon deceased I,
+  Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
+  O lest your true love may seem false in this,
+  That you for love speak well of me untrue,
+  My name be buried where my body is,
+  And live no more to shame nor me, nor you.
+    For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
+    And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
+
+
+                     73
+  That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
+  When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
+  Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
+  Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
+  In me thou seest the twilight of such day,
+  As after sunset fadeth in the west,
+  Which by and by black night doth take away,
+  Death's second self that seals up all in rest.  
+  In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
+  That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
+  As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
+  Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
+    This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
+    To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
+
+
+                     74
+  But be contented when that fell arrest,
+  Without all bail shall carry me away,
+  My life hath in this line some interest,
+  Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
+  When thou reviewest this, thou dost review,
+  The very part was consecrate to thee,
+  The earth can have but earth, which is his due,
+  My spirit is thine the better part of me,
+  So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
+  The prey of worms, my body being dead,
+  The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
+  Too base of thee to be remembered,  
+    The worth of that, is that which it contains,
+    And that is this, and this with thee remains.
+
+
+                     75
+  So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
+  Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;
+  And for the peace of you I hold such strife
+  As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
+  Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
+  Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
+  Now counting best to be with you alone,
+  Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure,
+  Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
+  And by and by clean starved for a look,
+  Possessing or pursuing no delight
+  Save what is had, or must from you be took.
+    Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
+    Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
+
+
+                     76  
+  Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
+  So far from variation or quick change?
+  Why with the time do I not glance aside
+  To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?
+  Why write I still all one, ever the same,
+  And keep invention in a noted weed,
+  That every word doth almost tell my name,
+  Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
+  O know sweet love I always write of you,
+  And you and love are still my argument:
+  So all my best is dressing old words new,
+  Spending again what is already spent:
+    For as the sun is daily new and old,
+    So is my love still telling what is told.
+
+
+                     77
+  Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
+  Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste,
+  These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
+  And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste.  
+  The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show,
+  Of mouthed graves will give thee memory,
+  Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know,
+  Time's thievish progress to eternity.
+  Look what thy memory cannot contain,
+  Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
+  Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain,
+  To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
+    These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
+    Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.
+
+
+                     78
+  So oft have I invoked thee for my muse,
+  And found such fair assistance in my verse,
+  As every alien pen hath got my use,
+  And under thee their poesy disperse.
+  Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing,
+  And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
+  Have added feathers to the learned's wing,
+  And given grace a double majesty.
+  Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
+  Whose influence is thine, and born of thee,
+  In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
+  And arts with thy sweet graces graced be.
+    But thou art all my art, and dost advance
+    As high as learning, my rude ignorance.
+
+
+                     79
+  Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
+  My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
+  But now my gracious numbers are decayed,
+  And my sick muse doth give an other place.
+  I grant (sweet love) thy lovely argument
+  Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
+  Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent,
+  He robs thee of, and pays it thee again,
+  He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word,
+  From thy behaviour, beauty doth he give
+  And found it in thy cheek: he can afford
+  No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.  
+    Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
+    Since what he owes thee, thou thy self dost pay.
+
+
+                     80
+  O how I faint when I of you do write,
+  Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
+  And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
+  To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
+  But since your worth (wide as the ocean is)
+  The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
+  My saucy bark (inferior far to his)
+  On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
+  Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
+  Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride,
+  Or (being wrecked) I am a worthless boat,
+  He of tall building, and of goodly pride.
+    Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
+    The worst was this, my love was my decay.
+
+
+                     81  
+  Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
+  Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,
+  From hence your memory death cannot take,
+  Although in me each part will be forgotten.
+  Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
+  Though I (once gone) to all the world must die,
+  The earth can yield me but a common grave,
+  When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie,
+  Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
+  Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
+  And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
+  When all the breathers of this world are dead,
+    You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)
+    Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
+
+
+                     82
+  I grant thou wert not married to my muse,
+  And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook
+  The dedicated words which writers use
+  Of their fair subject, blessing every book.  
+  Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
+  Finding thy worth a limit past my praise,
+  And therefore art enforced to seek anew,
+  Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days.
+  And do so love, yet when they have devised,
+  What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
+  Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathized,
+  In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend.
+    And their gross painting might be better used,
+    Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abused.
+
+
+                     83
+  I never saw that you did painting need,
+  And therefore to your fair no painting set,
+  I found (or thought I found) you did exceed,
+  That barren tender of a poet's debt:
+  And therefore have I slept in your report,
+  That you your self being extant well might show,
+  How far a modern quill doth come too short,
+  Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.  
+  This silence for my sin you did impute,
+  Which shall be most my glory being dumb,
+  For I impair not beauty being mute,
+  When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
+    There lives more life in one of your fair eyes,
+    Than both your poets can in praise devise.
+
+
+                     84
+  Who is it that says most, which can say more,
+  Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you?
+  In whose confine immured is the store,
+  Which should example where your equal grew.
+  Lean penury within that pen doth dwell,
+  That to his subject lends not some small glory,
+  But he that writes of you, if he can tell,
+  That you are you, so dignifies his story.
+  Let him but copy what in you is writ,
+  Not making worse what nature made so clear,
+  And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
+  Making his style admired every where.  
+    You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
+    Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
+
+
+                     85
+  My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still,
+  While comments of your praise richly compiled,
+  Reserve their character with golden quill,
+  And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
+  I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words,
+  And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen,
+  To every hymn that able spirit affords,
+  In polished form of well refined pen.
+  Hearing you praised, I say 'tis so, 'tis true,
+  And to the most of praise add something more,
+  But that is in my thought, whose love to you
+  (Though words come hindmost) holds his rank before,
+    Then others, for the breath of words respect,
+    Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
+
+
+                     86  
+  Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
+  Bound for the prize of (all too precious) you,
+  That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
+  Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
+  Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write,
+  Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
+  No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
+  Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
+  He nor that affable familiar ghost
+  Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
+  As victors of my silence cannot boast,
+  I was not sick of any fear from thence.
+    But when your countenance filled up his line,
+    Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine.
+
+
+                     87
+  Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
+  And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
+  The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing:
+  My bonds in thee are all determinate.  
+  For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,
+  And for that riches where is my deserving?
+  The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
+  And so my patent back again is swerving.
+  Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
+  Or me to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking,
+  So thy great gift upon misprision growing,
+  Comes home again, on better judgement making.
+    Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,
+    In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
+
+
+                     88
+  When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
+  And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
+  Upon thy side, against my self I'll fight,
+  And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn:
+  With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
+  Upon thy part I can set down a story
+  Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted:
+  That thou in losing me, shalt win much glory:  
+  And I by this will be a gainer too,
+  For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
+  The injuries that to my self I do,
+  Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
+    Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
+    That for thy right, my self will bear all wrong.
+
+
+                     89
+  Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
+  And I will comment upon that offence,
+  Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt:
+  Against thy reasons making no defence.
+  Thou canst not (love) disgrace me half so ill,
+  To set a form upon desired change,
+  As I'll my self disgrace, knowing thy will,
+  I will acquaintance strangle and look strange:
+  Be absent from thy walks and in my tongue,
+  Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
+  Lest I (too much profane) should do it wronk:
+  And haply of our old acquaintance tell.  
+    For thee, against my self I'll vow debate,
+    For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
+
+
+                     90
+  Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now,
+  Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
+  join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
+  And do not drop in for an after-loss:
+  Ah do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
+  Come in the rearward of a conquered woe,
+  Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
+  To linger out a purposed overthrow.
+  If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
+  When other petty griefs have done their spite,
+  But in the onset come, so shall I taste
+  At first the very worst of fortune's might.
+    And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
+    Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.
+
+
+                     91  
+  Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
+  Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,
+  Some in their garments though new-fangled ill:
+  Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse.
+  And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
+  Wherein it finds a joy above the rest,
+  But these particulars are not my measure,
+  All these I better in one general best.
+  Thy love is better than high birth to me,
+  Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' costs,
+  Of more delight than hawks and horses be:
+  And having thee, of all men's pride I boast.
+    Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take,
+    All this away, and me most wretchcd make.
+
+
+                     92
+  But do thy worst to steal thy self away,
+  For term of life thou art assured mine,
+  And life no longer than thy love will stay,
+  For it depends upon that love of thine.  
+  Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
+  When in the least of them my life hath end,
+  I see, a better state to me belongs
+  Than that, which on thy humour doth depend.
+  Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
+  Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie,
+  O what a happy title do I find,
+  Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
+    But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
+    Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
+
+
+                     93
+  So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
+  Like a deceived husband, so love's face,
+  May still seem love to me, though altered new:
+  Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place.
+  For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
+  Therefore in that I cannot know thy change,
+  In many's looks, the false heart's history
+  Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange.  
+  But heaven in thy creation did decree,
+  That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell,
+  Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be,
+  Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell.
+    How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
+    If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.
+
+
+                     94
+  They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
+  That do not do the thing, they most do show,
+  Who moving others, are themselves as stone,
+  Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow:
+  They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
+  And husband nature's riches from expense,
+  Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces,
+  Others, but stewards of their excellence:
+  The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
+  Though to it self, it only live and die,
+  But if that flower with base infection meet,
+  The basest weed outbraves his dignity:  
+    For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds,
+    Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.
+
+
+                     95
+  How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame,
+  Which like a canker in the fragrant rose,
+  Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
+  O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
+  That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
+  (Making lascivious comments on thy sport)
+  Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise,
+  Naming thy name, blesses an ill report.
+  O what a mansion have those vices got,
+  Which for their habitation chose out thee,
+  Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
+  And all things turns to fair, that eyes can see!
+    Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege,
+    The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
+
+
+                     96  
+  Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness,
+  Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport,
+  Both grace and faults are loved of more and less:
+  Thou mak'st faults graces, that to thee resort:
+  As on the finger of a throned queen,
+  The basest jewel will be well esteemed:
+  So are those errors that in thee are seen,
+  To truths translated, and for true things deemed.
+  How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
+  If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
+  How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
+  if thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
+    But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
+    As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
+
+
+                     97
+  How like a winter hath my absence been
+  From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
+  What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
+  What old December's bareness everywhere!  
+  And yet this time removed was summer's time,
+  The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
+  Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
+  Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease:
+  Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
+  But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit,
+  For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
+  And thou away, the very birds are mute.
+    Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
+    That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
+
+
+                     98
+  From you have I been absent in the spring,
+  When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim)
+  Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing:
+  That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
+  Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
+  Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
+  Could make me any summer's story tell:
+  Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:  
+  Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
+  Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose,
+  They were but sweet, but figures of delight:
+  Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
+    Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
+    As with your shadow I with these did play.
+
+
+                     99
+  The forward violet thus did I chide,
+  Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
+  If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
+  Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells,
+  In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
+  The lily I condemned for thy hand,
+  And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair,
+  The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
+  One blushing shame, another white despair:
+  A third nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both,
+  And to his robbery had annexed thy breath,
+  But for his theft in pride of all his growth  
+  A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
+    More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
+    But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee.
+
+
+                     100
+  Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long,
+  To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
+  Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
+  Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
+  Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem,
+  In gentle numbers time so idly spent,
+  Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem,
+  And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
+  Rise resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
+  If time have any wrinkle graven there,
+  If any, be a satire to decay,
+  And make time's spoils despised everywhere.
+    Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life,
+    So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife.
+
+  
+                     101
+  O truant Muse what shall be thy amends,
+  For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
+  Both truth and beauty on my love depends:
+  So dost thou too, and therein dignified:
+  Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say,
+  'Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed,
+  Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay:
+  But best is best, if never intermixed'?
+  Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
+  Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee,
+  To make him much outlive a gilded tomb:
+  And to be praised of ages yet to be.
+    Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how,
+    To make him seem long hence, as he shows now.
+
+
+                     102
+  My love is strengthened though more weak in seeming,
+  I love not less, though less the show appear,
+  That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming,  
+  The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
+  Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
+  When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
+  As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
+  And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
+  Not that the summer is less pleasant now
+  Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
+  But that wild music burthens every bough,
+  And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
+    Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue:
+    Because I would not dull you with my song.
+
+
+                     103
+  Alack what poverty my muse brings forth,
+  That having such a scope to show her pride,
+  The argument all bare is of more worth
+  Than when it hath my added praise beside.
+  O blame me not if I no more can write!
+  Look in your glass and there appears a face,
+  That over-goes my blunt invention quite,  
+  Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
+  Were it not sinful then striving to mend,
+  To mar the subject that before was well?
+  For to no other pass my verses tend,
+  Than of your graces and your gifts to tell.
+    And more, much more than in my verse can sit,
+    Your own glass shows you, when you look in it.
+
+
+                     104
+  To me fair friend you never can be old,
+  For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
+  Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold,
+  Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
+  Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned,
+  In process of the seasons have I seen,
+  Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
+  Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.
+  Ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand,
+  Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived,
+  So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand  
+  Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived.
+    For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred,
+    Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
+
+
+                     105
+  Let not my love be called idolatry,
+  Nor my beloved as an idol show,
+  Since all alike my songs and praises be
+  To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
+  Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
+  Still constant in a wondrous excellence,
+  Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
+  One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
+  Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
+  Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words,
+  And in this change is my invention spent,
+  Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
+    Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone.
+    Which three till now, never kept seat in one.
+
+  
+                     106
+  When in the chronicle of wasted time,
+  I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
+  And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
+  In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,
+  Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
+  Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
+  I see their antique pen would have expressed,
+  Even such a beauty as you master now.
+  So all their praises are but prophecies
+  Of this our time, all you prefiguring,
+  And for they looked but with divining eyes,
+  They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
+    For we which now behold these present days,
+    Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
+
+
+                     107
+  Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul,
+  Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,
+  Can yet the lease of my true love control,  
+  Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
+  The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,
+  And the sad augurs mock their own presage,
+  Incertainties now crown themselves assured,
+  And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
+  Now with the drops of this most balmy time,
+  My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
+  Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme,
+  While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.
+    And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
+    When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
+
+
+                     108
+  What's in the brain that ink may character,
+  Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit,
+  What's new to speak, what now to register,
+  That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
+  Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine,
+  I must each day say o'er the very same,
+  Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,  
+  Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
+  So that eternal love in love's fresh case,
+  Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
+  Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
+  But makes antiquity for aye his page,
+    Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
+    Where time and outward form would show it dead.
+
+
+                     109
+  O never say that I was false of heart,
+  Though absence seemed my flame to qualify,
+  As easy might I from my self depart,
+  As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie:
+  That is my home of love, if I have ranged,
+  Like him that travels I return again,
+  Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
+  So that my self bring water for my stain,
+  Never believe though in my nature reigned,
+  All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
+  That it could so preposterously be stained,  
+  To leave for nothing all thy sum of good:
+    For nothing this wide universe I call,
+    Save thou my rose, in it thou art my all.
+
+
+                     110
+  Alas 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
+  And made my self a motley to the view,
+  Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
+  Made old offences of affections new.
+  Most true it is, that I have looked on truth
+  Askance and strangely: but by all above,
+  These blenches gave my heart another youth,
+  And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
+  Now all is done, have what shall have no end,
+  Mine appetite I never more will grind
+  On newer proof, to try an older friend,
+  A god in love, to whom I am confined.
+    Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
+    Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
+
+  
+                     111
+  O for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
+  The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
+  That did not better for my life provide,
+  Than public means which public manners breeds.
+  Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
+  And almost thence my nature is subdued
+  To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
+  Pity me then, and wish I were renewed,
+  Whilst like a willing patient I will drink,
+  Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection,
+  No bitterness that I will bitter think,
+  Nor double penance to correct correction.
+    Pity me then dear friend, and I assure ye,
+    Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
+
+
+                     112
+  Your love and pity doth th' impression fill,
+  Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow,
+  For what care I who calls me well or ill,  
+  So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
+  You are my all the world, and I must strive,
+  To know my shames and praises from your tongue,
+  None else to me, nor I to none alive,
+  That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong.
+  In so profound abysm I throw all care
+  Of others' voices, that my adder's sense,
+  To critic and to flatterer stopped are:
+  Mark how with my neglect I do dispense.
+    You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
+    That all the world besides methinks are dead.
+
+
+                     113
+  Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind,
+  And that which governs me to go about,
+  Doth part his function, and is partly blind,
+  Seems seeing, but effectually is out:
+  For it no form delivers to the heart
+  Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch,
+  Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,  
+  Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:
+  For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,
+  The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
+  The mountain, or the sea, the day, or night:
+  The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature.
+    Incapable of more, replete with you,
+    My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.
+
+
+                     114
+  Or whether doth my mind being crowned with you
+  Drink up the monarch's plague this flattery?
+  Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true,
+  And that your love taught it this alchemy?
+  To make of monsters, and things indigest,
+  Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
+  Creating every bad a perfect best
+  As fast as objects to his beams assemble:
+  O 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing,
+  And my great mind most kingly drinks it up,
+  Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing,  
+  And to his palate doth prepare the cup.
+    If it be poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin,
+    That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
+
+
+                     115
+  Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
+  Even those that said I could not love you dearer,
+  Yet then my judgment knew no reason why,
+  My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer,
+  But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents
+  Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
+  Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
+  Divert strong minds to the course of alt'ring things:
+  Alas why fearing of time's tyranny,
+  Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'
+  When I was certain o'er incertainty,
+  Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
+    Love is a babe, then might I not say so
+    To give full growth to that which still doth grow.
+
+  
+                     116
+  Let me not to the marriage of true minds
+  Admit impediments, love is not love
+  Which alters when it alteration finds,
+  Or bends with the remover to remove.
+  O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
+  That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
+  It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
+  Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
+  Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
+  Within his bending sickle's compass come,
+  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
+  But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
+    If this be error and upon me proved,
+    I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
+
+
+                     117
+  Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all,
+  Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
+  Forgot upon your dearest love to call,  
+  Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day,
+  That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
+  And given to time your own dear-purchased right,
+  That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
+  Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
+  Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
+  And on just proof surmise, accumulate,
+  Bring me within the level of your frown,
+  But shoot not at me in your wakened hate:
+    Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
+    The constancy and virtue of your love.
+
+
+                     118
+  Like as to make our appetite more keen
+  With eager compounds we our palate urge,
+  As to prevent our maladies unseen,
+  We sicken to shun sickness when we purge.
+  Even so being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
+  To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding;
+  And sick of welfare found a kind of meetness,  
+  To be diseased ere that there was true needing.
+  Thus policy in love t' anticipate
+  The ills that were not, grew to faults assured,
+  And brought to medicine a healthful state
+  Which rank of goodness would by ill be cured.
+    But thence I learn and find the lesson true,
+    Drugs poison him that so feil sick of you.
+
+
+                     119
+  What potions have I drunk of Siren tears
+  Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,
+  Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
+  Still losing when I saw my self to win!
+  What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
+  Whilst it hath thought it self so blessed never!
+  How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
+  In the distraction of this madding fever!
+  O benefit of ill, now I find true
+  That better is, by evil still made better.
+  And ruined love when it is built anew  
+  Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
+    So I return rebuked to my content,
+    And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.
+
+
+                     120
+  That you were once unkind befriends me now,
+  And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
+  Needs must I under my transgression bow,
+  Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
+  For if you were by my unkindness shaken
+  As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time,
+  And I a tyrant have no leisure taken
+  To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
+  O that our night of woe might have remembered
+  My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
+  And soon to you, as you to me then tendered
+  The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
+    But that your trespass now becomes a fee,
+    Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
+
+  
+                     121
+  'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
+  When not to be, receives reproach of being,
+  And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed,
+  Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
+  For why should others' false adulterate eyes
+  Give salutation to my sportive blood?
+  Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
+  Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
+  No, I am that I am, and they that level
+  At my abuses, reckon up their own,
+  I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;
+  By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown
+    Unless this general evil they maintain,
+    All men are bad and in their badness reign.
+
+
+                     122
+  Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
+  Full charactered with lasting memory,
+  Which shall above that idle rank remain  
+  Beyond all date even to eternity.
+  Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
+  Have faculty by nature to subsist,
+  Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
+  Of thee, thy record never can be missed:
+  That poor retention could not so much hold,
+  Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score,
+  Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
+  To trust those tables that receive thee more:
+    To keep an adjunct to remember thee
+    Were to import forgetfulness in me.
+
+
+                     123
+  No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change,
+  Thy pyramids built up with newer might
+  To me are nothing novel, nothing strange,
+  They are but dressings Of a former sight:
+  Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire,
+  What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
+  And rather make them born to our desire,  
+  Than think that we before have heard them told:
+  Thy registers and thee I both defy,
+  Not wond'ring at the present, nor the past,
+  For thy records, and what we see doth lie,
+  Made more or less by thy continual haste:
+    This I do vow and this shall ever be,
+    I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.
+
+
+                     124
+  If my dear love were but the child of state,
+  It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered,
+  As subject to time's love or to time's hate,
+  Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
+  No it was builded far from accident,
+  It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
+  Under the blow of thralled discontent,
+  Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls:
+  It fears not policy that heretic,
+  Which works on leases of short-numbered hours,
+  But all alone stands hugely politic,  
+  That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
+    To this I witness call the fools of time,
+    Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
+
+
+                     125
+  Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
+  With my extern the outward honouring,
+  Or laid great bases for eternity,
+  Which proves more short than waste or ruining?
+  Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
+  Lose all, and more by paying too much rent
+  For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour,
+  Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent?
+  No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
+  And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
+  Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art,
+  But mutual render, only me for thee.
+    Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul
+    When most impeached, stands least in thy control.
+
+  
+                     126
+  O thou my lovely boy who in thy power,
+  Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour:
+  Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st,
+  Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
+  If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack)
+  As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
+  She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
+  May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
+  Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure,
+  She may detain, but not still keep her treasure!
+    Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,
+    And her quietus is to render thee.
+
+
+                     127
+  In the old age black was not counted fair,
+  Or if it were it bore not beauty's name:
+  But now is black beauty's successive heir,
+  And beauty slandered with a bastard shame,
+  For since each hand hath put on nature's power,  
+  Fairing the foul with art's false borrowed face,
+  Sweet beauty hath no name no holy bower,
+  But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
+  Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
+  Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem,
+  At such who not born fair no beauty lack,
+  Slandering creation with a false esteem,
+    Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,
+    That every tongue says beauty should look so.
+
+
+                     128
+  How oft when thou, my music, music play'st,
+  Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
+  With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st
+  The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
+  Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,
+  To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
+  Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,
+  At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand.
+  To be so tickled they would change their state  
+  And situation with those dancing chips,
+  O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
+  Making dead wood more blest than living lips,
+    Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
+    Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
+
+
+                     129
+  Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
+  Is lust in action, and till action, lust
+  Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody full of blame,
+  Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
+  Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight,
+  Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
+  Past reason hated as a swallowed bait,
+  On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
+  Mad in pursuit and in possession so,
+  Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme,
+  A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe,
+  Before a joy proposed behind a dream.
+    All this the world well knows yet none knows well,  
+    To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
+
+
+                     130
+  My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
+  Coral is far more red, than her lips red,
+  If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun:
+  If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head:
+  I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
+  But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
+  And in some perfumes is there more delight,
+  Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
+  I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
+  That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
+  I grant I never saw a goddess go,
+  My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
+    And yet by heaven I think my love as rare,
+    As any she belied with false compare.
+
+
+                     131
+  Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,  
+  As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
+  For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
+  Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
+  Yet in good faith some say that thee behold,
+  Thy face hath not the power to make love groan;
+  To say they err, I dare not be so bold,
+  Although I swear it to my self alone.
+  And to be sure that is not false I swear,
+  A thousand groans but thinking on thy face,
+  One on another's neck do witness bear
+  Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
+    In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
+    And thence this slander as I think proceeds.
+
+
+                     132
+  Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me,
+  Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,
+  Have put on black, and loving mourners be,
+  Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
+  And truly not the morning sun of heaven  
+  Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
+  Nor that full star that ushers in the even
+  Doth half that glory to the sober west
+  As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
+  O let it then as well beseem thy heart
+  To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace,
+  And suit thy pity like in every part.
+    Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
+    And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
+
+
+                     133
+  Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
+  For that deep wound it gives my friend and me;
+  Is't not enough to torture me alone,
+  But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
+  Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken,
+  And my next self thou harder hast engrossed,
+  Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken,
+  A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed:
+  Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,  
+  But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail,
+  Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard,
+  Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol.
+    And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,
+    Perforce am thine and all that is in me.
+
+
+                     134
+  So now I have confessed that he is thine,
+  And I my self am mortgaged to thy will,
+  My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine,
+  Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still:
+  But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
+  For thou art covetous, and he is kind,
+  He learned but surety-like to write for me,
+  Under that bond that him as fist doth bind.
+  The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
+  Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use,
+  And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake,
+  So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
+    Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me,  
+    He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
+
+
+                     135
+  Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,
+  And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus,
+  More than enough am I that vex thee still,
+  To thy sweet will making addition thus.
+  Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious,
+  Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
+  Shall will in others seem right gracious,
+  And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
+  The sea all water, yet receives rain still,
+  And in abundance addeth to his store,
+  So thou being rich in will add to thy will
+  One will of mine to make thy large will more.
+    Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill,
+    Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
+
+
+                     136
+  If thy soul check thee that I come so near,  
+  Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will',
+  And will thy soul knows is admitted there,
+  Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil.
+  'Will', will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
+  Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one,
+  In things of great receipt with case we prove,
+  Among a number one is reckoned none.
+  Then in the number let me pass untold,
+  Though in thy store's account I one must be,
+  For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold,
+  That nothing me, a something sweet to thee.
+    Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
+    And then thou lov'st me for my name is Will.
+
+
+                     137
+  Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
+  That they behold and see not what they see?
+  They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
+  Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
+  If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks,  
+  Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,
+  Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
+  Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
+  Why should my heart think that a several plot,
+  Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
+  Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not
+  To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
+    In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
+    And to this false plague are they now transferred.
+
+
+                     138
+  When my love swears that she is made of truth,
+  I do believe her though I know she lies,
+  That she might think me some untutored youth,
+  Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
+  Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
+  Although she knows my days are past the best,
+  Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue,
+  On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:
+  But wherefore says she not she is unjust?  
+  And wherefore say not I that I am old?
+  O love's best habit is in seeming trust,
+  And age in love, loves not to have years told.
+    Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
+    And in our faults by lies we flattered be.
+
+
+                     139
+  O call not me to justify the wrong,
+  That thy unkindness lays upon my heart,
+  Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue,
+  Use power with power, and slay me not by art,
+  Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,
+  Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside,
+  What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
+  Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide?
+  Let me excuse thee, ah my love well knows,
+  Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
+  And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
+  That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
+    Yet do not so, but since I am near slain,  
+    Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.
+
+
+                     140
+  Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press
+  My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain:
+  Lest sorrow lend me words and words express,
+  The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
+  If I might teach thee wit better it were,
+  Though not to love, yet love to tell me so,
+  As testy sick men when their deaths be near,
+  No news but health from their physicians know.
+  For if I should despair I should grow mad,
+  And in my madness might speak ill of thee,
+  Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
+  Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
+    That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
+    Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
+
+
+                     141
+  In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,  
+  For they in thee a thousand errors note,
+  But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
+  Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
+  Nor are mine cars with thy tongue's tune delighted,
+  Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
+  Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
+  To any sensual feast with thee alone:
+  But my five wits, nor my five senses can
+  Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
+  Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,
+  Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
+    Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
+    That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.
+
+
+                     142
+  Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
+  Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,
+  O but with mine, compare thou thine own state,
+  And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,
+  Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,  
+  That have profaned their scarlet ornaments,
+  And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
+  Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.
+  Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those,
+  Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee,
+  Root pity in thy heart that when it grows,
+  Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
+    If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
+    By self-example mayst thou be denied.
+
+
+                     143
+  Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch,
+  One of her feathered creatures broke away,
+  Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
+  In pursuit of the thing she would have stay:
+  Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
+  Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent,
+  To follow that which flies before her face:
+  Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
+  So run'st thou after that which flies from thee,  
+  Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind,
+  But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me:
+  And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind.
+    So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
+    If thou turn back and my loud crying still.
+
+
+                     144
+  Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
+  Which like two spirits do suggest me still,
+  The better angel is a man right fair:
+  The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
+  To win me soon to hell my female evil,
+  Tempteth my better angel from my side,
+  And would corrupt my saint to be a devil:
+  Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
+  And whether that my angel be turned fiend,
+  Suspect I may, yet not directly tell,
+  But being both from me both to each friend,
+  I guess one angel in another's hell.
+    Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt,  
+    Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
+
+
+                     145
+  Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
+  Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',
+  To me that languished for her sake:
+  But when she saw my woeful state,
+  Straight in her heart did mercy come,
+  Chiding that tongue that ever sweet,
+  Was used in giving gentle doom:
+  And taught it thus anew to greet:
+  'I hate' she altered with an end,
+  That followed it as gentle day,
+  Doth follow night who like a fiend
+  From heaven to hell is flown away.
+    'I hate', from hate away she threw,
+    And saved my life saying 'not you'.
+
+
+                     146
+  Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth,  
+  My sinful earth these rebel powers array,
+  Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth
+  Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
+  Why so large cost having so short a lease,
+  Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
+  Shall worms inheritors of this excess
+  Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
+  Then soul live thou upon thy servant's loss,
+  And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
+  Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
+  Within be fed, without be rich no more,
+    So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
+    And death once dead, there's no more dying then.
+
+
+                     147
+  My love is as a fever longing still,
+  For that which longer nurseth the disease,
+  Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
+  Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please:
+  My reason the physician to my love,  
+  Angry that his prescriptions are not kept
+  Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,
+  Desire is death, which physic did except.
+  Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
+  And frantic-mad with evermore unrest,
+  My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
+  At random from the truth vainly expressed.
+    For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
+    Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
+
+
+                     148
+  O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
+  Which have no correspondence with true sight,
+  Or if they have, where is my judgment fled,
+  That censures falsely what they see aright?
+  If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
+  What means the world to say it is not so?
+  If it be not, then love doth well denote,
+  Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,
+  How can it? O how can love's eye be true,  
+  That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
+  No marvel then though I mistake my view,
+  The sun it self sees not, till heaven clears.
+    O cunning love, with tears thou keep'st me blind,
+    Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
+
+
+                     149
+  Canst thou O cruel, say I love thee not,
+  When I against my self with thee partake?
+  Do I not think on thee when I forgot
+  Am of my self, all-tyrant, for thy sake?
+  Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,
+  On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon,
+  Nay if thou lour'st on me do I not spend
+  Revenge upon my self with present moan?
+  What merit do I in my self respect,
+  That is so proud thy service to despise,
+  When all my best doth worship thy defect,
+  Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
+    But love hate on for now I know thy mind,  
+    Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
+
+
+                     150
+  O from what power hast thou this powerful might,
+  With insufficiency my heart to sway,
+  To make me give the lie to my true sight,
+  And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
+  Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
+  That in the very refuse of thy deeds,
+  There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
+  That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds?
+  Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
+  The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
+  O though I love what others do abhor,
+  With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.
+    If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
+    More worthy I to be beloved of thee.
+
+
+                     151
+  Love is too young to know what conscience is,  
+  Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
+  Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss,
+  Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
+  For thou betraying me, I do betray
+  My nobler part to my gross body's treason,
+  My soul doth tell my body that he may,
+  Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason,
+  But rising at thy name doth point out thee,
+  As his triumphant prize, proud of this pride,
+  He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
+  To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
+    No want of conscience hold it that I call,
+    Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
+
+
+                     152
+  In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
+  But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing,
+  In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn,
+  In vowing new hate after new love bearing:
+  But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,  
+  When I break twenty? I am perjured most,
+  For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee:
+  And all my honest faith in thee is lost.
+  For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness:
+  Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
+  And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness,
+  Or made them swear against the thing they see.
+    For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I,
+    To swear against the truth so foul a be.
+
+
+                     153
+  Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep,
+  A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
+  And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
+  In a cold valley-fountain of that ground:
+  Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love,
+  A dateless lively heat still to endure,
+  And grew a seeting bath which yet men prove,
+  Against strange maladies a sovereign cure:
+  But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,  
+  The boy for trial needs would touch my breast,
+  I sick withal the help of bath desired,
+  And thither hied a sad distempered guest.
+    But found no cure, the bath for my help lies,
+    Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
+
+
+                     154
+  The little Love-god lying once asleep,
+  Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
+  Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep,
+  Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand,
+  The fairest votary took up that fire,
+  Which many legions of true hearts had warmed,
+  And so the general of hot desire,
+  Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed.
+  This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
+  Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
+  Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
+  For men discased, but I my mistress' thrall,
+    Came there for cure and this by that I prove,  
+    Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1603
+
+ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  KING OF FRANCE
+  THE DUKE OF FLORENCE
+  BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon
+  LAFEU, an old lord
+  PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram
+  TWO FRENCH LORDS, serving with Bertram
+
+  STEWARD, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon
+  LAVACHE, a clown and Servant to the Countess of Rousillon
+  A PAGE, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon
+
+  COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, mother to Bertram
+  HELENA, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess
+  A WIDOW OF FLORENCE.
+  DIANA, daughter to the Widow
+
+
+  VIOLENTA, neighbour and friend to the Widow
+  MARIANA, neighbour and friend to the Widow
+
+  Lords, Officers, Soldiers, etc., French and Florentine  
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1.
+Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
+
+Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black
+
+  COUNTESS. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
+  BERTRAM. And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew;
+    but I must attend his Majesty's command, to whom I am now in
+    ward, evermore in subjection.
+  LAFEU. You shall find of the King a husband, madam; you, sir, a
+    father. He that so generally is at all times good must of
+    necessity hold his virtue to you, whose worthiness would stir it
+    up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such
+    abundance.
+  COUNTESS. What hope is there of his Majesty's amendment?
+  LAFEU. He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam; under whose
+    practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other
+    advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time.
+  COUNTESS. This young gentlewoman had a father- O, that 'had,' how
+    sad a passage 'tis!-whose skill was almost as great as his
+    honesty; had it stretch'd so far, would have made nature  
+    immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for
+    the King's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of
+    the King's disease.
+  LAFEU. How call'd you the man you speak of, madam?
+  COUNTESS. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his
+    great right to be so- Gerard de Narbon.
+  LAFEU. He was excellent indeed, madam; the King very lately spoke
+    of him admiringly and mourningly; he was skilful enough to have
+    liv'd still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.
+  BERTRAM. What is it, my good lord, the King languishes of?
+  LAFEU. A fistula, my lord.
+  BERTRAM. I heard not of it before.
+  LAFEU. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the
+    daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
+  COUNTESS. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
+    overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education
+    promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts
+    fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities,
+    there commendations go with pity-they are virtues and traitors
+    too. In her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives  
+    her honesty, and achieves her goodness.
+  LAFEU. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.
+  COUNTESS. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in.
+    The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the
+    tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No
+    more of this, Helena; go to, no more, lest it be rather thought
+    you affect a sorrow than to have-
+  HELENA. I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.
+  LAFEU. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead: excessive
+    grief the enemy to the living.
+  COUNTESS. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it
+    soon mortal.
+  BERTRAM. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
+  LAFEU. How understand we that?
+  COUNTESS. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
+    In manners, as in shape! Thy blood and virtue
+    Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
+    Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
+    Do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy
+    Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend  
+    Under thy own life's key; be 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,
+    Advise him.
+  LAFEU. He cannot want the best
+    That shall attend his love.
+  COUNTESS. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.            Exit
+  BERTRAM. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoughts be
+    servants to you!  [To HELENA]  Be comfortable to my mother, your
+    mistress, and make much of her.
+  LAFEU. Farewell, pretty lady; you must hold the credit of your
+    father.                             Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU
+  HELENA. O, were that all! I think not on my father;
+    And these great tears grace his remembrance more
+    Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
+    I have forgot him; my imagination
+    Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
+    I am undone; there is no living, none,  
+    If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
+    That I should love a bright particular star
+    And think to wed it, he is so above me.
+    In his bright radiance and collateral light
+    Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
+    Th' 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
+    Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?
+
+                       Enter PAROLLES
+
+    [Aside]  One that goes with him. I love him for his sake;
+    And yet I know him a notorious liar,
+    Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;  
+    Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him
+    That they take place when virtue's steely bones
+    Looks bleak i' th' cold wind; withal, full oft we see
+    Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
+  PAROLLES. Save you, fair queen!
+  HELENA. And you, monarch!
+  PAROLLES. No.
+  HELENA. And no.
+  PAROLLES. Are you meditating on virginity?
+  HELENA. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a
+    question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it
+    against him?
+  PAROLLES. Keep him out.
+  HELENA. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the
+    defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance.
+  PAROLLES. There is none. Man, setting down before you, will
+    undermine you and blow you up.
+  HELENA. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up!
+    Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men?
+  PAROLLES. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown  
+    up; marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves
+     made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth
+    of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational
+    increase; and there was never virgin got till virginity was first
+    lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity
+    by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it
+    is ever lost. 'Tis too cold a companion; away with't.
+  HELENA. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a
+    virgin.
+  PAROLLES. There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule
+    of nature. To speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your
+    mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs
+    himself is a virgin; virginity murders itself, and should be
+    buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate
+    offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a
+    cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with
+    feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud,
+    idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the
+    canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't. Out with't.
+    Within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly  
+    increase; and the principal itself not much the worse. Away
+    with't.
+  HELENA. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?
+  PAROLLES. Let me see. Marry, ill to like him that ne'er it likes.
+    'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept,
+    the less worth. Off with't while 'tis vendible; answer the time
+    of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of
+    fashion, richly suited but unsuitable; just like the brooch and
+    the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your
+    pie and your porridge than in your cheek. And your virginity,
+    your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears: it
+    looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear; it was
+    formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear. Will you
+    anything with it?
+  HELENA. Not my virginity yet.
+    There shall your master have a thousand loves,
+    A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
+    A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,
+    A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
+    A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;  
+    His humble ambition, proud humility,
+    His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
+    His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
+    Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms
+    That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-
+    I know not what he shall. God send him well!
+    The court's a learning-place, and he is one-
+  PAROLLES. What one, i' faith?
+  HELENA. That I wish well. 'Tis pity-
+  PAROLLES. What's pity?
+  HELENA. That wishing well had not a body in't
+    Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
+    Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
+    Might with effects of them follow our friends
+    And show what we alone must think, which never
+    Returns us thanks.
+
+                      Enter PAGE
+
+  PAGE. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.      Exit PAGE  
+  PAROLLES. Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will
+    think of thee at court.
+  HELENA. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.
+  PAROLLES. Under Mars, I.
+  HELENA. I especially think, under Mars.
+  PAROLLES. Why under Man?
+  HELENA. The wars hath so kept you under that you must needs be born
+    under Mars.
+  PAROLLES. When he was predominant.
+  HELENA. When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
+  PAROLLES. Why think you so?
+  HELENA. You go so much backward when you fight.
+  PAROLLES. That's for advantage.
+  HELENA. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the
+    composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of
+    a good wing, and I like the wear well.
+  PAROLLES. I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I
+    will return perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall
+    serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's
+    counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else  
+    thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes
+    thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers;
+    when thou hast none, remember thy friends. Get thee a good
+    husband and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell.
+ Exit
+  HELENA. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
+    Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky
+    Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull
+    Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
+    What power is it which mounts my love so high,
+    That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
+    The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
+    To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
+    Impossible be strange attempts to those
+    That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose
+    What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove
+    To show her merit that did miss her love?
+    The King's disease-my project may deceive me,
+    But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.        Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 2.
+Paris. The KING'S palace
+
+Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters,
+and divers ATTENDANTS
+
+  KING. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears;
+    Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
+    A braving war.
+  FIRST LORD. So 'tis reported, sir.
+  KING. Nay, 'tis most credible. We here receive it,
+    A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
+    With caution, that the Florentine will move us
+    For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
+    Prejudicates the business, and would seem
+    To have us make denial.
+  FIRST LORD. His love and wisdom,
+    Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead
+    For amplest credence.
+  KING. He hath arm'd our answer,
+    And Florence is denied before he comes;
+    Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see  
+    The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
+    To stand on either part.
+  SECOND LORD. It well may serve
+    A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
+    For breathing and exploit.
+  KING. What's he comes here?
+
+              Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES
+
+  FIRST LORD. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
+    Young Bertram.
+  KING. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
+    Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
+    Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
+    Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
+  BERTRAM. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's.
+  KING. I would I had that corporal soundness now,
+    As when thy father and myself in friendship
+    First tried our soldiership. He did look far
+    Into the service of the time, and was  
+    Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long;
+    But on us both did haggish age steal on,
+    And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
+    To talk of your good father. In his youth
+    He had the wit which I can well observe
+    To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
+    Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
+    Ere they can hide their levity in honour.
+    So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
+    Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
+    His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
+    Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
+    Exception bid him speak, and at this time
+    His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him
+    He us'd as creatures of another place;
+    And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
+    Making them proud of his humility
+    In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
+    Might be a copy to these younger times;
+    Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now  
+    But goers backward.
+  BERTRAM. His good remembrance, sir,
+    Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
+    So in approof lives not his epitaph
+    As in your royal speech.
+  KING. Would I were with him! He would always say-
+    Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
+    He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them
+    To grow there, and to bear- 'Let me not live'-
+    This his good melancholy oft began,
+    On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
+    When it was out-'Let me not live' quoth he
+    'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
+    Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
+    All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
+    Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
+    Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd.
+    I, after him, do after him wish too,
+    Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
+    I quickly were dissolved from my hive,  
+    To give some labourers room.
+  SECOND LORD. You're loved, sir;
+    They that least lend it you shall lack you first.
+  KING. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, Count,
+    Since the physician at your father's died?
+    He was much fam'd.
+  BERTRAM. Some six months since, my lord.
+  KING. If he were living, I would try him yet-
+    Lend me an arm-the rest have worn me out
+    With several applications. Nature and sickness
+    Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count;
+    My son's no dearer.
+  BERTRAM. Thank your Majesty.                 Exeunt [Flourish]
+
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 3.
+Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
+
+Enter COUNTESS, STEWARD, and CLOWN
+
+  COUNTESS. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?
+  STEWARD. Madam, the care I have had to even your content I wish
+    might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we
+    wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings,
+    when of ourselves we publish them.
+  COUNTESS. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah. The
+    complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe; 'tis my
+    slowness that I do not, for I know you lack not folly to commit
+    them and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.
+  CLOWN. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.
+  COUNTESS. Well, sir.
+  CLOWN. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of
+    the rich are damn'd; but if I may have your ladyship's good will
+    to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.
+  COUNTESS. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?
+  CLOWN. I do beg your good will in this case.
+  COUNTESS. In what case?  
+  CLOWN. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage; and I
+    think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o'
+    my body; for they say bames are blessings.
+  COUNTESS. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.
+  CLOWN. My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the
+    flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.
+  COUNTESS. Is this all your worship's reason?
+  CLOWN. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are.
+  COUNTESS. May the world know them?
+  CLOWN. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh
+    and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent.
+  COUNTESS. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
+  CLOWN. I am out o' friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for
+    my wife's sake.
+  COUNTESS. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
+  CLOWN. Y'are shallow, madam-in great friends; for the knaves come
+    to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land
+    spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop. If I be his
+    cuckold, he's my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the
+    cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and  
+    blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood
+    is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men
+    could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in
+    marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the
+    papist, howsome'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, their
+    heads are both one; they may jowl horns together like any deer
+    i' th' herd.
+  COUNTESS. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave?
+  CLOWN. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way:
+
+              For I the ballad will repeat,
+                Which men full true shall find:
+              Your marriage comes by destiny,
+                Your cuckoo sings by kind.
+
+  COUNTESS. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.
+  STEWARD. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you.
+    Of her I am to speak.
+  COUNTESS. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen
+    I mean.  
+  CLOWN.  [Sings]
+
+               'Was this fair face the cause' quoth she
+                 'Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
+               Fond done, done fond,
+                 Was this King Priam's joy?'
+               With that she sighed as she stood,
+               With that she sighed as she stood,
+                 And gave this sentence then:
+               'Among nine bad if one be good,
+               Among nine bad if one be good,
+                 There's yet one good in ten.'
+
+  COUNTESS. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah.
+  CLOWN. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o' th'
+    song. Would God would serve the world so all the year! We'd find
+    no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten,
+    quoth 'a! An we might have a good woman born before every blazing
+    star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man
+    may draw his heart out ere 'a pluck one.
+  COUNTESS. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.  
+  CLOWN. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!
+    Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will
+    wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.
+    I am going, forsooth. The business is for Helen to come hither.
+ Exit
+  COUNTESS. Well, now.
+  STEWARD. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.
+  COUNTESS. Faith I do. Her father bequeath'd her to me; and she
+    herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as
+    much love as she finds. There is more owing her than is paid; and
+    more shall be paid her than she'll demand.
+  STEWARD. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she
+    wish'd me. Alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own
+    words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they
+    touch'd not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your
+    son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such
+    difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not
+    extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana no queen
+    of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris'd without
+    rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she  
+    deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard
+    virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you
+    withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you
+    something to know it.
+  COUNTESS. YOU have discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself.
+    Many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so
+    tott'ring in the balance that I could neither believe nor
+    misdoubt. Pray you leave me. Stall this in your bosom; and I
+    thank you for your honest care. I will speak with you further
+    anon.                                           Exit STEWARD
+
+                            Enter HELENA
+
+    Even so it was with me when I was young.
+    If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
+    Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
+    Our blood to us, this to our blood is born.
+    It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
+    Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth.
+    By our remembrances of days foregone,  
+    Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
+    Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
+  HELENA. What is your pleasure, madam?
+  COUNTESS. You know, Helen,
+    I am a mother to you.
+  HELENA. Mine honourable mistress.
+  COUNTESS. Nay, a mother.
+    Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
+    Methought you saw a serpent. What's in 'mother'
+    That you start at it? I say I am your mother,
+    And put you in the catalogue of those
+    That were enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen
+    Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds
+    A native slip to us from foreign seeds.
+    You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
+    Yet I express to you a mother's care.
+    God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
+    To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
+    That this distempered messenger of wet,
+    The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?  
+    Why, that you are my daughter?
+  HELENA. That I am not.
+  COUNTESS. I say I am your mother.
+  HELENA. Pardon, madam.
+    The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
+    I am from humble, he from honoured name;
+    No note upon my parents, his all noble.
+    My master, my dear lord he is; and I
+    His servant live, and will his vassal die.
+    He must not be my brother.
+  COUNTESS. Nor I your mother?
+  HELENA. You are my mother, madam; would you were-
+    So that my lord your son were not my brother-
+    Indeed my mother! Or were you both our mothers,
+    I care no more for than I do for heaven,
+    So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
+    But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
+  COUNTESS. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law.
+    God shield you mean it not! 'daughter' and 'mother'
+    So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again?  
+    My fear hath catch'd your fondness. Now I see
+    The myst'ry 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, look, thy cheeks
+    Confess it, th' one to th' 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 be suspected. Speak, is't so?
+    If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
+    If it be not, forswear't; howe'er, I charge thee,
+    As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
+    To tell me truly.
+  HELENA. Good madam, pardon me.
+  COUNTESS. Do you love my son?
+  HELENA. Your pardon, noble mistress.
+  COUNTESS. Love you my son?  
+  HELENA. Do not you love him, madam?
+  COUNTESS. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond
+    Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose
+    The state of your affection; for your passions
+    Have to the full appeach'd.
+  HELENA. Then I confess,
+    Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
+    That before you, and next unto high heaven,
+    I love your son.
+    My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love.
+    Be not offended, for it hurts not him
+    That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not
+    By any token of presumptuous suit,
+    Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
+    Yet never know how that desert should be.
+    I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
+    Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
+    I still pour in the waters of my love,
+    And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like,
+    Religious in mine error, I adore  
+    The sun that looks upon his worshipper
+    But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
+    Let not your hate encounter with my love,
+    For loving where you do; but if yourself,
+    Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
+    Did ever in so true a flame of liking
+    Wish chastely and love dearly that your Dian
+    Was both herself and Love; O, then, give pity
+    To her whose state is such that cannot choose
+    But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
+    That seeks not to find that her search implies,
+    But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies!
+  COUNTESS. Had you not lately an intent-speak truly-
+    To go to Paris?
+  HELENA. Madam, I had.
+  COUNTESS. Wherefore? Tell true.
+  HELENA. I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
+    You know my father left me some prescriptions
+    Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading
+    And manifest experience had collected  
+    For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
+    In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
+    As notes whose faculties inclusive were
+    More than they were in note. Amongst the rest
+    There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
+    To cure the desperate languishings whereof
+    The King is render'd lost.
+  COUNTESS. This was your motive
+    For Paris, was it? Speak.
+  HELENA. My lord your son made me to think of this,
+    Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King,
+    Had from the conversation of my thoughts
+    Haply been absent then.
+  COUNTESS. But think you, Helen,
+    If you should tender your supposed aid,
+    He would receive it? He and his physicians
+    Are of a mind: he, that they cannot help him;
+    They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit
+    A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
+    Embowell'd of their doctrine, have let off  
+    The danger to itself?
+  HELENA. There's something in't
+    More than my father's skill, which was the great'st
+    Of his profession, that his good receipt
+    Shall for my legacy be sanctified
+    By th' 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.
+  COUNTESS. Dost thou believe't?
+  HELENA. Ay, madam, knowingly.
+  COUNTESS. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
+    Means and attendants, and my loving greetings
+    To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home,
+    And pray God's blessing into thy attempt.
+    Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
+    What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.          Exeunt
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1.
+Paris. The KING'S palace
+
+Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING with divers young LORDS taking leave
+for the Florentine war; BERTRAM and PAROLLES; ATTENDANTS
+
+  KING. Farewell, young lords; these war-like principles
+    Do not throw from you. And you, my lords, farewell;
+    Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,
+    The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
+    And is enough for both.
+  FIRST LORD. 'Tis our hope, sir,
+    After well-ent'red soldiers, to return
+    And find your Grace in health.
+  KING. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
+    Will not confess he owes the malady
+    That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
+    Whether I live or die, be you the sons
+    Of worthy Frenchmen; let higher Italy-
+    Those bated that inherit but the fall
+    Of the last monarchy-see that you come  
+    Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
+    The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
+    That fame may cry you aloud. I say farewell.
+  SECOND LORD. Health, at your bidding, serve your Majesty!
+  KING. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them;
+    They say our French lack language to deny,
+    If they demand; beware of being captives
+    Before you serve.
+    BOTH. Our hearts receive your warnings.
+  KING. Farewell.  [To ATTENDANTS]  Come hither to me.
+                                       The KING retires attended
+  FIRST LORD. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!
+  PAROLLES. 'Tis not his fault, the spark.
+    SECOND LORD. O, 'tis brave wars!
+  PAROLLES. Most admirable! I have seen those wars.
+  BERTRAM. I am commanded here and kept a coil with
+    'Too young' and next year' and "Tis too early.'
+  PAROLLES. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely.
+  BERTRAM. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
+    Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,  
+    Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn
+    But one to dance with. By heaven, I'll steal away.
+  FIRST LORD. There's honour in the theft.
+  PAROLLES. Commit it, Count.
+  SECOND LORD. I am your accessary; and so farewell.
+  BERTRAM. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd body.
+  FIRST LORD. Farewell, Captain.
+  SECOND LORD. Sweet Monsieur Parolles!
+  PAROLLES. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and
+    lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of
+    the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of
+    war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword
+    entrench'd it. Say to him I live; and observe his reports for me.
+  FIRST LORD. We shall, noble Captain.
+  PAROLLES. Mars dote on you for his novices!       Exeunt LORDS
+    What will ye do?
+
+                            Re-enter the KING
+
+  BERTRAM. Stay; the King!  
+  PAROLLES. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have
+    restrain'd yourself within the list of too cold an adieu. Be more
+    expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the
+    time; there do muster true gait; eat, speak, and move, under the
+    influence of the most receiv'd star; and though the devil lead
+    the measure, such are to be followed. After them, and take a more
+    dilated farewell.
+  BERTRAM. And I will do so.
+  PAROLLES. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.
+                                     Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES
+
+                              Enter LAFEU
+
+  LAFEU.  [Kneeling]  Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.
+  KING. I'll fee thee to stand up.
+  LAFEU. Then here's a man stands that has brought his pardon.
+    I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy;
+    And that at my bidding you could so stand up.
+  KING. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
+    And ask'd thee mercy for't.  
+  LAFEU. Good faith, across!
+    But, my good lord, 'tis thus: will you be cur'd
+    Of your infirmity?
+  KING. No.
+  LAFEU. O, will you eat
+    No grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will
+    My noble grapes, an if my royal fox
+    Could reach them: I have seen a medicine
+    That's able to breathe life into a stone,
+    Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
+    With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch
+    Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,
+    To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand
+    And write to her a love-line.
+  KING. What her is this?
+  LAFEU. Why, Doctor She! My lord, there's one arriv'd,
+    If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour,
+    If seriously I may convey my thoughts
+    In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
+    With one that in her sex, her years, profession,  
+    Wisdom, and constancy, hath 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 the
+    May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
+    By wond'ring how thou took'st it.
+  LAFEU. Nay, I'll fit you,
+    And not be all day neither.                       Exit LAFEU
+  KING. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.
+
+                   Re-enter LAFEU with HELENA
+
+  LAFEU. Nay, come your ways.
+  KING. This haste hath wings indeed.
+  LAFEU. Nay, come your ways;
+    This is his Majesty; say your mind to him.
+    A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
+    His Majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle,  
+    That dare leave two together. Fare you well.            Exit
+  KING. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?
+  HELENA. Ay, my good lord.
+    Gerard de Narbon was my father,
+    In what he did profess, well found.
+  KING. I knew him.
+  HELENA. The rather will I spare my praises towards him;
+    Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death
+    Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one,
+    Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
+    And of his old experience th' 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 that malignant cause wherein the honour
+    Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
+    I come to tender it, and my appliance,
+    With all bound humbleness.
+  KING. We thank you, maiden;
+    But may not be so credulous of cure,  
+    When our most learned doctors leave us, and
+    The congregated college have concluded
+    That labouring art can never ransom nature
+    From her inaidable estate-I say we must not
+    So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
+    To prostitute our past-cure malady
+    To empirics; or to dissever so
+    Our great self and our credit to esteem
+    A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
+  HELENA. My duty then shall pay me for my pains.
+    I will no more enforce mine office on you;
+    Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
+    A modest one to bear me back again.
+  KING. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful.
+    Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give
+    As one near death to those that wish him live.
+    But what at full I know, thou know'st no part;
+    I knowing all my peril, thou no art.
+  HELENA. What I can do can do no hurt to try,
+    Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.  
+    He that of greatest works is finisher
+    Oft does them by the weakest minister.
+    So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
+    When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown
+    From simple sources, and great seas have dried
+    When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
+    Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
+    Where most it promises; and oft it hits
+    Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
+  KING. I must not hear thee. Fare thee well, kind maid;
+    Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid;
+    Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.
+  HELENA. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd.
+    It is not so with Him that all things knows,
+    As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;
+    But most it is presumption in us when
+    The help of heaven we count the act of men.
+    Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
+    Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
+    I am not an impostor, that proclaim  
+    Myself against the level of mine aim;
+    But know I think, and think I know most sure,
+    My art is not past power nor you past cure.
+  KING. Art thou so confident? Within what space
+    Hop'st thou my cure?
+  HELENA. The greatest Grace lending grace.
+    Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
+    Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,
+    Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
+    Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp,
+    Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
+    Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
+    What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
+    Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
+  KING. Upon thy certainty and confidence
+    What dar'st thou venture?
+  HELENA. Tax of impudence,
+    A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,
+    Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name
+    Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst-extended  
+    With vilest torture let my life be ended.
+  KING. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak
+    His powerful sound within an organ weak;
+    And what impossibility would slay
+    In common sense, sense saves another way.
+    Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate
+    Worth name of life in thee hath estimate:
+    Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all
+    That happiness and prime can happy call.
+    Thou this to hazard needs must intimate
+    Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.
+    Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,
+    That ministers thine own death if I die.
+  HELENA. If I break time, or flinch in property
+    Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die;
+    And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my fee;
+    But, if I help, what do you promise me?
+  KING. Make thy demand.
+  HELENA. But will you make it even?
+  KING. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.  
+  HELENA. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand
+    What husband in thy power I will command.
+    Exempted be from me the arrogance
+    To choose from forth the royal blood of France,
+    My low and humble name to propagate
+    With any branch or image of thy state;
+    But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
+    Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.
+  KING. Here is my hand; the premises 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.
+    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 high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.
+                                              [Flourish. Exeunt]
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 2.
+Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
+
+Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN
+
+  COUNTESS. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your
+    breeding.
+  CLOWN. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. I know my
+    business is but to the court.
+  COUNTESS. To the court! Why, what place make you special, when you
+    put off that with such contempt? But to the court!
+  CLOWN. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may
+    easily put it off at court. He that cannot make a leg, put off's
+    cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip,
+    nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for
+    the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men.
+  COUNTESS. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions.
+  CLOWN. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks-the pin
+    buttock, the quatch buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock.
+  COUNTESS. Will your answer serve fit to all questions?
+  CLOWN. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your
+    French crown for your taffety punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's
+    forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for Mayday,
+    as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding
+    quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's
+    mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin.
+  COUNTESS. Have you, I, say, an answer of such fitness for all
+    questions?
+  CLOWN. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit
+    any question.
+  COUNTESS. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit
+    all demands.
+  CLOWN. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should
+    speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me
+    if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn.
+  COUNTESS. To be young again, if we could, I will be a fool in
+    question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir,
+    are you a courtier?
+  CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-There's a simple putting off. More, more, a
+    hundred of them.
+  COUNTESS. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.
+  CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Thick, thick; spare not me.  
+  COUNTESS. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.
+  CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.
+  COUNTESS. You were lately whipp'd, sir, as I think.
+  CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Spare not me.
+  COUNTESS. Do you cry 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare
+    not me'? Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your
+    whipping. You would answer very well to a whipping, if you were
+    but bound to't.
+  CLOWN. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see
+    thing's may serve long, but not serve ever.
+  COUNTESS. I play the noble housewife with the time,
+    To entertain it so merrily with a fool.
+  CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Why, there't serves well again.
+  COUNTESS. An end, sir! To your business: give Helen this,
+    And urge her to a present answer back;
+    Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. This is not much.
+  CLOWN. Not much commendation to them?
+  COUNTESS. Not much employment for you. You understand me?
+  CLOWN. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs.
+  COUNTESS. Haste you again.                              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 3.
+Paris. The KING'S palace
+
+Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES
+
+  LAFEU. They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical
+    persons to make modern and familiar things supernatural and
+    causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors,
+    ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge when we should submit
+    ourselves to an unknown fear.
+  PAROLLES. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot
+    out in our latter times.
+  BERTRAM. And so 'tis.
+  LAFEU. To be relinquish'd of the artists-
+  PAROLLES. So I say-both of Galen and Paracelsus.
+  LAFEU. Of all the learned and authentic fellows-
+  PAROLLES. Right; so I say.
+  LAFEU. That gave him out incurable-
+  PAROLLES. Why, there 'tis; so say I too.
+  LAFEU. Not to be help'd-
+  PAROLLES. Right; as 'twere a man assur'd of a-
+  LAFEU. Uncertain life and sure death.  
+  PAROLLES. Just; you say well; so would I have said.
+  LAFEU. I may truly say it is a novelty to the world.
+  PAROLLES. It is indeed. If you will have it in showing, you shall
+    read it in what-do-ye-call't here.
+  LAFEU.  [Reading the ballad title]  'A Showing of a Heavenly
+    Effect in an Earthly Actor.'
+  PAROLLES. That's it; I would have said the very same.
+  LAFEU. Why, your dolphin is not lustier. 'Fore me, I speak in
+    respect-
+  PAROLLES. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange; that is the brief
+    and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that
+    will not acknowledge it to be the-
+  LAFEU. Very hand of heaven.
+  PAROLLES. Ay; so I say.
+  LAFEU. In a most weak-
+  PAROLLES. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence;
+    which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone
+    the recov'ry of the King, as to be-
+  LAFEU. Generally thankful.
+  
+                 Enter KING, HELENA, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  PAROLLES. I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the King.
+  LAFEU. Lustig, as the Dutchman says. I'll like a maid the better,
+    whilst I have a tooth in my head. Why, he's able to lead her a
+    coranto.
+  PAROLLES. Mort du vinaigre! Is not this Helen?
+  LAFEU. 'Fore God, I think so.
+  KING. Go, call before me all the lords in court.
+                                               Exit an ATTENDANT
+    Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
+    And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
+    Thou has repeal'd, a second time receive
+    The confirmation of my promis'd gift,
+    Which but attends thy naming.
+
+                     Enter three or four LORDS
+
+    Fair maid, send forth thine eye. This youthful parcel
+    Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,  
+    O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
+    I have to use. Thy frank election make;
+    Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.
+  HELENA. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
+    Fall, when love please. Marry, to each but one!
+  LAFEU. I'd give bay Curtal and his furniture
+    My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
+    And writ as little beard.
+  KING. Peruse them well.
+    Not one of those but had a noble father.
+  HELENA. Gentlemen,
+    Heaven hath through me restor'd the King to health.
+  ALL. We understand it, and thank heaven for you.
+  HELENA. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest
+    That I protest I simply am a maid.
+    Please it your Majesty, I have done already.
+    The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me:
+    'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused,
+    Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever,
+    We'll ne'er come there again.'  
+  KING. Make choice and see:
+    Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.
+  HELENA. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,
+    And to imperial Love, that god most high,
+    Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?
+  FIRST LORD. And grant it.
+  HELENA. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.
+  LAFEU. I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my
+    life.
+  HELENA. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
+    Before I speak, too threat'ningly replies.
+    Love make your fortunes twenty times above
+    Her that so wishes, and her humble love!
+  SECOND LORD. No better, if you please.
+  HELENA. My wish receive,
+    Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave.
+  LAFEU. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I'd have
+    them whipt; or I would send them to th' Turk to make eunuchs of.
+  HELENA. Be not afraid that I your hand should take;
+    I'll never do you wrong for your own sake.  
+    Blessing upon your vows; and in your bed
+    Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!
+  LAFEU. These boys are boys of ice; they'll none have her.
+    Sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em.
+  HELENA. You are too young, too happy, and too good,
+    To make yourself a son out of my blood.
+  FOURTH LORD. Fair one, I think not so.
+  LAFEU. There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine-but
+    if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known
+    thee already.
+  HELENA.  [To BERTRAM]  I dare not say I take you; but I give
+    Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
+    Into your guiding power. This is the man.
+  KING. Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife.
+  BERTRAM. My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your Highness,
+    In such a business give me leave to use
+    The help of mine own eyes.
+  KING. Know'st thou not, Bertram,
+    What she has done for me?
+  BERTRAM. Yes, my good lord;  
+    But never hope to know why I should marry her.
+  KING. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly bed.
+  BERTRAM. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
+    Must answer for your raising? I know her well:
+    She had her breeding at my father's charge.
+    A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain
+    Rather corrupt me ever!
+  KING. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
+    I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
+    Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
+    Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
+    In differences so mighty. If she be
+    All that is virtuous-save what thou dislik'st,
+    A poor physician's daughter-thou dislik'st
+    Of virtue for the name; but do not so.
+    From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
+    The place is dignified by the doer's deed;
+    Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,
+    It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
+    Is good without a name. Vileness is so:  
+    The property by what it is should go,
+    Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
+    In these to nature she's immediate heir;
+    And these breed honour. That is honour's scorn
+    Which challenges itself as honour's born
+    And is not like the sire. Honours thrive
+    When rather from our acts we them derive
+    Than our 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.
+  BERTRAM. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't.
+  KING. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.
+  HELENA. That you are well 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
+    We, poising us in her defective scale,
+    Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know
+    It is in us to plant thine honour where
+    We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt;
+    Obey our will, which travails in thy good;
+    Believe not thy disdain, but presently
+    Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
+    Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;
+    Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
+    Into the staggers and the careless lapse
+    Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate
+    Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
+    Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.
+  BERTRAM. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
+    My fancy to your eyes. When I consider
+    What great creation and what dole of honour  
+    Flies where you bid it, I find that she which late
+    Was in my nobler thoughts most base is now
+    The praised of the King; who, so ennobled,
+    Is as 'twere born so.
+  KING. Take her by the hand,
+    And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise
+    A counterpoise, if not to thy estate
+    A balance more replete.
+  BERTRAM. I take her hand.
+  KING. Good fortune and the favour of the King
+    Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
+    Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
+    And be perform'd to-night. The solemn feast
+    Shall more attend upon the coming space,
+    Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,
+    Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.
+              Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES who stay behind,
+                                      commenting of this wedding
+  LAFEU. Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you.
+  PAROLLES. Your pleasure, sir?  
+  LAFEU. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation.
+  PAROLLES. Recantation! My Lord! my master!
+  LAFEU. Ay; is it not a language I speak?
+  PAROLLES. A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody
+    succeeding. My master!
+  LAFEU. Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?
+  PAROLLES. To any count; to all counts; to what is man.
+  LAFEU. To what is count's man: count's master is of another style.
+  PAROLLES. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too
+    old.
+  LAFEU. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age
+    cannot bring thee.
+  PAROLLES. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.
+  LAFEU. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise
+    fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might
+    pass. Yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly
+    dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I
+    have now found thee; when I lose thee again I care not; yet art
+    thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou'rt scarce
+    worth.  
+  PAROLLES. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee-
+  LAFEU. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy
+    trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good
+    window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open,
+    for I look through thee. Give me thy hand.
+  PAROLLES. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.
+  LAFEU. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.
+  PAROLLES. I have not, my lord, deserv'd it.
+  LAFEU. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee
+    a scruple.
+  PAROLLES. Well, I shall be wiser.
+  LAFEU. Ev'n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack
+    o' th' contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and
+    beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I
+    have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my
+    knowledge, that I may say in the default 'He is a man I know.'
+  PAROLLES. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.
+  LAFEU. I would it were hell pains for thy sake, and my poor doing
+    eternal; for doing I am past, as I will by thee, in what motion
+    age will give me leave.                                 Exit  
+  PAROLLES. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me:
+    scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there
+    is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can
+    meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a
+    lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would have of-
+    I'll beat him, and if I could but meet him again.
+
+                         Re-enter LAFEU
+
+  LAFEU. Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for
+    you; you have a new mistress.
+  PAROLLES. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some
+    reservation of your wrongs. He is my good lord: whom I serve
+    above is my master.
+  LAFEU. Who? God?
+  PAROLLES. Ay, sir.
+  LAFEU. The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up
+    thy arms o' this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other
+    servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose
+    stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat  
+    thee. Methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should
+    beat thee. I think thou wast created for men to breathe
+    themselves upon thee.
+  PAROLLES. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.
+  LAFEU. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel
+    out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller;
+    you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the
+    commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are
+    not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you.
+ Exit
+
+                           Enter BERTRAM
+
+  PAROLLES. Good, very, good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it
+    be conceal'd awhile.
+  BERTRAM. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!
+  PAROLLES. What's the matter, sweetheart?
+  BERTRAM. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
+    I will not bed her.
+  PAROLLES. What, what, sweetheart?  
+  BERTRAM. O my Parolles, they have married me!
+    I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.
+  PAROLLES. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
+    The tread of a man's foot. To th' wars!
+  BERTRAM. There's letters from my mother; what th' import is I know
+    not yet.
+  PAROLLES. Ay, that would be known. To th' wars, my boy, to th'
+      wars!
+    He wears his honour in a box unseen
+    That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,
+    Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
+    Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
+    Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions!
+    France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;
+    Therefore, to th' war!
+  BERTRAM. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house,
+    Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
+    And wherefore I am fled; write to the King
+    That which I durst not speak. His present gift
+    Shall furnish me to those Italian fields  
+    Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife
+    To the dark house and the detested wife.
+  PAROLLES. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure?
+  BERTRAM. Go with me to my chamber and advise me.
+    I'll send her straight away. To-morrow
+    I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.
+  PAROLLES. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:
+    A young man married is a man that's marr'd.
+    Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go.
+    The King has done you wrong; but, hush, 'tis so.      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 4.
+Paris. The KING'S palace
+
+Enter HELENA and CLOWN
+
+  HELENA. My mother greets me kindly; is she well?
+  CLOWN. She is not well, but yet she has her health; she's very
+    merry, but yet she is not well. But thanks be given, she's very
+    well, and wants nothing i' th' world; but yet she is not well.
+  HELENA. If she be very well, what does she ail that she's not very
+    well?
+  CLOWN. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.
+  HELENA. What two things?
+  CLOWN. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly!
+    The other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly!
+
+                        Enter PAROLLES
+
+  PAROLLES. Bless you, my fortunate lady!
+  HELENA. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good
+    fortunes.
+  PAROLLES. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on,  
+    have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?
+  CLOWN. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she
+    did as you say.
+  PAROLLES. Why, I say nothing.
+  CLOWN. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes
+    out his master's undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know
+    nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your
+    title, which is within a very little of nothing.
+  PAROLLES. Away! th'art a knave.
+  CLOWN. You should have said, sir, 'Before a knave th'art a knave';
+    that's 'Before me th'art a knave.' This had been truth, sir.
+  PAROLLES. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.
+  CLOWN. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you taught to find
+    me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find
+    in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of
+    laughter.
+  PAROLLES. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
+    Madam, my lord will go away to-night:
+    A very serious business calls on him.
+    The great prerogative and rite of love,  
+    Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
+    But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;
+    Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,
+    Which they distil now in the curbed time,
+    To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
+    And pleasure drown the brim.
+  HELENA. What's his else?
+  PAROLLES. That you will take your instant leave o' th' King,
+    And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
+    Strength'ned with what apology you think
+    May make it probable need.
+  HELENA. What more commands he?
+  PAROLLES. That, having this obtain'd, you presently
+    Attend his further pleasure.
+  HELENA. In everything I wait upon his will.
+  PAROLLES. I shall report it so.
+  HELENA. I pray you.                              Exit PAROLLES
+    Come, sirrah.                                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 5.
+Paris. The KING'S palace
+
+Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM
+
+  LAFEU. But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.
+  BERTRAM. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.
+  LAFEU. You have it from his own deliverance.
+  BERTRAM. And by other warranted testimony.
+  LAFEU. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting.
+  BERTRAM. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge,
+    and accordingly valiant.
+  LAFEU. I have then sinn'd against his experience and transgress'd
+    against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I
+    cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you
+    make us friends; I will pursue the amity
+
+                         Enter PAROLLES
+
+  PAROLLES.  [To BERTRAM]  These things shall be done, sir.
+  LAFEU. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?
+  PAROLLES. Sir!  
+  LAFEU. O, I know him well. Ay, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a
+    very good tailor.
+  BERTRAM.  [Aside to PAROLLES]  Is she gone to the King?
+  PAROLLES. She is.
+  BERTRAM. Will she away to-night?
+  PAROLLES. As you'll have her.
+  BERTRAM. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
+    Given order for our horses; and to-night,
+    When I should take possession of the bride,
+    End ere I do begin.
+  LAFEU. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner;
+    but one that lies three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a
+    thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten.
+    God save you, Captain.
+  BERTRAM. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?
+  PAROLLES. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's
+    displeasure.
+  LAFEU. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all,
+    like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run
+    again, rather than suffer question for your residence.  
+  BERTRAM. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.
+  LAFEU. And shall do so ever, though I took him at's prayers.
+    Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me: there can be no
+    kernal in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes;
+    trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them
+    tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken
+    better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we
+    must do good against evil.                              Exit
+  PAROLLES. An idle lord, I swear.
+  BERTRAM. I think so.
+  PAROLLES. Why, do you not know him?
+  BERTRAM. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech
+    Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.
+
+                          Enter HELENA
+
+  HELENA. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
+    Spoke with the King, and have procur'd his leave
+    For present parting; only he desires
+    Some private speech with you.  
+  BERTRAM. I shall obey his will.
+    You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
+    Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
+    The ministration and required office
+    On my particular. 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.
+  HELENA. Sir, I can nothing say
+    But that I am your most obedient servant.
+  BERTRAM. Come, come, no more of that.
+  HELENA. And ever shall  
+    With true observance seek to eke out that
+    Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
+    To equal my great fortune.
+  BERTRAM. Let that go.
+    My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home.
+  HELENA. Pray, sir, your pardon.
+  BERTRAM. Well, what would you say?
+  HELENA. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
+    Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is;
+    But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
+    What law does vouch mine own.
+  BERTRAM. What would you have?
+  HELENA. Something; and scarce so much; nothing, indeed.
+    I would not tell you what I would, my lord.
+    Faith, yes:
+    Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss.
+  BERTRAM. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.
+  HELENA. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
+  BERTRAM. Where are my other men, monsieur?
+    Farewell!                                        Exit HELENA  
+    Go thou toward home, where I will never come
+    Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.
+    Away, and for our flight.
+  PAROLLES. Bravely, coragio!                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1.
+Florence. The DUKE's palace
+
+        Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two
+               FRENCH LORDS, with a TROOP OF SOLDIERS
+
+  DUKE. So that, from point to point, now have you hear
+    The fundamental reasons of this war;
+    Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
+    And more thirsts after.
+  FIRST LORD. Holy seems the quarrel
+    Upon your Grace's part; black and fearful
+    On the opposer.
+  DUKE. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
+    Would in so just a business shut his bosom
+    Against our borrowing prayers.
+  SECOND LORD. Good my lord,
+    The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
+    But like a common and an outward man
+    That the great figure of a council frames
+    By self-unable motion; therefore dare not
+    Say what I think of it, since I have found  
+    Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
+    As often as I guess'd.
+  DUKE. Be it his pleasure.
+  FIRST LORD. But I am sure the younger of our nature,
+    That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
+    Come here for physic.
+  DUKE. Welcome shall they be
+    And all the honours that can fly from us
+    Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
+    When better fall, for your avails they fell.
+    To-morrow to th' field. Flourish.                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 2.
+Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
+
+Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN
+
+  COUNTESS. It hath happen'd all as I would have had it, save that he
+    comes not along with her.
+  CLOWN. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy
+    man.
+  COUNTESS. By what observance, I pray you?
+  CLOWN. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and
+    sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a
+    man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a
+    song.
+  COUNTESS. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
+                                              [Opening a letter]
+  CLOWN. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old ling
+    and our Isbels o' th' country are nothing like your old ling and
+    your Isbels o' th' court. The brains of my Cupid's knock'd out;
+    and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.
+  COUNTESS. What have we here?
+  CLOWN. E'en that you have there.                          Exit  
+  COUNTESS.  [Reads]  'I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath
+    recovered the King and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded
+    her; and sworn to make the "not" eternal. You shall hear I am run
+    away; know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough
+    in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you.
+                                           Your unfortunate son,
+                                                       BERTRAM.'
+    This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
+    To fly the favours of so good a king,
+    To pluck his indignation on thy head
+    By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
+    For the contempt of empire.
+
+                           Re-enter CLOWN
+
+  CLOWN. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers
+    and my young lady.
+  COUNTESS. What is the -matter?
+  CLOWN. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your
+    son will not be kill'd so soon as I thought he would.  
+  COUNTESS. Why should he be kill'd?
+  CLOWN. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the
+    danger is in standing to 't; that's the loss of men, though it be
+    the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more. For my
+    part, I only hear your son was run away.                Exit
+
+              Enter HELENA and the two FRENCH GENTLEMEN
+
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Save you, good madam.
+  HELENA. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Do not say so.
+  COUNTESS. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen-
+    I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief
+    That the first face of neither, on the start,
+    Can woman me unto 't. Where is my son, I pray you?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence.
+    We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
+    And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
+    Thither we bend again.
+  HELENA. Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport.  
+    [Reads]  'When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which
+    never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body
+    that I am father to, then call me husband; but in such a "then" I
+    write a "never."
+    This is a dreadful sentence.
+  COUNTESS. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam;
+    And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains.
+  COUNTESS. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
+    If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
+    Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son;
+    But I do wash his name out of my blood,
+    And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam.
+  COUNTESS. And to be a soldier?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Such is his noble purpose; and, believe 't,
+    The Duke will lay upon him all the honour
+    That good convenience claims.
+  COUNTESS. Return you thither?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.  
+  HELENA.  [Reads]  'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
+    'Tis bitter.
+  COUNTESS. Find you that there?
+  HELENA. Ay, madam.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which
+    his heart was not consenting to.
+  COUNTESS. Nothing in France until he have no wife!
+    There's nothing here that is too good for him
+    But only she; and she deserves a lord
+    That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,
+    And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A servant only, and a gentleman
+    Which I have sometime known.
+  COUNTESS. Parolles, was it not?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, my good lady, he.
+  COUNTESS. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
+    My son corrupts a well-derived nature
+    With his inducement.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Indeed, good lady,
+    The fellow has a deal of that too much  
+    Which holds him much to have.
+  COUNTESS. Y'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.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. We serve you, madam,
+    In that and all your worthiest affairs.
+  COUNTESS. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
+    Will you draw near?            Exeunt COUNTESS and GENTLEMEN
+  HELENA. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
+    Nothing in France until he has no wife!
+    Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France
+    Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't
+    That chase thee from thy country, and expose
+    Those tender limbs of thine to the event
+    Of the non-sparing war? And is it I
+    That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
+    Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
+    Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,  
+    That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
+    Fly with false aim; move the still-piecing air,
+    That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
+    Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
+    Whoever charges on his forward breast,
+    I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
+    And though I kill him not, I am the cause
+    His death was so effected. Better 'twere
+    I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
+    With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
+    That all the miseries which nature owes
+    Were mine at once. No; come thou home, Rousillon,
+    Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
+    As oft it loses all. I will be gone.
+    My being here it is that holds thee hence.
+    Shall I stay here to do 't? No, no, although
+    The air of paradise did fan the house,
+    And angels 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, I'll steal away.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 3.
+Florence. Before the DUKE's palace
+
+Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, SOLDIERS,
+drum and trumpets
+
+  DUKE. The General of our Horse thou art; and we,
+    Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
+    Upon thy promising fortune.
+  BERTRAM. Sir, it is
+    A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
+    We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
+    To th' extreme edge of hazard.
+  DUKE. Then go thou forth;
+    And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
+    As thy auspicious mistress!
+  BERTRAM. This very day,
+    Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;
+    Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
+    A lover of thy drum, hater of love.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 4.
+Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
+
+Enter COUNTESS and STEWARD
+
+  COUNTESS. Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
+    Might you not know she would do as she has done
+    By sending me a letter? Read it again.
+  STEWARD.  [Reads]  'I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone.
+    Ambitious love hath so in me offended
+    That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,
+    With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
+    Write, write, that from the bloody course of war
+    My dearest master, your dear son, may hie.
+    Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
+    His name with zealous fervour sanctify.
+    His taken labours bid him me forgive;
+    I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
+    From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
+    Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth.
+    He is too good and fair for death and me;
+    Whom I myself embrace to set him free.'  
+  COUNTESS. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
+    Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much
+    As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
+    I could have well diverted her intents,
+    Which thus she hath prevented.
+  STEWARD. Pardon me, madam;
+    If I had given you this at over-night,
+    She might have been o'er ta'en; and yet she writes
+    Pursuit would be but vain.
+  COUNTESS. What angel shall
+    Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive,
+    Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
+    And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
+    Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
+    To this unworthy husband of his wife;
+    Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
+    That he does weigh too light. My greatest grief,
+    Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
+    Dispatch the most convenient messenger.
+    When haply he shall hear that she is gone  
+    He will return; and hope I may that she,
+    Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
+    Led hither by pure love. Which of them both
+    Is dearest to me I have no skill in sense
+    To make distinction. Provide this messenger.
+    My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
+    Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 5.
+
+Without the walls of Florence
+A tucket afar off. Enter an old WIDOW OF FLORENCE, her daughter DIANA,
+VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other CITIZENS
+
+  WIDOW. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city we shall lose
+    all the sight.
+  DIANA. They say the French count has done most honourable service.
+  WIDOW. It is reported that he has taken their great'st commander;
+    and that with his own hand he slew the Duke's brother.  [Tucket]
+    We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way. Hark! you
+    may know by their trumpets.
+  MARIANA. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the
+    report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl; the
+    honour of a maid is her name, and no legacy is so rich as
+    honesty.
+  WIDOW. I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a
+    gentleman his companion.
+  MARIANA. I know that knave, hang him! one Parolles; a filthy
+    officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of  
+    them, Diana: their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all
+    these engines of lust, are not the things they go under; many a
+    maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that
+    so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that
+    dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that
+    threatens them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I
+    hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there
+    were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost.
+  DIANA. You shall not need to fear me.
+
+            Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim
+
+  WIDOW. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie
+    at my house: thither they send one another. I'll question her.
+    God save you, pilgrim! Whither are bound?
+  HELENA. To Saint Jaques le Grand.
+    Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
+  WIDOW. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.
+  HELENA. Is this the way?
+                                                  [A march afar]  
+  WIDOW. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you! They come this way.
+    If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,
+    But till the troops come by,
+    I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd;
+    The rather for I think I know your hostess
+    As ample as myself.
+  HELENA. Is it yourself?
+  WIDOW. If you shall please so, pilgrim.
+  HELENA. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
+  WIDOW. You came, I think, from France?
+  HELENA. I did so.
+  WIDOW. Here you shall see a countryman of yours
+    That has done worthy service.
+  HELENA. His name, I pray you.
+  DIANA. The Count Rousillon. Know you such a one?
+  HELENA. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him;
+    His face I know not.
+  DIANA. What some'er he is,
+    He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
+    As 'tis reported, for the King had married him  
+    Against his liking. Think you it is so?
+  HELENA. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady.
+  DIANA. There is a gentleman that serves the Count
+    Reports but coarsely of her.
+  HELENA. What's his name?
+  DIANA. Monsieur Parolles.
+  HELENA. O, I believe with him,
+    In argument of praise, or to the worth
+    Of the great Count himself, she is too mean
+    To have her name repeated; all her deserving
+    Is a reserved honesty, and that
+    I have not heard examin'd.
+  DIANA. Alas, poor lady!
+    'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
+    Of a detesting lord.
+  WIDOW. I sweet, good creature, wheresoe'er she is
+    Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her
+    A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
+  HELENA. How do you mean?
+    May be the amorous Count solicits her  
+    In the unlawful purpose.
+  WIDOW. He does, indeed;
+    And brokes with all that can in such a suit
+    Corrupt the tender honour of a maid;
+    But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
+    In honestest defence.
+
+    Enter, with drum and colours, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the
+                          whole ARMY
+
+  MARIANA. The gods forbid else!
+  WIDOW. So, now they come.
+    That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son;
+    That, Escalus.
+  HELENA. Which is the Frenchman?
+  DIANA. He-
+    That with the plume; 'tis a most gallant fellow.
+    I would he lov'd his wife; if he were honester
+    He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman?
+  HELENA. I like him well.  
+  DIANA. 'Tis pity he is not honest. Yond's that same knave
+    That leads him to these places; were I his lady
+    I would poison that vile rascal.
+  HELENA. Which is he?
+  DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy?
+  HELENA. Perchance he's hurt i' th' battle.
+  PAROLLES. Lose our drum! well.
+  MARIANA. He's shrewdly vex'd at something.
+    Look, he has spied us.
+  WIDOW. Marry, hang you!
+  MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!
+                              Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and ARMY
+  WIDOW. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
+    Where you shall host. Of enjoin'd penitents
+    There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
+    Already at my house.
+  HELENA. I humbly thank you.
+    Please it this matron and this gentle maid
+    To eat with us to-night; the charge and thanking
+    Shall be for me, and, to requite you further,  
+    I will bestow some precepts of this virgin,
+    Worthy the note.
+    BOTH. We'll take your offer kindly.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 6.
+Camp before Florence
+
+Enter BERTRAM, and the two FRENCH LORDS
+
+  SECOND LORD. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way.
+  FIRST LORD. If your lordship find him not a hiding, hold me no more
+    in your respect.
+  SECOND LORD. On my life, my lord, a bubble.
+  BERTRAM. Do you think I am so far deceived in him?
+  SECOND LORD. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge,
+    without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a
+    most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly
+    promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your
+    lordship's entertainment.
+  FIRST LORD. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his
+    virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty
+    business in a main danger fail you.
+  BERTRAM. I would I knew in what particular action to try him.
+  FIRST LORD. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which
+    you hear him so confidently undertake to do.
+  SECOND LORD. I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise  
+    him; such I will have whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy.
+    We will bind and hoodwink him so that he shall suppose no other
+    but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries when
+    we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at
+    his examination; if he do not, for the promise of his life and in
+    the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and
+    deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that
+    with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my
+    judgment in anything.
+  FIRST LORD. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he
+    says he has a stratagem for't. When your lordship sees the bottom
+    of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of
+    ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's
+    entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.
+
+                      Enter PAROLLES
+
+  SECOND LORD. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of
+    his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand.
+  BERTRAM. How now, monsieur! This drum sticks sorely in your  
+    disposition.
+  FIRST LORD. A pox on 't; let it go; 'tis but a drum.
+  PAROLLES. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost! There was
+    excellent command: to charge in with our horse upon our own
+    wings, and to rend our own soldiers!
+  FIRST LORD. That was not to be blam'd in the command of the
+    service; it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not
+    have prevented, if he had been there to command.
+  BERTRAM. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success.
+    Some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to
+    be recovered.
+  PAROLLES. It might have been recovered.
+  BERTRAM. It might, but it is not now.
+  PAROLLES. It is to be recovered. But that the merit of service is
+    seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have
+    that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.'
+  BERTRAM. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur. If you think
+    your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour
+    again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise,
+    and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit. If you  
+    speed well in it, the Duke shall both speak of it and extend to
+    you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost
+    syllable of our worthiness.
+  PAROLLES. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
+  BERTRAM. But you must not now slumber in it.
+  PAROLLES. I'll about it this evening; and I will presently pen
+    down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself
+    into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further
+    from me.
+  BERTRAM. May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are gone about it?
+  PAROLLES. I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the
+    attempt I vow.
+  BERTRAM. I know th' art valiant; and, to the of thy soldiership,
+    will subscribe for thee. Farewell.
+  PAROLLES. I love not many words.                          Exit
+  SECOND LORD. No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange
+    fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this
+    business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do,
+    and dares better be damn'd than to do 't.
+  FIRST LORD. You do not know him, my lord, as we do. Certain it is  
+    that he will steal himself into a man's favour, and for a week
+    escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out,
+    you have him ever after.
+  BERTRAM. Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that
+    so seriously he does address himself unto?
+  SECOND LORD. None in the world; but return with an invention, and
+    clap upon you two or three probable lies. But we have almost
+    emboss'd him. You shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is
+    not for your lordship's respect.
+  FIRST LORD. We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him.
+    He was first smok'd by the old Lord Lafeu. When his disguise and
+    he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you
+    shall see this very night.
+  SECOND LORD. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught.
+  BERTRAM. Your brother, he shall go along with me.
+  SECOND LORD. As't please your lordship. I'll leave you.   Exit
+  BERTRAM. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
+    The lass I spoke of.
+  FIRST LORD. But you say she's honest.
+  BERTRAM. That's all the fault. I spoke with her but once,  
+    And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
+    By this same coxcomb that we have i' th' wind,
+    Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
+    And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature;
+    Will you go see her?
+  FIRST LORD. With all my heart, my lord.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 7.
+Florence. The WIDOW'S house
+
+Enter HELENA and WIDOW
+
+  HELENA. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
+    I know not how I shall assure you further
+    But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
+  WIDOW. Though my estate be fall'n, I was well born,
+    Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
+    And would not put my reputation now
+    In any staining act.
+  HELENA. Nor would I wish you.
+  FIRST give me trust the Count he is my husband,
+    And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken
+    Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,
+    By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
+    Err in bestowing it.
+  WIDOW. I should believe you;
+    For you have show'd me that which well approves
+    Y'are great in fortune.
+  HELENA. Take this purse of gold,  
+    And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
+    Which I will over-pay and pay again
+    When I have found it. The Count he woos your daughter
+    Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
+    Resolv'd to carry her. Let her in fine consent,
+    As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
+    Now his important blood will nought deny
+    That she'll demand. A ring the County wears
+    That downward hath succeeded in his house
+    From son to son some four or five descents
+    Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds
+    In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,
+    To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
+    Howe'er repented after.
+  WIDOW. Now I see
+    The bottom of your purpose.
+  HELENA. You see it lawful then. It is no more
+    But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
+    Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
+    In fine, delivers me to fill the time,  
+    Herself most chastely absent. After this,
+    To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
+    To what is pass'd already.
+  WIDOW. I have yielded.
+    Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
+    That time and place with this deceit so lawful
+    May prove coherent. Every night he comes
+    With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd
+    To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us
+    To chide him from our eaves, for he persists
+    As if his life lay on 't.
+  HELENA. Why then to-night
+    Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
+    Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
+    And lawful meaning in a lawful act;
+    Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.
+    But let's about it.                                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1.
+Without the Florentine camp
+
+Enter SECOND FRENCH LORD with five or six other SOLDIERS in ambush
+
+  SECOND LORD. He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner.
+    When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will;
+    though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must
+    not seem to understand him, unless some one among us, whom we
+    must produce for an interpreter.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Good captain, let me be th' interpreter.
+  SECOND LORD. Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. No, sir, I warrant you.
+  SECOND LORD. But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. E'en such as you speak to me.
+  SECOND LORD. He must think us some band of strangers i' th'
+    adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all
+    neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of
+    his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another, so we
+    seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language,
+    gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must  
+    seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two
+    hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges.
+
+                         Enter PAROLLES
+
+  PAROLLES. Ten o'clock. Within these three hours 'twill be time
+    enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a
+    very plausive invention that carries it. They begin to smoke me;
+    and disgraces have of late knock'd to often at my door. I find my
+    tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars
+    before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my
+    tongue.
+  SECOND LORD. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was
+    guilty of.
+  PAROLLES. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery
+    of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and
+    knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and
+    say I got them in exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it.
+    They will say 'Came you off with so little?' And great ones I
+    dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put  
+    you into a butterwoman's mouth, and buy myself another of
+    Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils.
+  SECOND LORD. Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that
+    he is?
+  PAROLLES. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn,
+    or the breaking of my Spanish sword.
+  SECOND LORD. We cannot afford you so.
+  PAROLLES. Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in
+    stratagem.
+  SECOND LORD. 'Twould not do.
+  PAROLLES. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripp'd.
+  SECOND LORD. Hardly serve.
+  PAROLLES. Though I swore I leap'd from the window of the citadel-
+  SECOND LORD. How deep?
+  PAROLLES. Thirty fathom.
+  SECOND LORD. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.
+  PAROLLES. I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I
+    recover'd it.
+  SECOND LORD. You shall hear one anon.          [Alarum within]
+  PAROLLES. A drum now of the enemy's!  
+  SECOND LORD. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
+  ALL. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
+  PAROLLES. O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes.
+                                            [They blindfold him]
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos thromuldo boskos.
+  PAROLLES. I know you are the Muskos' regiment,
+    And I shall lose my life for want of language.
+    If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch,
+    Italian, or French, let him speak to me;
+    I'll discover that which shall undo the Florentine.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos vauvado. I understand thee, and can speak thy
+    tongue. Kerely-bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for
+    seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.
+  PAROLLES. O!
+  FIRST SOLDIER. O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche.
+  SECOND LORD. Oscorbidulchos volivorco.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. The General is content to spare thee yet;
+    And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
+    To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform
+    Something to save thy life.  
+  PAROLLES. O, let me live,
+    And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,
+    Their force, their purposes. Nay, I'll speak that
+    Which you will wonder at.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. But wilt thou faithfully?
+  PAROLLES. If I do not, damn me.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Acordo linta.
+    Come on; thou art granted space.
+                   Exit, PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within
+  SECOND LORD. Go, tell the Count Rousillon and my brother
+    We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
+    Till we do hear from them.
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Captain, I will.
+  SECOND LORD. 'A will betray us all unto ourselves-
+    Inform on that.
+  SECOND SOLDIER. So I will, sir.
+  SECOND LORD. Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 2.
+Florence. The WIDOW'S house
+
+Enter BERTRAM and DIANA
+
+  BERTRAM. They told me that your name was Fontibell.
+  DIANA. No, my good lord, Diana.
+  BERTRAM. Titled goddess;
+    And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
+    In your fine frame hath love no quality?
+    If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
+    You are no maiden, but a monument;
+    When you are dead, you should be such a one
+    As you are now, for you are cold and stern;
+    And now you should be as your mother was
+    When your sweet self was got.
+  DIANA. She then was honest.
+  BERTRAM. So should you be.
+  DIANA. No.
+    My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
+    As you owe to your wife.
+  BERTRAM. No more o'that!  
+    I prithee do not strive against my vows.
+    I was compell'd to her; but I love the
+    By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
+    Do thee all rights of service.
+  DIANA. Ay, so you serve us
+    Till we serve you; but when you have our roses
+    You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
+    And mock us with our bareness.
+  BERTRAM. How have I sworn!
+  DIANA. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
+    But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.
+    What is not holy, that we swear not by,
+    But take the High'st to witness. Then, pray you, tell me:
+    If I should swear by Jove's great attributes
+    I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths
+    When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
+    To swear by him whom I protest to love
+    That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths
+    Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd-
+    At least in my opinion.  
+  BERTRAM. Change it, change it;
+    Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy;
+    And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts
+    That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,
+    But give thyself unto my sick desires,
+    Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever
+    My love as it begins shall so persever.
+  DIANA. I see that men make ropes in such a scarre
+    That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
+  BERTRAM. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
+    To give it from me.
+  DIANA. Will you not, my lord?
+  BERTRAM. It is an honour 'longing to our house,
+    Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
+    Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world
+    In me to lose.
+  DIANA. Mine honour's such a ring:
+    My chastity's the jewel of our house,
+    Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
+    Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world  
+    In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
+    Brings in the champion Honour on my part
+    Against your vain assault.
+  BERTRAM. Here, take my ring;
+    My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,
+    And I'll be bid by thee.
+  DIANA. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;
+    I'll order take my mother shall not hear.
+    Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
+    When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
+    Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
+    My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them
+    When back again this ring shall be deliver'd.
+    And on your finger in the night I'll put
+    Another ring, that what in time proceeds
+    May token to the future our past deeds.
+    Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won
+    A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
+  BERTRAM. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
+ Exit  
+  DIANA. For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
+    You may so in the end.
+    My mother told me just how he would woo,
+    As if she sat in's heart; she says all men
+    Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me
+    When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
+    When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
+    Marry that will, I live and die a maid.
+    Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
+    To cozen him that would unjustly win.                   Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 3.
+The Florentine camp
+
+Enter the two FRENCH LORDS, and two or three SOLDIERS
+
+  SECOND LORD. You have not given him his mother's letter?
+  FIRST LORD. I have deliv'red it an hour since. There is something
+    in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he chang'd
+    almost into another man.
+  SECOND LORD. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off
+    so good a wife and so sweet a lady.
+  FIRST LORD. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure
+    of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to
+    him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly
+    with you.
+  SECOND LORD. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave
+    of it.
+  FIRST LORD. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence,
+    of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in
+    the spoil of her honour. He hath given her his monumental ring,
+    and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.
+  SECOND LORD. Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves,  
+    what things are we!
+  FIRST LORD. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of
+    all treasons we still see them reveal themselves till they attain
+    to their abhorr'd ends; so he that in this action contrives
+    against his own nobility, in his proper stream, o'erflows
+    himself.
+  SECOND LORD. Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our
+    unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night?
+  FIRST LORD. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.
+  SECOND LORD. That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his
+    company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own
+    judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit.
+  FIRST LORD. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his
+    presence must be the whip of the other.
+  SECOND LORD. In the meantime, what hear you of these wars?
+  FIRST LORD. I hear there is an overture of peace.
+  SECOND LORD. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
+  FIRST LORD. What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel
+    higher, or return again into France?
+  SECOND LORD. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether  
+    of his counsel.
+  FIRST LORD. Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal
+    of his act.
+  SECOND LORD. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his
+    house. Her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand;
+    which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she
+    accomplish'd; 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.
+  FIRST LORD. How is this justified?
+  SECOND LORD. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which
+    makes her story true even to the point of her death. Her death
+    itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was
+    faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place.
+  FIRST LORD. Hath the Count all this intelligence?
+  SECOND LORD. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from
+    point, to the full arming of the verity.
+  FIRST LORD. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.
+  SECOND LORD. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our
+    losses!  
+  FIRST LORD. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in
+    tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for
+    him shall at home be encount'red with a shame as ample.
+  SECOND LORD. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill
+    together. Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipt them
+    not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherish'd by
+    our virtues.
+
+                      Enter a MESSENGER
+
+    How now? Where's your master?
+  SERVANT. He met the Duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken
+    a solemn leave. His lordship will next morning for France. The
+    Duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the King.
+  SECOND LORD. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were
+    more than they can commend.
+  FIRST LORD. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness.
+    Here's his lordship now.
+
+                        Enter BERTRAM  
+
+    How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?
+  BERTRAM. I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's
+    length apiece; by an abstract of success: I have congied with the
+    Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for
+    her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertain'd my
+    convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many
+    nicer needs. The last was the greatest, but that I have not ended
+    yet.
+  SECOND LORD. If the business be of any difficulty and this morning
+    your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship.
+  BERTRAM. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it
+    hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the Fool and
+    the Soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module has
+    deceiv'd me like a double-meaning prophesier.
+  SECOND LORD. Bring him forth.  [Exeunt SOLDIERS]  Has sat i' th'
+    stocks all night, poor gallant knave.
+  BERTRAM. No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in usurping his
+    spurs so long. How does he carry himself?
+  SECOND LORD. I have told your lordship already the stocks carry  
+    him. But to answer you as you would be understood: he weeps like
+    a wench that had shed her milk; he hath confess'd himself to
+    Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his
+    remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' th'
+    stocks. And what think you he hath confess'd?
+  BERTRAM. Nothing of me, has 'a?
+  SECOND LORD. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his
+    face; if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must
+    have the patience to hear it.
+
+                   Enter PAROLLES guarded, and
+                  FIRST SOLDIER as interpreter
+
+  BERTRAM. A plague upon him! muffled! He can say nothing of me.
+  SECOND LORD. Hush, hush! Hoodman comes. Portotartarossa.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. He calls for the tortures. What will you say without
+    'em?
+  PAROLLES. I will confess what I know without constraint; if ye
+    pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Bosko chimurcho.  
+  SECOND LORD. Boblibindo chicurmurco.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. YOU are a merciful general. Our General bids you
+    answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.
+  PAROLLES. And truly, as I hope to live.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. 'First demand of him how many horse the Duke is
+    strong.' What say you to that?
+  PAROLLES. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable.
+    The troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor
+    rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Shall I set down your answer so?
+  PAROLLES. Do; I'll take the sacrament on 't, how and which way you
+    will.
+  BERTRAM. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!
+  SECOND LORD. Y'are deceiv'd, my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles,
+    the gallant militarist-that was his own phrase-that had the whole
+    theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the
+    chape of his dagger.
+  FIRST LORD. I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword
+    clean; nor believe he can have everything in him by wearing his
+    apparel neatly.  
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down.
+  PAROLLES. 'Five or six thousand horse' I said-I will say true- 'or
+    thereabouts' set down, for I'll speak truth.
+  SECOND LORD. He's very near the truth in this.
+  BERTRAM. But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it.
+  PAROLLES. 'Poor rogues' I pray you say.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down.
+  PAROLLES. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth's a truth-the rogues are
+    marvellous poor.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. 'Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.'
+    What say you to that?
+  PAROLLES. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I
+    will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty;
+    Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian,
+    Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own
+    company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each; so
+    that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not
+    to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the
+    snow from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves to
+    pieces.  
+  BERTRAM. What shall be done to him?
+  SECOND LORD. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my
+    condition, and what credit I have with the Duke.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. 'You shall demand of him
+    whether one Captain Dumain be i' th' camp, a Frenchman; what his
+    reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honesty, expertness
+    in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with
+    well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt.' What say
+    you to this? What do you know of it?
+  PAROLLES. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the
+    inter'gatories. Demand them singly.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Do you know this Captain Dumain?
+  PAROLLES. I know him: 'a was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from
+    whence he was whipt for getting the shrieve's fool with child-a
+    dumb innocent that could not say him nay.
+  BERTRAM. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his
+    brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's
+    camp?
+  PAROLLES. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.  
+  SECOND LORD. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your
+    lordship anon.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. What is his reputation with the Duke?
+  PAROLLES. The Duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of
+    mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' th' band.
+    I think I have his letter in my pocket.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Marry, we'll search.
+  PAROLLES. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it
+    is upon a file with the Duke's other letters in my tent.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read it to you?
+  PAROLLES. I do not know if it be it or no.
+  BERTRAM. Our interpreter does it well.
+  SECOND LORD. Excellently.
+  FIRST SOLDIER.  [Reads]  'Dian, the Count's a fool, and full of
+    gold.'
+  PAROLLES. That is not the Duke's letter, sir; that is an
+    advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take
+    heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle
+    boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, sir, put it up
+    again.  
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Nay, I'll read it first by your favour.
+  PAROLLES. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf
+    of the maid; for I knew the young Count to be a dangerous and
+    lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all
+    the fry it finds.
+  BERTRAM. Damnable both-sides rogue!
+  FIRST SOLDIER.                                         [Reads]
+    'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
+    After he scores, he never pays the score.
+    Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;
+    He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before.
+    And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this:
+    Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss;
+    For count of this, the Count's a fool, I know it,
+    Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
+    Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,
+                                                   PAROLLES.'
+  BERTRAM. He shall be whipt through the army with this rhyme in's
+    forehead.
+  FIRST LORD. This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold  
+    linguist, and the amnipotent soldier.
+  BERTRAM. I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he's a
+    cat to me.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. I perceive, sir, by our General's looks we shall be
+    fain to hang you.
+  PAROLLES. My life, sir, in any case! Not that I am afraid to die,
+    but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the
+    remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' th'
+    stocks, or anywhere, so I may live.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely;
+    therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answer'd to
+    his reputation with the Duke, and to his valour; what is his
+    honesty?
+  PAROLLES. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes
+    and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of
+    oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie,
+    sir, with such volubility that you would think truth were a fool.
+    Drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and
+    in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bedclothes about
+    him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have  
+    but little more to say, sir, of his honesty. He has everything
+    that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should
+    have he has nothing.
+  SECOND LORD. I begin to love him for this.
+  BERTRAM. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him! For
+    me, he's more and more a cat.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. What say you to his expertness in war?
+  PAROLLES. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English
+    tragedians-to belie him I will not-and more of his soldier-ship
+    I know not, except in that country he had the honour to be the
+    officer at a place there called Mile-end to instruct for the
+    doubling of files-I would do the man what honour I can-but of
+    this I am not certain.
+  SECOND LORD. He hath out-villain'd villainy so far that the rarity
+    redeems him.
+  BERTRAM. A pox on him! he's a cat still.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not
+    to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.
+  PAROLLES. Sir, for a cardecue he will sell the fee-simple of his
+    salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut th' entail from all  
+    remainders and a perpetual succession for it perpetually.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?
+  FIRST LORD. Why does he ask him of me?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. What's he?
+  PAROLLES. E'en a crow o' th' same nest; not altogether so great as
+    the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He
+    excels his brother for a coward; yet his brother is reputed one
+    of the best that is. In a retreat he outruns any lackey: marry,
+    in coming on he has the cramp.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray
+    the Florentine?
+  PAROLLES. Ay, and the Captain of his Horse, Count Rousillon.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. I'll whisper with the General, and know his
+    pleasure.
+  PAROLLES.  [Aside]  I'll no more drumming. A plague of all drums!
+    Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of
+    that lascivious young boy the Count, have I run into this danger.
+    Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die.
+    The General says you that have so traitorously discover'd the  
+    secrets of your army, and made such pestiferous reports of men
+    very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore
+    you must die. Come, headsman, of with his head.
+  PAROLLES. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!
+  FIRST SOLDIER. That shall you, and take your leave of all your
+    friends.  [Unmuffling him]  So look about you; know you any here?
+  BERTRAM. Good morrow, noble Captain.
+  FIRST LORD. God bless you, Captain Parolles.
+  SECOND LORD. God save you, noble Captain.
+  FIRST LORD. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am
+    for France.
+  SECOND LORD. Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet
+    you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? An I were not
+    a very coward I'd compel it of you; but fare you well.
+                                        Exeunt BERTRAM and LORDS
+  FIRST SOLDIER. You are undone, Captain, all but your scarf; that
+    has a knot on 't yet.
+  PAROLLES. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. If you could find out a country where but women were
+    that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent  
+    nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of
+    you there.                                Exit with SOLDIERS
+  PAROLLES. Yet am I thankful. If my heart were great,
+    'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more;
+    But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft
+    As captain shall. Simply the thing I am
+    Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
+    Let him fear this; for it will come to pass
+    That every braggart shall be found an ass.
+    Rust, sword; cool, blushes; and, Parolles, live
+    Safest in shame. Being fool'd, by fool'ry thrive.
+    There's place and means for every man alive.
+    I'll after them.                                        Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV SCENE 4.
+The WIDOW'S house
+
+Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA
+
+  HELENA. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you!
+    One of the greatest in the Christian world
+    Shall be my surety; fore whose throne 'tis needful,
+    Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel.
+    Time was I did him a desired office,
+    Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
+    Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,
+    And answer 'Thanks.' I duly am inform'd
+    His Grace is at Marseilles, to which place
+    We have convenient convoy. You must know
+    I am supposed dead. The army breaking,
+    My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
+    And by the leave of my good lord the King,
+    We'll be before our welcome.
+  WIDOW. Gentle madam,
+    You never had a servant to whose trust
+    Your business was more welcome.  
+  HELENA. Nor you, mistress,
+    Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour
+    To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven
+    Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,
+    As it hath fated her to be my motive
+    And helper to a husband. But, O strange men!
+    That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
+    When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
+    Defiles the pitchy night. So lust doth play
+    With what it loathes, for that which is away.
+    But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,
+    Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
+    Something in my behalf.
+  DIANA. Let death and honesty
+    Go with your impositions, I am yours
+    Upon your will to suffer.
+  HELENA. Yet, I pray you:
+    But with the word the time will bring on summer,
+    When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns
+    And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;  
+    Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us.
+    All's Well that Ends Well. Still the fine's the crown.
+    Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV SCENE 5.
+Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
+
+Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN
+
+  LAFEU. No, no, no, son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow
+    there, whose villainous saffron would have made all the unbak'd
+    and doughy youth of a nation in his colour. Your daughter-in-law
+    had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more
+    advanc'd by the King than by that red-tail'd humble-bee I speak
+    of.
+  COUNTESS. I would I had not known him. It was the death of the most
+    virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If
+    she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a
+    mother. I could not have owed her a more rooted love.
+  LAFEU. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand
+    sallets ere we light on such another herb.
+  CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the sallet, or,
+    rather, the herb of grace.
+  LAFEU. They are not sallet-herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.
+  CLOWN. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in
+    grass.  
+  LAFEU. Whether dost thou profess thyself-a knave or a fool?
+  CLOWN. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.
+  LAFEU. Your distinction?
+  CLOWN. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service.
+  LAFEU. So you were a knave at his service, indeed.
+  CLOWN. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.
+  LAFEU. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool.
+  CLOWN. At your service.
+  LAFEU. No, no, no.
+  CLOWN. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a
+    prince as you are.
+  LAFEU. Who's that? A Frenchman?
+  CLOWN. Faith, sir, 'a has an English name; but his fisnomy is more
+    hotter in France than there.
+  LAFEU. What prince is that?
+  CLOWN. The Black Prince, sir; alias, the Prince of Darkness; alias,
+    the devil.
+  LAFEU. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest
+    thee from thy master thou talk'st of; serve him still.
+  CLOWN. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire;  
+    and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he
+    is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I
+    am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too
+    little for pomp to enter. Some that humble themselves may; but
+    the many will be too chill and tender: and they'll be for the
+    flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.
+  LAFEU. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee
+    so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways;
+    let my horses be well look'd to, without any tricks.
+  CLOWN. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades'
+    tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature.
+ Exit
+  LAFEU. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.
+  COUNTESS. So 'a is. My lord that's gone made himself much  sport
+    out of him. By his authority he remains here, which he thinks is
+    a patent for his sauciness; and indeed he has no pace, but runs
+    where he will.
+  LAFEU. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell
+    you, since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my lord
+    your son was upon his return home, I moved the King my master to  
+    speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of
+    them both, his Majesty out of a self-gracious remembrance did
+    first propose. His Highness hath promis'd me to do it; and, to
+    stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there
+    is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?
+  COUNTESS. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily
+    effected.
+  LAFEU. His Highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as
+    when he number'd thirty; 'a will be here to-morrow, or I am
+    deceiv'd by him that in such intelligence hath seldom fail'd.
+  COUNTESS. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die.
+    I have letters that my son will be here to-night. I shall beseech
+    your lordship to remain with me tal they meet together.
+  LAFEU. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be
+    admitted.
+  COUNTESS. You need but plead your honourable privilege.
+  LAFEU. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my
+    God, it holds yet.
+
+                         Re-enter CLOWN  
+
+  CLOWN. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet
+    on's face; whether there be a scar under 't or no, the velvet
+    knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet. His left cheek is a
+    cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.
+  LAFEU. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good liv'ry of
+    honour; so belike is that.
+  CLOWN. But it is your carbonado'd face.
+  LAFEU. Let us go see your son, I pray you;
+    I long to talk with the young noble soldier.
+  CLOWN. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and
+    most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+Marseilles. A street
+
+Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA, with two ATTENDANTS
+
+  HELENA. But this exceeding posting day and night
+    Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it.
+    But since you have made the days and nights as one,
+    To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
+    Be bold you do so grow in my requital
+    As nothing can unroot you.
+
+                      Enter a GENTLEMAN
+
+    In happy time!
+    This man may help me to his Majesty's ear,
+    If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.
+  GENTLEMAN. And you.
+  HELENA. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
+  GENTLEMAN. I have been sometimes there.
+  HELENA. I do presume, sir, that you are not fall'n
+    From the report that goes upon your goodness;  
+    And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
+    Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
+    The use of your own virtues, for the which
+    I shall continue thankful.
+  GENTLEMAN. What's your will?
+  HELENA. That it will please you
+    To give this poor petition to the King;
+    And aid me with that store of power you have
+    To come into his presence.
+  GENTLEMAN. The King's not here.
+  HELENA. Not here, sir?
+  GENTLEMAN. Not indeed.
+    He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste
+    Than is his use.
+  WIDOW. Lord, how we lose our pains!
+  HELENA. All's Well That Ends Well yet,
+    Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.
+    I do beseech you, whither is he gone?
+  GENTLEMAN. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
+    Whither I am going.  
+  HELENA. I do beseech you, sir,
+    Since you are like to see the King before me,
+    Commend the paper to his gracious hand;
+    Which I presume shall render you no blame,
+    But rather make you thank your pains for it.
+    I will come after you with what good speed
+    Our means will make us means.
+  GENTLEMAN. This I'll do for you.
+  HELENA. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
+    Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again;
+    Go, go, provide.                                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V SCENE 2.
+Rousillon. The inner court of the COUNT'S palace
+
+Enter CLOWN and PAROLLES
+
+  PAROLLES. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter. I
+    have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held
+    familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in
+    Fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong
+    displeasure.
+  CLOWN. Truly, Fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell
+    so strongly as thou speak'st of. I will henceforth eat no fish
+    of Fortune's butt'ring. Prithee, allow the wind.
+  PAROLLES. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by
+    a metaphor.
+  CLOWN. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or
+    against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further.
+  PAROLLES. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.
+  CLOWN. Foh! prithee stand away. A paper from Fortune's close-stool
+    to give to a nobleman! Look here he comes himself.
+
+                           Enter LAFEU  
+
+    Here is a pur of Fortune's, sir, or of Fortune's cat, but not
+    a musk-cat, that has fall'n into the unclean fishpond of her
+    displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir,
+    use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,
+    ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress
+    in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your lordship.
+ Exit
+  PAROLLES. My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratch'd.
+  LAFEU. And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her
+    nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with Fortune, that
+    she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would
+    not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a cardecue for
+    you. Let the justices make you and Fortune friends; I am for
+    other business.
+  PAROLLES. I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.
+  LAFEU. You beg a single penny more; come, you shall ha't; save your
+    word.
+  PAROLLES. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
+  LAFEU. You beg more than word then. Cox my passion! give me your  
+    hand. How does your drum?
+  PAROLLES. O my good lord, you were the first that found me.
+  LAFEU. Was I, in sooth? And I was the first that lost thee.
+  PAROLLES. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for
+    you did bring me out.
+  LAFEU. Out upon thee, knave! Dost thou put upon me at once both the
+    office of God and the devil? One brings the in grace, and the
+    other brings thee out.    [Trumpets sound]  The King's coming; I
+    know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had
+    talk of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you
+    shall eat. Go to; follow.
+  PAROLLES. I praise God for you.                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V SCENE 3.
+Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
+
+Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two FRENCH LORDS, with ATTENDANTS
+
+  KING. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem
+    Was made much poorer by it; but your son,
+    As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
+    Her estimation home.
+  COUNTESS. 'Tis past, my liege;
+    And I beseech your Majesty to make it
+    Natural rebellion, done i' th' blaze of youth,
+    When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
+    O'erbears it and burns on.
+  KING. My honour'd lady,
+    I have forgiven and forgotten all;
+    Though my revenges were high bent upon him
+    And watch'd the time to shoot.
+  LAFEU. This I must say-
+    But first, I beg my pardon: the young lord
+    Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady,  
+    Offence of mighty note; but to himself
+    The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
+    Whose beauty did astonish the survey
+    Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive;
+    Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve
+    Humbly call'd mistress.
+  KING. Praising what is lost
+    Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
+    We are 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
+    Th' incensing relics of it; let him approach,
+    A stranger, no offender; and inform him
+    So 'tis our will he should.
+  GENTLEMAN. I shall, my liege.                 Exit GENTLEMAN
+  KING. What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke?
+  LAFEU. All that he is hath reference to your Highness.
+  KING. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
+    That sets him high in fame.  
+
+                          Enter BERTRAM
+
+  LAFEU. He looks well on 't.
+  KING. I am not a day of season,
+    For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
+    In me at once. But to the brightest beams
+    Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;
+    The time is fair again.
+  BERTRAM. My high-repented blames,
+    Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
+  KING. All is whole;
+    Not one word more of the consumed time.
+    Let's take the instant by the forward top;
+    For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
+    Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
+    Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
+    The daughter of this lord?
+  BERTRAM. Admiringly, my liege. At first
+    I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart  
+    Durst make too bold herald of my tongue;
+    Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
+    Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
+    Which warp'd the line of every other favour,
+    Scorn'd a fair colour or express'd it 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.
+  KING. Well 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 carried,
+    To the great sender turns a sour offence,
+    Crying 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults
+    Make trivial price of serious things we have,
+    Not knowing them until we know their grave.
+    Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
+    Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust;  
+    Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
+    While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
+    Be this sweet Helen's knell. And now forget her.
+    Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin.
+    The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
+    To see our widower's second marriage-day.
+  COUNTESS. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
+    Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!
+  LAFEU. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
+    Must be digested; give a favour from you,
+    To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
+    That she may quickly come.
+                                          [BERTRAM gives a ring]
+    By my old beard,
+    And ev'ry 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,
+    I saw upon her finger.
+  BERTRAM. Hers it was not.
+  KING. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,  
+    While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
+    This ring was mine; and when I gave it Helen
+    I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
+    Necessitied to help, that by this token
+    I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her
+    Of what should stead her most?
+  BERTRAM. My gracious sovereign,
+    Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
+    The ring was never hers.
+  COUNTESS. Son, on my life,
+    I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
+    At her life's rate.
+  LAFEU. I am sure I saw her wear it.
+  BERTRAM. You are 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 thought
+    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 med'cine,
+    Hath not in nature's mystery more science
+    Than I have in this ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
+    Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
+    That you are well acquainted with yourself,
+    Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
+    You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety
+    That she would never put it from her finger
+    Unless she gave it to yourself in bed-
+    Where you have never come- or sent it us
+    Upon her great disaster.
+  BERTRAM. She never saw it.
+  KING. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
+    And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me
+    Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
+    That thou art so inhuman- 'twill not prove so.  
+    And yet I know not- thou didst hate her deadly,
+    And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
+    Her eyes myself, could win me to believe
+    More than to see this ring. Take him away.
+                                          [GUARDS seize BERTRAM]
+    My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
+    Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
+    Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him.
+    We'll sift this matter further.
+  BERTRAM. If you shall prove
+    This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
+    Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
+    Where she yet never was.                       Exit, guarded
+  KING. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.
+
+                        Enter a GENTLEMAN
+
+  GENTLEMAN. Gracious sovereign,
+    Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:
+    Here's a petition from a Florentine,  
+    Who hath, for four or five removes, come short
+    To tender it herself. I undertook it,
+    Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
+    Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know,
+    Is here attending; her business looks in her
+    With an importing visage; and she told me
+    In a sweet verbal brief it did concern
+    Your Highness with herself.
+  KING.  [Reads the letter]  'Upon his many protestations to marry me
+    when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the
+    Count Rousillon a widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my
+    honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave,
+    and I follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, O King!
+    in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor
+    maid is undone.
+                                                DIANA CAPILET.'
+  LAFEU. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this.
+    I'll none of him.
+  KING. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
+    To bring forth this discov'ry. Seek these suitors.  
+    Go speedily, and bring again the Count.
+                                               Exeunt ATTENDANTS
+    I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
+    Was foully snatch'd.
+  COUNTESS. Now, justice on the doers!
+
+                       Enter BERTRAM, guarded
+
+  KING. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you.
+    And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
+    Yet you desire to marry.
+                                           Enter WIDOW and DIANA
+    What woman's that?
+  DIANA. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
+    Derived from the ancient Capilet.
+    My suit, as I do understand, you know,
+    And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
+  WIDOW. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
+    Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
+    And both shall cease, without your remedy.  
+  KING. Come hither, Count; do you know these women?
+  BERTRAM. My lord, I neither can nor will deny
+    But that I know them. Do they charge me further?
+  DIANA. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
+  BERTRAM. She's none of mine, my lord.
+  DIANA. If you shall marry,
+    You give away this hand, and that is mine;
+    You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
+    You give away myself, which is known mine;
+    For I by vow am so embodied yours
+    That she which marries you must marry me,
+    Either both or none.
+  LAFEU.  [To BERTRAM]  Your reputation comes too short for
+    my daughter; you are no husband for her.
+  BERTRAM. My lord, this is a fond and desp'rate creature
+    Whom sometime I have laugh'd with. Let your Highness
+    Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
+    Than for to think that I would sink it here.
+  KING. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
+    Till your deeds gain them. Fairer prove your honour  
+    Than in my thought it lies!
+  DIANA. Good my lord,
+    Ask him upon his oath if he does think
+    He had not my virginity.
+  KING. What say'st thou to her?
+  BERTRAM. She's impudent, my lord,
+    And was a common gamester to the camp.
+  DIANA. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so
+    He might have bought me at a common price.
+    Do not believe him. o, behold this ring,
+    Whose high respect and rich validity
+    Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,
+    He gave it to a commoner o' th' camp,
+    If I be one.
+  COUNTESS. He blushes, and 'tis it.
+    Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
+    Conferr'd by testament to th' sequent issue,
+    Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife:
+    That ring's a thousand proofs.
+  KING. Methought you said  
+    You saw one here in court could witness it.
+  DIANA. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
+    So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles.
+  LAFEU. I saw the man to-day, if man he be.
+  KING. Find him, and bring him hither.        Exit an ATTENDANT
+  BERTRAM. What of him?
+    He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
+    With all the spots o' th' world tax'd and debauch'd,
+    Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
+    Am I or that or this for what he'll utter
+    That will speak anything?
+  KING. She hath that ring of yours.
+  BERTRAM. I think she has. Certain it is I lik'd her,
+    And boarded her i' th' wanton way of youth.
+    She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
+    Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
+    As all impediments in fancy's course
+    Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
+    Her infinite cunning with her modern grace
+    Subdu'd me to her rate. She got the ring;  
+    And I had that which any inferior might
+    At market-price have bought.
+  DIANA. I must be patient.
+    You that have turn'd off a first so noble wife
+    May justly diet me. I pray you yet-
+    Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband-
+    Send for your ring, I will return it home,
+    And give me mine again.
+  BERTRAM. I have it not.
+  KING. What ring was yours, I pray you?
+  DIANA. Sir, much like
+    The same upon your finger.
+  KING. Know you this ring? This ring was his of late.
+  DIANA. And this was it I gave him, being abed.
+  KING. The story, then, goes false you threw it him
+    Out of a casement.
+  DIANA. I have spoke the truth.
+
+                       Enter PAROLLES
+  
+  BERTRAM. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.
+  KING. You boggle shrewdly; every feather starts you.
+    Is this the man you speak of?
+  DIANA. Ay, my lord.
+  KING. Tell me, sirrah-but tell me true I charge you,
+    Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
+    Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off-
+    By him and by this woman here what know you?
+  PAROLLES. So please your Majesty, my master hath been an honourable
+    gentleman; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have.
+  KING. Come, come, to th' purpose. Did he love this woman?
+  PAROLLES. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?
+  KING. How, I pray you?
+  PAROLLES. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.
+  KING. How is that?
+  PAROLLES. He lov'd her, sir, and lov'd her not.
+  KING. As thou art a knave and no knave.
+    What an equivocal companion is this!
+  PAROLLES. I am a poor man, and at your Majesty's command.
+  LAFEU. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.  
+  DIANA. Do you know he promis'd me marriage?
+  PAROLLES. Faith, I know more than I'll speak.
+  KING. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st?
+  PAROLLES. Yes, so please your Majesty. I did go between them, as I
+    said; but more than that, he loved her-for indeed he was mad for
+    her, and talk'd of Satan, and of Limbo, and of Furies, and I know
+    not what. Yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I
+    knew of their going to bed; and of other motions, as promising
+    her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak
+    of; therefore I will not speak what I know.
+  KING. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are
+    married; but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand
+    aside.
+    This ring, you say, was yours?
+  DIANA. Ay, my good lord.
+  KING. Where did you buy it? Or who gave it you?
+  DIANA. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
+  KING. Who lent it you?
+  DIANA. It was not lent me neither.
+  KING. Where did you find it then?  
+  DIANA. I found it not.
+  KING. If it were yours by none of all these ways,
+    How could you give it him?
+  DIANA. I never gave it him.
+  LAFEU. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes of and on at
+    pleasure.
+  KING. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.
+  DIANA. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.
+  KING. Take her away, I do not like her now;
+    To prison with her. And away with him.
+    Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
+    Thou diest within this hour.
+  DIANA. I'll never tell you.
+  KING. Take her away.
+  DIANA. I'll put in bail, my liege.
+  KING. I think thee now some common customer.
+  DIANA. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.
+  KING. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this while?
+  DIANA. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty.
+    He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't:  
+    I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
+    Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life;
+    I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.
+                                             [Pointing to LAFEU]
+  KING. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her.
+  DIANA. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir;
+                                                      Exit WIDOW
+    The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
+    And he shall surety me. But for this lord
+    Who hath abus'd me as he knows himself,
+    Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him.
+    He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd;
+    And at that time he got his wife with child.
+    Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
+    So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick-
+    And now behold the meaning.
+
+                     Re-enter WIDOW with HELENA
+
+  KING. Is there no exorcist  
+    Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
+    Is't real that I see?
+  HELENA. No, my good lord;
+    'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
+    The name and not the thing.
+  BERTRAM. Both, both; o, pardon!
+  HELENA. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid,
+    I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring,
+    And, look you, here's your letter. This it says:
+    'When from my finger you can get this ring,
+    And are by me with child,' etc. This is done.
+    Will you be mine now you are doubly won?
+  BERTRAM. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
+    I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
+  HELENA. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
+    Deadly divorce step between me and you!
+    O my dear mother, do I see you living?
+  LAFEU. Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon. [To PAROLLES]
+    Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher. So, I
+    thank thee. Wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee;  
+    let thy curtsies alone, they are scurvy ones.
+  KING. Let us from point to point this story know,
+    To make the even truth in pleasure flow.
+    [To DIANA]  If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower,
+    Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
+    For I can guess that by thy honest aid
+    Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.-
+    Of that and all the progress, more and less,
+    Resolvedly more leisure shall express.
+    All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
+    The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.       [Flourish]
+
+EPILOGUE
+                             EPILOGUE.
+
+  KING. The King's a beggar, now the play is done.
+    All is well ended if this suit be won,
+    That you express content; which we will pay
+    With strife to please you, day exceeding day.
+    Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
+    Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.
+                                                    Exeunt omnes
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1607
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  MARK ANTONY,         Triumvirs
+  OCTAVIUS CAESAR,         "
+  M. AEMILIUS LEPIDUS,     "
+  SEXTUS POMPEIUS,         "
+  DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, friend to Antony
+  VENTIDIUS,             "    "   "
+  EROS,                  "    "   "
+  SCARUS,                "    "   "
+  DERCETAS,              "    "   "
+  DEMETRIUS,             "    "   "
+  PHILO,                 "    "   "
+  MAECENAS,   friend to Caesar
+  AGRIPPA,       "    "   "
+  DOLABELLA,     "    "   "
+  PROCULEIUS,    "    "   "
+  THYREUS,       "    "   "
+  GALLUS,        "    "   "
+  MENAS,      friend to Pompey
+  MENECRATES,    "    "    "
+  VARRIUS,       "    "    "  
+  TAURUS, Lieutenant-General to Caesar
+  CANIDIUS, Lieutenant-General to Antony
+  SILIUS, an Officer in Ventidius's army
+  EUPHRONIUS, an Ambassador from Antony to Caesar
+  ALEXAS,   attendant on Cleopatra
+  MARDIAN,      "     "      "
+  SELEUCUS,     "     "      "
+  DIOMEDES,     "     "      "
+  A SOOTHSAYER
+  A CLOWN
+
+  CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt
+  OCTAVIA, sister to Caesar and wife to Antony
+  CHARMIAN, lady attending on Cleopatra
+  IRAS,       "      "      "     "
+
+
+
+  Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+The Roman Empire
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+Enter DEMETRIUS and PHILO
+
+  PHILO. Nay, but this dotage of our general's
+    O'erflows the measure. Those his goodly eyes,
+    That o'er the files and musters of the war
+    Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
+    The office and devotion of their view
+    Upon a tawny front. His captain's heart,
+    Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
+    The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper,
+    And is become the bellows and the fan
+    To cool a gipsy's lust.
+
+     Flourish. Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, her LADIES, the train,
+                    with eunuchs fanning her
+
+    Look where they come!
+    Take but good note, and you shall see in him
+    The triple pillar of the world transform'd  
+    Into a strumpet's fool. Behold and see.
+  CLEOPATRA. If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
+  ANTONY. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
+  CLEOPATRA. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd.
+  ANTONY. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
+
+                       Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. News, my good lord, from Rome.
+  ANTONY. Grates me the sum.
+  CLEOPATRA. Nay, hear them, Antony.
+    Fulvia perchance is angry; or who knows
+    If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent
+    His pow'rful mandate to you: 'Do this or this;
+    Take in that kingdom and enfranchise that;
+    Perform't, or else we damn thee.'
+  ANTONY. How, my love?
+  CLEOPATRA. Perchance? Nay, and most like,
+    You must not stay here longer; your dismission
+    Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.  
+    Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? Both?
+    Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's Queen,
+    Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine
+    Is Caesar's homager. Else so thy cheek pays shame
+    When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The messengers!
+  ANTONY. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
+    Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space.
+    Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike
+    Feeds beast as man. The nobleness of life
+    Is to do thus [emhracing], when such a mutual pair
+    And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
+    On pain of punishment, the world to weet
+    We stand up peerless.
+  CLEOPATRA. Excellent falsehood!
+    Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
+    I'll seem the fool I am not. Antony
+    Will be himself.
+  ANTONY. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
+    Now for the love of Love and her soft hours,
+    Let's not confound the time with conference harsh;  
+    There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
+    Without some pleasure now. What sport to-night?
+  CLEOPATRA. Hear the ambassadors.
+  ANTONY. Fie, wrangling queen!
+    Whom everything becomes- to chide, to laugh,
+    To weep; whose every passion fully strives
+    To make itself in thee fair and admir'd.
+    No messenger but thine, and all alone
+    To-night we'll wander through the streets and note
+    The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
+    Last night you did desire it. Speak not to us.
+                     Exeunt ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with the train
+  DEMETRIUS. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight?
+  PHILO. Sir, sometimes when he is not Antony,
+    He comes too short of that great property
+    Which still should go with Antony.
+  DEMETRIUS. I am full sorry
+    That he approves the common liar, who
+    Thus speaks of him at Rome; but I will hope
+    Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a SOOTHSAYER
+
+  CHARMIAN. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost
+    most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you prais'd so
+    to th' Queen? O that I knew this husband, which you say must
+    charge his horns with garlands!
+  ALEXAS. Soothsayer!
+  SOOTHSAYER. Your will?
+  CHARMIAN. Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things?
+  SOOTHSAYER. In nature's infinite book of secrecy
+    A little I can read.
+  ALEXAS. Show him your hand.
+
+                       Enter ENOBARBUS
+
+  ENOBARBUS. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough
+    Cleopatra's health to drink.
+  CHARMIAN. Good, sir, give me good fortune.
+  SOOTHSAYER. I make not, but foresee.  
+  CHARMIAN. Pray, then, foresee me one.
+  SOOTHSAYER. You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
+  CHARMIAN. He means in flesh.
+  IRAS. No, you shall paint when you are old.
+  CHARMIAN. Wrinkles forbid!
+  ALEXAS. Vex not his prescience; be attentive.
+  CHARMIAN. Hush!
+  SOOTHSAYER. You shall be more beloving than beloved.
+  CHARMIAN. I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
+  ALEXAS. Nay, hear him.
+  CHARMIAN. Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to
+    three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all. Let me have a
+    child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage. Find me to
+    marry me with Octavius Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.
+  SOOTHSAYER. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.
+  CHARMIAN. O, excellent! I love long life better than figs.
+  SOOTHSAYER. You have seen and prov'd a fairer former fortune
+    Than that which is to approach.
+  CHARMIAN. Then belike my children shall have no names.
+    Prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?  
+  SOOTHSAYER. If every of your wishes had a womb,
+    And fertile every wish, a million.
+  CHARMIAN. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.
+  ALEXAS. You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.
+  CHARMIAN. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
+  ALEXAS. We'll know all our fortunes.
+  ENOBARBUS. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be-
+    drunk to bed.
+  IRAS. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.
+  CHARMIAN. E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.
+  IRAS. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.
+  CHARMIAN. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I
+    cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell her but worky-day fortune.
+  SOOTHSAYER. Your fortunes are alike.
+  IRAS. But how, but how? Give me particulars.
+  SOOTHSAYER. I have said.
+  IRAS. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?
+  CHARMIAN. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I,
+    where would you choose it?
+  IRAS. Not in my husband's nose.  
+  CHARMIAN. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas- come, his
+    fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman that cannot go,
+    sweet Isis, I beseech thee! And let her die too, and give him a
+    worse! And let worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow
+    him laughing to his grave, fiftyfold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear
+    me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good
+    Isis, I beseech thee!
+  IRAS. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as
+    it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wiv'd, so it is
+    a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded. Therefore,
+    dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly!
+  CHARMIAN. Amen.
+  ALEXAS. Lo now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they
+    would make themselves whores but they'ld do't!
+
+                          Enter CLEOPATRA
+
+  ENOBARBUS. Hush! Here comes Antony.
+  CHARMIAN. Not he; the Queen.
+  CLEOPATRA. Saw you my lord?  
+  ENOBARBUS. No, lady.
+  CLEOPATRA. Was he not here?
+  CHARMIAN. No, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden
+    A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!
+  ENOBARBUS. Madam?
+  CLEOPATRA. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas?
+  ALEXAS. Here, at your service. My lord approaches.
+
+          Enter ANTONY, with a MESSENGER and attendants
+
+  CLEOPATRA. We will not look upon him. Go with us.
+                       Exeunt CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, and the rest
+  MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.
+  ANTONY. Against my brother Lucius?
+  MESSENGER. Ay.
+    But soon that war had end, and the time's state
+    Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Caesar,
+    Whose better issue in the war from Italy
+    Upon the first encounter drave them.  
+  ANTONY. Well, what worst?
+  MESSENGER. The nature of bad news infects the teller.
+  ANTONY. When it concerns the fool or coward. On!
+    Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus:
+    Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
+    I hear him as he flatter'd.
+  MESSENGER. Labienus-
+    This is stiff news- hath with his Parthian force
+    Extended Asia from Euphrates,
+    His conquering banner shook from Syria
+    To Lydia and to Ionia,
+    Whilst-
+  ANTONY. Antony, thou wouldst say.
+  MESSENGER. O, my lord!
+  ANTONY. Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue;
+    Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome.
+    Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase, and taunt my faults
+    With such full licence as both truth and malice
+    Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds
+    When our quick minds lie still, and our ills told us  
+    Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.
+  MESSENGER. At your noble pleasure.                        Exit
+  ANTONY. From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there!
+  FIRST ATTENDANT. The man from Sicyon- is there such an one?
+  SECOND ATTENDANT. He stays upon your will.
+  ANTONY. Let him appear.
+    These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
+    Or lose myself in dotage.
+
+                 Enter another MESSENGER with a letter
+
+    What are you?
+  SECOND MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife is dead.
+  ANTONY. Where died she?
+  SECOND MESSENGER. In Sicyon.
+    Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
+    Importeth thee to know, this bears.       [Gives the letter]
+  ANTONY. Forbear me.                             Exit MESSENGER
+    There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it.
+    What our contempts doth often hurl from us  
+    We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
+    By revolution low'ring, does become
+    The opposite of itself. She's good, being gone;
+    The hand could pluck her back that shov'd her on.
+    I must from this enchanting queen break off.
+    Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
+    My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus!
+
+                    Re-enter ENOBARBUS
+
+  ENOBARBUS. What's your pleasure, sir?
+  ANTONY. I must with haste from hence.
+  ENOBARBUS. Why, then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an
+    unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the
+    word.
+  ANTONY. I must be gone.
+  ENOBARBUS. Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity
+    to cast them away for nothing, though between them and a great
+    cause they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but
+    the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die  
+    twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is mettle
+    in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a
+    celerity in dying.
+  ANTONY. She is cunning past man's thought.
+  ENOBARBUS. Alack, sir, no! Her passions are made of nothing but the
+    finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters
+    sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than
+    almanacs can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she
+    makes a show'r of rain as well as Jove.
+  ANTONY. Would I had never seen her!
+  ENOBARBUS. O Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of
+    work, which not to have been blest withal would have discredited
+    your travel.
+  ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.
+  ENOBARBUS. Sir?
+  ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.
+  ENOBARBUS. Fulvia?
+  ANTONY. Dead.
+  ENOBARBUS. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it
+    pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it  
+    shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein that
+    when old robes are worn out there are members to make new. If
+    there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut,
+    and the case to be lamented. This grief is crown'd with
+    consolation: your old smock brings forth a new petticoat; and
+    indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.
+  ANTONY. The business she hath broached in the state
+    Cannot endure my absence.
+  ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be
+    without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends
+    on your abode.
+  ANTONY. No more light answers. Let our officers
+    Have notice what we purpose. I shall break
+    The cause of our expedience to the Queen,
+    And get her leave to part. For not alone
+    The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
+    Do strongly speak to us; but the letters to
+    Of many our contriving friends in Rome
+    Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius
+    Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands  
+    The empire of the sea; our slippery people,
+    Whose love is never link'd to the deserver
+    Till his deserts are past, begin to throw
+    Pompey the Great and all his dignities
+    Upon his son; who, high in name and power,
+    Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
+    For the main soldier; whose quality, going on,
+    The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding
+    Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life
+    And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure,
+    To such whose place is under us, requires
+    Our quick remove from hence.
+  ENOBARBUS. I shall do't.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Where is he?
+  CHARMIAN. I did not see him since.
+  CLEOPATRA. See where he is, who's with him, what he does.
+    I did not send you. If you find him sad,
+    Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report
+    That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return.        Exit ALEXAS
+  CHARMIAN. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,
+    You do not hold the method to enforce
+    The like from him.
+  CLEOPATRA. What should I do I do not?
+  CHARMIAN. In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.
+  CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest like a fool- the way to lose him.
+  CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear;
+    In time we hate that which we often fear.
+
+                            Enter ANTONY
+  
+    But here comes Antony.
+  CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen.
+  ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose-
+  CLEOPATRA. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall.
+    It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature
+    Will not sustain it.
+  ANTONY. Now, my dearest queen-
+  CLEOPATRA. Pray you, stand farther from me.
+  ANTONY. What's the matter?
+  CLEOPATRA. I know by that same eye there's some good news.
+    What says the married woman? You may go.
+    Would she had never given you leave to come!
+    Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here-
+    I have no power upon you; hers you are.
+  ANTONY. The gods best know-
+  CLEOPATRA. O, never was there queen
+    So mightily betray'd! Yet at the first
+    I saw the treasons planted.
+  ANTONY. Cleopatra-
+  CLEOPATRA. Why should I think you can be mine and true,  
+    Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,
+    Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
+    To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
+    Which break themselves in swearing!
+  ANTONY. Most sweet queen-
+  CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going,
+    But bid farewell, and go. When you sued staying,
+    Then was the time for words. No going then!
+    Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
+    Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor
+    But was a race of heaven. They are so still,
+    Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
+    Art turn'd the greatest liar.
+  ANTONY. How now, lady!
+  CLEOPATRA. I would I had thy inches. Thou shouldst know
+    There were a heart in Egypt.
+  ANTONY. Hear me, queen:
+    The strong necessity of time commands
+    Our services awhile; but my full heart
+    Remains in use with you. Our Italy  
+    Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
+    Makes his approaches to the port of Rome;
+    Equality of two domestic powers
+    Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength,
+    Are newly grown to love. The condemn'd Pompey,
+    Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
+    Into the hearts of such as have not thrived
+    Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
+    And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
+    By any desperate change. My more particular,
+    And that which most with you should safe my going,
+    Is Fulvia's death.
+  CLEOPATRA. Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
+     It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?
+  ANTONY. She's dead, my Queen.
+    Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read
+    The garboils she awak'd. At the last, best.
+    See when and where she died.
+  CLEOPATRA. O most false love!
+    Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill  
+    With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
+    In Fulvia's death how mine receiv'd shall be.
+  ANTONY. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
+    The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
+    As you shall give th' advice. By the fire
+    That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
+    Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war
+    As thou affects.
+  CLEOPATRA. Cut my lace, Charmian, come!
+    But let it be; I am quickly ill and well-
+    So Antony loves.
+  ANTONY. My precious queen, forbear,
+    And give true evidence to his love, which stands
+    An honourable trial.
+  CLEOPATRA. So Fulvia told me.
+    I prithee turn aside and weep for her;
+    Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
+    Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene
+    Of excellent dissembling, and let it look
+    Like perfect honour.  
+  ANTONY. You'll heat my blood; no more.
+  CLEOPATRA. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
+  ANTONY. Now, by my sword-
+  CLEOPATRA. And target. Still he mends;
+    But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian,
+    How this Herculean Roman does become
+    The carriage of his chafe.
+  ANTONY. I'll leave you, lady.
+  CLEOPATRA. Courteous lord, one word.
+    Sir, you and I must part- but that's not it.
+    Sir, you and I have lov'd- but there's not it.
+    That you know well. Something it is I would-
+    O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
+    And I am all forgotten!
+  ANTONY. But that your royalty
+    Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
+    For idleness itself.
+  CLEOPATRA. 'Tis sweating labour
+    To bear such idleness so near the heart
+    As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me;  
+    Since my becomings kill me when they do not
+    Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence;
+    Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,
+    And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword
+    Sit laurel victory, and smooth success
+    Be strew'd before your feet!
+  ANTONY. Let us go. Come.
+    Our separation so abides and flies
+    That thou, residing here, goes yet with me,
+    And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
+    Away!                                                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Rome. CAESAR'S house
+
+Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter; LEPIDUS, and their train
+
+  CAESAR. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
+    It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate
+    Our great competitor. From Alexandria
+    This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes
+    The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike
+    Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy
+    More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or
+    Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners. You shall find there
+    A man who is the abstract of all faults
+    That all men follow.
+  LEPIDUS. I must not think there are
+    Evils enow to darken all his goodness.
+    His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven,
+    More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary
+    Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change
+    Than what he chooses.  
+  CAESAR. You are too indulgent. Let's grant it is not
+    Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
+    To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
+    And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
+    To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
+    With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him-
+    As his composure must be rare indeed
+    Whom these things cannot blemish- yet must Antony
+    No way excuse his foils when we do bear
+    So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
+    His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
+    Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones
+    Call on him for't! But to confound such time
+    That drums him from his sport and speaks as loud
+    As his own state and ours- 'tis to be chid
+    As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge,
+    Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
+    And so rebel to judgment.
+
+                   Enter a MESSENGER  
+
+  LEPIDUS. Here's more news.
+  MESSENGER. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,
+    Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report
+    How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea,
+    And it appears he is belov'd of those
+    That only have fear'd Caesar. To the ports
+    The discontents repair, and men's reports
+    Give him much wrong'd.
+  CAESAR. I should have known no less.
+    It hath been taught us from the primal state
+    That he which is was wish'd until he were;
+    And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth love,
+    Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body,
+    Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
+    Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
+    To rot itself with motion.
+  MESSENGER. Caesar, I bring thee word
+    Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,
+    Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound  
+    With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads
+    They make in Italy; the borders maritime
+    Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt.
+    No vessel can peep forth but 'tis as soon
+    Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
+    Than could his war resisted.
+  CAESAR. Antony,
+    Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
+    Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
+    Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
+    Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
+    Though daintily brought up, with patience more
+    Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink
+    The stale of horses and the gilded puddle
+    Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign
+    The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
+    Yea, like the stag when snow the pasture sheets,
+    The barks of trees thou brows'd. On the Alps
+    It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
+    Which some did die to look on. And all this-  
+    It wounds thine honour that I speak it now-
+    Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
+    So much as lank'd not.
+  LEPIDUS. 'Tis pity of him.
+  CAESAR. Let his shames quickly
+    Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain
+    Did show ourselves i' th' field; and to that end
+    Assemble we immediate council. Pompey
+    Thrives in our idleness.
+  LEPIDUS. To-morrow, Caesar,
+    I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
+    Both what by sea and land I can be able
+    To front this present time.
+  CAESAR. Till which encounter
+    It is my business too. Farewell.
+  LEPIDUS. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime
+    Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
+    To let me be partaker.
+  CAESAR. Doubt not, sir;
+    I knew it for my bond.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Charmian!
+  CHARMIAN. Madam?
+  CLEOPATRA. Ha, ha!
+    Give me to drink mandragora.
+  CHARMIAN. Why, madam?
+  CLEOPATRA. That I might sleep out this great gap of time
+    My Antony is away.
+  CHARMIAN. You think of him too much.
+  CLEOPATRA. O, 'tis treason!
+  CHARMIAN. Madam, I trust, not so.
+  CLEOPATRA. Thou, eunuch Mardian!
+  MARDIAN. What's your Highness' pleasure?
+  CLEOPATRA. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure
+    In aught an eunuch has. 'Tis well for thee
+    That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
+    May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
+  MARDIAN. Yes, gracious madam.  
+  CLEOPATRA. Indeed?
+  MARDIAN. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing
+    But what indeed is honest to be done.
+    Yet have I fierce affections, and think
+    What Venus did with Mars.
+  CLEOPATRA. O Charmian,
+    Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he or sits he?
+    Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?
+    O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
+    Do bravely, horse; for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
+    The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
+    And burgonet of men. He's speaking now,
+    Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?'
+    For so he calls me. Now I feed myself
+    With most delicious poison. Think on me,
+    That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
+    And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar,
+    When thou wast here above the ground, I was
+    A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey
+    Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow;  
+    There would he anchor his aspect and die
+    With looking on his life.
+
+                         Enter ALEXAS
+
+  ALEXAS. Sovereign of Egypt, hail!
+  CLEOPATRA. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!
+    Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath
+    With his tinct gilded thee.
+    How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
+  ALEXAS. Last thing he did, dear Queen,
+    He kiss'd- the last of many doubled kisses-
+    This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.
+  CLEOPATRA. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
+  ALEXAS. 'Good friend,' quoth he
+    'Say the firm Roman to great Egypt sends
+    This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot,
+    To mend the petty present, I will piece
+    Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the East,
+    Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he nodded,  
+    And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed,
+    Who neigh'd so high that what I would have spoke
+    Was beastly dumb'd by him.
+  CLEOPATRA. What, was he sad or merry?
+  ALEXAS. Like to the time o' th' year between the extremes
+    Of hot and cold; he was nor sad nor merry.
+  CLEOPATRA. O well-divided disposition! Note him,
+    Note him, good Charmian; 'tis the man; but note him!
+    He was not sad, for he would shine on those
+    That make their looks by his; he was not merry,
+    Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay
+    In Egypt with his joy; but between both.
+    O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry,
+    The violence of either thee becomes,
+    So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts?
+  ALEXAS. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers.
+    Why do you send so thick?
+  CLEOPATRA. Who's born that day
+    When I forget to send to Antony
+    Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.  
+    Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,
+    Ever love Caesar so?
+  CHARMIAN. O that brave Caesar!
+  CLEOPATRA. Be chok'd with such another emphasis!
+    Say 'the brave Antony.'
+  CHARMIAN. The valiant Caesar!
+  CLEOPATRA. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth
+    If thou with Caesar paragon again
+    My man of men.
+  CHARMIAN. By your most gracious pardon,
+    I sing but after you.
+  CLEOPATRA. My salad days,
+    When I was green in judgment, cold in blood,
+    To say as I said then. But come, away!
+    Get me ink and paper.
+    He shall have every day a several greeting,
+    Or I'll unpeople Egypt.                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Messina. POMPEY'S house
+
+Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS, in warlike manner
+
+  POMPEY. If the great gods be just, they shall assist
+    The deeds of justest men.
+  MENECRATES. Know, worthy Pompey,
+    That what they do delay they not deny.
+  POMPEY. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays
+    The thing we sue for.
+  MENECRATES. We, ignorant of ourselves,
+    Beg often our own harms, which the wise pow'rs
+    Deny us for our good; so find we profit
+    By losing of our prayers.
+  POMPEY. I shall do well.
+    The people love me, and the sea is mine;
+    My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope
+    Says it will come to th' full. Mark Antony
+    In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make
+    No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where  
+    He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both,
+    Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves,
+    Nor either cares for him.
+  MENAS. Caesar and Lepidus
+    Are in the field. A mighty strength they carry.
+  POMPEY. Where have you this? 'Tis false.
+  MENAS. From Silvius, sir.
+  POMPEY. He dreams. I know they are in Rome together,
+    Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love,
+    Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip!
+    Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both;
+    Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts,
+    Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks
+    Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite,
+    That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour
+    Even till a Lethe'd dullness-
+
+                       Enter VARRIUS
+
+    How now, Varrius!  
+  VARRIUS. This is most certain that I shall deliver:
+    Mark Antony is every hour in Rome
+    Expected. Since he went from Egypt 'tis
+    A space for farther travel.
+  POMPEY. I could have given less matter
+    A better ear. Menas, I did not think
+    This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his helm
+    For such a petty war; his soldiership
+    Is twice the other twain. But let us rear
+    The higher our opinion, that our stirring
+    Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck
+    The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony.
+  MENAS. I cannot hope
+    Caesar and Antony shall well greet together.
+    His wife that's dead did trespasses to Caesar;
+    His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think,
+    Not mov'd by Antony.
+  POMPEY. I know not, Menas,
+    How lesser enmities may give way to greater.
+    Were't not that we stand up against them all,  
+    'Twere pregnant they should square between themselves;
+    For they have entertained cause enough
+    To draw their swords. But how the fear of us
+    May cement their divisions, and bind up
+    The petty difference we yet not know.
+    Be't as our gods will have't! It only stands
+    Our lives upon to use our strongest hands.
+    Come, Menas.                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Rome. The house of LEPIDUS
+
+Enter ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS
+
+  LEPIDUS. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
+    And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
+    To soft and gentle speech.
+  ENOBARBUS. I shall entreat him
+    To answer like himself. If Caesar move him,
+    Let Antony look over Caesar's head
+    And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,
+    Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard,
+    I would not shave't to-day.
+  LEPIDUS. 'Tis not a time
+    For private stomaching.
+  ENOBARBUS. Every time
+    Serves for the matter that is then born in't.
+  LEPIDUS. But small to greater matters must give way.
+  ENOBARBUS. Not if the small come first.
+  LEPIDUS. Your speech is passion;
+    But pray you stir no embers up. Here comes  
+    The noble Antony.
+
+                Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS
+
+  ENOBARBUS. And yonder, Caesar.
+
+            Enter CAESAR, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA
+
+  ANTONY. If we compose well here, to Parthia.
+    Hark, Ventidius.
+  CAESAR. I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa.
+  LEPIDUS. Noble friends,
+    That which combin'd us was most great, and let not
+    A leaner action rend us. What's amiss,
+    May it be gently heard. When we debate
+    Our trivial difference loud, we do commit
+    Murder in healing wounds. Then, noble partners,
+    The rather for I earnestly beseech,
+    Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms,
+    Nor curstness grow to th' matter.  
+  ANTONY. 'Tis spoken well.
+    Were we before our arinies, and to fight,
+    I should do thus.                                 [Flourish]
+  CAESAR. Welcome to Rome.
+  ANTONY. Thank you.
+  CAESAR. Sit.
+  ANTONY. Sit, sir.
+  CAESAR. Nay, then.                                  [They sit]
+  ANTONY. I learn you take things ill which are not so,
+    Or being, concern you not.
+  CAESAR. I must be laugh'd at
+    If, or for nothing or a little,
+    Should say myself offended, and with you
+    Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at that I should
+    Once name you derogately when to sound your name
+    It not concern'd me.
+  ANTONY. My being in Egypt, Caesar,
+    What was't to you?
+  CAESAR. No more than my residing here at Rome
+    Might be to you in Egypt. Yet, if you there  
+    Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt
+    Might be my question.
+  ANTONY. How intend you- practis'd?
+  CAESAR. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent
+    By what did here befall me. Your wife and brother
+    Made wars upon me, and their contestation
+    Was theme for you; you were the word of war.
+  ANTONY. You do mistake your business; my brother never
+    Did urge me in his act. I did inquire it,
+    And have my learning from some true reports
+    That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather
+    Discredit my authority with yours,
+    And make the wars alike against my stomach,
+    Having alike your cause? Of this my letters
+    Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel,
+    As matter whole you have not to make it with,
+    It must not be with this.
+  CAESAR. You praise yourself
+    By laying defects of judgment to me; but
+    You patch'd up your excuses.  
+  ANTONY. Not so, not so;
+    I know you could not lack, I am certain on't,
+    Very necessity of this thought, that I,
+    Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,
+    Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars
+    Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,
+    I would you had her spirit in such another!
+    The third o' th' world is yours, which with a snaffle
+    You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
+  ENOBARBUS. Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to
+    wars with the women!
+  ANTONY. So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar,
+    Made out of her impatience- which not wanted
+    Shrewdness of policy too- I grieving grant
+    Did you too much disquiet. For that you must
+    But say I could not help it.
+  CAESAR. I wrote to you
+    When rioting in Alexandria; you
+    Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts
+    Did gibe my missive out of audience.  
+  ANTONY. Sir,
+    He fell upon me ere admitted. Then
+    Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
+    Of what I was i' th' morning; but next day
+    I told him of myself, which was as much
+    As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow
+    Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,
+    Out of our question wipe him.
+  CAESAR. You have broken
+    The article of your oath, which you shall never
+    Have tongue to charge me with.
+  LEPIDUS. Soft, Caesar!
+  ANTONY. No;
+    Lepidus, let him speak.
+    The honour is sacred which he talks on now,
+    Supposing that I lack'd it. But on, Caesar:
+    The article of my oath-
+  CAESAR. To lend me arms and aid when I requir'd them,
+    The which you both denied.
+  ANTONY. Neglected, rather;  
+    And then when poisoned hours had bound me up
+    From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
+    I'll play the penitent to you; but mine honesty
+    Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
+    Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia,
+    To have me out of Egypt, made wars here;
+    For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
+    So far ask pardon as befits mine honour
+    To stoop in such a case.
+  LEPIDUS. 'Tis noble spoken.
+  MAECENAS. If it might please you to enforce no further
+    The griefs between ye- to forget them quite
+    Were to remember that the present need
+    Speaks to atone you.
+  LEPIDUS. Worthily spoken, Maecenas.
+  ENOBARBUS. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant,
+    you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again.
+    You shall have time to wrangle in when you have nothing else to
+    do.
+  ANTONY. Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more.  
+  ENOBARBUS. That truth should be silent I had almost forgot.
+  ANTONY. You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more.
+  ENOBARBUS. Go to, then- your considerate stone!
+  CAESAR. I do not much dislike the matter, but
+    The manner of his speech; for't cannot be
+    We shall remain in friendship, our conditions
+    So diff'ring in their acts. Yet if I knew
+    What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge
+    O' th' world, I would pursue it.
+  AGRIPPA. Give me leave, Caesar.
+  CAESAR. Speak, Agrippa.
+  AGRIPPA. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,
+    Admir'd Octavia. Great Mark Antony
+    Is now a widower.
+  CAESAR. Say not so, Agrippa.
+    If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
+    Were well deserv'd of rashness.
+  ANTONY. I am not married, Caesar. Let me hear
+    Agrippa further speak.
+  AGRIPPA. To hold you in perpetual amity,  
+    To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
+    With an unslipping knot, take Antony
+    Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims
+    No worse a husband than the best of men;
+    Whose virtue and whose general graces speak
+    That which none else can utter. By this marriage
+    All little jealousies, which now seem great,
+    And all great fears, which now import their dangers,
+    Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales,
+    Where now half tales be truths. Her love to both
+    Would each to other, and all loves to both,
+    Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;
+    For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,
+    By duty ruminated.
+  ANTONY. Will Caesar speak?
+  CAESAR. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd
+    With what is spoke already.
+  ANTONY. What power is in Agrippa,
+    If I would say 'Agrippa, be it so,'
+    To make this good?  
+  CAESAR. The power of Caesar, and
+    His power unto Octavia.
+  ANTONY. May I never
+    To this good purpose, that so fairly shows,
+    Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand.
+    Further this act of grace; and from this hour
+    The heart of brothers govern in our loves
+    And sway our great designs!
+  CAESAR. There is my hand.
+    A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
+    Did ever love so dearly. Let her live
+    To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never
+    Fly off our loves again!
+  LEPIDUS. Happily, amen!
+  ANTONY. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey;
+    For he hath laid strange courtesies and great
+    Of late upon me. I must thank him only,
+    Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;
+    At heel of that, defy him.
+  LEPIDUS. Time calls upon's.  
+    Of us must Pompey presently be sought,
+    Or else he seeks out us.
+  ANTONY. Where lies he?
+  CAESAR. About the Mount Misenum.
+  ANTONY. What is his strength by land?
+  CAESAR. Great and increasing; but by sea
+    He is an absolute master.
+  ANTONY. So is the fame.
+    Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it.
+    Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we
+    The business we have talk'd of.
+  CAESAR. With most gladness;
+    And do invite you to my sister's view,
+    Whither straight I'll lead you.
+  ANTONY. Let us, Lepidus,
+    Not lack your company.
+  LEPIDUS. Noble Antony,
+    Not sickness should detain me.                    [Flourish]
+                     Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS
+  MAECENAS. Welcome from Egypt, sir.  
+  ENOBARBUS. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maecenas! My honourable
+    friend, Agrippa!
+  AGRIPPA. Good Enobarbus!
+  MAECENAS. We have cause to be glad that matters are so well
+    digested. You stay'd well by't in Egypt.
+  ENOBARBUS. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance and made
+    the night light with drinking.
+  MAECENAS. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but
+    twelve persons there. Is this true?
+  ENOBARBUS. This was but as a fly by an eagle. We had much more
+    monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting.
+  MAECENAS. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her.
+  ENOBARBUS. When she first met Mark Antony she purs'd up his heart,
+    upon the river of Cydnus.
+  AGRIPPA. There she appear'd indeed! Or my reporter devis'd well for
+    her.
+  ENOBARBUS. I will tell you.
+    The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
+    Burn'd on the water. The poop was beaten gold;
+    Purple the sails, and so perfumed that  
+    The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver,
+    Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
+    The water which they beat to follow faster,
+    As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
+    It beggar'd all description. She did lie
+    In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold, of tissue,
+    O'erpicturing that Venus where we see
+    The fancy out-work nature. On each side her
+    Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
+    With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
+    To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
+    And what they undid did.
+  AGRIPPA. O, rare for Antony!
+  ENOBARBUS. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
+    So many mermaids, tended her i' th' eyes,
+    And made their bends adornings. At the helm
+    A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle
+    Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands
+    That yarely frame the office. From the barge
+    A strange invisible perfume hits the sense  
+    Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
+    Her people out upon her; and Antony,
+    Enthron'd i' th' market-place, did sit alone,
+    Whistling to th' air; which, but for vacancy,
+    Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
+    And made a gap in nature.
+  AGRIPPA. Rare Egyptian!
+  ENOBARBUS. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
+    Invited her to supper. She replied
+    It should be better he became her guest;
+    Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
+    Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard speak,
+    Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast,
+    And for his ordinary pays his heart
+    For what his eyes eat only.
+  AGRIPPA. Royal wench!
+    She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed.
+    He ploughed her, and she cropp'd.
+  ENOBARBUS. I saw her once
+    Hop forty paces through the public street;  
+    And, having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,
+    That she did make defect perfection,
+    And, breathless, pow'r breathe forth.
+  MAECENAS. Now Antony must leave her utterly.
+  ENOBARBUS. Never! He will not.
+    Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
+    Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
+    The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
+    Where most she satisfies; for vilest things
+    Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
+    Bless her when she is riggish.
+  MAECENAS. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle
+    The heart of Antony, Octavia is
+    A blessed lottery to him.
+  AGRIPPA. Let us go.
+    Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest
+    Whilst you abide here.
+  ENOBARBUS. Humbly, sir, I thank you.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Rome. CAESAR'S house
+
+Enter ANTONY, CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them
+
+  ANTONY. The world and my great office will sometimes
+    Divide me from your bosom.
+  OCTAVIA. All which time
+    Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers
+    To them for you.
+  ANTONY. Good night, sir. My Octavia,
+    Read not my blemishes in the world's report.
+    I have not kept my square; but that to come
+    Shall all be done by th' rule. Good night, dear lady.
+  OCTAVIA. Good night, sir.
+  CAESAR. Good night.                  Exeunt CAESAR and OCTAVIA
+
+                        Enter SOOTHSAYER
+
+  ANTONY. Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in Egypt?
+  SOOTHSAYER. Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither!
+  ANTONY. If you can- your reason.  
+  SOOTHSAYER. I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue; but
+    yet hie you to Egypt again.
+  ANTONY. Say to me,
+    Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine?
+  SOOTHSAYER. Caesar's.
+    Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side.
+    Thy daemon, that thy spirit which keeps thee, is
+    Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable,
+    Where Caesar's is not; but near him thy angel
+    Becomes a fear, as being o'erpow'r'd. Therefore
+    Make space enough between you.
+  ANTONY. Speak this no more.
+  SOOTHSAYER. To none but thee; no more but when to thee.
+    If thou dost play with him at any game,
+    Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck
+    He beats thee 'gainst the odds. Thy lustre thickens
+    When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit
+    Is all afraid to govern thee near him;
+    But, he away, 'tis noble.
+  ANTONY. Get thee gone.  
+    Say to Ventidius I would speak with him.
+                                                 Exit SOOTHSAYER
+    He shall to Parthia.- Be it art or hap,
+    He hath spoken true. The very dice obey him;
+    And in our sports my better cunning faints
+    Under his chance. If we draw lots, he speeds;
+    His cocks do win the battle still of mine,
+    When it is all to nought, and his quails ever
+    Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt;
+    And though I make this marriage for my peace,
+    I' th' East my pleasure lies.
+
+                       Enter VENTIDIUS
+
+    O, come, Ventidius,
+    You must to Parthia. Your commission's ready;
+    Follow me and receive't.                              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Rome. A street
+
+Enter LEPIDUS, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA
+
+  LEPIDUS. Trouble yourselves no further. Pray you hasten
+    Your generals after.
+  AGRIPPA. Sir, Mark Antony
+    Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow.
+  LEPIDUS. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress,
+    Which will become you both, farewell.
+  MAECENAS. We shall,
+    As I conceive the journey, be at th' Mount
+    Before you, Lepidus.
+  LEPIDUS. Your way is shorter;
+    My purposes do draw me much about.
+    You'll win two days upon me.
+  BOTH. Sir, good success!
+  LEPIDUS. Farewell.                                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Give me some music- music, moody food
+    Of us that trade in love.
+  ALL. The music, ho!
+
+                    Enter MARDIAN the eunuch
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Let it alone! Let's to billiards. Come, Charmian.
+  CHARMIAN. My arm is sore; best play with Mardian.
+  CLEOPATRA. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd
+    As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir?
+  MARDIAN. As well as I can, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. And when good will is show'd, though't come too short,
+    The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now.
+    Give me mine angle- we'll to th' river. There,
+    My music playing far off, I will betray
+    Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
+    Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up
+    I'll think them every one an Antony,
+    And say 'Ah ha! Y'are caught.'
+  CHARMIAN. 'Twas merry when
+    You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
+    Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he
+    With fervency drew up.
+  CLEOPATRA. That time? O times
+    I laughed him out of patience; and that night
+    I laugh'd him into patience; and next morn,
+    Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed,
+    Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst
+    I wore his sword Philippan.
+
+                    Enter a MESSENGER
+
+    O! from Italy?
+    Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
+    That long time have been barren.
+  MESSENGER. Madam, madam-
+  CLEOPATRA. Antony's dead! If thou say so, villain,  
+    Thou kill'st thy mistress; but well and free,
+    If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here
+    My bluest veins to kiss- a hand that kings
+    Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing.
+  MESSENGER. First, madam, he is well.
+  CLEOPATRA. Why, there's more gold.
+    But, sirrah, mark, we use
+    To say the dead are well. Bring it to that,
+    The gold I give thee will I melt and pour
+    Down thy ill-uttering throat.
+  MESSENGER. Good madam, hear me.
+  CLEOPATRA. Well, go to, I will.
+    But there's no goodness in thy face. If Antony
+    Be free and healthful- why so tart a favour
+    To trumpet such good tidings? If not well,
+    Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with snakes,
+    Not like a formal man.
+  MESSENGER. Will't please you hear me?
+  CLEOPATRA. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st.
+    Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well,  
+    Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
+    I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
+    Rich pearls upon thee.
+  MESSENGER. Madam, he's well.
+  CLEOPATRA. Well said.
+  MESSENGER. And friends with Caesar.
+  CLEOPATRA. Th'art an honest man.
+  MESSENGER. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.
+  CLEOPATRA. Make thee a fortune from me.
+  MESSENGER. But yet, madam-
+  CLEOPATRA. I do not like 'but yet.' It does allay
+    The good precedence; fie upon 'but yet'!
+    'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth
+    Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend,
+    Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,
+    The good and bad together. He's friends with Caesar;
+    In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free.
+  MESSENGER. Free, madam! No; I made no such report.
+    He's bound unto Octavia.
+  CLEOPATRA. For what good turn?  
+  MESSENGER. For the best turn i' th' bed.
+  CLEOPATRA. I am pale, Charmian.
+  MESSENGER. Madam, he's married to Octavia.
+  CLEOPATRA. The most infectious pestilence upon thee!
+                                              [Strikes him down]
+  MESSENGER. Good madam, patience.
+  CLEOPATRA. What say you? Hence,                  [Strikes him]
+    Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes
+    Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;
+                                     [She hales him up and down]
+    Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire and stew'd in brine,
+    Smarting in ling'ring pickle.
+  MESSENGER. Gracious madam,
+    I that do bring the news made not the match.
+  CLEOPATRA. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,
+    And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst
+    Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage;
+    And I will boot thee with what gift beside
+    Thy modesty can beg.
+  MESSENGER. He's married, madam.  
+  CLEOPATRA. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long.    [Draws a knife]
+  MESSENGER. Nay, then I'll run.
+    What mean you, madam? I have made no fault.             Exit
+  CHARMIAN. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself:
+    The man is innocent.
+  CLEOPATRA. Some innocents scape not the thunderbolt.
+    Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures
+    Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again.
+    Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call!
+  CHARMIAN. He is afear'd to come.
+  CLEOPATRA. I will not hurt him.
+    These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
+    A meaner than myself; since I myself
+    Have given myself the cause.
+
+                    Enter the MESSENGER again
+
+    Come hither, sir.
+    Though it be honest, it is never good
+    To bring bad news. Give to a gracious message  
+    An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell
+    Themselves when they be felt.
+  MESSENGER. I have done my duty.
+  CLEOPATRA. Is he married?
+    I cannot hate thee worser than I do
+    If thou again say 'Yes.'
+  MESSENGER. He's married, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still?
+  MESSENGER. Should I lie, madam?
+  CLEOPATRA. O, I would thou didst,
+    So half my Egypt were submerg'd and made
+    A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence.
+    Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
+    Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married?
+  MESSENGER. I crave your Highness' pardon.
+  CLEOPATRA. He is married?
+  MESSENGER. Take no offence that I would not offend you;
+    To punish me for what you make me do
+    Seems much unequal. He's married to Octavia.
+  CLEOPATRA. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee  
+    That art not what th'art sure of! Get thee hence.
+    The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome
+    Are all too dear for me. Lie they upon thy hand,
+    And be undone by 'em!                         Exit MESSENGER
+  CHARMIAN. Good your Highness, patience.
+  CLEOPATRA. In praising Antony I have disprais'd Caesar.
+  CHARMIAN. Many times, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. I am paid for't now. Lead me from hence,
+    I faint. O Iras, Charmian! 'Tis no matter.
+    Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him
+    Report the feature of Octavia, her years,
+    Her inclination; let him not leave out
+    The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly.
+                                                     Exit ALEXAS
+    Let him for ever go- let him not, Charmian-
+    Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
+    The other way's a Mars.                         [To MARDIAN]
+    Bid you Alexas
+    Bring me word how tall she is.- Pity me, Charmian,
+    But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Near Misenum
+
+Flourish. Enter POMPEY and MENAS at one door, with drum and trumpet;
+at another, CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, ENOBARBUS, MAECENAS, AGRIPPA,
+with soldiers marching
+
+  POMPEY. Your hostages I have, so have you mine;
+    And we shall talk before we fight.
+  CAESAR. Most meet
+    That first we come to words; and therefore have we
+    Our written purposes before us sent;
+    Which if thou hast considered, let us know
+    If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword
+    And carry back to Sicily much tall youth
+    That else must perish here.
+  POMPEY. To you all three,
+    The senators alone of this great world,
+    Chief factors for the gods: I do not know
+    Wherefore my father should revengers want,
+    Having a son and friends, since Julius Caesar,  
+    Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,
+    There saw you labouring for him. What was't
+    That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? and what
+    Made the all-honour'd honest Roman, Brutus,
+    With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom,
+    To drench the Capitol, but that they would
+    Have one man but a man? And that is it
+    Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burden
+    The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
+    To scourge th' ingratitude that despiteful Rome
+    Cast on my noble father.
+  CAESAR. Take your time.
+  ANTONY. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails;
+    We'll speak with thee at sea; at land thou know'st
+    How much we do o'er-count thee.
+  POMPEY. At land, indeed,
+    Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house.
+    But since the cuckoo builds not for himself,
+    Remain in't as thou mayst.
+  LEPIDUS. Be pleas'd to tell us-  
+    For this is from the present- how you take
+    The offers we have sent you.
+  CAESAR. There's the point.
+  ANTONY. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh
+    What it is worth embrac'd.
+  CAESAR. And what may follow,
+    To try a larger fortune.
+  POMPEY. You have made me offer
+    Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must
+    Rid all the sea of pirates; then to send
+    Measures of wheat to Rome; this 'greed upon,
+    To part with unhack'd edges and bear back
+    Our targes undinted.
+  ALL. That's our offer.
+  POMPEY. Know, then,
+    I came before you here a man prepar'd
+    To take this offer; but Mark Antony
+    Put me to some impatience. Though I lose
+    The praise of it by telling, you must know,
+    When Caesar and your brother were at blows,  
+    Your mother came to Sicily and did find
+    Her welcome friendly.
+  ANTONY. I have heard it, Pompey,
+    And am well studied for a liberal thanks
+    Which I do owe you.
+  POMPEY. Let me have your hand.
+    I did not think, sir, to have met you here.
+  ANTONY. The beds i' th' East are soft; and thanks to you,
+    That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither;
+    For I have gained by't.
+  CAESAR. Since I saw you last
+    There is a change upon you.
+  POMPEY. Well, I know not
+    What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face;
+    But in my bosom shall she never come
+    To make my heart her vassal.
+  LEPIDUS. Well met here.
+  POMPEY. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed.
+    I crave our composition may be written,
+    And seal'd between us.  
+  CAESAR. That's the next to do.
+  POMPEY. We'll feast each other ere we part, and let's
+    Draw lots who shall begin.
+  ANTONY. That will I, Pompey.
+  POMPEY. No, Antony, take the lot;
+    But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
+    Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar
+    Grew fat with feasting there.
+  ANTONY. You have heard much.
+  POMPEY. I have fair meanings, sir.
+  ANTONY. And fair words to them.
+  POMPEY. Then so much have I heard;
+    And I have heard Apollodorus carried-
+  ENOBARBUS. No more of that! He did so.
+  POMPEY. What, I pray you?
+  ENOBARBUS. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.
+  POMPEY. I know thee now. How far'st thou, soldier?
+  ENOBARBUS. Well;
+    And well am like to do, for I perceive
+    Four feasts are toward.  
+  POMPEY. Let me shake thy hand.
+    I never hated thee; I have seen thee fight,
+    When I have envied thy behaviour.
+  ENOBARBUS. Sir,
+    I never lov'd you much; but I ha' prais'd ye
+    When you have well deserv'd ten times as much
+    As I have said you did.
+  POMPEY. Enjoy thy plainness;
+    It nothing ill becomes thee.
+    Aboard my galley I invite you all.
+    Will you lead, lords?
+  ALL. Show's the way, sir.
+  POMPEY. Come.               Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS and MENAS
+  MENAS. [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this
+    treaty.- You and I have known, sir.
+  ENOBARBUS. At sea, I think.
+  MENAS. We have, sir.
+  ENOBARBUS. You have done well by water.
+  MENAS. And you by land.
+  ENOBARBUS. I Will praise any man that will praise me; though it  
+    cannot be denied what I have done by land.
+  MENAS. Nor what I have done by water.
+  ENOBARBUS. Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you
+    have been a great thief by sea.
+  MENAS. And you by land.
+  ENOBARBUS. There I deny my land service. But give me your hand,
+    Menas; if our eyes had authority, here they might take two
+    thieves kissing.
+  MENAS. All men's faces are true, whatsome'er their hands are.
+  ENOBARBUS. But there is never a fair woman has a true face.
+  MENAS. No slander: they steal hearts.
+  ENOBARBUS. We came hither to fight with you.
+  MENAS. For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a drinking.
+    Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune.
+  ENOBARBUS. If he do, sure he cannot weep't back again.
+  MENAS. Y'have said, sir. We look'd not for Mark Antony here. Pray
+    you, is he married to Cleopatra?
+  ENOBARBUS. Caesar' sister is call'd Octavia.
+  MENAS. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus.
+  ENOBARBUS. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius.  
+  MENAS. Pray ye, sir?
+  ENOBARBUS. 'Tis true.
+  MENAS. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together.
+  ENOBARBUS. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not
+    prophesy so.
+  MENAS. I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage
+    than the love of the parties.
+  ENOBARBUS. I think so too. But you shall find the band that seems
+    to tie their friendship together will be the very strangler of
+    their amity: Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation.
+  MENAS. Who would not have his wife so?
+  ENOBARBUS. Not he that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He
+    will to his Egyptian dish again; then shall the sighs of Octavia
+    blow the fire up in Caesar, and, as I said before, that which is
+    the strength of their amity shall prove the immediate author of
+    their variance. Antony will use his affection where it is; he
+    married but his occasion here.
+  MENAS. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a
+    health for you.
+  ENOBARBUS. I shall take it, sir. We have us'd our throats in Egypt.  
+  MENAS. Come, let's away.                                Exeunt
+
+ACT_2|SC_7
+                           SCENE VII.
+             On board POMPEY'S galley, off Misenum
+
+     Music plays. Enter two or three SERVANTS with a banquet
+
+  FIRST SERVANT. Here they'll be, man. Some o' their plants are
+    ill-rooted already; the least wind i' th' world will blow them
+    down.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Lepidus is high-colour'd.
+  FIRST SERVANT. They have made him drink alms-drink.
+  SECOND SERVANT. As they pinch one another by the disposition, he
+    cries out 'No more!'; reconciles them to his entreaty and himself
+    to th' drink.
+  FIRST SERVANT. But it raises the greater war between him and his
+    discretion.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Why, this it is to have a name in great men's
+    fellowship. I had as lief have a reed that will do me no service
+    as a partizan I could not heave.
+  FIRST SERVANT. To be call'd into a huge sphere, and not to be seen
+    to move in't, are the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully
+    disaster the cheeks.
+  
+           A sennet sounded. Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS,
+            POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS, ENOBARBUS, MENAS,
+                         with other CAPTAINS
+
+  ANTONY. [To CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' th'
+      Nile
+    By certain scales i' th' pyramid; they know
+    By th' height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth
+    Or foison follow. The higher Nilus swells
+    The more it promises; as it ebbs, the seedsman
+    Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain,
+    And shortly comes to harvest.
+  LEPIDUS. Y'have strange serpents there.
+  ANTONY. Ay, Lepidus.
+  LEPIDUS. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the
+    operation of your sun; so is your crocodile.
+  ANTONY. They are so.
+  POMPEY. Sit- and some wine! A health to Lepidus!
+  LEPIDUS. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll ne'er out.
+  ENOBARBUS. Not till you have slept. I fear me you'll be in till  
+    then.
+  LEPIDUS. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies' pyramises are
+    very goodly things. Without contradiction I have heard that.
+  MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Pompey, a word.
+  POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Say in mine ear; what is't?
+  MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee,
+      Captain,
+    And hear me speak a word.
+  POMPEY. [ Whispers in's ear ] Forbear me till anon-
+    This wine for Lepidus!
+  LEPIDUS. What manner o' thing is your crocodile?
+  ANTONY. It is shap'd, sir, like itself, and it is as broad as it
+    hath breadth; it is just so high as it is, and moves with it own
+    organs. It lives by that which nourisheth it, and the elements
+    once out of it, it transmigrates.
+  LEPIDUS. What colour is it of?
+  ANTONY. Of it own colour too.
+  LEPIDUS. 'Tis a strange serpent.
+  ANTONY. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.
+  CAESAR. Will this description satisfy him?  
+  ANTONY. With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very
+    epicure.
+  POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that!
+      Away!
+    Do as I bid you.- Where's this cup I call'd for?
+  MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear
+      me,
+    Rise from thy stool.
+  POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] I think th'art mad. [Rises and walks
+    aside] The matter?
+  MENAS. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.
+  POMPEY. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. What's else to say?-
+    Be jolly, lords.
+  ANTONY. These quicksands, Lepidus,
+    Keep off them, for you sink.
+  MENAS. Wilt thou be lord of all the world?
+  POMPEY. What say'st thou?
+  MENAS. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice.
+  POMPEY. How should that be?
+  MENAS. But entertain it,  
+    And though you think me poor, I am the man
+    Will give thee all the world.
+  POMPEY. Hast thou drunk well?
+  MENAS. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.
+    Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove;
+    Whate'er the ocean pales or sky inclips
+    Is thine, if thou wilt ha't.
+  POMPEY. Show me which way.
+  MENAS. These three world-sharers, these competitors,
+    Are in thy vessel. Let me cut the cable;
+    And when we are put off, fall to their throats.
+    All there is thine.
+  POMPEY. Ah, this thou shouldst have done,
+    And not have spoke on't. In me 'tis villainy:
+    In thee't had been good service. Thou must know
+    'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour:
+    Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue
+    Hath so betray'd thine act. Being done unknown,
+    I should have found it afterwards well done,
+    But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink.  
+  MENAS. [Aside] For this,
+    I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more.
+    Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd,
+    Shall never find it more.
+  POMPEY. This health to Lepidus!
+  ANTONY. Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey.
+  ENOBARBUS. Here's to thee, Menas!
+  MENAS. Enobarbus, welcome!
+  POMPEY. Fill till the cup be hid.
+  ENOBARBUS. There's a strong fellow, Menas.
+               [Pointing to the servant who carries off LEPIDUS]
+  MENAS. Why?
+  ENOBARBUS. 'A bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not?
+  MENAS. The third part, then, is drunk. Would it were all,
+    That it might go on wheels!
+  ENOBARBUS. Drink thou; increase the reels.
+  MENAS. Come.
+  POMPEY. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.
+  ANTONY. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho!
+    Here's to Caesar!  
+  CAESAR. I could well forbear't.
+    It's monstrous labour when I wash my brain
+    And it grows fouler.
+  ANTONY. Be a child o' th' time.
+  CAESAR. Possess it, I'll make answer.
+    But I had rather fast from all four days
+    Than drink so much in one.
+  ENOBARBUS. [To ANTONY] Ha, my brave emperor!
+    Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals
+    And celebrate our drink?
+  POMPEY. Let's ha't, good soldier.
+  ANTONY. Come, let's all take hands,
+    Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense
+    In soft and delicate Lethe.
+  ENOBARBUS. All take hands.
+    Make battery to our ears with the loud music,
+    The while I'll place you; then the boy shall sing;
+    The holding every man shall bear as loud
+    As his strong sides can volley.
+               [Music plays. ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand]  
+
+                        THE SONG
+            Come, thou monarch of the vine,
+            Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!
+            In thy fats our cares be drown'd,
+            With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd.
+            Cup us till the world go round,
+            Cup us till the world go round!
+
+  CAESAR. What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother,
+    Let me request you off; our graver business
+    Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's part;
+    You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarb
+    Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue
+    Splits what it speaks. The wild disguise hath almost
+    Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night.
+    Good Antony, your hand.
+  POMPEY. I'll try you on the shore.
+  ANTONY. And shall, sir. Give's your hand.
+  POMPEY. O Antony,  
+    You have my father's house- but what? We are friends.
+    Come, down into the boat.
+  ENOBARBUS. Take heed you fall not.
+                              Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS and MENAS
+    Menas, I'll not on shore.
+  MENAS. No, to my cabin.
+    These drums! these trumpets, flutes! what!
+    Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell
+    To these great fellows. Sound and be hang'd, sound out!
+                                  [Sound a flourish, with drums]
+  ENOBARBUS. Hoo! says 'a. There's my cap.
+  MENAS. Hoo! Noble Captain, come.                        Exeunt
+ACT_3|SC_1
+                     ACT III. SCENE I.
+                     A plain in Syria
+
+       Enter VENTIDIUS, as it were in triumph, with SILIUS
+      and other Romans, OFFICERS and soldiers; the dead body
+                of PACORUS borne before him
+
+  VENTIDIUS. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck, and now
+    Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death
+    Make me revenger. Bear the King's son's body
+    Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes,
+    Pays this for Marcus Crassus.
+  SILIUS. Noble Ventidius,
+    Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm
+    The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media,
+    Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither
+    The routed fly. So thy grand captain, Antony,
+    Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and
+    Put garlands on thy head.
+  VENTIDIUS. O Silius, Silius,
+    I have done enough. A lower place, note well,
+    May make too great an act; for learn this, Silius:  
+    Better to leave undone than by our deed
+    Acquire too high a fame when him we serve's away.
+    Caesar and Antony have ever won
+    More in their officer, than person. Sossius,
+    One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
+    For quick accumulation of renown,
+    Which he achiev'd by th' minute, lost his favour.
+    Who does i' th' wars more than his captain can
+    Becomes his captain's captain; and ambition,
+    The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss
+    Than gain which darkens him.
+    I could do more to do Antonius good,
+    But 'twould offend him; and in his offence
+    Should my performance perish.
+  SILIUS. Thou hast, Ventidius, that
+    Without the which a soldier and his sword
+    Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony?
+  VENTIDIUS. I'll humbly signify what in his name,
+    That magical word of war, we have effected;
+    How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks,  
+    The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia
+    We have jaded out o' th' field.
+  SILIUS. Where is he now?
+  VENTIDIUS. He purposeth to Athens; whither, with what haste
+    The weight we must convey with's will permit,
+    We shall appear before him.- On, there; pass along.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_2
+                            SCENE II. Rome. CAESAR'S house
+
+        Enter AGRIPPA at one door, ENOBARBUS at another
+
+  AGRIPPA. What, are the brothers parted?
+  ENOBARBUS. They have dispatch'd with Pompey; he is gone;
+    The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps
+    To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus,
+    Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled
+    With the green sickness.
+  AGRIPPA. 'Tis a noble Lepidus.
+  ENOBARBUS. A very fine one. O, how he loves Caesar!
+  AGRIPPA. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony!
+  ENOBARBUS. Caesar? Why he's the Jupiter of men.
+  AGRIPPA. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.
+  ENOBARBUS. Spake you of Caesar? How! the nonpareil!
+  AGRIPPA. O, Antony! O thou Arabian bird!
+  ENOBARBUS. Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar'- go no further.
+  AGRIPPA. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises.
+  ENOBARBUS. But he loves Caesar best. Yet he loves Antony.
+    Hoo! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot  
+    Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number- hoo!-
+    His love to Antony. But as for Caesar,
+    Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.
+  AGRIPPA. Both he loves.
+  ENOBARBUS. They are his shards, and he their beetle. [Trumpets
+      within] So-
+    This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa.
+  AGRIPPA. Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell.
+
+           Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA
+
+  ANTONY. No further, sir.
+  CAESAR. You take from me a great part of myself;
+    Use me well in't. Sister, prove such a wife
+    As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest band
+    Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony,
+    Let not the piece of virtue which is set
+    Betwixt us as the cement of our love
+    To keep it builded be the ram to batter
+    The fortress of it; for better might we  
+    Have lov'd without this mean, if on both parts
+    This be not cherish'd.
+  ANTONY. Make me not offended
+    In your distrust.
+  CAESAR. I have said.
+  ANTONY. You shall not find,
+    Though you be therein curious, the least cause
+    For what you seem to fear. So the gods keep you,
+    And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends!
+    We will here part.
+  CAESAR. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well.
+    The elements be kind to thee and make
+    Thy spirits all of comfort! Fare thee well.
+  OCTAVIA. My noble brother!
+  ANTONY. The April's in her eyes. It is love's spring,
+    And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful.
+  OCTAVIA. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and-
+  CAESAR. What, Octavia?
+  OCTAVIA. I'll tell you in your ear.
+  ANTONY. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can  
+    Her heart inform her tongue- the swan's down feather,
+    That stands upon the swell at the full of tide,
+    And neither way inclines.
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep?
+  AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in's face.
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a
+      horse;
+    So is he, being a man.
+  AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus,
+    When Antony found Julius Caesar dead,
+    He cried almost to roaring; and he wept
+    When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled
+      with a rheum;
+    What willingly he did confound he wail'd,
+    Believe't- till I weep too.
+  CAESAR. No, sweet Octavia,
+    You shall hear from me still; the time shall not
+    Out-go my thinking on you.
+  ANTONY. Come, sir, come;  
+    I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love.
+    Look, here I have you; thus I let you go,
+    And give you to the gods.
+  CAESAR. Adieu; be happy!
+  LEPIDUS. Let all the number of the stars give light
+    To thy fair way!
+  CAESAR. Farewell, farewell!                   [Kisses OCTAVIA]
+  ANTONY. Farewell!                       Trumpets sound. Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_3
+                          SCENE III.
+              Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+         Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Where is the fellow?
+  ALEXAS. Half afeard to come.
+  CLEOPATRA. Go to, go to.
+
+                Enter the MESSENGER as before
+
+    Come hither, sir.
+  ALEXAS. Good Majesty,
+    Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you
+    But when you are well pleas'd.
+  CLEOPATRA. That Herod's head
+    I'll have. But how, when Antony is gone,
+    Through whom I might command it? Come thou near.
+  MESSENGER. Most gracious Majesty!
+  CLEOPATRA. Didst thou behold Octavia?
+  MESSENGER. Ay, dread Queen.
+  CLEOPATRA. Where?  
+  MESSENGER. Madam, in Rome
+    I look'd her in the face, and saw her led
+    Between her brother and Mark Antony.
+  CLEOPATRA. Is she as tall as me?
+  MESSENGER. She is not, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongu'd or low?
+  MESSENGER. Madam, I heard her speak: she is low-voic'd.
+  CLEOPATRA. That's not so good. He cannot like her long.
+  CHARMIAN. Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible.
+  CLEOPATRA. I think so, Charmian. Dull of tongue and dwarfish!
+    What majesty is in her gait? Remember,
+    If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.
+  MESSENGER. She creeps.
+    Her motion and her station are as one;
+    She shows a body rather than a life,
+    A statue than a breather.
+  CLEOPATRA. Is this certain?
+  MESSENGER. Or I have no observance.
+  CHARMIAN. Three in Egypt
+    Cannot make better note.  
+  CLEOPATRA. He's very knowing;
+    I do perceive't. There's nothing in her yet.
+    The fellow has good judgment.
+  CHARMIAN. Excellent.
+  CLEOPATRA. Guess at her years, I prithee.
+  MESSENGER. Madam,
+    She was a widow.
+  CLEOPATRA. Widow? Charmian, hark!
+  MESSENGER. And I do think she's thirty.
+  CLEOPATRA. Bear'st thou her face in mind? Is't long or round?
+  MESSENGER. Round even to faultiness.
+  CLEOPATRA. For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so.
+    Her hair, what colour?
+  MESSENGER. Brown, madam; and her forehead
+    As low as she would wish it.
+  CLEOPATRA. There's gold for thee.
+    Thou must not take my former sharpness ill.
+    I will employ thee back again; I find thee
+    Most fit for business. Go make thee ready;
+    Our letters are prepar'd.                   Exeunt MESSENGER  
+  CHARMIAN. A proper man.
+  CLEOPATRA. Indeed, he is so. I repent me much
+    That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him,
+    This creature's no such thing.
+  CHARMIAN. Nothing, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.
+  CHARMIAN. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend,
+    And serving you so long!
+  CLEOPATRA. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian.
+    But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me
+    Where I will write. All may be well enough.
+  CHARMIAN. I warrant you, madam.                         Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_4
+                          SCENE IV.
+                  Athens. ANTONY'S house
+
+                 Enter ANTONY and OCTAVIA
+
+  ANTONY. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that-
+    That were excusable, that and thousands more
+    Of semblable import- but he hath wag'd
+    New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it
+    To public ear;
+    Spoke scandy of me; when perforce he could not
+    But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly
+    He vented them, most narrow measure lent me;
+    When the best hint was given him, he not took't,
+    Or did it from his teeth.
+  OCTAVIA. O my good lord,
+    Believe not all; or if you must believe,
+    Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,
+    If this division chance, ne'er stood between,
+    Praying for both parts.
+    The good gods will mock me presently
+    When I shall pray 'O, bless my lord and husband!'  
+    Undo that prayer by crying out as loud
+    'O, bless my brother!' Husband win, win brother,
+    Prays, and destroys the prayer; no mid-way
+    'Twixt these extremes at all.
+  ANTONY. Gentle Octavia,
+    Let your best love draw to that point which seeks
+    Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour,
+    I lose myself; better I were not yours
+    Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested,
+    Yourself shall go between's. The meantime, lady,
+    I'll raise the preparation of a war
+    Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste;
+    So your desires are yours.
+  OCTAVIA. Thanks to my lord.
+    The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak,
+    Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be
+    As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
+    Should solder up the rift.
+  ANTONY. When it appears to you where this begins,
+    Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults  
+    Can never be so equal that your love
+    Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
+    Choose your own company, and command what cost
+    Your heart has mind to.                               Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_5
+                           SCENE V.
+                   Athens. ANTONY'S house
+
+             Enter ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting
+
+  ENOBARBUS. How now, friend Eros!
+  EROS. There's strange news come, sir.
+  ENOBARBUS. What, man?
+  EROS. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey.
+  ENOBARBUS. This is old. What is the success?
+  EROS. Caesar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst Pompey,
+    presently denied him rivality, would not let him partake in the
+    glory of the action; and not resting here, accuses him of letters
+    he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him.
+    So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine.
+  ENOBARBUS. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps- no more;
+    And throw between them all the food thou hast,
+    They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony?
+  EROS. He's walking in the garden- thus, and spurns
+    The rush that lies before him; cries 'Fool Lepidus!'
+    And threats the throat of that his officer
+    That murd'red Pompey.  
+  ENOBARBUS. Our great navy's rigg'd.
+  EROS. For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius:
+    My lord desires you presently; my news
+    I might have told hereafter.
+  ENOBARBUS. 'Twill be naught;
+    But let it be. Bring me to Antony.
+  EROS. Come, sir.                                        Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_6
+                          SCENE VI.
+                   Rome. CAESAR'S house
+
+             Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS
+
+  CAESAR. Contemning Rome, he has done all this and more
+    In Alexandria. Here's the manner of't:
+    I' th' market-place, on a tribunal silver'd,
+    Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold
+    Were publicly enthron'd; at the feet sat
+    Caesarion, whom they call my father's son,
+    And all the unlawful issue that their lust
+    Since then hath made between them. Unto her
+    He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her
+    Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia,
+    Absolute queen.
+  MAECENAS. This in the public eye?
+  CAESAR. I' th' common show-place, where they exercise.
+    His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings:
+    Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia,
+    He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd
+    Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia. She  
+    In th' habiliments of the goddess Isis
+    That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience,
+    As 'tis reported, so.
+  MAECENAS. Let Rome be thus
+    Inform'd.
+  AGRIPPA. Who, queasy with his insolence
+    Already, will their good thoughts call from him.
+  CAESAR. The people knows it, and have now receiv'd
+    His accusations.
+  AGRIPPA. Who does he accuse?
+  CAESAR. Caesar; and that, having in Sicily
+    Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him
+    His part o' th' isle. Then does he say he lent me
+    Some shipping, unrestor'd. Lastly, he frets
+    That Lepidus of the triumvirate
+    Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain
+    All his revenue.
+  AGRIPPA. Sir, this should be answer'd.
+  CAESAR. 'Tis done already, and messenger gone.
+    I have told him Lepidus was grown too cruel,  
+    That he his high authority abus'd,
+    And did deserve his change. For what I have conquer'd
+    I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia
+    And other of his conquer'd kingdoms,
+    Demand the like.
+  MAECENAS. He'll never yield to that.
+  CAESAR. Nor must not then be yielded to in this.
+
+                Enter OCTAVIA, with her train
+
+  OCTAVIA. Hail, Caesar, and my lord! hail, most dear Caesar!
+  CAESAR. That ever I should call thee cast-away!
+  OCTAVIA. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause.
+  CAESAR. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You come not
+    Like Caesar's sister. The wife of Antony
+    Should have an army for an usher, and
+    The neighs of horse to tell of her approach
+    Long ere she did appear. The trees by th' way
+    Should have borne men, and expectation fainted,
+    Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust  
+    Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
+    Rais'd by your populous troops. But you are come
+    A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented
+    The ostentation of our love, which left unshown
+    Is often left unlov'd. We should have met you
+    By sea and land, supplying every stage
+    With an augmented greeting.
+  OCTAVIA. Good my lord,
+    To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it
+    On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony,
+    Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted
+    My grieved ear withal; whereon I begg'd
+    His pardon for return.
+  CAESAR. Which soon he granted,
+    Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.
+  OCTAVIA. Do not say so, my lord.
+  CAESAR. I have eyes upon him,
+    And his affairs come to me on the wind.
+    Where is he now?
+  OCTAVIA. My lord, in Athens.  
+  CAESAR. No, my most wronged sister: Cleopatra
+    Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire
+    Up to a whore, who now are levying
+    The kings o' th' earth for war. He hath assembled
+    Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus
+    Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king
+    Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas;
+    King Manchus of Arabia; King of Pont;
+    Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king
+    Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas,
+    The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, with
+    More larger list of sceptres.
+  OCTAVIA. Ay me most wretched,
+    That have my heart parted betwixt two friends,
+    That does afflict each other!
+  CAESAR. Welcome hither.
+    Your letters did withhold our breaking forth,
+    Till we perceiv'd both how you were wrong led
+    And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart;
+    Be you not troubled with the time, which drives  
+    O'er your content these strong necessities,
+    But let determin'd things to destiny
+    Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome;
+    Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd
+    Beyond the mark of thought, and the high gods,
+    To do you justice, make their ministers
+    Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort,
+    And ever welcome to us.
+  AGRIPPA. Welcome, lady.
+  MAECENAS. Welcome, dear madam.
+    Each heart in Rome does love and pity you;
+    Only th' adulterous Antony, most large
+    In his abominations, turns you off,
+    And gives his potent regiment to a trull
+    That noises it against us.
+  OCTAVIA. Is it so, sir?
+  CAESAR. Most certain. Sister, welcome. Pray you
+    Be ever known to patience. My dear'st sister!         Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_7
+                          SCENE VII.
+                  ANTONY'S camp near Actium
+
+                Enter CLEOPATRA and ENOBARBUS
+
+  CLEOPATRA. I will be even with thee, doubt it not.
+  ENOBARBUS. But why, why,
+  CLEOPATRA. Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars,
+    And say'st it is not fit.
+  ENOBARBUS. Well, is it, is it?
+  CLEOPATRA. Is't not denounc'd against us? Why should not we
+    Be there in person?
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside] Well, I could reply:
+    If we should serve with horse and mares together
+    The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear
+    A soldier and his horse.
+  CLEOPATRA. What is't you say?
+  ENOBARBUS. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony;
+    Take from his heart, take from his brain, from's time,
+    What should not then be spar'd. He is already
+    Traduc'd for levity; and 'tis said in Rome
+    That Photinus an eunuch and your maids  
+    Manage this war.
+  CLEOPATRA. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot
+    That speak against us! A charge we bear i' th' war,
+    And, as the president of my kingdom, will
+    Appear there for a man. Speak not against it;
+    I will not stay behind.
+
+                   Enter ANTONY and CANIDIUS
+
+  ENOBARBUS. Nay, I have done.
+    Here comes the Emperor.
+  ANTONY. Is it not strange, Canidius,
+    That from Tarentum and Brundusium
+    He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea,
+    And take in Toryne?- You have heard on't, sweet?
+  CLEOPATRA. Celerity is never more admir'd
+    Than by the negligent.
+  ANTONY. A good rebuke,
+    Which might have well becom'd the best of men
+    To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we  
+    Will fight with him by sea.
+  CLEOPATRA. By sea! What else?
+  CANIDIUS. Why will my lord do so?
+  ANTONY. For that he dares us to't.
+  ENOBARBUS. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight.
+  CANIDIUS. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia,
+    Where Caesar fought with Pompey. But these offers,
+    Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;
+    And so should you.
+  ENOBARBUS. Your ships are not well mann'd;
+    Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people
+    Ingross'd by swift impress. In Caesar's fleet
+    Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey fought;
+    Their ships are yare; yours heavy. No disgrace
+    Shall fall you for refusing him at sea,
+    Being prepar'd for land.
+  ANTONY. By sea, by sea.
+  ENOBARBUS. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
+    The absolute soldiership you have by land;
+    Distract your army, which doth most consist  
+    Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted
+    Your own renowned knowledge; quite forgo
+    The way which promises assurance; and
+    Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard
+    From firm security.
+  ANTONY. I'll fight at sea.
+  CLEOPATRA. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better.
+  ANTONY. Our overplus of shipping will we burn,
+    And, with the rest full-mann'd, from th' head of Actium
+    Beat th' approaching Caesar. But if we fail,
+    We then can do't at land.
+
+                       Enter a MESSENGER
+
+    Thy business?
+  MESSENGER. The news is true, my lord: he is descried;
+    Caesar has taken Toryne.
+  ANTONY. Can he be there in person? 'Tis impossible-
+    Strange that his power should be. Canidius,
+    Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land,  
+    And our twelve thousand horse. We'll to our ship.
+    Away, my Thetis!
+
+                       Enter a SOLDIER
+
+    How now, worthy soldier?
+  SOLDIER. O noble Emperor, do not fight by sea;
+    Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt
+    This sword and these my wounds? Let th' Egyptians
+    And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we
+    Have us'd to conquer standing on the earth
+    And fighting foot to foot.
+  ANTONY. Well, well- away.
+                         Exeunt ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, and ENOBARBUS
+  SOLDIER. By Hercules, I think I am i' th' right.
+  CANIDIUS. Soldier, thou art; but his whole action grows
+    Not in the power on't. So our leader's led,
+    And we are women's men.
+  SOLDIER. You keep by land
+    The legions and the horse whole, do you not?  
+  CANIDIUS. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,
+    Publicola, and Caelius are for sea;
+    But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's
+    Carries beyond belief.
+  SOLDIER. While he was yet in Rome,
+    His power went out in such distractions as
+    Beguil'd all spies.
+  CANIDIUS. Who's his lieutenant, hear you?
+  SOLDIER. They say one Taurus.
+  CANIDIUS. Well I know the man.
+
+                        Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. The Emperor calls Canidius.
+  CANIDIUS. With news the time's with labour and throes forth
+    Each minute some.                                     Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_8
+                          SCENE VIII.
+                      A plain near Actium
+
+             Enter CAESAR, with his army, marching
+
+  CAESAR. Taurus!
+  TAURUS. My lord?
+  CAESAR. Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke not battle
+    Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed
+    The prescript of this scroll. Our fortune lies
+    Upon this jump.                                       Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_9
+                           SCENE IX.
+                  Another part of the plain
+
+                  Enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS
+
+  ANTONY. Set we our squadrons on yon side o' th' hill,
+    In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place
+    We may the number of the ships behold,
+    And so proceed accordingly.                           Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_10
+                           SCENE X.
+                 Another part of the plain
+
+        CANIDIUS marcheth with his land army one way
+        over the stage, and TAURUS, the Lieutenant of
+      CAESAR, the other way. After their going in is heard
+                   the noise of a sea-fight
+
+                    Alarum. Enter ENOBARBUS
+
+  ENOBARBUS. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer.
+    Th' Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral,
+    With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder.
+    To see't mine eyes are blasted.
+
+                        Enter SCARUS
+
+  SCARUS. Gods and goddesses,
+    All the whole synod of them!
+  ENOBARBUS. What's thy passion?
+  SCARUS. The greater cantle of the world is lost
+    With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away  
+    Kingdoms and provinces.
+  ENOBARBUS. How appears the fight?
+  SCARUS. On our side like the token'd pestilence,
+    Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt-
+    Whom leprosy o'ertake!- i' th' midst o' th' fight,
+    When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,
+    Both as the same, or rather ours the elder-
+    The breese upon her, like a cow in June-
+    Hoists sails and flies.
+  ENOBARBUS. That I beheld;
+    Mine eyes did sicken at the sight and could not
+    Endure a further view.
+  SCARUS. She once being loof'd,
+    The noble ruin of her magic, Antony,
+    Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard,
+    Leaving the fight in height, flies after her.
+    I never saw an action of such shame;
+    Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before
+    Did violate so itself.
+  ENOBARBUS. Alack, alack!  
+
+                       Enter CANIDIUS
+
+  CANIDIUS. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath,
+    And sinks most lamentably. Had our general
+    Been what he knew himself, it had gone well.
+    O, he has given example for our flight
+    Most grossly by his own!
+  ENOBARBUS. Ay, are you thereabouts?
+    Why then, good night indeed.
+  CANIDIUS. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled.
+  SCARUS. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend
+    What further comes.
+  CANIDIUS. To Caesar will I render
+    My legions and my horse; six kings already
+    Show me the way of yielding.
+  ENOBARBUS. I'll yet follow
+    The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason
+    Sits in the wind against me.                          Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_11
+                         SCENE XI.
+              Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+               Enter ANTONY With attendants
+
+  ANTONY. Hark! the land bids me tread no more upon't;
+    It is asham'd to bear me. Friends, come hither.
+    I am so lated in the world that I
+    Have lost my way for ever. I have a ship
+    Laden with gold; take that; divide it. Fly,
+    And make your peace with Caesar.
+  ALL. Fly? Not we!
+  ANTONY. I have fled myself, and have instructed cowards
+    To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone;
+    I have myself resolv'd upon a course
+    Which has no need of you; be gone.
+    My treasure's in the harbour, take it. O,
+    I follow'd that I blush to look upon.
+    My very hairs do mutiny; for the white
+    Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them
+    For fear and doting. Friends, be gone; you shall
+    Have letters from me to some friends that will  
+    Sweep your way for you. Pray you look not sad,
+    Nor make replies of loathness; take the hint
+    Which my despair proclaims. Let that be left
+    Which leaves itself. To the sea-side straight way.
+    I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
+    Leave me, I pray, a little; pray you now;
+    Nay, do so, for indeed I have lost command;
+    Therefore I pray you. I'll see you by and by.    [Sits down]
+
+            Enter CLEOPATRA, led by CHARMIAN and IRAS,
+                         EROS following
+
+  EROS. Nay, gentle madam, to him! Comfort him.
+  IRAS. Do, most dear Queen.
+  CHARMIAN. Do? Why, what else?
+  CLEOPATRA. Let me sit down. O Juno!
+  ANTONY. No, no, no, no, no.
+  EROS. See you here, sir?
+  ANTONY. O, fie, fie, fie!
+  CHARMIAN. Madam!  
+  IRAS. Madam, O good Empress!
+  EROS. Sir, sir!
+  ANTONY. Yes, my lord, yes. He at Philippi kept
+    His sword e'en like a dancer, while I struck
+    The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I
+    That the mad Brutus ended; he alone
+    Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had
+    In the brave squares of war. Yet now- no matter.
+  CLEOPATRA. Ah, stand by!
+  EROS. The Queen, my lord, the Queen!
+  IRAS. Go to him, madam, speak to him.
+    He is unqualitied with very shame.
+  CLEOPATRA. Well then, sustain me. O!
+ EROS. Most noble sir, arise; the Queen approaches.
+    Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her but
+    Your comfort makes the rescue.
+  ANTONY. I have offended reputation-
+    A most unnoble swerving.
+  EROS. Sir, the Queen.
+  ANTONY. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See
+    How I convey my shame out of thine eyes  
+    By looking back what I have left behind
+    'Stroy'd in dishonour.
+  CLEOPATRA. O my lord, my lord,
+    Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought
+    You would have followed.
+  ANTONY. Egypt, thou knew'st too well
+    My heart was to thy rudder tied by th' strings,
+    And thou shouldst tow me after. O'er my spirit
+    Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that
+    Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
+    Command me.
+  CLEOPATRA. O, my pardon!
+  ANTONY. Now I must
+    To the young man send humble treaties, dodge
+    And palter in the shifts of lowness, who
+    With half the bulk o' th' world play'd as I pleas'd,
+    Making and marring fortunes. You did know
+    How much you were my conqueror, and that
+    My sword, made weak by my affection, would
+    Obey it on all cause.  
+  CLEOPATRA. Pardon, pardon!
+  ANTONY. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates
+    All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss;
+    Even this repays me.
+    We sent our schoolmaster; is 'a come back?
+    Love, I am full of lead. Some wine,
+    Within there, and our viands! Fortune knows
+    We scorn her most when most she offers blows.         Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_12
+                         SCENE XII.
+                   CAESAR'S camp in Egypt
+
+   Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others
+
+  CAESAR. Let him appear that's come from Antony.
+    Know you him?
+  DOLABELLA. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster:
+    An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
+    He sends so poor a pinion of his wing,
+    Which had superfluous kings for messengers
+    Not many moons gone by.
+
+            Enter EUPHRONIUS, Ambassador from ANTONY
+
+  CAESAR. Approach, and speak.
+  EUPHRONIUS. Such as I am, I come from Antony.
+    I was of late as petty to his ends
+    As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf
+    To his grand sea.
+  CAESAR. Be't so. Declare thine office.
+  EUPHRONIUS. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and  
+    Requires to live in Egypt; which not granted,
+    He lessens his requests and to thee sues
+    To let him breathe between the heavens and earth,
+    A private man in Athens. This for him.
+    Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness,
+    Submits her to thy might, and of thee craves
+    The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs,
+    Now hazarded to thy grace.
+  CAESAR. For Antony,
+    I have no ears to his request. The Queen
+    Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she
+    From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend,
+    Or take his life there. This if she perform,
+    She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.
+  EUPHRONIUS. Fortune pursue thee!
+  CAESAR. Bring him through the bands.           Exit EUPHRONIUS
+    [To THYREUS] To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time. Dispatch;
+    From Antony win Cleopatra. Promise,
+    And in our name, what she requires; add more,
+    From thine invention, offers. Women are not  
+    In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure
+    The ne'er-touch'd vestal. Try thy cunning, Thyreus;
+    Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
+    Will answer as a law.
+  THYREUS. Caesar, I go.
+  CAESAR. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw,
+    And what thou think'st his very action speaks
+    In every power that moves.
+  THYREUS. Caesar, I shall.                               Exeunt
+
+ACT_3|SC_13
+                           SCENE XIII.
+               Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+        Enter CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS
+
+  CLEOPATRA. What shall we do, Enobarbus?
+  ENOBARBUS. Think, and die.
+  CLEOPATRA. Is Antony or we in fault for this?
+  ENOBARBUS. Antony only, that would make his will
+    Lord of his reason. What though you fled
+    From that great face of war, whose several ranges
+    Frighted each other? Why should he follow?
+    The itch of his affection should not then
+    Have nick'd his captainship, at such a point,
+    When half to half the world oppos'd, he being
+    The mered question. 'Twas a shame no less
+    Than was his loss, to course your flying flags
+    And leave his navy gazing.
+  CLEOPATRA. Prithee, peace.
+
+          Enter EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador; with ANTONY
+  
+  ANTONY. Is that his answer?
+  EUPHRONIUS. Ay, my lord.
+  ANTONY. The Queen shall then have courtesy, so she
+    Will yield us up.
+  EUPHRONIUS. He says so.
+  ANTONY. Let her know't.
+    To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head,
+    And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
+    With principalities.
+  CLEOPATRA. That head, my lord?
+  ANTONY. To him again. Tell him he wears the rose
+    Of youth upon him; from which the world should note
+    Something particular. His coin, ships, legions,
+    May be a coward's whose ministers would prevail
+    Under the service of a child as soon
+    As i' th' command of Caesar. I dare him therefore
+    To lay his gay comparisons apart,
+    And answer me declin'd, sword against sword,
+    Ourselves alone. I'll write it. Follow me.
+                                    Exeunt ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS  
+  EUPHRONIUS. [Aside] Yes, like enough high-battled Caesar will
+    Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to th' show
+    Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are
+    A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward
+    Do draw the inward quality after them,
+    To suffer all alike. That he should dream,
+    Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will
+    Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdu'd
+    His judgment too.
+
+                       Enter a SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. A messenger from Caesar.
+  CLEOPATRA. What, no more ceremony? See, my women!
+    Against the blown rose may they stop their nose
+    That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir.     Exit SERVANT
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to square.
+    The loyalty well held to fools does make
+    Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can endure
+    To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord  
+    Does conquer him that did his master conquer,
+    And earns a place i' th' story.
+
+                       Enter THYREUS
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Caesar's will?
+  THYREUS. Hear it apart.
+  CLEOPATRA. None but friends: say boldly.
+  THYREUS. So, haply, are they friends to Antony.
+  ENOBARBUS. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has,
+    Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master
+    Will leap to be his friend. For us, you know
+    Whose he is we are, and that is Caesar's.
+  THYREUS. So.
+    Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats
+    Not to consider in what case thou stand'st
+    Further than he is Caesar.
+  CLEOPATRA. Go on. Right royal!
+  THYREUS. He knows that you embrace not Antony
+    As you did love, but as you fear'd him.  
+  CLEOPATRA. O!
+  THYREUS. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
+    Does pity, as constrained blemishes,
+    Not as deserv'd.
+  CLEOPATRA. He is a god, and knows
+    What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded,
+    But conquer'd merely.
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside] To be sure of that,
+    I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky
+    That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
+    Thy dearest quit thee.                                  Exit
+  THYREUS. Shall I say to Caesar
+    What you require of him? For he partly begs
+    To be desir'd to give. It much would please him
+    That of his fortunes you should make a staff
+    To lean upon. But it would warm his spirits
+    To hear from me you had left Antony,
+    And put yourself under his shroud,
+    The universal landlord.
+  CLEOPATRA. What's your name?  
+  THYREUS. My name is Thyreus.
+  CLEOPATRA. Most kind messenger,
+    Say to great Caesar this: in deputation
+    I kiss his conquring hand. Tell him I am prompt
+    To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel.
+    Tell him from his all-obeying breath I hear
+    The doom of Egypt.
+  THYREUS. 'Tis your noblest course.
+    Wisdom and fortune combating together,
+    If that the former dare but what it can,
+    No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay
+    My duty on your hand.
+  CLEOPATRA. Your Caesar's father oft,
+    When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in,
+    Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
+    As it rain'd kisses.
+
+                Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS
+
+  ANTONY. Favours, by Jove that thunders!  
+    What art thou, fellow?
+  THYREUS. One that but performs
+    The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
+    To have command obey'd.
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside] You will be whipt.
+  ANTONY. Approach there.- Ah, you kite!- Now, gods and devils!
+    Authority melts from me. Of late, when I cried 'Ho!'
+    Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth
+    And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am
+    Antony yet.
+
+                       Enter servants
+
+    Take hence this Jack and whip him.
+  ENOBARBUS. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp
+    Than with an old one dying.
+  ANTONY. Moon and stars!
+    Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries
+    That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
+    So saucy with the hand of she here- what's her name  
+    Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows,
+    Till like a boy you see him cringe his face,
+    And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence.
+  THYMUS. Mark Antony-
+  ANTONY. Tug him away. Being whipt,
+    Bring him again: the Jack of Caesar's shall
+    Bear us an errand to him.       Exeunt servants with THYREUS
+    You were half blasted ere I knew you. Ha!
+    Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,
+    Forborne the getting of a lawful race,
+    And by a gem of women, to be abus'd
+    By one that looks on feeders?
+  CLEOPATRA. Good my lord-
+  ANTONY. You have been a boggler ever.
+    But when we in our viciousness grow hard-
+    O misery on't!- the wise gods seel our eyes,
+    In our own filth drop our clear judgments, make us
+    Adore our errors, laugh at's while we strut
+    To our confusion.
+  CLEOPATRA. O, is't come to this?  
+  ANTONY. I found you as a morsel cold upon
+    Dead Caesar's trencher. Nay, you were a fragment
+    Of Cneius Pompey's, besides what hotter hours,
+    Unregist'red in vulgar fame, you have
+    Luxuriously pick'd out; for I am sure,
+    Though you can guess what temperance should be,
+    You know not what it is.
+  CLEOPATRA. Wherefore is this?
+  ANTONY. To let a fellow that will take rewards,
+    And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with
+    My playfellow, your hand, this kingly seal
+    And plighter of high hearts! O that I were
+    Upon the hill of Basan to outroar
+    The horned herd! For I have savage cause,
+    And to proclaim it civilly were like
+    A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank
+    For being yare about him.
+
+              Re-enter a SERVANT with THYREUS
+  
+    Is he whipt?
+  SERVANT. Soundly, my lord.
+  ANTONY. Cried he? and begg'd 'a pardon?
+  SERVANT. He did ask favour.
+  ANTONY. If that thy father live, let him repent
+    Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry
+    To follow Caesar in his triumph, since
+    Thou hast been whipt for following him. Henceforth
+    The white hand of a lady fever thee!
+    Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to Caesar;
+    Tell him thy entertainment; look thou say
+    He makes me angry with him; for he seems
+    Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am,
+    Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry;
+    And at this time most easy 'tis to do't,
+    When my good stars, that were my former guides,
+    Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires
+    Into th' abysm of hell. If he mislike
+    My speech and what is done, tell him he has
+    Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom  
+    He may at pleasure whip or hang or torture,
+    As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou.
+    Hence with thy stripes, be gone.                Exit THYREUS
+  CLEOPATRA. Have you done yet?
+  ANTONY. Alack, our terrene moon
+    Is now eclips'd, and it portends alone
+    The fall of Antony.
+  CLEOPATRA. I must stay his time.
+  ANTONY. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
+    With one that ties his points?
+  CLEOPATRA. Not know me yet?
+  ANTONY. Cold-hearted toward me?
+  CLEOPATRA. Ah, dear, if I be so,
+    From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,
+    And poison it in the source, and the first stone
+    Drop in my neck; as it determines, so
+    Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite!
+    Till by degrees the memory of my womb,
+    Together with my brave Egyptians all,
+    By the discandying of this pelleted storm,  
+    Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile
+    Have buried them for prey.
+  ANTONY. I am satisfied.
+    Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where
+    I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
+    Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy to
+    Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like.
+    Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady?
+    If from the field I shall return once more
+    To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood.
+    I and my sword will earn our chronicle.
+    There's hope in't yet.
+  CLEOPATRA. That's my brave lord!
+  ANTONY. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
+    And fight maliciously. For when mine hours
+    Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives
+    Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth,
+    And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,
+    Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me
+    All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more;  
+    Let's mock the midnight bell.
+  CLEOPATRA. It is my birthday.
+    I had thought t'have held it poor; but since my lord
+    Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.
+  ANTONY. We will yet do well.
+  CLEOPATRA. Call all his noble captains to my lord.
+  ANTONY. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll force
+    The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen,
+    There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight
+    I'll make death love me; for I will contend
+    Even with his pestilent scythe.     Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS
+  ENOBARBUS. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious
+    Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood
+    The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still
+    A diminution in our captain's brain
+    Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason,
+    It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek
+    Some way to leave him.                                  Exit
+
+ACT_4|SC_1
+                      ACT IV. SCENE I.
+              CAESAR'S camp before Alexandria
+
+      Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS, with his army;
+                 CAESAR reading a letter
+
+  CAESAR. He calls me boy, and chides as he had power
+    To beat me out of Egypt. My messenger
+    He hath whipt with rods; dares me to personal combat,
+    Caesar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know
+    I have many other ways to die, meantime
+    Laugh at his challenge.
+  MAECENAS. Caesar must think
+    When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
+    Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
+    Make boot of his distraction. Never anger
+    Made good guard for itself.
+  CAESAR. Let our best heads
+    Know that to-morrow the last of many battles
+    We mean to fight. Within our files there are
+    Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late
+    Enough to fetch him in. See it done;  
+    And feast the army; we have store to do't,
+    And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony!          Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_2
+                          SCENE II.
+               Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace
+
+      Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS,
+                     ALEXAS, with others
+
+  ANTONY. He will not fight with me, Domitius?
+  ENOBARBUS. No.
+  ANTONY. Why should he not?
+  ENOBARBUS. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
+    He is twenty men to one.
+  ANTONY. To-morrow, soldier,
+    By sea and land I'll fight. Or I will live,
+    Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
+    Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?
+  ENOBARBUS. I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.'
+  ANTONY. Well said; come on.
+    Call forth my household servants; let's to-night
+    Be bounteous at our meal.
+
+                Enter three or four servitors
+  
+    Give me thy hand,
+    Thou has been rightly honest. So hast thou;
+    Thou, and thou, and thou. You have serv'd me well,
+    And kings have been your fellows.
+  CLEOPATRA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] What means this?
+  ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which
+      sorrow shoots
+    Out of the mind.
+  ANTONY. And thou art honest too.
+    I wish I could be made so many men,
+    And all of you clapp'd up together in
+    An Antony, that I might do you service
+    So good as you have done.
+  SERVANT. The gods forbid!
+  ANTONY. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night.
+    Scant not my cups, and make as much of me
+    As when mine empire was your fellow too,
+    And suffer'd my command.
+  CLEOPATRA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] What does he mean?
+    ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep.  
+  ANTONY. Tend me to-night;
+    May be it is the period of your duty.
+    Haply you shall not see me more; or if,
+    A mangled shadow. Perchance to-morrow
+    You'll serve another master. I look on you
+    As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
+    I turn you not away; but, like a master
+    Married to your good service, stay till death.
+    Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more,
+    And the gods yield you for't!
+  ENOBARBUS. What mean you, sir,
+    To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep;
+    And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd. For shame!
+    Transform us not to women.
+  ANTONY. Ho, ho, ho!
+    Now the witch take me if I meant it thus!
+    Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends,
+    You take me in too dolorous a sense;
+    For I spake to you for your comfort, did desire you
+    To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts,  
+    I hope well of to-morrow, and will lead you
+    Where rather I'll expect victorious life
+    Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come,
+    And drown consideration.                              Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_3
+                          SCENE III.
+             Alexandria. Before CLEOPATRA's palace
+
+                 Enter a company of soldiers
+
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Brother, good night. To-morrow is the day.
+  SECOND SOLDIER. It will determine one way. Fare you well.
+    Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Nothing. What news?
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good night to you.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Well, sir, good night.
+                                      [They meet other soldiers]
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Soldiers, have careful watch.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. And you. Good night, good night.
+                [The two companies separate and place themselves
+                                   in every corner of the stage]
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Here we. And if to-morrow
+    Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
+    Our landmen will stand up.
+  THIRD SOLDIER. 'Tis a brave army,
+    And full of purpose.
+                      [Music of the hautboys is under the stage]  
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Peace, what noise?
+  THIRD SOLDIER. List, list!
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Hark!
+  THIRD SOLDIER. Music i' th' air.
+  FOURTH SOLDIER. Under the earth.
+  THIRD SOLDIER. It signs well, does it not?
+  FOURTH SOLDIER. No.
+  THIRD SOLDIER. Peace, I say!
+    What should this mean?
+  SECOND SOLDIER. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd,
+    Now leaves him.
+  THIRD SOLDIER. Walk; let's see if other watchmen
+    Do hear what we do.
+  SECOND SOLDIER. How now, masters!
+  SOLDIERS. [Speaking together] How now!
+    How now! Do you hear this?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Ay; is't not strange?
+  THIRD SOLDIER. Do you hear, masters? Do you hear?
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;
+    Let's see how it will give off.  
+  SOLDIERS. Content. 'Tis strange.                        Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_4
+                           SCENE IV.
+               Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace
+
+         Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS,
+                          with others
+
+  ANTONY. Eros! mine armour, Eros!
+  CLEOPATRA. Sleep a little.
+  ANTONY. No, my chuck. Eros! Come, mine armour, Eros!
+
+                   Enter EROS with armour
+
+    Come, good fellow, put mine iron on.
+    If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
+    Because we brave her. Come.
+  CLEOPATRA. Nay, I'll help too.
+    What's this for?
+  ANTONY. Ah, let be, let be! Thou art
+    The armourer of my heart. False, false; this, this.
+  CLEOPATRA. Sooth, la, I'll help. Thus it must be.
+  ANTONY. Well, well;
+    We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow?  
+    Go put on thy defences.
+  EROS. Briefly, sir.
+  CLEOPATRA. Is not this buckled well?
+  ANTONY. Rarely, rarely!
+    He that unbuckles this, till we do please
+    To daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm.
+    Thou fumblest, Eros, and my queen's a squire
+    More tight at this than thou. Dispatch. O love,
+    That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st
+    The royal occupation! Thou shouldst see
+    A workman in't.
+
+                   Enter an armed SOLDIER
+
+    Good-morrow to thee. Welcome.
+    Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge.
+    To business that we love we rise betime,
+    And go to't with delight.
+  SOLDIER. A thousand, sir,
+    Early though't be, have on their riveted trim,  
+    And at the port expect you.
+                            [Shout. Flourish of trumpets within]
+
+                 Enter CAPTAINS and soldiers
+
+  CAPTAIN. The morn is fair. Good morrow, General.
+  ALL. Good morrow, General.
+  ANTONY. 'Tis well blown, lads.
+    This morning, like the spirit of a youth
+    That means to be of note, begins betimes.
+    So, so. Come, give me that. This way. Well said.
+    Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me.
+    This is a soldier's kiss. Rebukeable,
+    And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
+    On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee
+    Now like a man of steel. You that will fight,
+    Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. Adieu.
+                      Exeunt ANTONY, EROS, CAPTAINS and soldiers
+  CHARMIAN. Please you retire to your chamber?
+  CLEOPATRA. Lead me.
+    He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might
+    Determine this great war in single fight!
+    Then, Antony- but now. Well, on.                      Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_5
+                          SCENE V.
+                  Alexandria. ANTONY'S camp
+
+        Trumpets sound. Enter ANTONY and EROS, a SOLDIER
+                       meeting them
+
+  SOLDIER. The gods make this a happy day to Antony!
+  ANTONY. Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd
+    To make me fight at land!
+  SOLDIER. Hadst thou done so,
+    The kings that have revolted, and the soldier
+    That has this morning left thee, would have still
+    Followed thy heels.
+  ANTONY. Who's gone this morning?
+  SOLDIER. Who?
+    One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus,
+    He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp
+    Say 'I am none of thine.'
+  ANTONY. What say'st thou?
+  SOLDIER. Sir,
+    He is with Caesar.
+  EROS. Sir, his chests and treasure  
+    He has not with him.
+  ANTONY. Is he gone?
+  SOLDIER. Most certain.
+  ANTONY. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it;
+    Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to him-
+    I will subscribe- gentle adieus and greetings;
+    Say that I wish he never find more cause
+    To change a master. O, my fortunes have
+    Corrupted honest men! Dispatch. Enobarbus!            Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_6
+                         SCENE VI.
+                 Alexandria. CAESAR'S camp
+
+       Flourish. Enter AGRIPPA, CAESAR, With DOLABELLA
+                       and ENOBARBUS
+
+  CAESAR. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight.
+    Our will is Antony be took alive;
+    Make it so known.
+  AGRIPPA. Caesar, I shall.                                 Exit
+  CAESAR. The time of universal peace is near.
+    Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nook'd world
+    Shall bear the olive freely.
+
+                     Enter A MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Antony
+    Is come into the field.
+  CAESAR. Go charge Agrippa
+    Plant those that have revolted in the vant,
+    That Antony may seem to spend his fury
+    Upon himself.                       Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS  
+  ENOBARBUS. Alexas did revolt and went to Jewry on
+    Affairs of Antony; there did dissuade
+    Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar
+    And leave his master Antony. For this pains
+    Casaer hath hang'd him. Canidius and the rest
+    That fell away have entertainment, but
+    No honourable trust. I have done ill,
+    Of which I do accuse myself so sorely
+    That I will joy no more.
+
+                  Enter a SOLDIER of CAESAR'S
+
+  SOLDIER. Enobarbus, Antony
+    Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
+    His bounty overplus. The messenger
+    Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now
+    Unloading of his mules.
+  ENOBARBUS. I give it you.
+  SOLDIER. Mock not, Enobarbus.
+    I tell you true. Best you saf'd the bringer  
+    Out of the host. I must attend mine office,
+    Or would have done't myself. Your emperor
+    Continues still a Jove.                                 Exit
+  ENOBARBUS. I am alone the villain of the earth,
+    And feel I am so most. O Antony,
+    Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid
+    My better service, when my turpitude
+    Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart.
+    If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
+    Shall outstrike thought; but thought will do't, I feel.
+    I fight against thee? No! I will go seek
+    Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits
+    My latter part of life.                                 Exit
+
+ACT_4|SC_7
+                          SCENE VII.
+             Field of battle between the camps
+
+         Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter AGRIPPA
+                        and others
+
+  AGRIPPA. Retire. We have engag'd ourselves too far.
+    Caesar himself has work, and our oppression
+    Exceeds what we expected.                             Exeunt
+
+          Alarums. Enter ANTONY, and SCARUS wounded
+
+  SCARUS. O my brave Emperor, this is fought indeed!
+    Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
+    With clouts about their heads.
+  ANTONY. Thou bleed'st apace.
+  SCARUS. I had a wound here that was like a T,
+    But now 'tis made an H.
+  ANTONY. They do retire.
+  SCARUS. We'll beat'em into bench-holes. I have yet
+    Room for six scotches more.
+  
+                        Enter EROS
+
+  EROS. They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves
+    For a fair victory.
+  SCARUS. Let us score their backs
+    And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind.
+    'Tis sport to maul a runner.
+  ANTONY. I will reward thee
+    Once for thy sprightly comfort, and tenfold
+    For thy good valour. Come thee on.
+    SCARUS. I'll halt after.                              Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_8
+                         SCENE VIII.
+               Under the walls of Alexandria
+
+        Alarum. Enter ANTONY, again in a march; SCARUS
+                        with others
+
+  ANTONY. We have beat him to his camp. Run one before
+    And let the Queen know of our gests. To-morrow,
+    Before the sun shall see's, we'll spill the blood
+    That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all;
+    For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
+    Not as you serv'd the cause, but as't had been
+    Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors.
+    Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,
+    Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears
+    Wash the congealment from your wounds and kiss
+    The honour'd gashes whole.
+
+                 Enter CLEOPATRA, attended
+
+    [To SCARUS] Give me thy hand-
+    To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts,  
+    Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o' th' world,
+    Chain mine arm'd neck. Leap thou, attire and all,
+    Through proof of harness to my heart, and there
+    Ride on the pants triumphing.
+  CLEOPATRA. Lord of lords!
+    O infinite virtue, com'st thou smiling from
+    The world's great snare uncaught?
+  ANTONY. Mine nightingale,
+    We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! though grey
+    Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha' we
+    A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
+    Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man;
+    Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand-
+    Kiss it, my warrior- he hath fought to-day
+    As if a god in hate of mankind had
+    Destroyed in such a shape.
+  CLEOPATRA. I'll give thee, friend,
+    An armour all of gold; it was a king's.
+  ANTONY. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled
+    Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand.  
+    Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
+    Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them.
+    Had our great palace the capacity
+    To camp this host, we all would sup together,
+    And drink carouses to the next day's fate,
+    Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,
+    With brazen din blast you the city's ear;
+    Make mingle with our rattling tabourines,
+    That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together
+    Applauding our approach.                              Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_9
+                         SCENE IX.
+                      CAESAR'S camp
+
+      Enter a CENTURION and his company; ENOBARBUS follows
+
+  CENTURION. If we be not reliev'd within this hour,
+    We must return to th' court of guard. The night
+    Is shiny, and they say we shall embattle
+    By th' second hour i' th' morn.
+  FIRST WATCH. This last day was
+    A shrewd one to's.
+  ENOBARBUS. O, bear me witness, night-
+  SECOND WATCH. What man is this?
+  FIRST WATCH. Stand close and list him.
+  ENOBARBUS. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
+    When men revolted shall upon record
+    Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
+    Before thy face repent!
+  CENTURION. Enobarbus?
+  SECOND WATCH. Peace!
+    Hark further.
+  ENOBARBUS. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,  
+    The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me,
+    That life, a very rebel to my will,
+    May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart
+    Against the flint and hardness of my fault,
+    Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
+    And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
+    Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
+    Forgive me in thine own particular,
+    But let the world rank me in register
+    A master-leaver and a fugitive!
+    O Antony! O Antony!                                   [Dies]
+  FIRST WATCH. Let's speak to him.
+  CENTURION. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
+    May concern Caesar.
+  SECOND WATCH. Let's do so. But he sleeps.
+  CENTURION. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
+    Was never yet for sleep.
+  FIRST WATCH. Go we to him.
+  SECOND WATCH. Awake, sir, awake; speak to us.
+  FIRST WATCH. Hear you, sir?  
+  CENTURION. The hand of death hath raught him.
+    [Drums afar off ] Hark! the drums
+    Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
+    To th' court of guard; he is of note. Our hour
+    Is fully out.
+  SECOND WATCH. Come on, then;
+    He may recover yet.                     Exeunt with the body
+
+ACT_4|SC_10
+                          SCENE X.
+                    Between the two camps
+
+            Enter ANTONY and SCARUS, with their army
+
+  ANTONY. Their preparation is to-day by sea;
+    We please them not by land.
+  SCARUS. For both, my lord.
+  ANTONY. I would they'd fight i' th' fire or i' th' air;
+    We'd fight there too. But this it is, our foot
+    Upon the hills adjoining to the city
+    Shall stay with us- Order for sea is given;
+    They have put forth the haven-
+    Where their appointment we may best discover
+    And look on their endeavour.                          Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_11
+                         SCENE XI.
+                    Between the camps
+
+                Enter CAESAR and his army
+
+  CAESAR. But being charg'd, we will be still by land,
+    Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force
+    Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales,
+    And hold our best advantage.                          Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_12
+                         SCENE XII.
+                  A hill near Alexandria
+
+                  Enter ANTONY and SCARUS
+
+  ANTONY. Yet they are not join'd. Where yond pine does stand
+    I shall discover all. I'll bring thee word
+    Straight how 'tis like to go.                           Exit
+  SCARUS. Swallows have built
+    In Cleopatra's sails their nests. The augurers
+    Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,
+    And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
+    Is valiant and dejected; and by starts
+    His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear
+    Of what he has and has not.
+                            [Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight]
+
+                      Re-enter ANTONY
+
+  ANTONY. All is lost!
+    This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me.
+    My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder  
+    They cast their caps up and carouse together
+    Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore! 'tis thou
+    Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
+    Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;
+    For when I am reveng'd upon my charm,
+    I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone.       Exit SCARUS
+    O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more!
+    Fortune and Antony part here; even here
+    Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
+    That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
+    Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
+    On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd
+    That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am.
+    O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm-
+    Whose eye beck'd forth my wars and call'd them home,
+    Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end-
+    Like a right gypsy hath at fast and loose
+    Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss.
+    What, Eros, Eros!
+  
+                      Enter CLEOPATRA
+
+    Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!
+  CLEOPATRA. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love?
+  ANTONY. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving
+    And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee
+    And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians;
+    Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
+    Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown
+    For poor'st diminutives, for doits, and let
+    Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
+    With her prepared nails.                      Exit CLEOPATRA
+    'Tis well th'art gone,
+    If it be well to live; but better 'twere
+    Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
+    Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
+    The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me,
+    Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage;
+    Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' th' moon,
+    And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club
+    Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die.
+    To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
+    Under this plot. She dies for't. Eros, ho!              Exit
+
+ACT_4|SC_13
+                          SCENE XIII.
+               Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace
+
+      Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Help me, my women. O, he is more mad
+    Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
+    Was never so emboss'd.
+  CHARMIAN. To th'monument!
+    There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
+    The soul and body rive not more in parting
+    Than greatness going off.
+  CLEOPATRA. To th' monument!
+    Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
+    Say that the last I spoke was 'Antony'
+    And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence, Mardian,
+    And bring me how he takes my death. To th' monument!
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+ACT_4|SC_14
+                          SCENE XIV.
+                     CLEOPATRA'S palace
+
+                   Enter ANTONY and EROS
+
+  ANTONY. Eros, thou yet behold'st me?
+  EROS. Ay, noble lord.
+  ANTONY. Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish;
+    A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
+    A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,
+    A forked mountain, or blue promontory
+    With trees upon't that nod unto the world
+    And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs;
+    They are black vesper's pageants.
+  EROS. Ay, my lord.
+  ANTONY. That which is now a horse, even with a thought
+    The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct,
+    As water is in water.
+  EROS. It does, my lord.
+  ANTONY. My good knave Eros, now thy captain is
+    Even such a body. Here I am Antony;
+    Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.  
+    I made these wars for Egypt; and the Queen-
+    Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine,
+    Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't
+    A million moe, now lost- she, Eros, has
+    Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my glory
+    Unto an enemy's triumph.
+    Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
+    Ourselves to end ourselves.
+
+                         Enter MARDIAN
+
+    O, thy vile lady!
+    She has robb'd me of my sword.
+  MARDIAN. No, Antony;
+    My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled
+    With thine entirely.
+  ANTONY. Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!
+    She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death.
+  MARDIAN. Death of one person can be paid but once,
+    And that she has discharg'd. What thou wouldst do  
+    Is done unto thy hand. The last she spake
+    Was 'Antony! most noble Antony!'
+    Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
+    The name of Antony; it was divided
+    Between her heart and lips. She rend'red life,
+    Thy name so buried in her.
+  ANTONY. Dead then?
+  MARDIAN. Dead.
+  ANTONY. Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done,
+    And we must sleep. That thou depart'st hence safe
+    Does pay thy labour richly. Go.                 Exit MARDIAN
+    Off, pluck off!
+    The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep
+    The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!
+    Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
+    Crack thy frail case. Apace, Eros, apace.-
+    No more a soldier. Bruised pieces, go;
+    You have been nobly borne.- From me awhile.        Exit EROS
+    I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
+    Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now  
+    All length is torture. Since the torch is out,
+    Lie down, and stray no farther. Now all labour
+    Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
+    Itself with strength. Seal then, and all is done.
+    Eros!- I come, my queen.- Eros!- Stay for me;
+    Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand,
+    And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze.
+    Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,
+    And all the haunt be ours.- Come, Eros, Eros!
+
+                       Re-enter EROS
+
+  EROS. What would my lord?
+  ANTONY. Since Cleopatra died,
+    I have liv'd in such dishonour that the gods
+    Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
+    Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
+    With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
+    The courage of a woman; less noble mind
+    Than she which by her death our Caesar tells  
+    'I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn, Eros,
+    That, when the exigent should come- which now
+    Is come indeed- when I should see behind me
+    Th' inevitable prosecution of
+    Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
+    Thou then wouldst kill me. Do't; the time is come.
+    Thou strik'st not me; 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st.
+    Put colour in thy cheek.
+  EROS. The gods withhold me!
+    Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
+    Though enemy, lost aim and could not?
+  ANTONY. Eros,
+    Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see
+    Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down
+    His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd
+    To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat
+    Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
+    His baseness that ensued?
+  EROS. I would not see't.
+  ANTONY. Come, then; for with a wound I must be cur'd.  
+    Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
+    Most useful for thy country.
+  EROS. O, sir, pardon me!
+  ANTONY. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not then
+    To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once,
+    Or thy precedent services are all
+    But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.
+  EROS. Turn from me then that noble countenance,
+    Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.
+  ANTONY. Lo thee!                            [Turning from him]
+  EROS. My sword is drawn.
+  ANTONY. Then let it do at once
+    The thing why thou hast drawn it.
+  EROS. My dear master,
+    My captain and my emperor, let me say,
+    Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.
+  ANTONY. 'Tis said, man; and farewell.
+  EROS. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?
+  ANTONY. Now, Eros.
+  EROS. Why, there then! Thus do I escape the sorrow  
+    Of Antony's death.                            [Kills himself
+  ANTONY. Thrice nobler than myself!
+    Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
+    I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros
+    Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me
+    A nobleness in record. But I will be
+    A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
+    As to a lover's bed. Come, then; and, Eros,
+    Thy master dies thy scholar. To do thus
+                                          [Falling on his sword]
+    I learn'd of thee. How? not dead? not dead?-
+    The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!
+
+                  Enter DERCETAS and a guard
+
+  FIRST GUARD. What's the noise?
+  ANTONY. I have done my work ill, friends. O, make an end
+    Of what I have begun.
+  SECOND GUARD. The star is fall'n.
+  FIRST GUARD. And time is at his period.  
+  ALL. Alas, and woe!
+  ANTONY. Let him that loves me, strike me dead.
+  FIRST GUARD. Not I.
+  SECOND GUARD. Nor I.
+  THIRD GUARD. Nor any one.                         Exeunt guard
+  DERCETAS. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
+    This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
+    Shall enter me with him.
+
+                       Enter DIOMEDES
+
+  DIOMEDES. Where's Antony?
+  DERCETAS. There, Diomed, there.
+  DIOMEDES. Lives he?
+    Wilt thou not answer, man?                     Exit DERCETAS
+  ANTONY. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword and give me
+    Sufficing strokes for death.
+  DIOMEDES. Most absolute lord,
+    My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
+  ANTONY. When did she send thee?  
+  DIOMEDES. Now, my lord.
+  ANTONY. Where is she?
+  DIOMEDES. Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
+    Of what hath come to pass; for when she saw-
+    Which never shall be found- you did suspect
+    She had dispos'd with Caesar, and that your rage
+    Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead;
+    But fearing since how it might work, hath sent
+    Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
+    I dread, too late.
+  ANTONY. Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee.
+  DIOMEDES. What, ho! the Emperor's guard! The guard, what ho!
+    Come, your lord calls!
+
+             Enter four or five of the guard of ANTONY
+
+  ANTONY. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
+    'Tis the last service that I shall command you.
+  FIRST GUARD. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
+    All your true followers out.  
+  ALL. Most heavy day!
+  ANTONY. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate
+    To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome
+    Which comes to punish us, and we punish it,
+    Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up.
+    I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends,
+    And have my thanks for all.           Exeunt, hearing ANTONY
+ACT_4|SC_15
+                         SCENE XV.
+                   Alexandria. A monument
+
+      Enter CLEOPATRA and her maids aloft, with CHARMIAN
+                         and IRAS
+
+  CLEOPATRA. O Charmian, I will never go from hence!
+  CHARMIAN. Be comforted, dear madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. No, I will not.
+    All strange and terrible events are welcome,
+    But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
+    Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
+    As that which makes it.
+
+                   Enter DIOMEDES, below
+
+    How now! Is he dead?
+  DIOMEDES. His death's upon him, but not dead.
+    Look out o' th' other side your monument;
+    His guard have brought him thither.
+
+            Enter, below, ANTONY, borne by the guard  
+
+  CLEOPATRA. O sun,
+    Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in! Darkling stand
+    The varying shore o' th' world. O Antony,
+    Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian; help, Iras, help;
+    Help, friends below! Let's draw him hither.
+  ANTONY. Peace!
+    Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
+    But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.
+  CLEOPATRA. So it should be, that none but Antony
+    Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!
+  ANTONY. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
+    I here importune death awhile, until
+    Of many thousand kisses the poor last
+    I lay upon thy lips.
+  CLEOPATRA. I dare not, dear.
+    Dear my lord, pardon! I dare not,
+    Lest I be taken. Not th' imperious show
+    Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall
+    Be brooch'd with me. If knife, drugs, serpents, have  
+    Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe.
+    Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
+    And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
+    Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony-
+    Help me, my women- we must draw thee up;
+    Assist, good friends.
+  ANTONY. O, quick, or I am gone.
+  CLEOPATRA. Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!
+    Our strength is all gone into heaviness;
+    That makes the weight. Had I great Juno's power,
+    The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
+    And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little.
+    Wishers were ever fools. O come, come,
+                          [They heave ANTONY aloft to CLEOPATRA]
+    And welcome, welcome! Die where thou hast liv'd.
+    Quicken with kissing. Had my lips that power,
+    Thus would I wear them out.
+  ALL. A heavy sight!
+  ANTONY. I am dying, Egypt, dying.
+    Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.  
+  CLEOPATRA. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high
+    That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel,
+    Provok'd by my offence.
+  ANTONY. One word, sweet queen:
+    Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!
+  CLEOPATRA. They do not go together.
+  ANTONY. Gentle, hear me:
+    None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.
+  CLEOPATRA. My resolution and my hands I'll trust;
+    None about Caesar
+  ANTONY. The miserable change now at my end
+    Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts
+    In feeding them with those my former fortunes
+    Wherein I liv'd the greatest prince o' th' world,
+    The noblest; and do now not basely die,
+    Not cowardly put off my helmet to
+    My countryman- a Roman by a Roman
+    Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going
+    I can no more.
+  CLEOPATRA. Noblest of men, woo't die?  
+    Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide
+    In this dull world, which in thy absence is
+    No better than a sty? O, see, my women,        [Antony dies]
+    The crown o' th' earth doth melt. My lord!
+    O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
+    The soldier's pole is fall'n! Young boys and girls
+    Are level now with men. The odds is gone,
+    And there is nothing left remarkable
+    Beneath the visiting moon.                          [Swoons]
+  CHARMIAN. O, quietness, lady!
+  IRAS. She's dead too, our sovereign.
+  CHARMIAN. Lady!
+  IRAS. Madam!
+  CHARMIAN. O madam, madam, madam!
+  IRAS. Royal Egypt, Empress!
+  CHARMIAN. Peace, peace, Iras!
+  CLEOPATRA. No more but e'en a woman, and commanded
+    By such poor passion as the maid that milks
+    And does the meanest chares. It were for me
+    To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;  
+    To tell them that this world did equal theirs
+    Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but nought;
+    Patience is sottish, and impatience does
+    Become a dog that's mad. Then is it sin
+    To rush into the secret house of death
+    Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women?
+    What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian!
+    My noble girls! Ah, women, women, look,
+    Our lamp is spent, it's out! Good sirs, take heart.
+    We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's noble,
+    Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
+    And make death proud to take us. Come, away;
+    This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
+    Ah, women, women! Come; we have no friend
+    But resolution and the briefest end.
+                   Exeunt; those above hearing off ANTONY'S body
+
+ACT_5|SC_1
+                       ACT V. SCENE I.
+                  Alexandria. CAESAR'S camp
+
+      Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MAECENAS, GALLUS,
+          PROCULEIUS, and others, his Council of War
+
+  CAESAR. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
+    Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks
+    The pauses that he makes.
+  DOLABELLA. Caesar, I shall.                               Exit
+
+             Enter DERCETAS With the sword of ANTONY
+
+  CAESAR. Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar'st
+    Appear thus to us?
+  DERCETAS. I am call'd Dercetas;
+    Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy
+    Best to be serv'd. Whilst he stood up and spoke,
+    He was my master, and I wore my life
+    To spend upon his haters. If thou please
+    To take me to thee, as I was to him
+    I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,  
+    I yield thee up my life.
+  CAESAR. What is't thou say'st?
+  DERCETAS. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.
+  CAESAR. The breaking of so great a thing should make
+    A greater crack. The round world
+    Should have shook lions into civil streets,
+    And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony
+    Is not a single doom; in the name lay
+    A moiety of the world.
+  DERCETAS. He is dead, Caesar,
+    Not by a public minister of justice,
+    Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand
+    Which writ his honour in the acts it did
+    Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
+    Splitted the heart. This is his sword;
+    I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
+    With his most noble blood.
+  CAESAR. Look you sad, friends?
+    The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings
+    To wash the eyes of kings.  
+  AGRIPPA. And strange it is
+    That nature must compel us to lament
+    Our most persisted deeds.
+  MAECENAS. His taints and honours
+    Wag'd equal with him.
+  AGRIPPA. A rarer spirit never
+    Did steer humanity. But you gods will give us
+    Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.
+  MAECENAS. When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
+    He needs must see himself.
+  CAESAR. O Antony,
+    I have follow'd thee to this! But we do lance
+    Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce
+    Have shown to thee such a declining day
+    Or look on thine; we could not stall together
+    In the whole world. But yet let me lament,
+    With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
+    That thou, my brother, my competitor
+    In top of all design, my mate in empire,
+    Friend and companion in the front of war,  
+    The arm of mine own body, and the heart
+    Where mine his thoughts did kindle- that our stars,
+    Unreconciliable, should divide
+    Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends-
+
+                    Enter an EGYPTIAN
+
+    But I will tell you at some meeter season.
+    The business of this man looks out of him;
+    We'll hear him what he says. Whence are you?
+  EGYPTIAN. A poor Egyptian, yet the Queen, my mistress,
+    Confin'd in all she has, her monument,
+    Of thy intents desires instruction,
+    That she preparedly may frame herself
+    To th' way she's forc'd to.
+  CAESAR. Bid her have good heart.
+    She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
+    How honourable and how kindly we
+    Determine for her; for Caesar cannot learn
+    To be ungentle.  
+  EGYPTIAN. So the gods preserve thee!                      Exit
+  CAESAR. Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say
+    We purpose her no shame. Give her what comforts
+    The quality of her passion shall require,
+    Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
+    She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
+    Would be eternal in our triumph. Go,
+    And with your speediest bring us what she says,
+    And how you find her.
+  PROCULEIUS. Caesar, I shall.                              Exit
+  CAESAR. Gallus, go you along.                      Exit GALLUS
+    Where's Dolabella, to second Proculeius?
+  ALL. Dolabella!
+  CAESAR. Let him alone, for I remember now
+    How he's employ'd; he shall in time be ready.
+    Go with me to my tent, where you shall see
+    How hardly I was drawn into this war,
+    How calm and gentle I proceeded still
+    In all my writings. Go with me, and see
+    What I can show in this.                              Exeunt
+
+ACT_5|SC_2
+                         SCENE II.
+                Alexandria. The monument
+
+      Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
+
+  CLEOPATRA. My desolation does begin to make
+    A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar:
+    Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave,
+    A minister of her will; and it is great
+    To do that thing that ends all other deeds,
+    Which shackles accidents and bolts up change,
+    Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug,
+    The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.
+
+       Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS,
+                          and soldiers
+
+  PROCULEIUS. Caesar sends greetings to the Queen of Egypt,
+    And bids thee study on what fair demands
+    Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.
+  CLEOPATRA. What's thy name?
+  PROCULEIUS. My name is Proculeius.  
+  CLEOPATRA. Antony
+    Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but
+    I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd,
+    That have no use for trusting. If your master
+    Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him
+    That majesty, to keep decorum, must
+    No less beg than a kingdom. If he please
+    To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son,
+    He gives me so much of mine own as I
+    Will kneel to him with thanks.
+  PROCULEIUS. Be of good cheer;
+    Y'are fall'n into a princely hand; fear nothing.
+    Make your full reference freely to my lord,
+    Who is so full of grace that it flows over
+    On all that need. Let me report to him
+    Your sweet dependency, and you shall find
+    A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness
+    Where he for grace is kneel'd to.
+  CLEOPATRA. Pray you tell him
+    I am his fortune's vassal and I send him  
+    The greatness he has got. I hourly learn
+    A doctrine of obedience, and would gladly
+    Look him i' th' face.
+  PROCULEIUS. This I'll report, dear lady.
+    Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied
+    Of him that caus'd it.
+  GALLUS. You see how easily she may be surpris'd.
+
+      Here PROCULEIUS and two of the guard ascend the
+       monument by a ladder placed against a window,
+       and come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the guard
+                unbar and open the gates
+
+    Guard her till Caesar come.                             Exit
+  IRAS. Royal Queen!
+  CHARMIAN. O Cleopatra! thou art taken, Queen!
+  CLEOPATRA. Quick, quick, good hands.        [Drawing a dagger]
+  PROCULEIUS. Hold, worthy lady, hold,             [Disarms her]
+    Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
+    Reliev'd, but not betray'd.  
+  CLEOPATRA. What, of death too,
+    That rids our dogs of languish?
+  PROCULEIUS. Cleopatra,
+    Do not abuse my master's bounty by
+    Th' undoing of yourself. Let the world see
+    His nobleness well acted, which your death
+    Will never let come forth.
+  CLEOPATRA. Where art thou, death?
+    Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen
+    Worth many babes and beggars!
+  PROCULEIUS. O, temperance, lady!
+  CLEOPATRA. Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir;
+    If idle talk will once be necessary,
+    I'll not sleep neither. This mortal house I'll ruin,
+    Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I
+    Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court,
+    Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye
+    Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,
+    And show me to the shouting varletry
+    Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt  
+    Be gentle grave unto me! Rather on Nilus' mud
+    Lay me stark-nak'd, and let the water-flies
+    Blow me into abhorring! Rather make
+    My country's high pyramides my gibbet,
+    And hang me up in chains!
+  PROCULEIUS. You do extend
+    These thoughts of horror further than you shall
+    Find cause in Caesar.
+
+                      Enter DOLABELLA
+
+  DOLABELLA. Proculeius,
+    What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows,
+    And he hath sent for thee. For the Queen,
+    I'll take her to my guard.
+  PROCULEIUS. So, Dolabella,
+    It shall content me best. Be gentle to her.
+    [To CLEOPATRA] To Caesar I will speak what you shall please,
+    If you'll employ me to him.
+  CLEOPATRA. Say I would die.  
+                                  Exeunt PROCULEIUS and soldiers
+  DOLABELLA. Most noble Empress, you have heard of me?
+  CLEOPATRA. I cannot tell.
+  DOLABELLA. Assuredly you know me.
+  CLEOPATRA. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.
+    You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams;
+    Is't not your trick?
+  DOLABELLA. I understand not, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony-
+    O, such another sleep, that I might see
+    But such another man!
+  DOLABELLA. If it might please ye-
+  CLEOPATRA. His face was as the heav'ns, and therein stuck
+    A sun and moon, which kept their course and lighted
+    The little O, the earth.
+  DOLABELLA. Most sovereign creature-
+  CLEOPATRA. His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm
+    Crested the world. His voice was propertied
+    As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
+    But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,  
+    He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
+    There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas
+    That grew the more by reaping. His delights
+    Were dolphin-like: they show'd his back above
+    The element they liv'd in. In his livery
+    Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were
+    As plates dropp'd from his pocket.
+  DOLABELLA. Cleopatra-
+  CLEOPATRA. Think you there was or might be such a man
+    As this I dreamt of?
+  DOLABELLA. Gentle madam, no.
+  CLEOPATRA. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
+    But if there be nor ever were one such,
+    It's past the size of drearning. Nature wants stuff
+    To vie strange forms with fancy; yet t' imagine
+    An Antony were nature's piece 'gainst fancy,
+    Condemning shadows quite.
+  DOLABELLA. Hear me, good madam.
+    Your loss is, as yourself, great; and you bear it
+    As answering to the weight. Would I might never  
+    O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel,
+    By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites
+    My very heart at root.
+  CLEOPATRA. I thank you, sir.
+    Know you what Caesar means to do with me?
+  DOLABELLA. I am loath to tell you what I would you knew.
+  CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you, sir.
+  DOLABELLA. Though he be honourable-
+  CLEOPATRA. He'll lead me, then, in triumph?
+  DOLABELLA. Madam, he will. I know't.                [Flourish]
+                              [Within: 'Make way there-Caesar!']
+
+       Enter CAESAR; GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MAECENAS, SELEUCUS,
+                     and others of his train
+
+  CAESAR. Which is the Queen of Egypt?
+  DOLABELLA. It is the Emperor, madam.        [CLEOPATPA kneels]
+  CAESAR. Arise, you shall not kneel.
+    I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt.
+  CLEOPATRA. Sir, the gods  
+    Will have it thus; my master and my lord
+    I must obey.
+  CAESAR. Take to you no hard thoughts.
+    The record of what injuries you did us,
+    Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
+    As things but done by chance.
+  CLEOPATRA. Sole sir o' th' world,
+    I cannot project mine own cause so well
+    To make it clear, but do confess I have
+    Been laden with like frailties which before
+    Have often sham'd our sex.
+  CAESAR. Cleopatra, know
+    We will extenuate rather than enforce.
+    If you apply yourself to our intents-
+    Which towards you are most gentle- you shall find
+    A benefit in this change; but if you seek
+    To lay on me a cruelty by taking
+    Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
+    Of my good purposes, and put your children
+    To that destruction which I'll guard them from,  
+    If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.
+  CLEOPATRA. And may, through all the world. 'Tis yours, and we,
+    Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall
+    Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord.
+  CAESAR. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.
+  CLEOPATRA. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,
+    I am possess'd of. 'Tis exactly valued,
+    Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleucus?
+  SELEUCUS. Here, madam.
+  CLEOPATRA. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lord,
+    Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd
+    To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.
+  SELEUCUS. Madam,
+    I had rather seal my lips than to my peril
+    Speak that which is not.
+  CLEOPATRA. What have I kept back?
+  SELEUCUS. Enough to purchase what you have made known.
+  CAESAR. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
+    Your wisdom in the deed.
+  CLEOPATRA. See, Caesar! O, behold,  
+    How pomp is followed! Mine will now be yours;
+    And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine.
+    The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
+    Even make me wild. O slave, of no more trust
+    Than love that's hir'd! What, goest thou back? Thou shalt
+    Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes
+    Though they had wings. Slave, soulless villain, dog!
+    O rarely base!
+  CAESAR. Good Queen, let us entreat you.
+  CLEOPATRA. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this,
+    That thou vouchsafing here to visit me,
+    Doing the honour of thy lordliness
+    To one so meek, that mine own servant should
+    Parcel the sum of my disgraces by
+    Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar,
+    That I some lady trifles have reserv'd,
+    Immoment toys, things of such dignity
+    As we greet modern friends withal; and say
+    Some nobler token I have kept apart
+    For Livia and Octavia, to induce  
+    Their mediation- must I be unfolded
+    With one that I have bred? The gods! It smites me
+    Beneath the fall I have. [To SELEUCUS] Prithee go hence;
+    Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits
+    Through th' ashes of my chance. Wert thou a man,
+    Thou wouldst have mercy on me.
+  CAESAR. Forbear, Seleucus.                       Exit SELEUCUS
+  CLEOPATRA. Be it known that we, the greatest, are misthought
+    For things that others do; and when we fall
+    We answer others' merits in our name,
+    Are therefore to be pitied.
+  CAESAR. Cleopatra,
+    Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd,
+    Put we i' th' roll of conquest. Still be't yours,
+    Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe
+    Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you
+    Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd;
+    Make not your thoughts your prisons. No, dear Queen;
+    For we intend so to dispose you as
+    Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed and sleep.  
+    Our care and pity is so much upon you
+    That we remain your friend; and so, adieu.
+  CLEOPATRA. My master and my lord!
+  CAESAR. Not so. Adieu.
+                           Flourish. Exeunt CAESAR and his train
+  CLEOPATRA. He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not
+    Be noble to myself. But hark thee, Charmian!
+                                             [Whispers CHARMIAN]
+  IRAS. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done,
+    And we are for the dark.
+  CLEOPATRA. Hie thee again.
+    I have spoke already, and it is provided;
+    Go put it to the haste.
+  CHARMIAN. Madam, I will.
+
+                      Re-enter DOLABELLA
+
+  DOLABELLA. Where's the Queen?
+  CHARMIAN. Behold, sir.                                    Exit
+  CLEOPATRA. Dolabella!  
+  DOLABELLA. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,
+    Which my love makes religion to obey,
+    I tell you this: Caesar through Syria
+    Intends his journey, and within three days
+    You with your children will he send before.
+    Make your best use of this; I have perform'd
+    Your pleasure and my promise.
+  CLEOPATRA. Dolabella,
+    I shall remain your debtor.
+  DOLABELLA. I your servant.
+    Adieu, good Queen; I must attend on Caesar.
+  CLEOPATRA. Farewell, and thanks.                Exit DOLABELLA
+    Now, Iras, what think'st thou?
+    Thou an Egyptian puppet shall be shown
+    In Rome as well as I. Mechanic slaves,
+    With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
+    Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths,
+    Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded,
+    And forc'd to drink their vapour.
+  IRAS. The gods forbid!  
+  CLEOPATRA. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors
+    Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers
+    Ballad us out o' tune; the quick comedians
+    Extemporally will stage us, and present
+    Our Alexandrian revels; Antony
+    Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
+    Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
+    I' th' posture of a whore.
+  IRAS. O the good gods!
+  CLEOPATRA. Nay, that's certain.
+  IRAS. I'll never see't, for I am sure mine nails
+    Are stronger than mine eyes.
+  CLEOPATRA. Why, that's the way
+    To fool their preparation and to conquer
+    Their most absurd intents.
+
+                      Enter CHARMIAN
+
+    Now, Charmian!
+    Show me, my women, like a queen. Go fetch  
+    My best attires. I am again for Cydnus,
+    To meet Mark Antony. Sirrah, Iras, go.
+    Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed;
+    And when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee leave
+    To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all.
+                                       Exit IRAS. A noise within
+    Wherefore's this noise?
+
+                     Enter a GUARDSMAN
+
+  GUARDSMAN. Here is a rural fellow
+    That will not be denied your Highness' presence.
+    He brings you figs.
+  CLEOPATRA. Let him come in.                     Exit GUARDSMAN
+    What poor an instrument
+    May do a noble deed! He brings me liberty.
+    My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
+    Of woman in me. Now from head to foot
+    I am marble-constant; now the fleeting moon
+    No planet is of mine.  
+
+          Re-enter GUARDSMAN and CLOWN, with a basket
+
+  GUARDSMAN. This is the man.
+  CLEOPATRA. Avoid, and leave him.                Exit GUARDSMAN
+    Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there
+    That kills and pains not?
+  CLOWN. Truly, I have him. But I would not be the party that should
+    desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal; those that
+    do die of it do seldom or never recover.
+  CLEOPATRA. Remember'st thou any that have died on't?
+  CLOWN. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no
+    longer than yesterday: a very honest woman, but something given
+    to lie, as a woman should not do but in the way of honesty; how
+    she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt- truly she makes
+    a very good report o' th' worm. But he that will believe all that
+    they say shall never be saved by half that they do. But this is
+    most falliable, the worm's an odd worm.
+  CLEOPATRA. Get thee hence; farewell.
+  CLOWN. I wish you all joy of the worm.  
+                                          [Sets down the basket]
+  CLEOPATRA. Farewell.
+  CLOWN. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his
+    kind.
+  CLEOPATRA. Ay, ay; farewell.
+  CLOWN. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping
+    of wise people; for indeed there is no goodness in the worm.
+  CLEOPATRA. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.
+  CLOWN. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth
+    the feeding.
+  CLEOPATRA. Will it eat me?
+  CLOWN. You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil
+    himself will not eat a woman. I know that a woman is a dish for
+    the gods, if the devil dress her not. But truly, these same
+    whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women, for in
+    every ten that they make the devils mar five.
+  CLEOPATRA. Well, get thee gone; farewell.
+  CLOWN. Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy o' th' worm.         Exit
+
+             Re-enter IRAS, with a robe, crown, &c.  
+
+  CLEOPATRA. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
+    Immortal longings in me. Now no more
+    The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip.
+    Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear
+    Antony call. I see him rouse himself
+    To praise my noble act. I hear him mock
+    The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
+    To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come.
+    Now to that name my courage prove my title!
+    I am fire and air; my other elements
+    I give to baser life. So, have you done?
+    Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
+    Farewell, kind Charmian. Iras, long farewell.
+                              [Kisses them. IRAS falls and dies]
+    Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
+    If thus thou and nature can so gently part,
+    The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
+    Which hurts and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still?
+    If thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world  
+    It is not worth leave-taking.
+  CHARMIAN. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say
+    The gods themselves do weep.
+  CLEOPATRA. This proves me base.
+    If she first meet the curled Antony,
+    He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
+    Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal wretch,
+                    [To an asp, which she applies to her breast]
+    With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
+    Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool,
+    Be angry and dispatch. O couldst thou speak,
+    That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass
+    Unpolicied!
+  CHARMIAN. O Eastern star!
+  CLEOPATRA. Peace, peace!
+    Dost thou not see my baby at my breast
+    That sucks the nurse asleep?
+  CHARMIAN. O, break! O, break!
+  CLEOPATRA. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle-
+    O Antony! Nay, I will take thee too:  
+                               [Applying another asp to her arm]
+    What should I stay-                                   [Dies]
+  CHARMIAN. In this vile world? So, fare thee well.
+    Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
+    A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;
+    And golden Phoebus never be beheld
+    Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
+    I'll mend it and then play-
+
+                  Enter the guard, rushing in
+
+  FIRST GUARD. Where's the Queen?
+  CHARMIAN. Speak softly, wake her not.
+  FIRST GUARD. Caesar hath sent-
+  CHARMIAN. Too slow a messenger.               [Applies an asp]
+    O, come apace, dispatch. I partly feel thee.
+  FIRST GUARD. Approach, ho! All's not well: Caesar's beguil'd.
+  SECOND GUARD. There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; call him.
+  FIRST GUARD. What work is here! Charmian, is this well done?
+  CHARMIAN. It is well done, and fitting for a princes  
+    Descended of so many royal kings.
+    Ah, soldier!                                 [CHARMIAN dies]
+
+                      Re-enter DOLABELLA
+
+  DOLABELLA. How goes it here?
+  SECOND GUARD. All dead.
+  DOLABELLA. Caesar, thy thoughts
+    Touch their effects in this. Thyself art coming
+    To see perform'd the dreaded act which thou
+    So sought'st to hinder.
+                      [Within: 'A way there, a way for Caesar!']
+
+              Re-enter CAESAR and all his train
+
+  DOLABELLA. O sir, you are too sure an augurer:
+    That you did fear is done.
+  CAESAR. Bravest at the last,
+    She levell'd at our purposes, and being royal,
+    Took her own way. The manner of their deaths?  
+    I do not see them bleed.
+  DOLABELLA. Who was last with them?
+  FIRST GUARD. A simple countryman that brought her figs.
+    This was his basket.
+  CAESAR. Poison'd then.
+  FIRST GUARD. O Caesar,
+    This Charmian liv'd but now; she stood and spake.
+    I found her trimming up the diadem
+    On her dead mistress. Tremblingly she stood,
+    And on the sudden dropp'd.
+  CAESAR. O noble weakness!
+    If they had swallow'd poison 'twould appear
+    By external swelling; but she looks like sleep,
+    As she would catch another Antony
+    In her strong toil of grace.
+  DOLABELLA. Here on her breast
+    There is a vent of blood, and something blown;
+    The like is on her arm.
+  FIRST GUARD. This is an aspic's trail; and these fig-leaves
+    Have slime upon them, such as th' aspic leaves  
+    Upon the caves of Nile.
+  CAESAR. Most probable
+    That so she died; for her physician tells me
+    She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite
+    Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed,
+    And bear her women from the monument.
+    She shall be buried by her Antony;
+    No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
+    A pair so famous. High events as these
+    Strike those that make them; and their story is
+    No less in pity than his glory which
+    Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall
+    In solemn show attend this funeral,
+    And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see
+    High order in this great solemnity.                   Exeunt
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1601
+
+AS YOU LIKE IT
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
+
+  DUKE, living in exile
+  FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions
+  AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke
+  JAQUES,   "      "       "  "     "      "
+  LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick
+  CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick
+  OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Boys
+  JAQUES,   "   "  "    "     "  "
+  ORLANDO,  "   "  "    "     "  "
+  ADAM,   servant to Oliver
+  DENNIS,     "     "   "
+  TOUCHSTONE, the court jester
+  SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar
+  CORIN,    shepherd
+  SILVIUS,     "
+  WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey
+  A person representing HYMEN
+
+  ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke
+  CELIA, daughter to Frederick
+  PHEBE, a shepherdes  
+  AUDREY, a country wench
+
+  Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+OLIVER'S house; FREDERICK'S court; and the Forest of Arden
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Orchard of OLIVER'S house
+
+Enter ORLANDO and ADAM
+
+  ORLANDO. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed
+    me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou 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? 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
+    hir'd; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for
+    the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him
+    as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the
+    something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from
+    me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
+    brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my
+    education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of  
+    my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against
+    this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no
+    wise remedy how to avoid it.
+
+                           Enter OLIVER
+
+  ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother.
+  ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me
+    up.                                           [ADAM retires]
+  OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here?
+  ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing.
+  OLIVER. What mar you then, sir?
+  ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a
+    poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.
+  OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile.
+  ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What
+    prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury?
+  OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir?
+  ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.
+  OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir?  
+  ORLANDO. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are
+    my eldest brother; and in the gentle condition of blood, you
+    should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better
+    in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not
+    away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as
+    much of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming
+    before me is nearer to his reverence.
+  OLIVER. What, boy!                               [Strikes him]
+  ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
+  OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
+  ORLANDO. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de
+    Boys. He was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says such
+    a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not
+    take this hand from thy throat till this other had pull'd out thy
+    tongue for saying so. Thou has rail'd on thyself.
+  ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's
+    remembrance, be at accord.
+  OLIVER. Let me go, I say.
+  ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father
+    charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have  
+    train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all
+    gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
+    me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such
+    exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor
+    allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy
+    my fortunes.
+  OLIVER. And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? Well, sir,
+    get you in. I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have
+    some part of your will. I pray you leave me.
+  ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
+  OLIVER. Get you with him, you old dog.
+  ADAM. Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in
+    your service. God be with my old master! He would not have spoke
+    such a word.
+                                         Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM
+  OLIVER. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic
+    your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla,
+    Dennis!
+
+                          Enter DENNIS  
+
+  DENNIS. Calls your worship?
+  OLIVER. not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?
+  DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access
+    to you.
+  OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] 'Twill be a good way; and
+    to-morrow the wrestling is.
+
+                          Enter CHARLES
+
+  CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship.
+  OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What's the new news at the new
+    court?
+  CHARLES. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news; that
+    is, the old Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke;
+    and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary
+    exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke;
+    therefore he gives them good leave to wander.
+  OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished
+    with her father?  
+  CHARLES. O, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her,
+    being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have
+    followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at
+    the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own
+    daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do.
+  OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live?
+  CHARLES. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many
+    merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood
+    of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day,
+    and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
+  OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke?
+  CHARLES. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
+    matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger
+    brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against
+    me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he
+    that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well.
+    Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would
+    be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come
+    in; therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint
+    you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment,  
+    or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is
+    thing of his own search and altogether against my will.
+  OLIVER. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt
+    find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my
+    brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to
+    dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee,
+    Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of
+    ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret
+    and villainous contriver against me his natural brother.
+    Therefore use thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break his
+    neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou
+    dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace
+    himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap
+    thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he
+    hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I
+    assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one
+    so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly
+    of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush
+    and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.
+  CHARLES. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come  
+    to-morrow I'll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again,
+    I'll never wrestle for prize more. And so, God keep your worship!
+ Exit
+  OLIVER. 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 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 people, who best know him, that I am
+    altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler
+    shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy
+    thither, which now I'll go about.                       Exit
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A lawn before the DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
+
+  CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
+  ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and
+    would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget
+    a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any
+    extraordinary pleasure.
+  CELIA. Herein I see thou lov'st 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.
+  ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
+    rejoice in yours.
+  CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to
+    have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what
+    he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee
+    again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break that  
+    oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear
+    Rose, be merry.
+  ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.
+    Let me see; what think you of falling in love?
+  CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no man
+    in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety
+    of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again.
+  ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then?
+  CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her
+    wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
+  ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily
+    misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her
+    gifts to women.
+  CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes
+    honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very
+    ill-favouredly.
+  ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's:
+    Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of
+    Nature.
+  
+                         Enter TOUCHSTONE
+
+  CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by
+    Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to
+    flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off
+    the argument?
+  ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
+    Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.
+  CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
+    Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of
+    such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for
+    always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How
+    now, wit! Whither wander you?
+  TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father.
+  CELIA. Were you made the messenger?
+  TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.
+  ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool?
+  TOUCHSTONE. Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were
+    good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught.
+    Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard  
+    was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn.
+  CELIA. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?
+  ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear
+    by your beards that I am a knave.
+  CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
+  TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you
+    swear by that that 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 pancackes or
+    that mustard.
+  CELIA. Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st?
+  TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
+  CELIA. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough, speak no
+    more of him; you'll be whipt for taxation one of these days.
+  TOUCHSTONE. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise
+    men do foolishly.
+  CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that
+    fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have
+    makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.  
+
+                           Enter LE BEAU
+
+  ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news.
+  CELIA. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.
+  ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.
+  CELIA. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour,
+    Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news?
+  LE BEAU. Fair Princess, you have lost much good sport.
+  CELIA. Sport! of what colour?
+  LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you?
+  ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Or as the Destinies decrees.
+  CELIA. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank-
+  ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell.
+  LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good
+    wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.
+  ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.
+  LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your  
+    ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and
+    here, where you are, they are coming to perform it.
+  CELIA. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.
+  LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons-
+  CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale.
+  LE BEAU. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.
+  ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: 'Be it known unto all men by
+    these presents'-
+  LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke's
+    wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of
+    his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he serv'd
+    the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
+    their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the
+    beholders take his part with weeping.
+  ROSALIND. Alas!
+  TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have
+    lost?
+  LE BEAU. Why, this that I speak of.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time
+    that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.  
+  CELIA. Or I, I promise thee.
+  ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in
+    his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we
+    see this wrestling, cousin?
+  LE BEAU. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
+    appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.
+  CELIA. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it.
+
+           Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, LORDS, ORLANDO,
+                     CHARLES, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  FREDERICK. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own
+    peril on his forwardness.
+  ROSALIND. Is yonder the man?
+  LE BEAU. Even he, madam.
+  CELIA. Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully.
+  FREDERICK. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither to
+    see the wrestling?
+  ROSALIND. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave.
+  FREDERICK. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you,  
+    there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth
+    I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to
+    him, ladies; see if you can move him.
+  CELIA. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
+  FREDERICK. Do so; I'll not be by.
+                                     [DUKE FREDERICK goes apart]
+  LE BEAU. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls for you.
+  ORLANDO. I attend them with all respect and duty.
+  ROSALIND. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler?
+  ORLANDO. No, fair Princess; he is the general challenger. I come
+    but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.
+  CELIA. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years.
+    You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength; if you saw
+    yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the
+    fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal
+    enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own
+    safety and give over this attempt.
+  ROSALIND. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be
+    misprised: we will make it our suit to the Duke that the
+    wrestling might not go forward.  
+  ORLANDO. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts,
+    wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent
+    ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go
+    with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil'd there is but one
+    sham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, 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 I have nothing; only
+    in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when
+    I have made it empty.
+  ROSALIND. The little strength that I have, I would it were with
+    you.
+  CELIA. And mine to eke out hers.
+  ROSALIND. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceiv'd in you!
+  CELIA. Your heart's desires be with you!
+  CHARLES. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to
+    lie with his mother earth?
+  ORLANDO. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.
+  FREDERICK. You shall try but one fall.
+  CHARLES. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to a
+    second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.  
+  ORLANDO. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock'd me
+    before; but come your ways.
+  ROSALIND. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man!
+  CELIA. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the
+    leg.                                          [They wrestle]
+  ROSALIND. O excellent young man!
+  CELIA. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should
+    down.
+                                      [CHARLES is thrown. Shout]
+  FREDERICK. No more, no more.
+  ORLANDO. Yes, I beseech your Grace; I am not yet well breath'd.
+  FREDERICK. How dost thou, Charles?
+  LE BEAU. He cannot speak, my lord.
+  FREDERICK. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?
+  ORLANDO. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de
+    Boys.
+  FREDERICK. I would thou hadst been son to some man else.
+    The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
+    But I did find him still mine enemy.
+    Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed,  
+    Hadst thou descended from another house.
+    But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth;
+    I would thou hadst told me of another father.
+                                 Exeunt DUKE, train, and LE BEAU
+  CELIA. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
+  ORLANDO. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
+    His youngest son- and would not change that calling
+    To be adopted heir to Frederick.
+  ROSALIND. My father lov'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
+    Ere he should thus have ventur'd.
+  CELIA. Gentle cousin,
+    Let us go thank him, and encourage him;
+    My father's rough and envious disposition
+    Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd;
+    If you do keep your promises in love
+    But justly as you have exceeded all promise,
+    Your mistress shall be happy.  
+  ROSALIND. Gentleman,        [Giving him a chain from her neck]
+    Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune,
+    That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
+    Shall we go, coz?
+  CELIA. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.
+  ORLANDO. Can I not say 'I thank you'? My better parts
+    Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up
+    Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.
+  ROSALIND. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes;
+    I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
+    Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
+    More than your enemies.
+  CELIA. Will you go, coz?
+  ROSALIND. Have with you. Fare you well.
+                                       Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA
+  ORLANDO. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
+    I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.
+    O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!
+    Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.
+  
+                      Re-enter LE BEAU
+
+  LE BEAU. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
+    To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd
+    High commendation, true applause, and love,
+    Yet such is now the Duke's condition
+    That he misconstrues all that you have done.
+    The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
+    More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.
+  ORLANDO. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this:
+    Which of the two was daughter of the Duke
+    That here was at the wrestling?
+  LE BEAU. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
+    But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter;
+    The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke,
+    And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
+    To keep his daughter company; whose loves
+    Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
+    But I can tell you that of late this Duke
+    Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,  
+    Grounded upon no other argument
+    But that the people praise her for her virtues
+    And pity her for her good father's sake;
+    And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
+    Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well.
+    Hereafter, in a better world than this,
+    I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
+  ORLANDO. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well.
+                                                    Exit LE BEAU
+    Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
+    From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother.
+    But heavenly Rosalind!                                  Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The DUKE's palace
+
+Enter CELIA and ROSALIND
+
+  CELIA. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy!
+    Not a word?
+  ROSALIND. Not one to throw at a dog.
+  CELIA. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs;
+    throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.
+  ROSALIND. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should
+    be lam'd with reasons and the other mad without any.
+  CELIA. But is all this for your father?
+  ROSALIND. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of
+    briers is this working-day world!
+  CELIA. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday
+    foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats
+    will catch them.
+  ROSALIND. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my
+    heart.
+  CELIA. Hem them away.
+  ROSALIND. I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.  
+  CELIA. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
+  ROSALIND. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.
+  CELIA. O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of
+    a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in
+    good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall
+    into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?
+  ROSALIND. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
+  CELIA. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly?
+    By this kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his
+    father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
+  ROSALIND. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
+  CELIA. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?
+
+                    Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS
+
+  ROSALIND. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I
+    do. Look, here comes the Duke.
+  CELIA. With his eyes full of anger.
+  FREDERICK. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
+    And get you from our court.  
+  ROSALIND. Me, uncle?
+  FREDERICK. You, cousin.
+    Within these ten days if that thou beest found
+    So near our public court as twenty miles,
+    Thou diest for it.
+  ROSALIND. I do beseech your Grace,
+    Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
+    If with myself I hold intelligence,
+    Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
+    If that I do not dream, or be not frantic-
+    As I do trust I am not- then, dear uncle,
+    Never so much as in a thought unborn
+    Did I offend your Highness.
+  FREDERICK. Thus do all traitors;
+    If their purgation did consist in words,
+    They are as innocent as grace itself.
+    Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
+  ROSALIND. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
+    Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
+  FREDERICK. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.  
+  ROSALIND. SO was I when your Highness took his dukedom;
+    So was I when your Highness banish'd him.
+    Treason is not inherited, my lord;
+    Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
+    What's that to me? My father was no traitor.
+    Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
+    To think my poverty is treacherous.
+  CELIA. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
+  FREDERICK. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
+    Else had she with her father rang'd along.
+  CELIA. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
+    It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;
+    I was too young that time to value her,
+    But now I know her. If she be a traitor,
+    Why so am I: we still have slept together,
+    Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
+    And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
+    Still we went coupled and inseparable.
+  FREDERICK. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
+    Her very silence and her patience,  
+    Speak to the people, and they pity her.
+    Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name;
+    And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
+    When she is gone. Then open not thy lips.
+    Firm and irrevocable is my doom
+    Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
+  CELIA. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege;
+    I cannot live out of her company.
+  FREDERICK. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself.
+    If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
+    And in the greatness of my word, you die.
+                                           Exeunt DUKE and LORDS
+  CELIA. O my poor Rosalind! Whither wilt thou go?
+    Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
+    I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am.
+  ROSALIND. I have more cause.
+  CELIA. Thou hast not, cousin.
+    Prithee be cheerful. Know'st thou not the Duke
+    Hath banish'd me, his daughter?
+  ROSALIND. That he hath not.  
+  CELIA. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love
+    Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
+    Shall we be sund'red? 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 charge upon you,
+    To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;
+    For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
+    Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
+  ROSALIND. Why, whither shall we go?
+  CELIA. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.
+  ROSALIND. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
+    Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
+    Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
+  CELIA. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
+    And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
+    The like do you; so shall we pass along,
+    And never stir assailants.
+  ROSALIND. Were it not better,  
+    Because that I am more than common tall,
+    That I did suit me all points like a man?
+    A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
+    A boar spear in my hand; and- in my heart
+    Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-
+    We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
+    As many other mannish cowards have
+    That do outface it with their semblances.
+  CELIA. What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
+  ROSALIND. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page,
+    And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
+    But what will you be call'd?
+  CELIA. Something that hath a reference to my state:
+    No longer Celia, but Aliena.
+  ROSALIND. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
+    The clownish fool out of your father's court?
+    Would he not be a comfort to our travel?
+  CELIA. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
+    Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
+    And get our jewels and our wealth together;  
+    Devise the fittest time and safest way
+    To hide us from pursuit that will be made
+    After my flight. Now go we in content
+    To liberty, and not to banishment.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+The Forest of Arden
+
+Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters
+
+  DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
+    Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
+    Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
+    More free from peril than the envious court?
+    Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
+    The seasons' difference; as the icy fang
+    And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
+    Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
+    Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
+    'This is no flattery; these are counsellors
+    That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
+    Sweet are the uses of adversity,
+    Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
+    Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
+    And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
+    Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,  
+    Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
+    I would not change it.
+  AMIENS. Happy is your Grace,
+    That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
+    Into so quiet and so sweet a style.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
+    And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
+    Being native burghers of this desert city,
+    Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
+    Have their round haunches gor'd.
+  FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord,
+    The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
+    And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
+    Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
+    To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
+    Did steal behind him as he lay along
+    Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
+    Upon the brook that brawls along this wood!
+    To the which place a poor sequest'red stag,
+    That from the hunter's aim had ta'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; and thus the hairy fool,
+    Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
+    Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
+    Augmenting it with tears.
+  DUKE SENIOR. But what said Jaques?
+    Did he not moralize this spectacle?
+  FIRST LORD. O, yes, into a thousand similes.
+    First, for his weeping into the needless stream:
+    'Poor deer,' quoth he 'thou mak'st a testament
+    As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
+    To that which had too much.' Then, being there alone,
+    Left and abandoned of his velvet friends:
+    ''Tis right'; quoth he 'thus misery doth part
+    The flux of company.' Anon, a careless herd,
+    Full of the pasture, jumps along by him  
+    And never stays to greet him. 'Ay,' quoth Jaques
+    'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
+    'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
+    Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
+    Thus most invectively he pierceth through
+    The body of the country, city, court,
+    Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we
+    Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
+    To fright the animals, and to kill them up
+    In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
+  DUKE SENIOR. And did you leave him in this contemplation?
+  SECOND LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
+    Upon the sobbing deer.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Show me the place;
+    I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
+    For then he's full of matter.
+  FIRST LORD. I'll bring you to him straight.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS
+
+  FREDERICK. Can it be possible that no man saw them?
+    It cannot be; some villains of my court
+    Are of consent and sufferance in this.
+  FIRST LORD. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
+    The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
+    Saw her abed, and in the morning early
+    They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
+  SECOND LORD. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
+    Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
+    Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,
+    Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
+    Your daughter and her cousin much commend
+    The parts and graces of the wrestler
+    That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
+    And she believes, wherever they are gone,
+    That youth is surely in their company.
+  FREDERICK. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither.  
+    If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
+    I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly;
+    And let not search and inquisition quail
+    To bring again these foolish runaways.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Before OLIVER'S house
+
+Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting
+
+  ORLANDO. Who's there?
+  ADAM. What, my young master? O my gentle master!
+    O my sweet master! O you memory
+    Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here?
+    Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
+    And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
+    Why would you be so fond to overcome
+    The bonny prizer of the humorous Duke?
+    Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
+    Know you not, master, to some kind of men
+    Their graces serve them but as enemies?
+    No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master,
+    Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
+    O, what a world is this, when what is comely
+    Envenoms him that bears it!
+  ORLANDO. Why, what's the matter?
+  ADAM. O unhappy youth!  
+    Come not within these doors; within this roof
+    The enemy of all your graces lives.
+    Your brother- no, no brother; yet the son-
+    Yet not the son; I will not call him son
+    Of him I was about to call his father-
+    Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
+    To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
+    And you within it. If he fail of that,
+    He will have other means to cut you off;
+    I overheard him and his practices.
+    This is no place; this house is but a butchery;
+    Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
+  ORLANDO. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
+  ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here.
+  ORLANDO. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,
+    Or with a base and boist'rous sword enforce
+    A thievish living on the common road?
+    This I must do, or know not what to do;
+    Yet this I will not do, do how I can.
+    I rather will subject me to the malice  
+    Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.
+  ADAM. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
+    The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
+    Which I did store to be my foster-nurse,
+    When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
+    And unregarded age in corners thrown.
+    Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
+    Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
+    Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
+    All this I give you. Let me be your servant;
+    Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
+    For in my youth I never did apply
+    Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
+    Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
+    The means of weakness and debility;
+    Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
+    Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you;
+    I'll do the service of a younger man
+    In all your business and necessities.
+  ORLANDO. O good old man, how well in thee appears  
+    The constant service of the antique world,
+    When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
+    Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
+    Where none will sweat but for promotion,
+    And having that do choke their service up
+    Even with the having; it is not so with thee.
+    But, poor old man, thou 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.
+  ADAM. Master, go on; and I will follow the
+    To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
+    From seventeen years till now almost four-score
+    Here lived I, but now live here no more.
+    At seventeen years many their fortunes seek,
+    But at fourscore it is too late a week;
+    Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
+    Than to die well and not my master's debtor.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+The Forest of Arden
+
+Enter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and CLOWN alias TOUCHSTONE
+
+  ROSALIND. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!
+  TOUCHSTONE. I Care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.
+  ROSALIND. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel,
+    and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as
+    doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat;
+    therefore, courage, good Aliena.
+  CELIA. I pray you bear with me; I cannot go no further.
+  TOUCHSTONE. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you;
+    yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for I think you
+    have no money in your purse.
+  ROSALIND. Well,. this is the Forest of Arden.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at
+    home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
+
+                        Enter CORIN and SILVIUS
+  
+  ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a
+    young man and an old in solemn talk.
+  CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
+  SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
+  CORIN. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.
+  SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
+    Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
+    As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow.
+    But if thy love were ever like to mine,
+    As sure I think did never man love so,
+    How many actions most ridiculous
+    Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?
+  CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
+  SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily!
+    If thou rememb'rest 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!                          Exit Silvius
+  ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
+    I have by hard adventure found mine own.
+  TOUCHSTONE. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my
+    sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to
+    Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the
+    cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember
+    the wooing of  peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods,
+    and giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these
+    for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers;
+    but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal
+    in folly.
+  ROSALIND. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break
+    my shins against it.
+  ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
+    Is much upon my fashion.  
+  TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.
+  CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man
+    If he for gold will give us any food;
+    I faint almost to death.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown!
+  ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he's not thy Ensman.
+  CORIN. Who calls?
+  TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir.
+  CORIN. Else are they very wretched.
+  ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.
+  CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
+  ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
+    Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
+    Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.
+    Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,
+    And faints for succour.
+  CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her,
+    And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
+    My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
+    But I am shepherd to another man,  
+    And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.
+    My master is of churlish disposition,
+    And little recks to find the way to heaven
+    By doing deeds of hospitality.
+    Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,
+    Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now,
+    By reason of his absence, there is nothing
+    That you will feed on; but what is, come see,
+    And in my voice most welcome shall you be.
+  ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
+  CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
+    That little cares for buying any thing.
+  ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
+    Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,
+    And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.
+  CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,
+    And willingly could waste my time in it.
+  CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold.
+    Go with me; if you like upon report
+    The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,  
+    I will your very faithful feeder be,
+    And buy it with your gold right suddenly.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Another part of the forest
+
+Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS
+
+                       SONG
+  AMIENS.    Under the greenwood tree
+               Who loves to lie with me,
+               And turn his merry note
+               Unto the sweet bird's throat,
+             Come hither, come hither, come hither.
+               Here shall he see
+               No enemy
+             But winter and rough weather.
+
+  JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more.
+  AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
+  JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy
+    out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
+  AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.
+  JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing.
+    Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos?  
+  AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
+  JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will
+    you sing?
+  AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself.
+  JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but
+    that they call compliment is like th' encounter of two dog-apes;
+    and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a
+    penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you
+    that will not, hold your tongues.
+  AMIENS. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke
+    will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look
+    you.
+  JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to
+    disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he; but
+    I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble,
+    come.
+
+                       SONG
+              [All together here]
+  
+           Who doth ambition shun,
+           And loves to live i' th' sun,
+           Seeking the food he eats,
+           And pleas'd with what he gets,
+         Come hither, come hither, come hither.
+           Here shall he see
+           No enemy
+           But winter and rough weather.
+
+  JAQUES. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in
+    despite of my invention.
+  AMIENS. And I'll sing it.
+  JAQUES. Thus it goes:
+
+             If it do come to pass
+             That any man turn ass,
+             Leaving his wealth and ease
+             A stubborn will to please,
+           Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;
+             Here shall he see  
+             Gross fools as he,
+             An if he will come to me.
+
+  AMIENS. What's that 'ducdame'?
+  JAQUES. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll
+    go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the
+    first-born of Egypt.
+  AMIENS. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar'd.
+                                                Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+The forest
+
+Enter ORLANDO and ADAM
+
+  ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie
+    I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.
+  ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a
+    little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth
+    forest yield anything 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 the presently; and if I bring thee
+    not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die; but if thou
+    diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
+    thou look'st cheerly; and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou
+    liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter;
+    and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live
+    anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam!          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+The forest
+
+A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws
+
+  DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform'd into a beast;
+    For I can nowhere find him like a man.
+  FIRST LORD. My lord, he is but even now gone hence;
+    Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
+  DUKE SENIOR. If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
+    We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
+    Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him.
+
+                         Enter JAQUES
+
+  FIRST LORD. He saves my labour by his own approach.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
+    That your poor friends must woo your company?
+    What, you look merrily!
+  JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest,
+    A motley fool. A miserable world!  
+    As I do live by food, I met a fool,
+    Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
+    And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
+    In good set terms- and yet a motley fool.
+    'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he,
+    'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.'
+    And then he drew a dial from his poke,
+    And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
+    Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock;
+    Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags;
+    'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;
+    And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
+    And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
+    And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
+    And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
+    The motley fool thus moral on the time,
+    My lungs began to crow like chanticleer
+    That fools should be so deep contemplative;
+    And I did laugh sans intermission
+    An hour by his dial. O noble fool!  
+    A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.
+  DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this?
+  JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
+    And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
+    They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,
+    Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
+    After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
+    With observation, the which he vents
+    In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
+    I am ambitious for a motley coat.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Thou shalt have one.
+  JAQUES. It is my only suit,
+    Provided that you weed your better judgments
+    Of all opinion that grows rank in them
+    That I am wise. I must have liberty
+    Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
+    To blow on whom I please, for so fools have;
+    And they that are most galled with my folly,
+    They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
+    The why is plain as way to parish church:  
+    He that a fool doth very wisely hit
+    Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
+    Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not,
+    The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
+    Even by the squand'ring 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 th' infected world,
+    If they will patiently receive my medicine.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
+  JAQUES. What, for a counter, would I do but good?
+  DUKE SENIOR. Most Mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;
+    For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
+    As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
+    And all th' embossed sores and headed evils
+    That thou with license of free foot hast caught
+    Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
+  JAQUES. Why, who cries out on pride
+    That can therein tax any private party?
+    Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,  
+    Till that the wearer's very means do ebb?
+    What woman in the city do I name
+    When that I say the city-woman bears
+    The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
+    Who can come in and say that I mean her,
+    When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
+    Or what is he of basest function
+    That says his bravery is not on my cost,
+    Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
+    His folly to the mettle of my speech?
+    There then! how then? what then? Let me see wherein
+    My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
+    Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
+    Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
+    Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?
+
+             Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn
+
+  ORLANDO. Forbear, and eat no more.
+  JAQUES. Why, I have eat none yet.  
+  ORLANDO. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.
+  JAQUES. Of what kind should this cock come of?
+  DUKE SENIOR. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress?
+    Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
+    That in civility thou seem'st so empty?
+  ORLANDO. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
+    Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
+    Of smooth civility; yet arn I inland bred,
+    And know some nurture. But forbear, I say;
+    He dies that touches any of this fruit
+    Till I and my affairs are answered.
+  JAQUES. An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die.
+  DUKE SENIOR. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
+    More than your force move us to gentleness.
+  ORLANDO. I almost die for food, and let me have it.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
+  ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you;
+    I thought that all things had been savage here,
+    And therefore put I on the countenance
+    Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are  
+    That in this desert inaccessible,
+    Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
+    Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
+    If ever you have look'd on better days,
+    If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
+    If ever sat at any good man's feast,
+    If ever from your eyelids 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.
+  DUKE SENIOR. True is it that we have seen better days,
+    And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church,
+    And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes
+    Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red;
+    And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
+    And take upon command what help we have
+    That to your wanting may be minist'red.
+  ORLANDO. Then but forbear your food a little while,
+    Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
+    And give it food. There is an old poor man  
+    Who after me hath many a weary step
+    Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,
+    Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
+    I will not touch a bit.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Go find him out.
+    And we will nothing waste till you return.
+  ORLANDO. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!
+ Exit
+  DUKE SENIOR. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
+    This wide and universal theatre
+    Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
+    Wherein we play in.
+  JAQUES. All the world's a stage,
+    And all the men and women merely players;
+    They have their exits and their entrances;
+    And one man in his time plays many parts,
+    His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
+    Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
+    Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
+    And shining morning face, creeping like snail  
+    Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
+    Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
+    Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
+    Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
+    Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
+    Seeking the bubble reputation
+    Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
+    In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
+    With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
+    Full of wise saws and modern instances;
+    And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
+    Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
+    With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
+    His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
+    For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
+    Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
+    And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
+    That ends this strange eventful history,
+    Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
+    Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.  
+
+                  Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM
+
+  DUKE SENIOR. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden.
+    And let him feed.
+  ORLANDO. I thank you most for him.
+  ADAM. So had you need;
+    I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you
+    As yet to question you about your fortunes.
+    Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
+
+                         SONG
+            Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
+            Thou art not so unkind
+              As man's ingratitude;
+            Thy tooth is not so keen,
+            Because thou art not seen,
+              Although thy breath be rude.
+    Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly.  
+    Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
+            Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
+              This life is most jolly.
+
+            Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
+            That dost not bite so nigh
+              As benefits forgot;
+            Though thou the waters warp,
+            Thy sting is not so sharp
+              As friend rememb'red not.
+    Heigh-ho! sing, &c.
+
+  DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
+    As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
+    And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
+    Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
+    Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke
+    That lov'd your father. The residue of your fortune,
+    Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
+    Thou art right welcome as thy master is.  
+    Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
+    And let me all your fortunes understand.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+The palace
+
+Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS
+
+  FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be.
+    But were I not the better part made mercy,
+    I should not seek an absent argument
+    Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
+    Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is;
+    Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
+    Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
+    To seek a living in our territory.
+    Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
+    Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
+    Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth
+    Of what we think against thee.
+  OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this!
+    I never lov'd my brother in my life.
+  FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
+    And let my officers of such a nature
+    Make an extent upon his house and lands.  
+    Do this expediently, and turn him going.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The forest
+
+Enter ORLANDO, with a paper
+
+  ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love;
+    And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey
+    With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
+    Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
+    O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,
+    And in their barks my thoughts I'll character,
+    That every eye which in this forest looks
+    Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
+    Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree,
+    The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.             Exit
+
+                     Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE
+
+  CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?
+  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
+    life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought.
+    In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in  
+    respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in
+    respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect
+    it is not in the court, it is tedious. As 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?
+  CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at
+    ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is
+    without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet,
+    and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a
+    great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath
+    learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding,
+    or comes of a very dull kindred.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
+    court, shepherd?
+  CORIN. No, truly.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd.
+  CORIN. Nay, I hope.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on
+    one side.  
+  CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good
+    manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must
+    be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art
+    in a parlous state, shepherd.
+  CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the
+    court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the
+    country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not
+    at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be
+    uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance.
+  CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you
+    know, are greasy.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the
+    grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow,
+    shallow. A better instance, I say; come.
+  CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A
+    more sounder instance; come.
+  CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our  
+    sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are
+    perfum'd with civet.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good
+    piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is
+    of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend
+    the instance, shepherd.
+  CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God
+    make incision in thee! thou art raw.
+  CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I
+    wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other
+    men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is
+    to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
+  TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes
+    and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the
+    copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray
+    a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
+    out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this,
+    the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how
+    thou shouldst scape.  
+  CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.
+
+                  Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper
+
+  ROSALIND.   'From the east to western Inde,
+              No jewel is like Rosalinde.
+              Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
+              Through all the world bears Rosalinde.
+              All the pictures fairest lin'd
+              Are but black to Rosalinde.
+              Let no face be kept in mind
+              But the fair of Rosalinde.'
+  TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and
+    suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right
+    butter-women's rank to market.
+  ROSALIND. Out, fool!
+  TOUCHSTONE.   For a taste:
+                If a hart do lack a hind,
+                Let him seek out Rosalinde.
+                If the cat will after kind,  
+                So be sure will Rosalinde.
+                Winter garments must be lin'd,
+                So must slender Rosalinde.
+                They that reap must sheaf and bind,
+                Then to cart with Rosalinde.
+                Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
+                Such a nut is Rosalinde.
+                He that sweetest rose will find
+                Must find love's prick and Rosalinde.
+    This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect
+    yourself with them?
+  ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
+  ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a
+    medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for
+    you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right
+    virtue of the medlar.
+  TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest
+    judge.
+  
+                      Enter CELIA, with a writing
+
+  ROSALIND. Peace!
+    Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.
+  CELIA.   'Why should this a desert be?
+             For it is unpeopled? No;
+           Tongues I'll hang on every tree
+             That shall civil sayings show.
+           Some, how brief the life of man
+             Runs his erring pilgrimage,
+           That the streching of a span
+             Buckles in his sum of age;
+           Some, of violated vows
+             'Twixt the souls of friend and friend;
+           But upon the fairest boughs,
+             Or at every sentence end,
+           Will I Rosalinda write,
+             Teaching all that read to know
+           The quintessence of every sprite
+             Heaven would in little show.  
+           Therefore heaven Nature charg'd
+             That one body should be fill'd
+           With all graces wide-enlarg'd.
+             Nature presently distill'd
+           Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
+             Cleopatra's majesty,
+           Atalanta's better part,
+             Sad Lucretia's modesty.
+           Thus Rosalinde of many parts
+             By heavenly synod was devis'd,
+           Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
+             To have the touches dearest priz'd.
+           Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
+           And I to live and die her slave.'
+  ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have
+    you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have
+    patience, good people.'
+  CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with
+    him, sirrah.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;  
+    though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
+                                     Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE
+  CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses?
+  ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them
+    had in them more feet than the verses would bear.
+  CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.
+  ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves
+    without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.
+  CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be
+    hang'd and carved upon these trees?
+  ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you
+    came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so
+    berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat, which I
+    can hardly remember.
+  CELIA. Trow you who hath done this?
+  ROSALIND. Is it a man?
+  CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
+    Change you colour?
+  ROSALIND. I prithee, who?
+  CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but  
+    mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter.
+  ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it?
+  CELIA. Is it possible?
+  ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell
+    me who it is.
+  CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet
+    again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!
+  ROSALIND. Good my complexion! 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 of discovery.
+    I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would
+    thou could'st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal'd man
+    out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth'd bottle-
+    either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork
+    out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings.
+  CELIA. So you may put a man in your belly.
+  ROSALIND. Is he of God's making? What manner of man?
+    Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard?
+  CELIA. Nay, he hath but a little beard.
+  ROSALIND. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let  
+    me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the
+    knowledge of his chin.
+  CELIA. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels
+    and your heart both in an instant.
+  ROSALIND. Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true
+    maid.
+  CELIA. I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
+  ROSALIND. Orlando?
+  CELIA. Orlando.
+  ROSALIND. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?
+    What did he when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he?
+    Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where
+    remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him
+    again? Answer me in one word.
+  CELIA. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too
+    great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these
+    particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.
+  ROSALIND. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's
+    apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?
+  CELIA. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the  
+    propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and
+    relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a
+    dropp'd acorn.
+  ROSALIND. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth
+    such fruit.
+  CELIA. Give me audience, good madam.
+  ROSALIND. Proceed.
+  CELIA. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight.
+  ROSALIND. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes
+    the ground.
+  CELIA. Cry 'Holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
+    unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.
+  ROSALIND. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
+  CELIA. I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring'st me out
+    of tune.
+  ROSALIND. Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak.
+    Sweet, say on.
+  CELIA. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
+
+                   Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES  
+
+  ROSALIND. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.
+  JAQUES. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as
+    lief have been myself alone.
+  ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too
+    for your society.
+  JAQUES. God buy you; let's meet as little as we can.
+  ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers.
+  JAQUES. I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in
+    their barks.
+  ORLANDO. I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them
+    ill-favouredly.
+  JAQUES. Rosalind is your love's name?
+  ORLANDO. Yes, just.
+  JAQUES. I do not like her name.
+  ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
+    christen'd.
+  JAQUES. What stature is she of?
+  ORLANDO. Just as high as my heart.
+  JAQUES. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been  
+    acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings?
+  ORLANDO. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence
+    you have studied your questions.
+  JAQUES. You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's
+    heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against
+    our mistress the world, and all our misery.
+  ORLANDO. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against
+    whom I know most faults.
+  JAQUES. The worst fault you have is to be in love.
+  ORLANDO. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am
+    weary of you.
+  JAQUES. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.
+  ORLANDO. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see
+    him.
+  JAQUES. There I shall see mine own figure.
+  ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
+  JAQUES. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love.
+  ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur
+    Melancholy.
+                                                     Exit JAQUES  
+  ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey,
+    and under that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear,
+    forester?
+  ORLANDO. Very well; what would you?
+  ROSALIND. I pray you, what is't o'clock?
+  ORLANDO. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock in
+    the forest.
+  ROSALIND. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing
+    every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot
+    of Time as well as a clock.
+  ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as
+    proper?
+  ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with
+    divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time
+    trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still
+    withal.
+  ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
+  ROSALIND. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
+    contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd; if the
+    interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems  
+    the length of seven year.
+  ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal?
+  ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath
+    not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study,
+    and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one
+    lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other
+    knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles
+    withal.
+  ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal?
+  ROSALIND. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly
+    as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.
+  ORLANDO. Who stays it still withal?
+  ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term
+    and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves.
+  ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth?
+  ROSALIND. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of
+    the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
+  ORLANDO. Are you native of this place?
+  ROSALIND. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.
+  ORLANDO. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in  
+    so removed a dwelling.
+  ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious
+    uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland
+    man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love.
+    I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I
+    am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he
+    hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.
+  ORLANDO. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid
+    to the charge of women?
+  ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one another
+    as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his
+    fellow-fault came to match it.
+  ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of them.
+  ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are
+    sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young
+    plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon
+    hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the
+    name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give
+    him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love
+    upon him.  
+  ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your
+    remedy.
+  ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me
+    how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you
+    are not prisoner.
+  ORLANDO. What were his marks?
+  ROSALIND. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken,
+    which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not;
+    a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that,
+    for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue.
+    Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your
+    sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you
+    demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you
+    are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself
+    than seeming the lover of any other.
+  ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
+  ROSALIND. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love
+    believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess
+    she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give
+    the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that  
+    hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?
+  ORLANDO. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I
+    am that he, that unfortunate he.
+  ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
+  ORLANDO. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
+  ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as
+    well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why
+    they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so
+    ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing
+    it by counsel.
+  ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so?
+  ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his
+    love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at which
+    time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate,
+    changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish,
+    shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every
+    passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and
+    women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like
+    him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now
+    weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his  
+    mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to
+    forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook
+    merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take
+    upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart,
+    that there shall not be one spot of love in 't.
+  ORLANDO. I would not be cured, youth.
+  ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and
+    come every day to my cote and woo me.
+  ORLANDO. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.
+  ROSALIND. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way,
+    you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
+  ORLANDO. With all my heart, good youth.
+  ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you
+    go?                                                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The forest
+
+Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind
+
+  TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats,
+    Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature
+    content you?
+  AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features?
+  TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
+    capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
+  JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a
+    thatch'd house!
+  TOUCHSTONE. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's
+    good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it
+    strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room.
+    Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.
+  AUDREY. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and
+    word? Is it a true thing?
+  TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning,
+    and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may
+    be said as lovers they do feign.  
+  AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical?
+  TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me thou art honest;
+    now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst
+    feign.
+  AUDREY. Would you not have me honest?
+  TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty
+    coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
+  JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool!
+  AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me
+    honest.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were
+    to put good meat into an unclean dish.
+  AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;
+    sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will
+    marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext,
+    the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in
+    this place of the forest, and to couple us.
+  JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting.
+  AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy!  
+  TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger
+    in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no
+    assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are
+    odious, they are necessary. It is said: 'Many a man knows no end
+    of his goods.' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end
+    of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his
+    own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest
+    deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore
+    blessed? No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so
+    is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare
+    brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
+    skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes
+    Sir Oliver.
+
+                       Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT
+
+    Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here
+    under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?
+  MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman?
+  TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man.  
+  MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
+  JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, sir?
+    You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am
+    very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be
+    cover'd.
+  JAQUES. Will you be married, motley?
+  TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and
+    the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons
+    bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
+  JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married
+    under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good
+    priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but
+    join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
+    prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp.
+  TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be
+    married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me
+    well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me
+    hereafter to leave my wife.
+  JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.  
+  TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey;
+    We must be married or we must live in bawdry.
+    Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not-
+               O sweet Oliver,
+               O brave Oliver,
+           Leave me not behind thee.
+    But-
+                 Wind away,
+               Begone, I say,
+           I will not to wedding with thee.
+                           Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY
+  MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all
+    shall flout me out of my calling.                       Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+The forest
+
+Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
+
+  ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep.
+  CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears
+    do not become a man.
+  ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep?
+  CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
+  ROSALIND. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
+  CELIA. Something browner than Judas's.
+    Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.
+  ROSALIND. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
+  CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.
+  ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of
+    holy bread.
+  CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of
+    winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of
+    chastity is in them.
+  ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
+    comes not?
+  CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.  
+  ROSALIND. Do you think so?
+  CELIA. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but
+    for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as covered
+    goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
+  ROSALIND. Not true in love?
+  CELIA. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.
+  ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was.
+  CELIA. 'Was' is not 'is'; besides, the oath of a lover is no
+    stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer
+    of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke,
+    your father.
+  ROSALIND. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him.
+    He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as
+    he; so he laugh'd and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when
+    there is such a man as Orlando?
+  CELIA. O, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave
+    words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite
+    traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that
+    spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble
+    goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who  
+    comes here?
+
+                         Enter CORIN
+
+  CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
+    After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
+    Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
+    Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
+    That was his mistress.
+  CELIA. Well, and what of him?
+  CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play'd
+    Between the pale complexion of true love
+    And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
+    Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
+    If you will mark it.
+  ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove!
+    The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
+    Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
+    I'll prove a busy actor in their play.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Another part of the forest
+
+Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE
+
+  SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe.
+    Say that you love me not; but say not so
+    In bitterness. The common executioner,
+    Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
+    Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
+    But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be
+    Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
+
+          Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance
+
+  PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner;
+    I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
+    Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye.
+    'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
+    That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
+    Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
+    Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!  
+    Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
+    And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
+    Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;
+    Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
+    Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
+    Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee.
+    Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
+    Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,
+    The cicatrice and capable impressure
+    Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
+    Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
+    Nor, I am sure, there is not force in eyes
+    That can do hurt.
+  SILVIUS. O dear Phebe,
+    If ever- as that ever may be near-
+    You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
+    Then shall you know the wounds invisible
+    That love's keen arrows make.
+  PHEBE. But till that time
+    Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,  
+    Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
+    As till that time I shall not pity thee.
+  ROSALIND. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your
+      mother,
+    That you insult, exult, and all at once,
+    Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty-
+    As, by my faith, I see no more in you
+    Than without candle may go dark to bed-
+    Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
+    Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
+    I see no more in you than in the ordinary
+    Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
+    I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
+    No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
+    'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
+    Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
+    That can entame my spirits to your worship.
+    You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
+    Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
+    You are a thousand times a properer man  
+    Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you
+    That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children.
+    'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
+    And out of you she sees herself more proper
+    Than any of her lineaments can show her.
+    But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees,
+    And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love;
+    For I must tell you friendly in your ear:
+    Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.
+    Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer;
+    Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
+    So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.
+  PHEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together;
+    I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
+  ROSALIND. He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll fall
+    in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee
+    with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look
+    you so upon me?
+  PHEBE. For no ill will I bear you.
+  ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me,  
+    For I am falser than vows made in wine;
+    Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
+    'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
+    Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
+    Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
+    And be not proud; though all the world could see,
+    None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
+    Come, to our flock.        Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN
+  PHEBE. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
+    'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?'
+  SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe.
+  PHEBE. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius?
+  SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
+  PHEBE. Why, I arn sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
+  SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
+    If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
+    By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
+    Were both extermin'd.
+  PHEBE. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly?
+  SILVIUS. I would have you.  
+  PHEBE. Why, that were covetousness.
+    Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;
+    And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
+    But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
+    Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
+    I will endure; and I'll employ thee too.
+    But do not look for further recompense
+    Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
+  SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love,
+    And I in such a poverty of grace,
+    That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
+    To glean the broken ears after the man
+    That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then
+    A scatt'red smile, and that I'll live upon.
+  PHEBE. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
+  SILVIUS. Not very well; but I have met him oft;
+    And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
+    That the old carlot once was master of.
+  PHEBE. Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
+    'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well.  
+    But what care I for words? Yet words do well
+    When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
+    It is a pretty youth- not very pretty;
+    But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him.
+    He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him
+    Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
+    Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
+    He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;
+    His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well.
+    There was a pretty redness in his lip,
+    A little riper and more lusty red
+    Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
+    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 rememb'red, scorn'd at me.
+    I marvel why I answer'd not again;
+    But that's all one: omittance is no quittance.
+    I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
+    And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius?
+  SILVIUS. Phebe, with all my heart.
+  PHEBE. I'll write it straight;
+    The matter's in my head and in my heart;
+    I will be bitter with him and passing short.
+    Go with me, Silvius.                                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+The forest
+
+Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES
+
+  JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with
+    thee.
+  ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy fellow.
+  JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
+  ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
+    fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than
+    drunkards.
+  JAQUES. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
+  ROSALIND. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
+  JAQUES. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
+    emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the
+    courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is
+    ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's,
+    which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a
+    melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted
+    from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my
+    travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous  
+    sadness.
+  ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be
+    sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then
+    to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and
+    poor hands.
+  JAQUES. Yes, I have gain'd my experience.
+
+                        Enter ORLANDO
+
+  ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a
+    fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad- and to
+    travel for it too.
+  ORLANDO. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!
+  JAQUES. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse.
+  ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you lisp and wear
+    strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be
+    out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making
+    you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have
+    swam in a gondola. [Exit JAQUES] Why, how now, Orlando! where
+    have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such  
+    another trick, never come in my sight more.
+  ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
+  ROSALIND. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a
+    minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the
+    thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said
+    of him that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' th' shoulder, but I'll
+    warrant him heart-whole.
+  ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
+  ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had
+    as lief be woo'd of a snail.
+  ORLANDO. Of a snail!
+  ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries
+    his house on his head- a better jointure, I think, than you make
+    a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.
+  ORLANDO. What's that?
+  ROSALIND. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholding to
+    your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents
+    the slander of his wife.
+  ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
+  ROSALIND. And I am your Rosalind.  
+  CELIA. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a
+    better leer than you.
+  ROSALIND. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour,
+    and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I
+    were your very very Rosalind?
+  ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke.
+  ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were
+    gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss.
+    Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for
+    lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is to
+    kiss.
+  ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied?
+  ROSALIND. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new
+    matter.
+  ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
+  ROSALIND. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I
+    should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
+  ORLANDO. What, of my suit?
+  ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
+    Am not I your Rosalind?  
+  ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking
+    of her.
+  ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you.
+  ORLANDO. Then, in mine own person, I die.
+  ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six
+    thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man
+    died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had
+    his brains dash'd 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 liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had
+    turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for,
+    good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and,
+    being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish
+    chroniclers of that age found it was- Hero of Sestos. But these
+    are all lies: men have died from time to time, and worms have
+    eaten them, but not for love.
+  ORLANDO. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I
+    protest, her frown might kill me.
+  ROSALIND. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I
+    will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me  
+    what you will, I will grant it.
+  ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind.
+  ROSALIND. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.
+  ORLANDO. And wilt thou have me?
+  ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such.
+  ORLANDO. What sayest thou?
+  ROSALIND. Are you not good?
+  ORLANDO. I hope so.
+  ROSALIND. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come,
+    sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand,
+    Orlando. What do you say, sister?
+  ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us.
+  CELIA. I cannot say the words.
+  ROSALIND. You must begin 'Will you, Orlando'-
+  CELIA. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?
+  ORLANDO. I will.
+  ROSALIND. Ay, but when?
+  ORLANDO. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us.
+  ROSALIND. Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'
+  ORLANDO. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.  
+  ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take thee,
+    Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the priest;
+    and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.
+  ORLANDO. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.
+  ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have
+    possess'd her.
+  ORLANDO. For ever and a day.
+  ROSALIND. Say 'a day' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are
+    April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when
+    they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will
+    be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
+    more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than
+    an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for
+    nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you
+    are dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when
+    thou are inclin'd to sleep.
+  ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so?
+  ROSALIND. By my life, she will do as I do.
+  ORLANDO. O, but she is wise.
+  ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser,  
+    the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out
+    at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop
+    that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
+  ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit,
+    whither wilt?' ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your
+    wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
+  ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
+  ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never
+    take her without her answer, unless you take her without her
+    tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's
+    occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will
+    breed it like a fool!
+  ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
+  ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours!
+  ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be
+    with thee again.
+  ROSALIND. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would
+    prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less. That
+    flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one cast away, and  
+    so, come death! Two o'clock is your hour?
+  ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind.
+  ROSALIND. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and
+    by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot
+    of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will
+    think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow
+    lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may
+    be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore
+    beware my censure, and keep your promise.
+  ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
+    Rosalind; so, adieu.
+  ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
+    offenders, and let Time try. Adieu.             Exit ORLANDO
+  CELIA. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate. We must
+    have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and show the
+    world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
+  ROSALIND. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst
+    know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded;
+    my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
+  CELIA. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection  
+    in, it runs out.
+  ROSALIND. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of
+    thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness; that blind
+    rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are
+    out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee,
+    Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a
+    shadow, and sigh till he come.
+  CELIA. And I'll sleep.                                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The forest
+
+        Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters
+
+  JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer?
+  LORD. Sir, it was I.
+  JAQUES. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and
+    it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head for a
+    branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?
+  LORD. Yes, sir.
+  JAQUES. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise
+    enough.
+
+                    SONG.
+
+      What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
+      His leather skin and horns to wear.
+                              [The rest shall hear this burden:]
+           Then sing him home.
+
+      Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;  
+      It was a crest ere thou wast born.
+           Thy father's father wore it;
+           And thy father bore it.
+      The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
+      Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The forest
+
+Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
+
+  ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock?
+    And here much Orlando!
+  CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath
+    ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth- to sleep. Look, who
+    comes here.
+
+                      Enter SILVIUS
+
+  SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth;
+    My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this.
+    I know not the contents; but, as I guess
+    By the stern brow and waspish action
+    Which she did use as she was writing of it,
+    It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me,
+    I am but as a guiltless messenger.
+  ROSALIND. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
+    And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all.
+    She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;  
+    She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
+    Were man as rare as Phoenix. 'Od's my will!
+    Her love is not the hare that I do hunt;
+    Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
+    This is a letter of your own device.
+  SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents;
+    Phebe did write it.
+  ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool,
+    And turn'd into the extremity of love.
+    I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,
+    A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
+    That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
+    She has a huswife's hand- but that's no matter.
+    I say she never did invent this letter:
+    This is a man's invention, and his hand.
+  SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers.
+  ROSALIND. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style;
+    A style for challengers. Why, she defies me,
+    Like Turk to Christian. Women's gentle brain
+    Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,  
+    Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
+    Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
+  SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
+    Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.
+  ROSALIND. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.
+                                                         [Reads]
+
+            'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
+            That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?'
+
+    Can a woman rail thus?
+  SILVIUS. Call you this railing?
+  ROSALIND. 'Why, thy godhead laid apart,
+             Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?'
+
+    Did you ever hear such railing?
+
+            'Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
+            That could do no vengeance to me.'
+  
+    Meaning me a beast.
+
+            'If the scorn of your bright eyne
+            Have power to raise such love in mine,
+            Alack, in me what strange effect
+            Would they work in mild aspect!
+            Whiles you chid me, I did love;
+            How then might your prayers move!
+            He that brings this love to the
+            Little knows this love in me;
+            And by him seal up thy mind,
+            Whether that thy youth and kind
+            Will the faithful offer take
+            Of me and all that I can make;
+            Or else by him my love deny,
+            And then I'll study how to die.'
+  SILVIUS. Call you this chiding?
+  CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd!
+  ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love
+    such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, and play false  
+    strains upon thee! Not to be endur'd! Well, go your way to her,
+    for I see love hath made thee tame snake, and say this to her-
+    that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not,
+    I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a
+    true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.
+                                                    Exit SILVIUS
+
+                         Enter OLIVER
+
+  OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know,
+    Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
+    A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
+  CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom.
+    The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
+    Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
+    But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
+    There's none within.
+  OLIVER. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
+    Then should I know you by description-
+    Such garments, and such years: 'The boy is fair,  
+    Of female favour, and bestows himself
+    Like a ripe sister; the woman low,
+    And browner than her brother.' Are not you
+    The owner of the house I did inquire for?
+  CELIA. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
+  OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
+    And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
+    He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
+  ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this?
+  OLIVER. Some of my shame; if you will know of me
+    What man I am, and how, and why, and where,
+    This handkercher was stain'd.
+  CELIA. I pray you, tell it.
+  OLIVER. When last the young Orlando parted from you,
+    He left a promise to return again
+    Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
+    Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
+    Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside,
+    And mark what object did present itself.
+    Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,  
+    And high top bald with dry antiquity,
+    A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
+    Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck
+    A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,
+    Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
+    The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
+    Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
+    And with indented glides did slip away
+    Into a bush; under which bush's shade
+    A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
+    Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
+    When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
+    The royal disposition of that beast
+    To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.
+    This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
+    And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
+  CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
+    And he did render him the most unnatural
+    That liv'd amongst men.
+  OLIVER. And well he might so do,  
+    For well I know he was unnatural.
+  ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
+    Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?
+  OLIVER. Twice did he turn his back, and 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.
+  CELIA. Are you his brother?
+  ROSALIND. Was't you he rescu'd?
+  CELIA. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
+  OLIVER. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame
+    To tell you what I was, since my conversion
+    So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
+  ROSALIND. But for the bloody napkin?
+  OLIVER. By and by.
+    When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
+    Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
+    As how I came into that desert place-  
+    In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
+    Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
+    Committing me unto my brother's love;
+    Who led me instantly unto his cave,
+    There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
+    The lioness had torn some flesh away,
+    Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
+    And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
+    Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound,
+    And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
+    He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
+    To tell this story, that you might excuse
+    His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
+    Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
+    That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
+                                               [ROSALIND swoons]
+  CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
+  OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
+  CELIA. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
+  OLIVER. Look, he recovers.  
+  ROSALIND. I would I were at home.
+  CELIA. We'll lead you thither.
+    I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
+  OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man!
+    You lack a man's heart.
+  ROSALIND. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think
+    this was well counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how
+    well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!
+  OLIVER. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in
+    your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.
+  ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you.
+  OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.
+  ROSALIND. So I do; but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by
+    right.
+  CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards.
+    Good sir, go with us.
+  OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back
+    How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
+  ROSALIND. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my
+    counterfeiting to him. Will you go?                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+The forest
+
+Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY
+
+  TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.
+  AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
+    gentleman's saying.
+  TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext.
+    But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to
+    you.
+  AUDREY. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the
+    world; here comes the man you mean.
+
+                         Enter WILLIAM
+
+  TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth,
+    we that have good wits have much to answer for: we shall be
+    flouting; we cannot hold.
+  WILLIAM. Good ev'n, Audrey.
+  AUDREY. God ye good ev'n, William.
+  WILLIAM. And good ev'n to you, sir.  
+  TOUCHSTONE. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy
+    head; nay, prithee be cover'd. How old are you, friend?
+  WILLIAM. Five and twenty, sir.
+  TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William?
+  WILLIAM. William, sir.
+  TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i' th' forest here?
+  WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God.
+  TOUCHSTONE. 'Thank God.' A good answer.
+    Art rich?
+  WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so so.
+  TOUCHSTONE. 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and
+    yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?
+  WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying: 'The
+    fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be
+    a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a
+    grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning
+    thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do
+    love this maid?
+  WILLIAM. I do, sir.  
+  TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned?
+  WILLIAM. No, sir.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a
+    figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour'd out of cup into a
+    glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your
+    writers do consent that ipse is he; now, you are not ipse, for I
+    am he.
+  WILLIAM. Which he, sir?
+  TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you
+    clown, abandon- which is in the vulgar leave- the society- which
+    in the boorish is company- of this female- which in the common is
+    woman- which together is: abandon the society of this female; or,
+    clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest;
+    or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into
+    death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee,
+    or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction;
+    will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and
+    fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart.
+  AUDREY. Do, good William.
+  WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir.                         Exit  
+
+                          Enter CORIN
+
+  CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The forest
+
+Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER
+
+  ORLANDO. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should
+    like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo?
+    and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy
+    her?
+  OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty
+    of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden
+    consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she
+    loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other. It
+    shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue
+    that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live
+    and die a shepherd.
+  ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow.
+    Thither will I invite the Duke and all's contented followers. Go
+    you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.
+
+                        Enter ROSALIND
+  
+  ROSALIND. God save you, brother.
+  OLIVER. And you, fair sister.                             Exit
+  ROSALIND. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear
+    thy heart in a scarf!
+  ORLANDO. It is my arm.
+  ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a
+    lion.
+  ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.
+  ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon
+    when he show'd me your handkercher?
+  ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that.
+  ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was never
+    any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's
+    thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame.' For your brother
+    and my sister no sooner met but they look'd; no sooner look'd but
+    they lov'd; no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd; no sooner sigh'd but
+    they ask'd one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but
+    they sought the remedy- and in these degrees have they made pair
+    of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else
+    be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of  
+    love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them.
+  ORLANDO. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the Duke
+    to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into
+    happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I
+    to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I
+    shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.
+  ROSALIND. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for
+    Rosalind?
+  ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking.
+  ROSALIND. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know
+    of me then- for now I speak to some purpose- that I know you are
+    a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this that you should
+    bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you
+    are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some
+    little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and
+    not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do
+    strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers'd
+    with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable.
+    If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries
+    it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I  
+    know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not
+    impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set
+    her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any
+    danger.
+  ORLANDO. Speak'st thou in sober meanings?
+  ROSALIND. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I
+    am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your
+    friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to
+    Rosalind, if you will.
+
+                     Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE
+
+    Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.
+  PHEBE. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness
+    To show the letter that I writ to you.
+  ROSALIND. I care not if I have. It is my study
+    To seem despiteful and ungentle to you.
+    You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd;
+    Look upon him, love him; he worships you.
+  PHEBE. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.  
+  SILVIUS. It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
+    And so am I for Phebe.
+  PHEBE. And I for Ganymede.
+  ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind.
+  ROSALIND. And I for no woman.
+  SILVIUS. It is to be all made of faith and service;
+    And so am I for Phebe.
+  PHEBE. And I for Ganymede.
+  ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind.
+  ROSALIND. And I for no woman.
+  SILVIUS. It is to be all made of fantasy,
+    All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
+    All adoration, duty, and observance,
+    All humbleness, all patience, and impatience,
+    All purity, all trial, all obedience;
+    And so am I for Phebe.
+  PHEBE. And so am I for Ganymede.
+  ORLANDO. And so am I for Rosalind.
+  ROSALIND. And so am I for no woman.
+  PHEBE. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?  
+  SILVIUS. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
+  ORLANDO. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
+  ROSALIND. Why do you speak too, 'Why blame you me to love you?'
+  ORLANDO. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
+  ROSALIND. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish
+    wolves against the moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I can.
+    [To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.- To-morrow meet me all
+    together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry woman,
+    and I'll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy you if
+    ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To
+    Silvius] I will content you if what pleases you contents you, and
+    you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love
+    Rosalind, meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as I
+    love no woman, I'll meet. So, fare you well; I have left you
+    commands.
+  SILVIUS. I'll not fail, if I live.
+  PHEBE. Nor I.
+  ORLANDO. Nor I.                                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The forest
+
+Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY
+
+  TOUCHSTONE. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audre'y; to-morrow will we
+    be married.
+  AUDREY. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no
+    dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come
+    two of the banish'd Duke's pages.
+
+                            Enter two PAGES
+
+  FIRST PAGE. Well met, honest gentleman.
+  TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song.
+  SECOND PAGE. We are for you; sit i' th' middle.
+  FIRST PAGE. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or
+    spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues
+    to a bad voice?
+  SECOND PAGE. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies
+    on a horse.
+  
+                      SONG.
+        It was a lover and his lass,
+          With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
+        That o'er the green corn-field did pass
+          In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
+        When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
+        Sweet lovers love the spring.
+
+        Between the acres of the rye,
+          With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
+        These pretty country folks would lie,
+          In the spring time, &c.
+
+        This carol they began that hour,
+          With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
+        How that a life was but a flower,
+          In the spring time, &c.
+
+        And therefore take the present time,
+          With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,  
+        For love is crowned with the prime,
+          In the spring time, &c.
+
+  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great
+    matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.
+  FIRST PAGE. YOU are deceiv'd, sir; we kept time, we lost not our
+    time.
+  TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such
+    a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend your voices. Come,
+    Audrey.                                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+The forest
+
+Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA
+
+  DUKE SENIOR. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
+    Can do all this that he hath promised?
+  ORLANDO. I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not:
+    As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
+
+               Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE
+
+  ROSALIND. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd:
+    You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
+    You will bestow her on Orlando here?
+  DUKE SENIOR. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
+  ROSALIND. And you say you will have her when I bring her?
+  ORLANDO. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
+  ROSALIND. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing?
+  PHEBE. That will I, should I die the hour after.
+  ROSALIND. But if you do refuse to marry me,  
+    You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
+  PHEBE. So is the bargain.
+  ROSALIND. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will?
+  SILVIUS. Though to have her and death were both one thing.
+  ROSALIND. I have promis'd to make all this matter even.
+    Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;
+    You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter;
+    Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
+    Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd;
+    Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her
+    If she refuse me; and from hence I go,
+    To make these doubts all even.
+                                       Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA
+  DUKE SENIOR. I do remember in this shepherd boy
+    Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.
+  ORLANDO. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
+    Methought he was a brother to your daughter.
+    But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,
+    And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
+    Of many desperate studies by his uncle,  
+    Whom he reports to be a great magician,
+    Obscured in the circle of this forest.
+
+                    Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY
+
+  JAQUES. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are
+    coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts which
+    in all tongues are call'd fools.
+  TOUCHSTONE. Salutation and greeting to you all!
+  JAQUES. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded
+    gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a
+     courtier, he swears.
+  TOUCHSTONE. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation.
+    I have trod a measure; I have flatt'red a lady; I have been
+    politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone
+    three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought
+    one.
+  JAQUES. And how was that ta'en up?
+  TOUCHSTONE. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
+    seventh cause.  
+  JAQUES. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.
+  DUKE SENIOR. I like him very well.
+  TOUCHSTONE. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in
+    here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear
+    and to forswear, according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A
+    poor virgin, sir, an ill-favour'd thing, sir, but mine own; a
+    poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that man else will. Rich
+    honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl
+    in your foul oyster.
+  DUKE SENIOR. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
+  TOUCHSTONE. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet
+    diseases.
+  JAQUES. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on
+    the seventh cause?
+  TOUCHSTONE. Upon a lie seven times removed- bear your body more
+    seeming, Audrey- as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain
+    courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not
+    cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is call'd 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 call'd the Quip  
+    Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment.
+    This is call'd the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut,
+    he would answer I spake not true. This is call'd the Reproof
+    Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. This
+    is call'd the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie
+    Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.
+  JAQUES. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?
+  TOUCHSTONE. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor
+    he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measur'd swords
+    and parted.
+  JAQUES. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?
+  TOUCHSTONE. O, sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as you have
+    books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first,
+    the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the
+    Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
+    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 parties were
+    met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as: 'If you  
+    said so, then I said so.' And they shook hands, and swore
+    brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.
+  JAQUES. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord?
+    He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool.
+  DUKE SENIOR. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the
+    presentation of that he shoots his wit:
+
+          Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC
+
+    HYMEN.    Then is there mirth in heaven,
+              When earthly things made even
+                Atone together.
+              Good Duke, receive thy daughter;
+              Hymen from heaven brought her,
+                Yea, brought her hither,
+              That thou mightst join her hand with his,
+              Whose heart within his bosom is.
+  ROSALIND. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours.
+    [To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours.
+  DUKE SENIOR. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.  
+  ORLANDO. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
+  PHEBE. If sight and shape be true,
+    Why then, my love adieu!
+  ROSALIND. I'll have no father, if you be not he;
+    I'll have no husband, if you be not he;
+    Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.
+  HYMEN.    Peace, ho! I bar confusion;
+            'Tis I must make conclusion
+              Of these most strange events.
+            Here's eight that must take hands
+            To join in Hymen's bands,
+              If truth holds true contents.
+            You and you no cross shall part;
+            You and you are heart in heart;
+            You to his love must accord,
+            Or have a woman to your lord;
+            You and you are sure together,
+            As the winter to foul weather.
+            Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
+            Feed yourselves with questioning,  
+            That reason wonder may diminish,
+            How thus we met, and these things finish.
+
+                       SONG
+            Wedding is great Juno's crown;
+              O blessed bond of board and bed!
+            'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
+              High wedlock then be honoured.
+            Honour, high honour, and renown,
+            To Hymen, god of every town!
+
+  DUKE SENIOR. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
+    Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.
+  PHEBE. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
+    Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
+
+                 Enter JAQUES de BOYS
+
+  JAQUES de BOYS. Let me have audience for a word or two.
+    I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,  
+    That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
+    Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
+    Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
+    Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
+    In his own conduct, purposely to take
+    His brother here, and put him to the sword;
+    And to the skirts of this wild wood he came,
+    Where, meeting with an old religious man,
+    After some question with him, was converted
+    Both from his enterprise and from the world;
+    His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
+    And all their lands restor'd to them again
+    That were with him exil'd. This to be true
+    I do engage my life.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Welcome, young man.
+    Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
+    To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,
+    A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
+    First, in this forest let us do those ends
+    That here were well begun and well begot;  
+    And after, every of this happy number,
+    That have 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, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all,
+    With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall.
+  JAQUES. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
+    The Duke hath put on a religious life,
+    And thrown into neglect the pompous court.
+  JAQUES DE BOYS. He hath.
+  JAQUES. To him will I. Out of these convertites
+    There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.
+    [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath;
+    Your patience and your virtue well deserves it.
+    [To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit;
+    [To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies
+    [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed;
+    [To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage  
+    Is but for two months victuall'd.- So to your pleasures;
+    I am for other than for dancing measures.
+  DUKE SENIOR. Stay, Jaques, stay.
+  JAQUES. To see no pastime I. What you would have
+    I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave.               Exit
+  DUKE SENIOR. Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites,
+    As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.    [A dance] Exeunt
+
+EPILOGUE
+                           EPILOGUE.
+  ROSALIND. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but
+    it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it
+    be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play
+    needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and
+    good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a
+    case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot
+    insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not
+    furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My
+    way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge
+    you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of
+    this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the love
+    you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp'ring none of you
+    hates them- that between you and the women the play may please.
+    If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that
+    pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defied
+    not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces,
+    or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy,
+    bid me farewell.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+1593
+
+THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus
+AEGEON, a merchant of Syracuse
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS twin brothers and sons to
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE Aegion and Aemelia
+
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS twin brothers, and attendants on
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE the two Antipholuses
+
+BALTHAZAR, a merchant
+ANGELO, a goldsmith
+FIRST MERCHANT, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse
+SECOND MERCHANT, to whom Angelo is a debtor
+PINCH, a schoolmaster
+
+AEMILIA, wife to AEgeon; an abbess at Ephesus
+ADRIANA, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus
+LUCIANA, her sister
+LUCE, servant to Adriana
+
+A COURTEZAN
+
+Gaoler, Officers, Attendants
+
+
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Ephesus
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1
+
+A hall in the DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter the DUKE OF EPHESUS, AEGEON, the Merchant
+of Syracuse, GAOLER, OFFICERS, and other ATTENDANTS
+
+AEGEON. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
+  And by the doom of death end woes and all.
+DUKE. Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;
+  I am not partial to infringe our laws.
+  The enmity and discord which of late
+  Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
+  To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
+  Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,
+  Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
+  Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
+  For, since the mortal and intestine jars
+  'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
+  It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
+  Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
+  To admit no traffic to our adverse towns;
+  Nay, more: if any born at Ephesus
+  Be seen at any Syracusian marts and fairs;
+  Again, if any Syracusian born
+  Come to the bay of Ephesus-he dies,
+  His goods confiscate to the Duke's dispose,
+  Unless a thousand marks be levied,
+  To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
+  Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
+  Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
+  Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die.
+AEGEON. Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
+  My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
+DUKE. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
+  Why thou departed'st from thy native home,
+  And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
+AEGEON. A heavier task could not have been impos'd
+  Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable;
+  Yet, that the world may witness that my end
+  Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
+  I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
+  In Syracuse was I born, and wed
+  Unto a woman, happy but for me,
+  And by me, had not our hap been bad.
+  With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd
+  By prosperous voyages I often made
+  To Epidamnum; till my factor's death,
+  And the great care of goods at random left,
+  Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
+  From whom my absence was not six months old,
+  Before herself, almost at fainting under
+  The pleasing punishment that women bear,
+  Had made provision for her following me,
+  And soon and safe arrived where I was.
+  There had she not been long but she became
+  A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
+  And, which was strange, the one so like the other
+  As could not be disdnguish'd but by names.
+  That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
+  A mean woman was delivered
+  Of such a burden, male twins, both alike.
+  Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
+  I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
+  My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
+  Made daily motions for our home return;
+  Unwilling, I agreed. Alas! too soon
+  We came aboard.
+  A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd
+  Before the always-wind-obeying deep
+  Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
+  But longer did we not retain much hope,
+  For what obscured light the heavens did grant
+  Did but convey unto our fearful minds
+  A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
+  Which though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
+  Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
+  Weeping before for what she saw must come,
+  And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
+  That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
+  Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
+  And this it was, for other means was none:
+  The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
+  And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us;
+  My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
+  Had fast'ned him unto a small spare mast,
+  Such as sea-faring men provide for storms;
+  To him one of the other twins was bound,
+  Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
+  The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
+  Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
+  Fast'ned ourselves at either end the mast,
+  And, floating straight, obedient to the stream,
+  Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
+  At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
+  Dispers'd those vapours that offended us;
+  And, by the benefit of his wished light,
+  The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
+  Two ships from far making amain to us-
+  Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this.
+  But ere they came-O, let me say no more!
+  Gather the sequel by that went before.
+DUKE. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so;
+  For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
+AEGEON. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
+  Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
+  For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
+  We were encount'red by a mighty rock,
+  Which being violently borne upon,
+  Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
+  So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
+  Fortune had left to both of us alike
+  What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
+  Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened
+  With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
+  Was carried with more speed before the wind;
+  And in our sight they three were taken up
+  By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
+  At length another ship had seiz'd on us;
+  And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
+  Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wreck'd guests,
+  And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
+  Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
+  And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
+  Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss,
+  That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
+  To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
+DUKE. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
+  Do me the favour to dilate at full
+  What have befall'n of them and thee till now.
+AEGEON. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
+  At eighteen years became inquisitive
+  After his brother, and importun'd me
+  That his attendant-so his case was like,
+  Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name-
+  Might bear him company in the quest of him;
+  Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see,
+  I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
+  Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,
+  Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
+  And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
+  Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
+  Or that or any place that harbours men.
+  But here must end the story of my life;
+  And happy were I in my timely death,
+  Could all my travels warrant me they live.
+DUKE. Hapless, Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd
+  To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
+  Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
+  Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
+  Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
+  My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
+  But though thou art adjudged to the death,
+  And passed sentence may not be recall'd
+  But to our honour's great disparagement,
+  Yet will I favour thee in what I can.
+  Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
+  To seek thy help by beneficial hap.
+  Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
+  Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
+  And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
+  Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
+GAOLER. I will, my lord.
+AEGEON. Hopeless and helpless doth Aegeon wend,
+  But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
+<Exeunt
+
+
+SCENE 2
+
+The mart
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, and FIRST MERCHANT
+
+FIRST MERCHANT. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum,
+  Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
+  This very day a Syracusian merchant
+  Is apprehended for arrival here;
+  And, not being able to buy out his life,
+  According to the statute of the town,
+  Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
+  There is your money that I had to keep.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host.
+  And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
+  Within this hour it will be dinner-time;
+  Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,
+  Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
+  And then return and sleep within mine inn;
+  For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
+  Get thee away.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Many a man would take you at your word,
+  And go indeed, having so good a mean.
+<Exit
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,
+  When I am dull with care and melancholy,
+  Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
+  What, will you walk with me about the town,
+  And then go to my inn and dine with me?
+FIRST MERCHANT. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
+  Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
+  I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock,
+  Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,
+  And afterward consort you till bed time.
+  My present business calls me from you now.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Farewell till then. I will go lose myself,
+  And wander up and down to view the city.
+FIRST MERCHANT. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
+<Exit FIRST MERCHANT
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. He that commends me to mine own content
+  Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
+  I to the world am like a drop of water
+  That in the ocean seeks another drop,
+  Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
+  Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.
+  So I, to find a mother and a brother,
+  In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
+
+Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS
+
+  Here comes the almanac of my true date.
+  What now? How chance thou art return'd so soon?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late.
+  The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;
+  The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell-
+  My mistress made it one upon my cheek;
+  She is so hot because the meat is cold,
+  The meat is cold because you come not home,
+  You come not home because you have no stomach,
+  You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
+  But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
+  Are penitent for your default to-day.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray:
+  Where have you left the money that I gave you?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O-Sixpence that I had a Wednesday last
+  To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?
+  The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I am not in a sportive humour now;
+  Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
+  We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
+  So great a charge from thine own custody?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I pray you jest, sir, as you sit at dinner.
+  I from my mistress come to you in post;
+  If I return, I shall be post indeed,
+  For she will score your fault upon my pate.
+  Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,
+  And strike you home without a messenger.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;
+  Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
+  Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. To me, sir? Why, you gave no gold to me.
+  ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,
+  And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart
+  Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner.
+  My mistress and her sister stays for you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me
+  In what safe place you have bestow'd my money,
+  Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
+  That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd.
+  Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
+  Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,
+  But not a thousand marks between you both.
+  If I should pay your worship those again,
+  Perchance you will not bear them patiently.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thy mistress' marks! What mistress, slave, hast thou?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;
+  She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
+  And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
+  Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.
+[Beats him]
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. What mean you, sir? For God's sake hold your hands!
+  Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.
+<Exit
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Upon my life, by some device or other
+  The villain is o'erraught of all my money.
+  They say this town is full of cozenage;
+  As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
+  Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
+  Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
+  Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
+  And many such-like liberties of sin;
+  If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
+  I'll to the Centaur to go seek this slave.
+  I greatly fear my money is not safe.
+<Exit
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+ACT Il. SCENE 1
+
+The house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
+
+Enter ADRIANA, wife to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, with LUCIANA, her sister
+
+ADRIANA. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd
+  That in such haste I sent to seek his master!
+  Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.
+LUCIANA. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,
+  And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner;
+  Good sister, let us dine, and never fret.
+  A man is master of his liberty;
+  Time is their master, and when they see time,
+  They'll go or come. If so, be patient, sister.
+ADRIANA. Why should their liberty than ours be more?
+LUCIANA. Because their business still lies out o' door.
+ADRIANA. Look when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
+LUCIANA. O, know he is the bridle of your will.
+ADRIANA. There's none but asses will be bridled so.
+LUCIANA. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
+  There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
+  But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky.
+  The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
+  Are their males' subjects, and at their controls.
+  Man, more divine, the master of all these,
+  Lord of the wide world and wild wat'ry seas,
+  Indu'd with intellectual sense and souls,
+  Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
+  Are masters to their females, and their lords;
+  Then let your will attend on their accords.
+ADRIANA. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
+LUCIANA. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.
+ADRIANA. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.
+LUCIANA. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
+ADRIANA. How if your husband start some other where?
+LUCIANA. Till he come home again, I would forbear.
+ADRIANA. Patience unmov'd! no marvel though she pause:
+  They can be meek that have no other cause.
+  A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
+  We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
+  But were we burd'ned with like weight of pain,
+  As much, or more, we should ourselves complain.
+  So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
+  With urging helpless patience would relieve me;
+  But if thou live to see like right bereft,
+  This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.
+LUCIANA. Well, I will marry one day, but to try.
+  Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.
+
+Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS
+
+ADRIANA. Say, is your tardy master now at hand?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two
+  ears can witness.
+ADRIANA. Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his mind?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear.
+  Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
+LUCIANA. Spake he so doubtfully thou could'st not feel his meaning?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, he struck so plainly I could to
+  well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could
+  scarce understand them.
+ADRIANA. But say, I prithee, is he coming home?
+  It seems he hath great care to please his wife.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.
+ADRIANA. Horn-mad, thou villain!
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I mean not cuckold-mad;
+  But, sure, he is stark mad.
+  When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
+  He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold.
+  "Tis dinner time' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.
+  'Your meat doth burn' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.
+  'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.
+  'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?'
+  'The pig' quoth I 'is burn'd'; 'My gold!' quoth he.
+  'My mistress, sir,' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress;
+  I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress.'
+LUCIANA. Quoth who?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Quoth my master.
+  'I know' quoth he 'no house, no wife, no mistress.'
+  So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
+  I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;
+  For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
+ADRIANA. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Go back again, and be new beaten home?
+  For God's sake, send some other messenger.
+ADRIANA. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And he will bless that cross with other beating;
+  Between you I shall have a holy head.
+ADRIANA. Hence, prating peasant! Fetch thy master home.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Am I so round with you, as you with me,
+  That like a football you do spurn me thus?
+  You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither;
+  If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
+<Exit
+LUCIANA. Fie, how impatience loureth in your face!
+ADRIANA. His company must do his minions grace,
+  Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
+  Hath homely age th' alluring beauty took
+  From my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it.
+  Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit?
+  If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
+  Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard.
+  Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
+  That's not my fault; he's master of my state.
+  What ruins are in me that can be found
+  By him not ruin'd? Then is he the ground
+  Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
+  A sunny look of his would soon repair.
+  But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
+  And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.
+LUCIANA. Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence.
+ADRIANA. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.
+  I know his eye doth homage otherwhere;
+  Or else what lets it but he would be here?
+  Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain;
+  Would that alone a love he would detain,
+  So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
+  I see the jewel best enamelled
+  Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still
+  That others touch and, often touching, will
+  Where gold; and no man that hath a name
+  By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
+  Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
+  I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.
+LUCIANA. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
+<Exeunt
+
+
+SCENE 2
+
+The mart
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
+  Safe at the Centaur, and the heedful slave
+  Is wand'red forth in care to seek me out.
+  By computation and mine host's report
+  I could not speak with Dromio since at first
+  I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.
+
+Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
+
+  How now, sir, is your merry humour alter'd?
+  As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
+  You know no Centaur! You receiv'd no gold!
+  Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner!
+  My house was at the Phoenix! Wast thou mad,
+  That thus so madly thou didst answer me?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. What answer, sir? When spake I such a word?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Even now, even here, not half an hour since.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I did not see you since you sent me hence,
+  Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt,
+  And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;
+  For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am glad to see you in this merry vein.
+  What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?
+  Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.
+[Beating him]
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Hold, sir, for God's sake! Now your jest is earnest.
+  Upon what bargain do you give it me?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Because that I familiarly sometimes
+  Do use you for my fool and chat with you,
+  Your sauciness will jest upon my love,
+  And make a common of my serious hours.
+  When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,
+  But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
+  If you will jest with me, know my aspect,
+  And fashion your demeanour to my looks,
+  Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sconce, call you it? So you would
+  leave battering, I had rather have it a head. An you use
+  these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and
+  insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders.
+  But I pray, sir, why am I beaten?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Dost thou not know?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Shall I tell you why?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say
+  every why hath a wherefore.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, first for flouting me; and then wherefore,
+  For urging it the second time to me.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,
+  When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason?
+  Well, sir, I thank you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thank me, sir! for what?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave
+  me for nothing.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I'll make you amends next, to
+  give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinnertime?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. In good time, sir, what's that?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Basting.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Your reason?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me
+  another dry basting.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time;
+  there's a time for all things.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I durst have denied that, before you
+  were so choleric.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. By what rule, sir?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the
+  plain bald pate of Father Time himself.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Let's hear it.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. There's no time for a man to recover
+  his hair that grows bald by nature.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. May he not do it by fine and recovery?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and
+  recover the lost hair of another man.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why is Time such a niggard of
+  hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Because it is a blessing that he bestows
+  on beasts, and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath
+  given them in wit.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, but there's many a man
+  hath more hair than wit.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not a man of those but he hath the
+  wit to lose his hair.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, thou didst conclude hairy
+  men plain dealers without wit.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost;
+  yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. For what reason?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. For two; and sound ones too.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sound I pray you.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sure ones, then.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Certain ones, then.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Name them.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The one, to save the money that he spends in
+  tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his
+  porridge.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. You would all this time have prov'd there
+  is no time for all things.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover
+  hair lost by nature.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. But your reason was not substantial, why
+  there is no time to recover.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald,
+  and therefore to the world's end will have bald followers.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I knew 't'would be a bald conclusion. But,
+  soft, who wafts us yonder?
+
+Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA
+
+ADRIANA. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown.
+  Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;
+  I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
+  The time was once when thou unurg'd wouldst vow
+  That never words were music to thine ear,
+  That never object pleasing in thine eye,
+  That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
+  That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
+  Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
+  How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,
+  That thou art then estranged from thyself?
+  Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
+  That, undividable, incorporate,
+  Am better than thy dear self's better part.
+  Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
+  For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
+  A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
+  And take unmingled thence that drop again
+  Without addition or diminishing,
+  As take from me thyself, and not me too.
+  How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
+  Should'st thou but hear I were licentious,
+  And that this body, consecrate to thee,
+  By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
+  Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me,
+  And hurl the name of husband in my face,
+  And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow,
+  And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,
+  And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
+  I know thou canst, and therefore see thou do it.
+  I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
+  My blood is mingled with the crime of lust;
+  For if we two be one, and thou play false,
+  I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
+  Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
+  Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
+  I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:
+  In Ephesus I am but two hours old,
+  As strange unto your town as to your talk,
+  Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd,
+  Wants wit in all one word to understand.
+LUCIANA. Fie, brother, how the world is chang'd with you!
+  When were you wont to use my sister thus?
+  She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. By Dromio?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. By me?
+ADRIANA. By thee; and this thou didst return from him-
+  That he did buffet thee, and in his blows
+  Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?
+  What is the course and drift of your compact?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I, Sir? I never saw her till this time.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words
+  Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I never spake with her in all my life.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How can she thus, then, call us by our names,
+  Unless it be by inspiration?
+ADRIANA. How ill agrees it with your gravity
+  To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
+  Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!
+  Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,
+  But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
+  Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine;
+  Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
+  Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
+  Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
+  If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
+  Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;
+  Who all, for want of pruning, with intrusion
+  Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme.
+  What, was I married to her in my dream?
+  Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
+  What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
+  Until I know this sure uncertainty,
+  I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.
+LUCIANA. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, for my beads! I cross me for sinner.
+  This is the fairy land. O spite of spites!
+  We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites.
+  If we obey them not, this will ensue:
+  They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.
+LUCIANA. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not?
+  Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am transformed, master, am not I?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think thou art in mind, and so am I.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou hast thine own form.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, I am an ape.
+LUCIANA. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.
+  'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be
+  But I should know her as well as she knows me.
+ADRIANA. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
+  To put the finger in the eye and weep,
+  Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn.
+  Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.
+  Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,
+  And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.
+  Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
+  Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.
+  Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
+  Sleeping or waking, mad or well-advis'd?
+  Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!
+  I'll say as they say, and persever so,
+  And in this mist at all adventures go.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
+ADRIANA. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.
+LUCIANA. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.
+<Exeunt
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1
+
+Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, DROMIO OF EPHESUS, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;
+  My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours.
+  Say that I linger'd with you at your shop
+  To see the making of her carcanet,
+  And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
+  But here's a villain that would face me down
+  He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,
+  And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold,
+  And that I did deny my wife and house.
+  Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know.
+  That you beat me at the mart I have your hand to show;
+  If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,
+  Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I think thou art an ass.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Marry, so it doth appear
+  By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.
+  I should kick, being kick'd; and being at that pass,
+  You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Y'are sad, Signior Balthazar; pray God our cheer
+  May answer my good will and your good welcome here.
+BALTHAZAR. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
+  A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.
+BALTHAZAR. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And welcome more common; for that's nothing
+  but words.
+BALTHAZAR. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Ay, to a niggardly host and more sparing guest.
+  But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
+  Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.
+  But, soft, my door is lock'd; go bid them let us in.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn!
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!
+  Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch.
+  Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store,
+  When one is one too many? Go get thee from the door.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. What patch is made our porter?
+  My master stays in the street.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  Let him walk from whence he came,
+    lest he catch cold on's feet.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Who talks within there? Ho, open the door!
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  Right, sir; I'll tell you when,
+    an you'll tell me wherefore.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Wherefore? For my dinner;
+    I have not din'd to-day.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  Nor to-day here you must not;
+    come again when you may.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. What art thou that keep'st me out
+    from the house I owe?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  The porter for this time,
+    sir, and my name is Dromio.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O Villain, thou hast stol'n both mine
+    office and my name!
+  The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
+  If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,
+  Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.
+
+Enter LUCE, within
+
+LUCE.  [Within]  What a coil is there, Dromio? Who are those at the gate?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Let my master in, Luce.
+LUCE.  [Within]  Faith, no, he comes too late;
+  And so tell your master.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O Lord, I must laugh!
+  Have at you with a proverb: Shall I set in my staff?
+LUCE.  [Within]  Have at you with another: that's-when? can you tell?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  If thy name be called Luce
+    -Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Do you hear, you minion? You'll let us in, I hope?
+LUCE.  [Within]  I thought to have ask'd you.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  And you said no.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. SO, Come, help: well struck! there was blow for blow.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou baggage, let me in.
+LUCE.  [Within]  Can you tell for whose sake?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Master, knock the door hard.
+LUCE.  [Within]  Let him knock till it ache.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You'll cry for this, minion, if beat the door down.
+LUCE.  [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?
+
+Enter ADRIANA, within
+
+ADRIANA.  [Within]  Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  By my troth, your town is
+    troubled with unruly boys.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Are you there, wife? You might
+    have come before.
+ADRIANA.  [Within]  Your wife, sir knave! Go get you from the door.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. If YOU went in pain, master, this 'knave' would go sore.
+ANGELO. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either.
+BALTHAZAR. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.
+  Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold;
+  It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Go fetch me something; I'll break ope the gate.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  Break any breaking here,
+    and I'll break your knave's pate.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. A man may break a word with you,
+    sir; and words are but wind;
+  Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  It seems thou want'st breaking;
+    out upon thee, hind!
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Here's too much 'out upon thee!' pray thee let me in.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.  [Within]  Ay, when fowls have no
+    feathers and fish have no fin.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Well, I'll break in; go borrow me a crow.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. A crow without feather? Master, mean you so?
+  For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather;
+  If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Go get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow.
+BALTHAZAR. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so!
+  Herein you war against your reputation,
+  And draw within the compass of suspect
+  Th' unviolated honour of your wife.
+  Once this-your long experience of her wisdom,
+  Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,
+  Plead on her part some cause to you unknown;
+  And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
+  Why at this time the doors are made against you.
+  Be rul'd by me: depart in patience,
+  And let us to the Tiger all to dinner;
+  And, about evening, come yourself alone
+  To know the reason of this strange restraint.
+  If by strong hand you offer to break in
+  Now in the stirring passage of the day,
+  A vulgar comment will be made of it,
+  And that supposed by the common rout
+  Against your yet ungalled estimation
+  That may with foul intrusion enter in
+  And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;
+  For slander lives upon succession,
+  For ever hous'd where it gets possession.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You have prevail'd. I will depart in quiet,
+  And in despite of mirth mean to be merry.
+  I know a wench of excellent discourse,
+  Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle;
+  There will we dine. This woman that I mean,
+  My wife-but, I protest, without desert-
+  Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
+  To her will we to dinner.  [To ANGELO]  Get you home
+  And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made.
+  Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;
+  For there's the house. That chain will I bestow-
+  Be it for nothing but to spite my wife-
+  Upon mine hostess there; good sir, make haste.
+  Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
+  I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.
+ANGELO. I'll meet you at that place some hour hence.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Do so; this jest shall cost me some expense.
+<Exeunt
+
+
+SCENE 2
+
+Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
+
+Enter LUCIANA with ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE
+
+LUCIANA. And may it be that you have quite forgot
+  A husband's office? Shall, Antipholus,
+  Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
+  Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?
+  If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
+  Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness;
+  Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
+  Muffle your false love with some show of blindness;
+  Let not my sister read it in your eye;
+  Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
+  Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;
+  Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;
+  Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
+  Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;
+  Be secret-false. What need she be acquainted?
+  What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
+  'Tis double wrong to truant with your bed
+  And let her read it in thy looks at board;
+  Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
+  Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word.
+  Alas, poor women! make us but believe,
+  Being compact of credit, that you love us;
+  Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;
+  We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
+  Then, gentle brother, get you in again;
+  Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife.
+  'Tis holy sport to be a little vain
+  When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Sweet mistress-what your name is else, I know not,
+  Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine-
+  Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
+  Than our earth's wonder-more than earth, divine.
+  Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
+  Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,
+  Smoth'red in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
+  The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
+  Against my soul's pure truth why labour you
+  To make it wander in an unknown field?
+  Are you a god? Would you create me new?
+  Transform me, then, and to your pow'r I'll yield.
+  But if that I am I, then well I know
+  Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
+  Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;
+  Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
+  O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
+  To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears.
+  Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote;
+  Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
+  And as a bed I'll take them, and there he;
+  And in that glorious supposition think
+  He gains by death that hath such means to die.
+  Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink.
+LUCIANA. What, are you mad, that you do reason so?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.
+LUCIANA. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
+LUCIANA. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
+LUCIANA. Why call you me love? Call my sister so.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thy sister's sister.
+LUCIANA. That's my sister.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. No;
+  It is thyself, mine own self's better part;
+  Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,
+  My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim,
+  My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
+LUCIANA. All this my sister is, or else should be.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee;
+  Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
+  Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.
+  Give me thy hand.
+LUCIANA. O, soft, sir, hold you still;
+  I'll fetch my sister to get her good will.
+<Exit LUCIANA
+
+Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, how now, Dromio! Where run'st thou
+  so fast?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio?
+  Am I your man? Am I myself?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art Dromio, thou art my
+  man, thou art thyself.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides
+  myself.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What woman's man, and how besides thyself?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due
+  to a woman-one that claims me, one that haunts me, one
+  that will have me.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What claim lays she to thee?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, such claim as you would
+  lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not
+  that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she,
+  being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What is she?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. A very reverent body; ay, such a one
+  as a man may not speak of without he say 'Sir-reverence.'
+  I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a
+  wondrous fat marriage.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How dost thou mean a fat marriage?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench,
+  and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to but
+  to make a lamp of her and run from her by her own light.
+  I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn
+  Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn
+  week longer than the whole world.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What complexion is she of?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Swart, like my shoe; but her face
+  nothing like so clean kept; for why, she sweats, a man may
+  go over shoes in the grime of it.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. That's a fault that water will mend.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood
+  could not do it.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What's her name?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nell, sir; but her name and three
+  quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will not measure
+  her from hip to hip.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Then she bears some breadth?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No longer from head to foot than
+  from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find
+  out countries in her.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. In what part of her body stands Ireland?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by
+  the bogs.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where Scotland?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I found it by the barrenness, hard in
+  the palm of the hand.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where France?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. In her forehead, arm'd and reverted,
+  making war against her heir.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where England?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I
+  could find no whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her
+  chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where Spain?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Faith, I saw it not, but I felt it hot in
+  her breath.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where America, the Indies?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, sir, upon her nose, an o'er embellished with
+  rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the
+  hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadoes of caracks to be
+  ballast at her nose.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, Sir, I did not look so low. To
+  conclude: this drudge or diviner laid claim to me; call'd me
+  Dromio; swore I was assur'd to her; told me what privy
+  marks I had about me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the
+  mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I,
+  amaz'd, ran from her as a witch.
+  And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith,
+    and my heart of steel,
+  She had transform'd me to a curtal dog, and made me turn i' th' wheel.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Go hie thee presently post to the road;
+  An if the wind blow any way from shore,
+  I will not harbour in this town to-night.
+  If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
+  Where I will walk till thou return to me.
+  If every one knows us, and we know none,
+  'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. As from a bear a man would run for life,
+  So fly I from her that would be my wife.
+<Exit
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. There's none but witches do inhabit here,
+  And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
+  She that doth call me husband, even my soul
+  Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,
+  Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
+  Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
+  Hath almost made me traitor to myself;
+  But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
+  I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.
+
+Enter ANGELO with the chain
+
+ANGELO. Master Antipholus!
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Ay, that's my name.
+ANGELO. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain.
+  I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine;
+  The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What is your will that I shall do with this?
+ANGELO. What please yourself, sir; I have made it for you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.
+ANGELO. Not once nor twice, but twenty times you have.
+  Go home with it, and please your wife withal;
+  And soon at supper-time I'll visit you,
+  And then receive my money for the chain.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
+  For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.
+ANGELO. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well.
+<Exit
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What I should think of this cannot tell:
+  But this I think, there's no man is so vain
+  That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
+  I see a man here needs not live by shifts,
+  When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.
+  I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay;
+  If any ship put out, then straight away.
+<Exit
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
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+
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1
+
+A public place
+
+Enter SECOND MERCHANT, ANGELO, and an OFFICER
+
+SECOND MERCHANT. You know since Pentecost the sum is due,
+  And since I have not much importun'd you;
+  Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
+  To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage.
+  Therefore make present satisfaction,
+  Or I'll attach you by this officer.
+ANGELO. Even just the sum that I do owe to you
+  Is growing to me by Antipholus;
+  And in the instant that I met with you
+  He had of me a chain; at five o'clock
+  I shall receive the money for the same.
+  Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
+  I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, and DROMIO OF EPHESUS, from the COURTEZAN'S
+
+OFFICER. That labour may you save; see where he comes.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou
+  And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow
+  Among my wife and her confederates,
+  For locking me out of my doors by day.
+  But, soft, I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone;
+  Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I buy a thousand pound a year; I buy a rope.
+<Exit DROMIO
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. A man is well holp up that trusts to you!
+  I promised your presence and the chain;
+  But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.
+  Belike you thought our love would last too long,
+  If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not.
+ANGELO. Saving your merry humour, here's the note
+  How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
+  The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion,
+  Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
+  Than I stand debted to this gentleman.
+  I pray you see him presently discharg'd,
+  For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I am not furnish'd with the present money;
+  Besides, I have some business in the town.
+  Good signior, take the stranger to my house,
+  And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
+  Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof.
+  Perchance I will be there as soon as you.
+ANGELO. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.
+ANGELO. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;
+  Or else you may return without your money.
+ANGELO. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain;
+  Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
+  And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Good Lord! you use this dalliance to excuse
+  Your breach of promise to the Porpentine;
+  I should have chid you for not bringing it,
+  But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
+SECOND MERCHANT. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch.
+ANGELO. You hear how he importunes me-the chain!
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money.
+ANGELO. Come, come, you know I gave it you even now.
+  Either send the chain or send by me some token.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Fie, now you run this humour out of breath!
+  Come, where's the chain? I pray you let me see it.
+SECOND MERCHANT. My business cannot brook this dalliance.
+  Good sir, say whe'r you'll answer me or no;
+  If not, I'll leave him to the officer.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I answer you! What should I answer you?
+ANGELO. The money that you owe me for the chain.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I owe you none till I receive the chain.
+ANGELO. You know I gave it you half an hour since.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You gave me none; you wrong me much to say so.
+ANGELO. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it.
+  Consider how it stands upon my credit.
+SECOND MERCHANT. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
+OFFICER. I do; and charge you in the Duke's name to obey me.
+ANGELO. This touches me in reputation.
+  Either consent to pay this sum for me,
+  Or I attach you by this officer.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Consent to pay thee that I never had!
+  Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st.
+ANGELO. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer.
+  I would not spare my brother in this case,
+  If he should scorn me so apparently.
+OFFICER. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I do obey thee till I give thee bail.
+  But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
+  As all the metal in your shop will answer.
+ANGELO. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
+  To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.
+
+Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, from the bay
+
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, there's a bark of Epidamnum
+  That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
+  And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,
+  I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought
+  The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitx.
+  The ship is in her trim; the merry wind
+  Blows fair from land; they stay for nought at an
+  But for their owner, master, and yourself.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. How now! a madman? Why, thou peevish sheep,
+  What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. THOU drunken slave! I sent the for a rope;
+  And told thee to what purpose and what end.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. YOU sent me for a rope's end as soon-
+  You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I Will debate this matter at more leisure,
+  And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
+  To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight;
+  Give her this key, and tell her in the desk
+  That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry
+  There is a purse of ducats; let her send it.
+  Tell her I am arrested in the street,
+  And that shall bail me; hie thee, slave, be gone.
+  On, officer, to prison till it come.
+<Exeunt all but DROMIO
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. To Adriana! that is where we din'd,
+  Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband.
+  She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
+  Thither I must, although against my will,
+  For servants must their masters' minds fulfil.
+<Exit
+
+
+SCENE 2
+
+The house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
+
+Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA
+
+ADRIANA. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
+  Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye
+  That he did plead in earnest? Yea or no?
+  Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?
+  What observation mad'st thou in this case
+  Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?
+LUCIANA. First he denied you had in him no right.
+ADRIANA. He meant he did me none-the more my spite.
+LUCIANA. Then swore he that he was a stranger here.
+ADRIANA. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.
+LUCIANA. Then pleaded I for you.
+ADRIANA. And what said he?
+LUCIANA. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me.
+ADRIANA. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?
+LUCIANA. With words that in an honest suit might move.
+  First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.
+ADRIANA. Didst speak him fair?
+LUCIANA. Have patience, I beseech.
+ADRIANA. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still;
+  My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
+  He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
+  Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere;
+  Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
+  Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
+LUCIANA. Who would be jealous then of such a one?
+  No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.
+ADRIANA. Ah, but I think him better than I say,
+  And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.
+  Far from her nest the lapwing cries away;
+  My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.
+
+Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
+
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Here go-the desk, the purse. Sweet
+  now, make haste.
+LUCIANA. How hast thou lost thy breath?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. By running fast.
+ADRIANA. Where is thy master, Dromio? Is he well?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.
+  A devil in an everlasting garment hath him;
+  One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
+  A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;
+  A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff;
+  A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands
+  The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands;
+  A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well;
+  One that, before the Judgment, carries poor souls to hell.
+ADRIANA. Why, man, what is the matter?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I do not know the matter; he is rested on the case.
+ADRIANA. What, is he arrested? Tell me, at whose suit?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well;
+  But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell.
+  Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk?
+ADRIANA. Go fetch it, sister.  [Exit LUCIANA]  This I wonder at:
+  Thus he unknown to me should be in debt.
+  Tell me, was he arrested on a band?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. on a band, but on a stronger thing,
+  A chain, a chain. Do you not hear it ring?
+ADRIANA. What, the chain?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, no, the bell; 'tis time that I were gone.
+  It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one.
+ADRIANA. The hours come back! That did I never hear.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O yes. If any hour meet a sergeant,
+    'a turns back for very fear.
+ADRIANA. As if Time were in debt! How fondly dost thou reason!
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes
+    more than he's worth to season.
+  Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say
+  That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
+  If 'a be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,
+  Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?
+
+Re-enter LUCIANA with a purse
+
+ADRIANA. Go, Dromio, there's the money; bear it straight,
+  And bring thy master home immediately.
+  Come, sister; I am press'd down with conceit-
+  Conceit, my comfort and my injury.
+<Exeunt
+
+
+SCENE 3
+
+The mart
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. There's not a man I meet but doth salute me
+  As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
+  And every one doth call me by my name.
+  Some tender money to me, some invite me,
+  Some other give me thanks for kindnesses,
+  Some offer me commodities to buy;
+  Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop,
+  And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
+  And therewithal took measure of my body.
+  Sure, these are but imaginary wiles,
+  And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.
+
+Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
+
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, here's the gold you sent me
+  for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam new-apparell'd?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not that Adam that kept the Paradise,
+  but that Adam that keeps the prison; he that goes in the
+  calf's skin that was kill'd for the Prodigal; he that came behind
+  you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I understand thee not.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No? Why, 'tis a plain case: he that
+  went, like a bass-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir,
+  that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob, and rest
+  them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and give
+  them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more
+  exploits with his mace than a morris-pike.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What, thou mean'st an officer?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band;
+  that brings any man to answer it that breaks his band; on
+  that thinks a man always going to bed, and says 'God give
+  you good rest!'
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is
+  there any ship puts forth to-night? May we be gone?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Why, sir, I brought you word an
+  hour since that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and
+  then were you hind'red by the sergeant, to tarry for the
+  boy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. The fellow is distract, and so am I;
+  And here we wander in illusions.
+  Some blessed power deliver us from hence!
+
+Enter a COURTEZAN
+
+COURTEZAN. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
+  I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now.
+  Is that the chain you promis'd me to-day?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, is this Mistress Satan?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. It is the devil.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's
+  dam, and here she comes in the habit of a light wench; and
+  thereof comes that the wenches say 'God damn me!' That's
+  as much to say 'God make me a light wench!' It is written
+  they appear to men like angels of light; light is an effect
+  of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn.
+  Come not near her.
+COURTEZAN. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir.
+  Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat,
+  or bespeak a long spoon.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, Dromio?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, he must have a long spoon
+  that must eat with the devil.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Avoid then, fiend! What tell'st thou me of supping?
+  Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress;
+  I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.
+COURTEZAN. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,
+  Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd,
+  And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,
+  A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
+  A nut, a cherry-stone;
+  But she, more covetous, would have a chain.
+  Master, be wise; an if you give it her,
+  The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.
+COURTEZAN. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain;
+  I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 'Fly pride' says the peacock. Mistress, that you know.
+<Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
+COURTEZAN. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad,
+  Else would he never so demean himself.
+  A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
+  And for the same he promis'd me a chain;
+  Both one and other he denies me now.
+  The reason that I gather he is mad,
+  Besides this present instance of his rage,
+  Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner
+  Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.
+  Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,
+  On purpose shut the doors against his way.
+  My way is now to hie home to his house,
+  And tell his wife that, being lunatic,
+  He rush'd into my house and took perforce
+  My ring away. This course I fittest choose,
+  For forty ducats is too much to lose.
+<Exit
+
+
+SCENE 4
+
+A street
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS with the OFFICER
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Fear me not, man; I will not break away.
+  I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,
+  To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
+  My wife is in a wayward mood to-day,
+  And will not lightly trust the messenger.
+  That I should be attach'd in Ephesus,
+  I tell you 'twill sound harshly in her cars.
+
+Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS, with a rope's-end
+
+  Here comes my man; I think he brings the money.
+  How now, sir! Have you that I sent you for?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. But where's the money?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Five hundred ducats, villain, for rope?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I
+  return'd.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.
+[Beating him]
+OFFICER. Good sir, be patient.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in
+  adversity.
+OFFICER. Good now, hold thy tongue.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou whoreson, senseless villain!
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I would I were senseless, sir, that I
+  might not feel your blows.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou art sensible in nothing but
+  blows, and so is an ass.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I am an ass indeed; you may prove it
+  by my long 'ears. I have served him from the hour of my
+  nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for
+  my service but blows. When I am cold he heats me with
+  beating; when I am warm he cools me with beating. I am
+  wak'd with it when I sleep; rais'd with it when I sit; driven
+  out of doors with it when I go from home; welcom'd home
+  with it when I return; nay, I bear it on my shoulders as
+  beggar wont her brat; and I think, when he hath lam'd me,
+  I shall beg with it from door to door.
+
+Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the COURTEZAN, and a SCHOOLMASTER
+call'd PINCH
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or
+  rather, to prophesy like the parrot, 'Beware the rope's-end.'
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Wilt thou still talk?
+[Beating him]
+COURTEZAN. How say you now? Is not your husband mad?
+ADRIANA. His incivility confirms no less.
+  Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer:
+  Establish him in his true sense again,
+  And I will please you what you will demand.
+LUCIANA. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!
+COURTEZAN. Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy.
+PINCH. Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.
+[Striking him]
+PINCH. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man,
+  To yield possession to my holy prayers,
+  And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight.
+  I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad.
+ADRIANA. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You minion, you, are these your customers?
+  Did this companion with the saffron face
+  Revel and feast it at my house to-day,
+  Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut,
+  And I denied to enter in my house?
+ADRIANA. O husband, God doth know you din'd at home,
+  Where would you had remain'd until this time,
+  Free from these slanders and this open shame!
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Din'd at home! Thou villain, what sayest thou?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Sir, Sooth to say, you did not dine at home.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Were not my doors lock'd up and I shut out?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Perdie, your doors were lock'd and you shut out.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And did not she herself revile me there?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And did not I in rage depart from thence?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. In verity, you did. My bones bear witness,
+  That since have felt the vigour of his rage.
+ADRIANA. Is't good to soothe him in these contraries?
+PINCH. It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein,
+  And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me.
+ADRIANA. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you,
+  By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Money by me! Heart and goodwill you might,
+  But surely, master, not a rag of money.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Went'st not thou to her for purse of ducats?
+ADRIANA. He came to me, and I deliver'd it.
+LUCIANA. And I am witness with her that she did.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. God and the rope-maker bear me witness
+  That I was sent for nothing but a rope!
+PINCH. Mistress, both man and master is possess'd;
+  I know it by their pale and deadly looks.
+  They must be bound, and laid in some dark room.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day?
+  And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?
+ADRIANA. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold;
+  But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.
+ADRIANA. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all,
+  And art confederate with a damned pack
+  To make a loathsome abject scorn of me;
+  But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes
+  That would behold in me this shameful sport.
+ADRIANA. O, bind him, bind him; let him not come near me.
+PINCH. More company! The fiend is strong within him.
+
+Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives
+
+LUCIANA. Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou,
+  I am thy prisoner. Wilt thou suffer them
+  To make a rescue?
+OFFICER. Masters, let him go;
+  He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.
+PINCH. Go bind this man, for he is frantic too.
+[They bind DROMIO]
+ADRIANA. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
+  Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
+  Do outrage and displeasure to himself?
+OFFICER. He is my prisoner; if I let him go,
+  The debt he owes will be requir'd of me.
+ADRIANA. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee;
+  Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,
+  And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.
+  Good Master Doctor, see him safe convey'd
+  Home to my house. O most unhappy day!
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. O most unhappy strumpet!
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Master, I am here ent'red in bond for you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Out on thee, villian! Wherefore
+  dost thou mad me?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Will you be bound for nothing?
+  Be mad, good master; cry 'The devil!'
+LUCIANA. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!
+ADRIANA. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.
+<Exeunt all but ADRIANA, LUCIANA, OFFICERS, and COURTEZAN
+  Say now, whose suit is he arrested at?
+OFFICER. One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you know him?
+ADRIANA. I know the man. What is the sum he owes?
+OFFICER. Two hundred ducats.
+ADRIANA. Say, how grows it due?
+OFFICER. Due for a chain your husband had of him.
+ADRIANA. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.
+COURTEZAN. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day
+  Came to my house, and took away my ring-
+  The ring I saw upon his finger now-
+  Straight after did I meet him with a chain.
+ADRIANA. It may be so, but I did never see it.
+  Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is;
+  I long to know the truth hereof at large.
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, with his rapier drawn, and
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
+
+LUCIANA. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.
+ADRIANA. And come with naked swords.
+  Let's call more help to have them bound again.
+OFFICER. Away, they'll kill us!
+<Exeunt all but ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE as fast as may be, frighted
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I see these witches are afraid of swords.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. She that would be your wife now ran from you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence.
+  I long that we were safe and sound aboard.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Faith, stay here this night; they will
+  surely do us no harm; you saw they speak us fair, give us
+  gold; methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for
+  the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me,
+  could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I will not stay to-night for all the town;
+  Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.
+<Exeunt
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1
+
+A street before a priory
+
+Enter SECOND MERCHANT and ANGELO
+
+ANGELO. I am sorry, sir, that I have hind'red you;
+  But I protest he had the chain of me,
+  Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.
+SECOND MERCHANT. How is the man esteem'd here in the city?
+ANGELO. Of very reverend reputation, sir,
+  Of credit infinite, highly belov'd,
+  Second to none that lives here in the city;
+  His word might bear my wealth at any time.
+SECOND MERCHANT. Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks.
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
+
+ANGELO. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck
+  Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
+  Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him.
+  Signior Andpholus, I wonder much
+  That you would put me to this shame and trouble;
+  And, not without some scandal to yourself,
+  With circumstance and oaths so to deny
+  This chain, which now you wear so openly.
+  Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
+  You have done wrong to this my honest friend;
+  Who, but for staying on our controversy,
+  Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day.
+  This chain you had of me; can you deny it?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think I had; I never did deny it.
+SECOND MERCHANT. Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?
+SECOND MERCHANT. These ears of mine, thou know'st, did hear thee.
+  Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou liv'st
+  To walk where any honest men resort.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus;
+  I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty
+  Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand.
+SECOND MERCHANT. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.
+[They draw]
+
+Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the COURTEZAN, and OTHERS
+
+ADRIANA. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake! He is mad.
+  Some get within him, take his sword away;
+  Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Run, master, run; for God's sake take a house.
+  This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd.
+<Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE to the priory
+
+Enter the LADY ABBESS
+
+ABBESS. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?
+ADRIANA. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence.
+  Let us come in, that we may bind him fast,
+  And bear him home for his recovery.
+ANGELO. I knew he was not in his perfect wits.
+SECOND MERCHANT. I am sorry now that I did draw on him.
+ABBESS. How long hath this possession held the man?
+ADRIANA. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,
+  And much different from the man he was;
+  But till this afternoon his passion
+  Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.
+ABBESS. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea?
+  Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye
+  Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?
+  A sin prevailing much in youthful men
+  Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
+  Which of these sorrows is he subject to?
+ADRIANA. To none of these, except it be the last;
+  Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.
+ABBESS. You should for that have reprehended him.
+ADRIANA. Why, so I did.
+ABBESS. Ay, but not rough enough.
+ADRIANA. As roughly as my modesty would let me.
+ABBESS. Haply in private.
+ADRIANA. And in assemblies too.
+ABBESS. Ay, but not enough.
+ADRIANA. It was the copy of our conference.
+  In bed, he slept not for my urging it;
+  At board, he fed not for my urging it;
+  Alone, it was the subject of my theme;
+  In company, I often glanced it;
+  Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.
+ABBESS. And thereof came it that the man was mad.
+  The venom clamours of a jealous woman
+  Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
+  It seems his sleeps were hind'red by thy railing,
+  And thereof comes it that his head is light.
+  Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings:
+  Unquiet meals make ill digestions;
+  Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;
+  And what's a fever but a fit of madness?
+  Thou say'st his sports were hind'red by thy brawls.
+  Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue
+  But moody and dull melancholy,
+  Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,
+  And at her heels a huge infectious troop
+  Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?
+  In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest,
+  To be disturb'd would mad or man or beast.
+  The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits
+  Hath scar'd thy husband from the use of wits.
+LUCIANA. She never reprehended him but mildly,
+  When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and wildly.
+  Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not?
+ADRIANA. She did betray me to my own reproof.
+  Good people, enter, and lay hold on him.
+ABBESS. No, not a creature enters in my house.
+ADRIANA. Then let your servants bring my husband forth.
+ABBESS. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary,
+  And it shall privilege him from your hands
+  Till I have brought him to his wits again,
+  Or lose my labour in assaying it.
+ADRIANA. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
+  Diet his sickness, for it is my office,
+  And will have no attorney but myself;
+  And therefore let me have him home with me.
+ABBESS. Be patient; for I will not let him stir
+  Till I have us'd the approved means I have,
+  With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers,
+  To make of him a formal man again.
+  It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
+  A charitable duty of my order;
+  Therefore depart, and leave him here with me.
+ADRIANA. I will not hence and leave my husband here;
+  And ill it doth beseem your holiness
+  To separate the husband and the wife.
+ABBESS. Be quiet, and depart; thou shalt not have him.
+<Exit
+LUCIANA. Complain unto the Duke of this indignity.
+ADRIANA. Come, go; I will fall prostrate at his feet,
+  And never rise until my tears and prayers
+  Have won his Grace to come in person hither
+  And take perforce my husband from the Abbess.
+SECOND MERCHANT. By this, I think, the dial points at five;
+  Anon, I'm sure, the Duke himself in person
+  Comes this way to the melancholy vale,
+  The place of death and sorry execution,
+  Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
+ANGELO. Upon what cause?
+SECOND MERCHANT. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,
+  Who put unluckily into this bay
+  Against the laws and statutes of this town,
+  Beheaded publicly for his offence.
+ANGELO. See where they come; we will behold his death.
+LUCIANA. Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey.
+
+Enter the DUKE, attended; AEGEON, bareheaded;
+with the HEADSMAN and other OFFICERS
+
+DUKE. Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
+  If any friend will pay the sum for him,
+  He shall not die; so much we tender him.
+ADRIANA. Justice, most sacred Duke, against the Abbess!
+DUKE. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady;
+  It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
+ADRIANA. May it please your Grace, Antipholus, my husband,
+  Who I made lord of me and all I had
+  At your important letters-this ill day
+  A most outrageous fit of madness took him,
+  That desp'rately he hurried through the street,
+  With him his bondman all as mad as he,
+  Doing displeasure to the citizens
+  By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
+  Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like.
+  Once did I get him bound and sent him home,
+  Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,
+  That here and there his fury had committed.
+  Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
+  He broke from those that had the guard of him,
+  And with his mad attendant and himself,
+  Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,
+  Met us again and, madly bent on us,
+  Chas'd us away; till, raising of more aid,
+  We came again to bind them. Then they fled
+  Into this abbey, whither we pursu'd them;
+  And here the Abbess shuts the gates on us,
+  And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
+  Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.
+  Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy command
+  Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help.
+DUKE. Long since thy husband serv'd me in my wars,
+  And I to thee engag'd a prince's word,
+  When thou didst make him master of thy bed,
+  To do him all the grace and good I could.
+  Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate,
+  And bid the Lady Abbess come to me,
+  I will determine this before I stir.
+
+Enter a MESSENGER
+
+MESSENGER. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!
+  My master and his man are both broke loose,
+  Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor,
+  Whose beard they have sing'd off with brands of fire;
+  And ever, as it blaz'd, they threw on him
+  Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair.
+  My master preaches patience to him, and the while
+  His man with scissors nicks him like a fool;
+  And sure, unless you send some present help,
+  Between them they will kill the conjurer.
+ADRIANA. Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here,
+  And that is false thou dost report to us.
+MESSENGER. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
+  I have not breath'd almost since I did see it.
+  He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,
+  To scorch your face, and to disfigure you.
+[Cry within]
+  Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone!
+DUKE. Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds.
+ADRIANA. Ay me, it is my husband! Witness you
+  That he is borne about invisible.
+  Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here,
+  And now he's there, past thought of human reason.
+
+Enter ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS and DROMIO OFEPHESUS
+
+ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. Justice, most gracious Duke; O, grant me justice!
+  Even for the service that long since I did thee,
+  When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took
+  Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood
+  That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.
+AEGEON. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
+  I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio.
+ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. Justice, sweet Prince, against that woman there!
+  She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife,
+  That hath abused and dishonoured me
+  Even in the strength and height of injury.
+  Beyond imagination is the wrong
+  That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.
+DUKE. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.
+ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors upon me,
+  While she with harlots feasted in my house.
+DUKE. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so?
+ADRIANA. No, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister,
+  To-day did dine together. So befall my soul
+  As this is false he burdens me withal!
+LUCIANA. Ne'er may I look on day nor sleep on night
+  But she tells to your Highness simple truth!
+ANGELO. O peflur'd woman! They are both forsworn.
+  In this the madman justly chargeth them.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. My liege, I am advised what I say;
+  Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,
+  Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire,
+  Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
+  This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner;
+  That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
+  Could witness it, for he was with me then;
+  Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
+  Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,
+  Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
+  Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
+  I went to seek him. In the street I met him,
+  And in his company that gentleman.
+  There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down
+  That I this day of him receiv'd the chain,
+  Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which
+  He did arrest me with an officer.
+  I did obey, and sent my peasant home
+  For certain ducats; he with none return'd.
+  Then fairly I bespoke the officer
+  To go in person with me to my house.
+  By th' way we met my wife, her sister, and a rabble more
+  Of vile confederates. Along with them
+  They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain,
+  A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
+  A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller,
+  A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
+  A living dead man. This pernicious slave,
+  Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
+  And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
+  And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
+  Cries out I was possess'd. Then all together
+  They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence,
+  And in a dark and dankish vault at home
+  There left me and my man, both bound together;
+  Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
+  I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
+  Ran hither to your Grace; whom I beseech
+  To give me ample satisfaction
+  For these deep shames and great indignities.
+ANGELO. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,
+  That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.
+DUKE. But had he such a chain of thee, or no?
+ANGELO. He had, my lord, and when he ran in here,
+  These people saw the chain about his neck.
+SECOND MERCHANT. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine
+  Heard you confess you had the chain of him,
+  After you first forswore it on the mart;
+  And thereupon I drew my sword on you,
+  And then you fled into this abbey here,
+  From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I never came within these abbey walls,
+  Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me;
+  I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!
+  And this is false you burden me withal.
+DUKE. Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
+  I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
+  If here you hous'd him, here he would have been;
+  If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly.
+  You say he din'd at home: the goldsmith here
+  Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Sir, he din'd with her there, at the Porpentine.
+COURTEZAN. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. 'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.
+DUKE. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?
+COURTEZAN. As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace.
+DUKE. Why, this is strange. Go call the Abbess hither.
+  I think you are all mated or stark mad.
+<Exit one to the ABBESS
+AEGEON. Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:
+  Haply I see a friend will save my life
+  And pay the sum that may deliver me.
+DUKE. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.
+AEGEON. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?
+  And is not that your bondman Dromio?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir,
+  But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords
+  Now am I Dromio and his man unbound.
+AEGEON. I am sure you both of you remember me.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you;
+  For lately we were bound as you are now.
+  You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?
+AEGEON. Why look you strange on me? You know me well.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I never saw you in my life till now.
+AEGEON. O! grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last;
+  And careful hours with time's deformed hand
+  Have written strange defeatures in my face.
+  But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Neither.
+AEGEON. Dromio, nor thou?
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
+AEGEON. I am sure thou dost.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and
+  whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
+AEGEON. Not know my voice! O time's extremity,
+  Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue
+  In seven short years that here my only son
+  Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?
+  Though now this grained face of mine be hid
+  In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
+  And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
+  Yet hath my night of life some memory,
+  My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,
+  My dull deaf ears a little use to hear;
+  All these old witnesses-I cannot err-
+  Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I never saw my father in my life.
+AEGEON. But seven years since, in Syracuse, boy,
+  Thou know'st we parted; but perhaps, my son,
+  Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. The Duke and all that know me in
+  the city Can witness with me that it is not so:
+  I ne'er saw Syracuse in my life.
+DUKE. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years
+  Have I been patron to Antipholus,
+  During which time he ne'er saw Syracuse.
+  I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.
+
+Re-enter the ABBESS, with ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
+
+ABBESS. Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong'd.
+[All gather to see them]
+ADRIANA. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
+DUKE. One of these men is genius to the other;
+  And so of these. Which is the natural man,
+  And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I, Sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Aegeon, art thou not? or else his
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, my old master! who hath bound
+ABBESS. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,
+  And gain a husband by his liberty.
+  Speak, old Aegeon, if thou be'st the man
+  That hadst a wife once call'd Aemilia,
+  That bore thee at a burden two fair sons.
+  O, if thou be'st the same Aegeon, speak,
+  And speak unto the same Aemilia!
+AEGEON. If I dream not, thou art Aemilia.
+  If thou art she, tell me where is that son
+  That floated with thee on the fatal raft?
+ABBESS. By men of Epidamnum he and I
+  And the twin Dromio, all were taken up;
+  But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
+  By force took Dromio and my son from them,
+  And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
+  What then became of them I cannot tell;
+  I to this fortune that you see me in.
+DUKE. Why, here begins his morning story right.
+  These two Antipholus', these two so like,
+  And these two Dromios, one in semblance-
+  Besides her urging of her wreck at sea-
+  These are the parents to these children,
+  Which accidentally are met together.
+  Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.
+DUKE. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And I with him.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Brought to this town by that most famous warrior,
+  Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
+ADRIANA. Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I, gentle mistress.
+ADRIANA. And are not you my husband?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. No; I say nay to that.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. And so do I, yet did she call me so;
+  And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
+  Did call me brother.  [To LUCIANA]  What I told you then,
+  I hope I shall have leisure to make good;
+  If this be not a dream I see and hear.
+ANGELO. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think it be, sir; I deny it not.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.
+ANGELO. I think I did, sir; I deny it not.
+ADRIANA. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
+  By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. No, none by me.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you,
+  And Dromio my man did bring them me.
+  I see we still did meet each other's man,
+  And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,
+  And thereupon these ERRORS are arose.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. These ducats pawn I for my father here.
+DUKE. It shall not need; thy father hath his life.
+COURTEZAN. Sir, I must have that diamond from you.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There, take it; and much thanks for my
+  good cheer.
+ABBESS. Renowned Duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
+  To go with us into the abbey here,
+  And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes;
+  And all that are assembled in this place
+  That by this sympathized one day's error
+  Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company,
+  And we shall make full satisfaction.
+  Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
+  Of you, my sons; and till this present hour
+  My heavy burden ne'er delivered.
+  The Duke, my husband, and my children both,
+  And you the calendars of their nativity,
+  Go to a gossips' feast, and go with me;
+  After so long grief, such nativity!
+DUKE. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.
+<Exeunt all but ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, ANTIPHOLUS OF
+EPHESUS, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, and DROMIO OF EPHESUS
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?
+ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur.
+ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. He speaks to me. I am your master, Dromio.
+  Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon.
+  Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.
+<Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. There is a fat friend at your master's house,
+  That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner;
+  She now shall be my sister, not my wife.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother;
+  I see by you I am a sweet-fac'd youth.
+  Will you walk in to see their gossiping?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not I, sir; you are my elder.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. That's a question; how shall we try it?
+DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. We'll draw cuts for the senior; till then,
+    lead thou first.
+DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, then, thus:
+  We came into the world like brother and brother,
+  And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.
+<Exeunt
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1608
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  CAIUS MARCIUS, afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS
+
+    Generals against the Volscians
+  TITUS LARTIUS
+  COMINIUS
+
+  MENENIUS AGRIPPA, friend to Coriolanus
+
+    Tribunes of the People
+  SICINIUS VELUTUS
+  JUNIUS BRUTUS
+
+  YOUNG MARCIUS, son to Coriolanus
+  A ROMAN HERALD
+  NICANOR, a Roman
+  TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians
+  LIEUTENANT, to Aufidius
+  CONSPIRATORS, With Aufidius
+  ADRIAN, a Volscian
+  A CITIZEN of Antium  
+  TWO VOLSCIAN GUARDS
+
+  VOLUMNIA, mother to Coriolanus
+  VIRGILIA, wife to Coriolanus
+  VALERIA, friend to Virgilia
+  GENTLEWOMAN attending on Virgilia
+
+  Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Aediles, Lictors,
+    Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other
+    Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli and the neighbourhood; Antium
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Rome. A street
+
+Enter a company of mutinous citizens, with staves, clubs, and other weapons
+
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.
+  ALL. Speak, speak.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. YOU are all resolv'd rather to die than to famish?
+  ALL. Resolv'd, resolv'd.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the
+    people.
+  ALL. We know't, we know't.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own
+    price. Is't a verdict?
+  ALL. No more talking on't; let it be done. Away, away!
+  SECOND CITIZEN. One word, good citizens.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good.
+    What authority surfeits on would relieve us; if they would yield
+    us but the superfluity while it were wholesome, we might guess
+    they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear. The
+    leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an  
+    inventory to particularize their abundance; our sufferance is a
+    gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes ere we become
+    rakes; for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in
+    thirst for revenge.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Against him first; he's a very dog to the
+    commonalty.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Consider you what services he has done for his
+    country?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Very well, and could be content to give him good
+    report for't but that he pays himself with being proud.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Nay, but speak not maliciously.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. I say unto you, what he hath done famously he did it
+    to that end; though soft-conscienc'd men can be content to say it
+    was for his country, he did it to please his mother and to be
+    partly proud, which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. What he cannot help in his nature you account a
+    vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations;
+    he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition.  [Shouts  
+    within]  What shouts are these? The other side o' th' city is
+    risen. Why stay we prating here? To th' Capitol!
+  ALL. Come, come.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Soft! who comes here?
+
+                       Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA
+
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always lov'd
+    the people.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. He's one honest enough; would all the rest were so!
+  MENENIUS. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you
+    With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Our business is not unknown to th' Senate; they have
+    had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll
+    show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths;
+    they shall know we have strong arms too.
+  MENENIUS. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours,
+    Will you undo yourselves?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. We cannot, sir; we are undone already.
+  MENENIUS. I tell you, friends, most charitable care  
+    Have the patricians of you. For your wants,
+    Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
+    Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them
+    Against the Roman state; whose course will on
+    The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
+    Of more strong link asunder than can ever
+    Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,
+    The gods, not the patricians, make it, and
+    Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,
+    You are transported by calamity
+    Thither where more attends you; and you slander
+    The helms o' th' state, who care for you like fathers,
+    When you curse them as enemies.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er car'd for us
+    yet. Suffer us to famish, and their storehouses cramm'd with
+    grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily
+    any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more
+    piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the
+    wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear
+    us.  
+  MENENIUS. Either you must
+    Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,
+    Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you
+    A pretty tale. It may be you have heard it;
+    But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
+    To stale't a little more.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Well, I'll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to
+    fob off our disgrace with a tale. But, an't please you, deliver.
+  MENENIUS. There was a time when all the body's members
+    Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it:
+    That only like a gulf it did remain
+    I' th' midst o' th' body, idle and unactive,
+    Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
+    Like labour with the rest; where th' other instruments
+    Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
+    And, mutually participate, did minister
+    Unto the appetite and affection common
+    Of the whole body. The belly answer'd-
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Well, sir, what answer made the belly?
+  MENENIUS. Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,  
+    Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus-
+    For look you, I may make the belly smile
+    As well as speak- it tauntingly replied
+    To th' discontented members, the mutinous parts
+    That envied his receipt; even so most fitly
+    As you malign our senators for that
+    They are not such as you.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Your belly's answer- What?
+    The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye,
+    The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
+    Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,
+    With other muniments and petty helps
+    Is this our fabric, if that they-
+  MENENIUS. What then?
+    Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? What then?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,
+    Who is the sink o' th' body-
+  MENENIUS. Well, what then?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. The former agents, if they did complain,
+    What could the belly answer?  
+  MENENIUS. I will tell you;
+    If you'll bestow a small- of what you have little-
+    Patience awhile, you'st hear the belly's answer.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Y'are long about it.
+  MENENIUS. Note me this, good friend:
+    Your most grave belly was deliberate,
+    Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered.
+    'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he
+    'That I receive the general food at first
+    Which you do live upon; and fit it is,
+    Because I am the storehouse and the shop
+    Of the whole body. But, if you do remember,
+    I send it through the rivers of your blood,
+    Even to the court, the heart, to th' seat o' th' brain;
+    And, through the cranks and offices of man,
+    The strongest nerves and small inferior veins
+    From me receive that natural competency
+    Whereby they live. And though that all at once
+    You, my good friends'- this says the belly; mark me.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, sir; well, well.  
+  MENENIUS. 'Though all at once cannot
+    See what I do deliver out to each,
+    Yet I can make my audit up, that all
+    From me do back receive the flour of all,
+    And leave me but the bran.' What say you to' t?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. It was an answer. How apply you this?
+  MENENIUS. The senators of Rome are this good belly,
+    And you the mutinous members; for, examine
+    Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly
+    Touching the weal o' th' common, you shall find
+    No public benefit which you receive
+    But it proceeds or comes from them to you,
+    And no way from yourselves. What do you think,
+    You, the great toe of this assembly?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. I the great toe? Why the great toe?
+  MENENIUS. For that, being one o' th' lowest, basest, poorest,
+    Of this most wise rebellion, thou goest foremost.
+    Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,
+    Lead'st first to win some vantage.
+    But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs.  
+    Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;
+    The one side must have bale.
+
+                      Enter CAIUS MARCIUS
+
+    Hail, noble Marcius!
+  MARCIUS. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues
+    That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
+    Make yourselves scabs?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. We have ever your good word.
+  MARCIUS. He that will give good words to thee will flatter
+    Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,
+    That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you,
+    The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
+    Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
+    Where foxes, geese; you are no surer, no,
+    Than is the coal of fire upon the ice
+    Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
+    To make him worthy whose offence subdues him,
+    And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness  
+    Deserves your hate; and your affections are
+    A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
+    Which would increase his evil. He that depends
+    Upon your favours swims with fins of lead,
+    And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?
+    With every minute you do change a mind
+    And call him noble that was now your hate,
+    Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter
+    That in these several places of the city
+    You cry against the noble Senate, who,
+    Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
+    Would feed on one another? What's their seeking?
+  MENENIUS. For corn at their own rates, whereof they say
+    The city is well stor'd.
+  MARCIUS. Hang 'em! They say!
+    They'll sit by th' fire and presume to know
+    What's done i' th' Capitol, who's like to rise,
+    Who thrives and who declines; side factions, and give out
+    Conjectural marriages, making parties strong,
+    And feebling such as stand not in their liking  
+    Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough!
+    Would the nobility lay aside their ruth
+    And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry
+    With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
+    As I could pick my lance.
+  MENENIUS. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;
+    For though abundantly they lack discretion,
+    Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,
+    What says the other troop?
+  MARCIUS. They are dissolv'd. Hang 'em!
+    They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs-
+    That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat,
+    That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not
+    Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds
+    They vented their complainings; which being answer'd,
+    And a petition granted them- a strange one,
+    To break the heart of generosity
+    And make bold power look pale- they threw their caps
+    As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon,
+    Shouting their emulation.  
+  MENENIUS. What is granted them?
+  MARCIUS. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms,
+    Of their own choice. One's Junius Brutus-
+    Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. 'Sdeath!
+    The rabble should have first unroof'd the city
+    Ere so prevail'd with me; it will in time
+    Win upon power and throw forth greater themes
+    For insurrection's arguing.
+  MENENIUS. This is strange.
+  MARCIUS. Go get you home, you fragments.
+
+                     Enter a MESSENGER, hastily
+
+  MESSENGER. Where's Caius Marcius?
+  MARCIUS. Here. What's the matter?
+  MESSENGER. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.
+  MARCIUS. I am glad on't; then we shall ha' means to vent
+    Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders.
+
+         Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with other SENATORS;  
+                  JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS
+
+  FIRST SENATOR. Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us:
+    The Volsces are in arms.
+  MARCIUS. They have a leader,
+    Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
+    I sin in envying his nobility;
+    And were I anything but what I am,
+    I would wish me only he.
+  COMINIUS. You have fought together?
+  MARCIUS. Were half to half the world by th' ears, and he
+    Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make
+    Only my wars with him. He is a lion
+    That I am proud to hunt.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Then, worthy Marcius,
+    Attend upon Cominius to these wars.
+  COMINIUS. It is your former promise.
+  MARCIUS. Sir, it is;
+    And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou
+    Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.  
+    What, art thou stiff? Stand'st out?
+  LARTIUS. No, Caius Marcius;
+    I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other
+    Ere stay behind this business.
+  MENENIUS. O, true bred!
+  FIRST SENATOR. Your company to th' Capitol; where, I know,
+    Our greatest friends attend us.
+  LARTIUS.  [To COMINIUS]  Lead you on.
+    [To MARCIUS]  Follow Cominius; we must follow you;
+    Right worthy you priority.
+  COMINIUS. Noble Marcius!
+  FIRST SENATOR.  [To the Citizens]  Hence to your homes; be gone.
+  MARCIUS. Nay, let them follow.
+    The Volsces have much corn: take these rats thither
+    To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers,
+    Your valour puts well forth; pray follow.
+         Ciitzens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS
+  SICINIUS. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius?
+  BRUTUS. He has no equal.
+  SICINIUS. When we were chosen tribunes for the people-  
+  BRUTUS. Mark'd you his lip and eyes?
+  SICINIUS. Nay, but his taunts!
+  BRUTUS. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the gods.
+  SICINIUS. Bemock the modest moon.
+  BRUTUS. The present wars devour him! He is grown
+    Too proud to be so valiant.
+  SICINIUS. Such a nature,
+    Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow
+    Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder
+    His insolence can brook to be commanded
+    Under Cominius.
+  BRUTUS. Fame, at the which he aims-
+    In whom already he is well grac'd- cannot
+    Better be held nor more attain'd than by
+    A place below the first; for what miscarries
+    Shall be the general's fault, though he perform
+    To th' utmost of a man, and giddy censure
+    Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he
+    Had borne the business!'
+  SICINIUS. Besides, if things go well,  
+    Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall
+    Of his demerits rob Cominius.
+  BRUTUS. Come.
+    Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius,
+    Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults
+    To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed
+    In aught he merit not.
+  SICINIUS. Let's hence and hear
+    How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion,
+    More than his singularity, he goes
+    Upon this present action.
+  BRUTUS. Let's along.                                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Corioli. The Senate House.
+
+Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with SENATORS of Corioli
+
+  FIRST SENATOR. So, your opinion is, Aufidius,
+    That they of Rome are ent'red in our counsels
+    And know how we proceed.
+  AUFIDIUS. Is it not yours?
+    What ever have been thought on in this state
+    That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome
+    Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone
+    Since I heard thence; these are the words- I think
+    I have the letter here;.yes, here it is:
+    [Reads]  'They have press'd a power, but it is not known
+    Whether for east or west. The dearth is great;
+    The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd,
+    Cominius, Marcius your old enemy,
+    Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,
+    And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,
+    These three lead on this preparation
+    Whither 'tis bent. Most likely 'tis for you;  
+    Consider of it.'
+  FIRST SENATOR. Our army's in the field;
+    We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready
+    To answer us.
+  AUFIDIUS. Nor did you think it folly
+    To keep your great pretences veil'd till when
+    They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching,
+    It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery
+    We shall be short'ned in our aim, which was
+    To take in many towns ere almost Rome
+    Should know we were afoot.
+  SECOND SENATOR. Noble Aufidius,
+    Take your commission; hie you to your bands;
+    Let us alone to guard Corioli.
+    If they set down before's, for the remove
+    Bring up your army; but I think you'll find
+    Th' have not prepar'd for us.
+  AUFIDIUS. O, doubt not that!
+    I speak from certainties. Nay more,
+    Some parcels of their power are forth already,  
+    And only hitherward. I leave your honours.
+    If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,
+    'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike
+    Till one can do no more.
+  ALL. The gods assist you!
+  AUFIDIUS. And keep your honours safe!
+  FIRST SENATOR. Farewell.
+  SECOND SENATOR. Farewell.
+  ALL. Farewell.                                           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Rome. MARCIUS' house
+
+Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, mother and wife to MARCIUS;
+they set them down on two low stools and sew
+
+  VOLUMNIA. I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more
+    comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I should freelier
+    rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the
+    embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet
+    he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth
+    with comeliness pluck'd all gaze his way; when, for a day of
+    kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her
+    beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a person-
+    that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th' wall, if
+    renown made it not stir- was pleas'd to let him seek danger where
+    he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he
+    return'd his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I
+    sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than
+    now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.
+  VIRGILIA. But had he died in the business, madam, how then?
+  VOLUMNIA. Then his good report should have been my son; I therein  
+    would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen
+    sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my
+    good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country
+    than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.
+
+                        Enter a GENTLEWOMAN
+
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.
+  VIRGILIA. Beseech you give me leave to retire myself.
+  VOLUMNIA. Indeed you shall not.
+    Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum;
+    See him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair;
+    As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him.
+    Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:
+    'Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear,
+    Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow
+    With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,
+    Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow
+    Or all or lose his hire.
+  VIRGILIA. His bloody brow? O Jupiter, no blood!  
+  VOLUMNIA. Away, you fool! It more becomes a man
+    Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba,
+    When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
+    Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood
+    At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria
+    We are fit to bid her welcome.              Exit GENTLEWOMAN
+  VIRGILIA. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!
+  VOLUMNIA. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee
+    And tread upon his neck.
+
+         Re-enter GENTLEWOMAN, With VALERIA and an usher
+
+  VALERIA. My ladies both, good day to you.
+  VOLUMNIA. Sweet madam!
+  VIRGILIA. I am glad to see your ladyship.
+  VALERIA. How do you both? You are manifest housekeepers. What are
+    you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little
+    son?
+  VIRGILIA. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.
+  VOLUMNIA. He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look  
+    upon his schoolmaster.
+  VALERIA. O' my word, the father's son! I'll swear 'tis a very
+    pretty boy. O' my troth, I look'd upon him a Wednesday half an
+    hour together; has such a confirm'd countenance! I saw him run
+    after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it he let it go
+    again, and after it again, and over and over he comes, and up
+    again, catch'd it again; or whether his fall enrag'd him, or how
+    'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it. O, I warrant, how he
+    mammock'd it!
+  VOLUMNIA. One on's father's moods.
+  VALERIA. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.
+  VIRGILIA. A crack, madam.
+  VALERIA. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the
+    idle huswife with me this afternoon.
+  VIRGILIA. No, good madam; I will not out of doors.
+  VALERIA. Not out of doors!
+  VOLUMNIA. She shall, she shall.
+  VIRGILIA. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold
+    till my lord return from the wars.
+  VALERIA. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; come, you  
+    must go visit the good lady that lies in.
+  VIRGILIA. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my
+    prayers; but I cannot go thither.
+  VOLUMNIA. Why, I pray you?
+  VIRGILIA. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.
+  VALERIA. You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn
+    she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths.
+    Come, I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you
+    might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us.
+  VIRGILIA. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I will not forth.
+  VALERIA. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news
+    of your husband.
+  VIRGILIA. O, good madam, there can be none yet.
+  VALERIA. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him
+    last night.
+  VIRGILIA. Indeed, madam?
+  VALERIA. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it
+    is: the Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the
+    general is gone, with one part of our Roman power. Your lord and
+    Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they  
+    nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true,
+    on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us.
+  VIRGILIA. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in everything
+    hereafter.
+  VOLUMNIA. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease
+    our better mirth.
+  VALERIA. In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then. Come,
+    good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'
+    door and go along with us.
+  VIRGILIA. No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much
+    mirth.
+  VALERIA. Well then, farewell.                           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Before Corioli
+
+Enter MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with drum and colours,
+with CAPTAINS and soldiers. To them a MESSENGER
+
+  MARCIUS. Yonder comes news; a wager- they have met.
+  LARTIUS. My horse to yours- no.
+  MARCIUS. 'Tis done.
+  LARTIUS. Agreed.
+  MARCIUS. Say, has our general met the enemy?
+  MESSENGER. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet.
+  LARTIUS. So, the good horse is mine.
+  MARCIUS. I'll buy him of you.
+  LARTIUS. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will
+    For half a hundred years. Summon the town.
+  MARCIUS. How far off lie these armies?
+  MESSENGER. Within this mile and half.
+  MARCIUS. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.
+    Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,
+    That we with smoking swords may march from hence
+    To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.  
+
+          They sound a parley. Enter two SENATORS with others,
+                      on the walls of Corioli
+
+    Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?
+  FIRST SENATOR. No, nor a man that fears you less than he:
+    That's lesser than a little.  [Drum afar off]  Hark, our drums
+    Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls
+    Rather than they shall pound us up; our gates,
+    Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes;
+    They'll open of themselves.  [Alarum far off]  Hark you far off!
+    There is Aufidius. List what work he makes
+    Amongst your cloven army.
+  MARCIUS. O, they are at it!
+  LARTIUS. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!
+
+                   Enter the army of the Volsces
+
+  MARCIUS. They fear us not, but issue forth their city.
+    Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight  
+    With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus.
+    They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,
+    Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows.
+    He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce,
+    And he shall feel mine edge.
+
+          Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches.
+                      Re-enter MARCIUS, cursing
+
+  MARCIUS. All the contagion of the south light on you,
+    You shames of Rome! you herd of- Boils and plagues
+    Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd
+    Farther than seen, and one infect another
+    Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese
+    That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
+    From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell!
+    All hurt behind! Backs red, and faces pale
+    With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home,
+    Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe
+    And make my wars on you. Look to't. Come on;  
+    If you'll stand fast we'll beat them to their wives,
+    As they us to our trenches. Follow me.
+
+         Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows
+                          them to the gates
+
+    So, now the gates are ope; now prove good seconds;
+    'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
+    Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the like.
+
+                    [MARCIUS enters the gates]
+
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Fool-hardiness; not I.
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Not I.                    [MARCIUS is shut in]
+  FIRST SOLDIER. See, they have shut him in.
+  ALL. To th' pot, I warrant him.             [Alarum continues]
+
+                      Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS
+
+  LARTIUS. What is become of Marcius?  
+  ALL. Slain, sir, doubtless.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Following the fliers at the very heels,
+    With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,
+    Clapp'd to their gates. He is himself alone,
+    To answer all the city.
+  LARTIUS. O noble fellow!
+    Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,
+    And when it bows stand'st up. Thou art left, Marcius;
+    A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
+    Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
+    Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
+    Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks and
+    The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds
+    Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
+    Were feverous and did tremble.
+
+          Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy
+
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Look, sir.
+  LARTIUS. O, 'tis Marcius!  
+    Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.
+                            [They fight, and all enter the city]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Within Corioli. A street
+
+Enter certain Romans, with spoils
+
+  FIRST ROMAN. This will I carry to Rome.
+  SECOND ROMAN. And I this.
+  THIRD ROMAN. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver.
+                               [Alarum continues still afar off]
+
+          Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS With a trumpeter
+
+  MARCIUS. See here these movers that do prize their hours
+    At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons,
+    Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
+    Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,
+    Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them!
+                                                Exeunt pillagers
+    And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!
+    There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
+    Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take
+    Convenient numbers to make good the city;  
+    Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
+    To help Cominius.
+  LARTIUS. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;
+    Thy exercise hath been too violent
+    For a second course of fight.
+  MARCIUS. Sir, praise me not;
+    My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well;
+    The blood I drop is rather physical
+    Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus
+    I will appear, and fight.
+  LARTIUS. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
+    Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms
+    Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,
+    Prosperity be thy page!
+  MARCIUS. Thy friend no less
+    Than those she placeth highest! So farewell.
+  LARTIUS. Thou worthiest Marcius!                  Exit MARCIUS
+    Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
+    Call thither all the officers o' th' town,
+    Where they shall know our mind. Away!                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Near the camp of COMINIUS
+
+Enter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, with soldiers
+
+  COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought; we are come off
+    Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands
+    Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs,
+    We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,
+    By interims and conveying gusts we have heard
+    The charges of our friends. The Roman gods,
+    Lead their successes as we wish our own,
+    That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount'ring,
+    May give you thankful sacrifice!
+
+                         Enter A MESSENGER
+
+    Thy news?
+  MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioli have issued
+    And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle;
+    I saw our party to their trenches driven,
+    And then I came away.  
+  COMINIUS. Though thou speak'st truth,
+    Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?
+  MESSENGER. Above an hour, my lord.
+  COMINIUS. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums.
+    How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,
+    And bring thy news so late?
+  MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces
+    Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
+    Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,
+    Half an hour since brought my report.
+
+                           Enter MARCIUS
+
+  COMINIUS. Who's yonder
+    That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!
+    He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have
+    Before-time seen him thus.
+  MARCIUS. Come I too late?
+  COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor
+    More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue  
+    From every meaner man.
+  MARCIUS. Come I too late?
+  COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,
+    But mantled in your own.
+  MARCIUS. O! let me clip ye
+    In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart
+    As merry as when our nuptial day was done,
+    And tapers burn'd to bedward.
+  COMINIUS. Flower of warriors,
+    How is't with Titus Lartius?
+  MARCIUS. As with a man busied about decrees:
+    Condemning some to death and some to exile;
+    Ransoming him or pitying, threat'ning th' other;
+    Holding Corioli in the name of Rome
+    Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,
+    To let him slip at will.
+  COMINIUS. Where is that slave
+    Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?
+    Where is he? Call him hither.
+  MARCIUS. Let him alone;  
+    He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen,
+    The common file- a plague! tribunes for them!
+    The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge
+    From rascals worse than they.
+  COMINIUS. But how prevail'd you?
+  MARCIUS. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think.
+    Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' th' field?
+    If not, why cease you till you are so?
+  COMINIUS. Marcius,
+    We have at disadvantage fought, and did
+    Retire to win our purpose.
+  MARCIUS. How lies their battle? Know you on which side
+    They have plac'd their men of trust?
+  COMINIUS. As I guess, Marcius,
+    Their bands i' th' vaward are the Antiates,
+    Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius,
+    Their very heart of hope.
+  MARCIUS. I do beseech you,
+    By all the battles wherein we have fought,
+    By th' blood we have shed together, by th' vows  
+    We have made to endure friends, that you directly
+    Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates;
+    And that you not delay the present, but,
+    Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts,
+    We prove this very hour.
+  COMINIUS. Though I could wish
+    You were conducted to a gentle bath
+    And balms applied to you, yet dare I never
+    Deny your asking: take your choice of those
+    That best can aid your action.
+  MARCIUS. Those are they
+    That most are willing. If any such be here-
+    As it were sin to doubt- that love this painting
+    Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
+    Lesser his person than an ill report;
+    If any think brave death outweighs bad life
+    And that his country's dearer than himself;
+    Let him alone, or so many so minded,
+    Wave thus to express his disposition,
+    And follow Marcius.           [They all shout and wave their  
+       swords, take him up in their arms and cast up their caps]
+    O, me alone! Make you a sword of me?
+    If these shows be not outward, which of you
+    But is four Volsces? None of you but is
+    Able to bear against the great Aufidius
+    A shield as hard as his. A certain number,
+    Though thanks to all, must I select from all; the rest
+    Shall bear the business in some other fight,
+    As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;
+    And four shall quickly draw out my command,
+    Which men are best inclin'd.
+  COMINIUS. March on, my fellows;
+    Make good this ostentation, and you shall
+    Divide in all with us.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+The gates of Corioli
+
+TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet
+toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a LIEUTENANT, other soldiers,
+and a scout
+
+  LARTIUS. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your duties
+    As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch
+    Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve
+    For a short holding. If we lose the field
+    We cannot keep the town.
+  LIEUTENANT. Fear not our care, sir.
+  LARTIUS. Hence, and shut your gates upon's.
+    Our guider, come; to th' Roman camp conduct us.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps
+
+Alarum, as in battle. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS at several doors
+
+  MARCIUS. I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee
+    Worse than a promise-breaker.
+  AUFIDIUS. We hate alike:
+    Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
+    More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.
+  MARCIUS. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
+    And the gods doom him after!
+  AUFIDIUS. If I fly, Marcius,
+    Halloa me like a hare.
+  MARCIUS. Within these three hours, Tullus,
+    Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
+    And made what work I pleas'd. 'Tis not my blood
+    Wherein thou seest me mask'd. For thy revenge
+    Wrench up thy power to th' highest.
+  AUFIDIUS. Wert thou the Hector
+    That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,  
+    Thou shouldst not scape me here.
+
+       Here they fight, and certain Volsces come in the aid
+        of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in
+                             breathless
+
+    Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me
+    In your condemned seconds.                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+The Roman camp
+
+Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door,
+COMINIUS with the Romans; at another door, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf
+
+  COMINIUS. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
+    Thou't not believe thy deeds; but I'll report it
+    Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;
+    Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,
+    I' th' end admire; where ladies shall be frighted
+    And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes,
+    That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours,
+    Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods
+    Our Rome hath such a soldier.'
+    Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
+    Having fully din'd before.
+
+         Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit
+
+  LARTIUS. O General,  
+    Here is the steed, we the caparison.
+    Hadst thou beheld-
+  MARCIUS. Pray now, no more; my mother,
+    Who has a charter to extol her blood,
+    When she does praise me grieves me. I have done
+    As you have done- that's what I can; induc'd
+    As you have been- that's for my country.
+    He that has but effected his good will
+    Hath overta'en mine act.
+  COMINIUS. You shall not be
+    The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
+    The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment
+    Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,
+    To hide your doings and to silence that
+    Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,
+    Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you,
+    In sign of what you are, not to reward
+    What you have done, before our army hear me.
+  MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
+    To hear themselves rememb'red.  
+  COMINIUS. Should they not,
+    Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude
+    And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses-
+    Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store- of all
+    The treasure in this field achiev'd and city,
+    We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth
+    Before the common distribution at
+    Your only choice.
+  MARCIUS. I thank you, General,
+    But cannot make my heart consent to take
+    A bribe to pay my sword. I do refuse it,
+    And stand upon my common part with those
+    That have beheld the doing.
+
+           A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius, Marcius!'
+   cast up their caps and lances. COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare
+
+    May these same instruments which you profane
+    Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall
+    I' th' field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be  
+    Made all of false-fac'd soothing. When steel grows
+    Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made
+    An overture for th' wars. No more, I say.
+    For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled,
+    Or foil'd some debile wretch, which without note
+    Here's many else have done, you shout me forth
+    In acclamations hyperbolical,
+    As if I lov'd my little should be dieted
+    In praises sauc'd with lies.
+  COMINIUS. Too modest are you;
+    More cruel to your good report than grateful
+    To us that give you truly. By your patience,
+    If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you-
+    Like one that means his proper harm- in manacles,
+    Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it known,
+    As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
+    Wears this war's garland; in token of the which,
+    My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
+    With all his trim belonging; and from this time,
+    For what he did before Corioli, can him  
+    With all th' applause-and clamour of the host,
+    Caius Marcius Coriolanus.
+    Bear th' addition nobly ever!
+                           [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums]
+  ALL. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!
+  CORIOLANUS. I will go wash;
+    And when my face is fair you shall perceive
+    Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you;
+    I mean to stride your steed, and at all times
+    To undercrest your good addition
+    To th' fairness of my power.
+  COMINIUS. So, to our tent;
+    Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
+    To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,
+    Must to Corioli back. Send us to Rome
+    The best, with whom we may articulate
+    For their own good and ours.
+  LARTIUS. I shall, my lord.
+  CORIOLANUS. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
+    Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg  
+    Of my Lord General.
+  COMINIUS. Take't- 'tis yours; what is't?
+  CORIOLANUS. I sometime lay here in Corioli
+    At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly.
+    He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
+    But then Aufidius was within my view,
+    And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity. I request you
+    To give my poor host freedom.
+  COMINIUS. O, well begg'd!
+    Were he the butcher of my son, he should
+    Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
+  LARTIUS. Marcius, his name?
+  CORIOLANUS. By Jupiter, forgot!
+    I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.
+    Have we no wine here?
+  COMINIUS. Go we to our tent.
+    The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
+    It should be look'd to. Come.                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE X.
+The camp of the Volsces
+
+A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three soldiers
+
+  AUFIDIUS. The town is ta'en.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.
+  AUFIDIUS. Condition!
+    I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,
+    Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition?
+    What good condition can a treaty find
+    I' th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,
+    I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me;
+    And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter
+    As often as we eat. By th' elements,
+    If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,
+    He's mine or I am his. Mine emulation
+    Hath not that honour in't it had; for where
+    I thought to crush him in an equal force,
+    True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way,
+    Or wrath or craft may get him.  
+  FIRST SOLDIER. He's the devil.
+  AUFIDIUS. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd
+    With only suff'ring stain by him; for him
+    Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary,
+    Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,
+    The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,
+    Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
+    Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
+    My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it
+    At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
+    Against the hospitable canon, would I
+    Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' city;
+    Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must
+    Be hostages for Rome.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Will not you go?
+  AUFIDIUS. I am attended at the cypress grove; I pray you-
+    'Tis south the city mills- bring me word thither
+    How the world goes, that to the pace of it
+    I may spur on my journey.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. I shall, sir.                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Rome. A public place
+
+Enter MENENIUS, with the two Tribunes of the people, SICINIUS and BRUTUS
+
+  MENENIUS. The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight.
+  BRUTUS. Good or bad?
+  MENENIUS. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love
+    not Marcius.
+  SICINIUS. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
+  MENENIUS. Pray you, who does the wolf love?
+  SICINIUS. The lamb.
+  MENENIUS. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry plebeians would the
+    noble Marcius.
+  BRUTUS. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.
+  MENENIUS. He's a bear indeed, that lives fike a lamb. You two are
+    old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you.
+  BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, sir.
+  MENENIUS. In what enormity is Marcius poor in that you two have not
+    in abundance?
+  BRUTUS. He's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all.  
+  SICINIUS. Especially in pride.
+  BRUTUS. And topping all others in boasting.
+  MENENIUS. This is strange now. Do you two know how you are censured
+    here in the city- I mean of us o' th' right-hand file? Do you?
+  BOTH TRIBUNES. Why, how are we censur'd?
+  MENENIUS. Because you talk of pride now- will you not be angry?
+  BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, well, sir, well.
+  MENENIUS. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of
+    occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience. Give your
+    dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures- at the
+    least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame
+    Marcius for being proud?
+  BRUTUS. We do it not alone, sir.
+  MENENIUS. I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are
+    many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your
+    abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of
+    pride. O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your
+    necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O
+    that you could!
+  BOTH TRIBUNES. What then, sir?  
+  MENENIUS. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting,
+    proud, violent, testy magistrates-alias fools- as any in Rome.
+  SICINIUS. Menenius, you are known well enough too.
+  MENENIUS. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves
+    a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to
+    be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint, hasty
+    and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more
+    with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the
+    morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath.
+    Meeting two such wealsmen as you are- I cannot call you
+    Lycurguses- if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I
+    make a crooked face at it. I cannot say your worships have
+    deliver'd the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with
+    the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to
+    bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie
+    deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the
+    map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too?
+    What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this
+    character, if I be known well enough too?
+  BRUTUS. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.  
+  MENENIUS. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are
+    ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good
+    wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and
+    a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the controversy of threepence
+    to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter
+    between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the
+    colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag
+    against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss
+    the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing. All
+    the peace you make in their cause is calling both the parties
+    knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.
+  BRUTUS. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber
+    for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.
+  MENENIUS. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall
+    encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak
+    best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your
+    beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to
+    stuff a botcher's cushion or to be entomb'd in an ass's
+    pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying Marcius is proud; who, in a
+    cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion;  
+    though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary
+    hangmen. God-den to your worships. More of your conversation
+    would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly
+    plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you.
+                                  [BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside]
+
+               Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA
+
+    How now, my as fair as noble ladies- and the moon, were she
+    earthly, no nobler- whither do you follow your eyes so fast?
+  VOLUMNIA. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the
+    love of Juno, let's go.
+  MENENIUS. Ha! Marcius coming home?
+  VOLUMNIA. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous
+    approbation.
+  MENENIUS. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo!
+    Marcius coming home!
+  VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA. Nay, 'tis true.
+  VOLUMNIA. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath another,
+    his wife another; and I think there's one at home for you.  
+  MENENIUS. I will make my very house reel to-night. A letter for me?
+  VIRGILIA. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't.
+  MENENIUS. A letter for me! It gives me an estate of seven years'
+    health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician. The
+    most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic and, to
+    this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he
+    not wounded? He was wont to come home wounded.
+  VIRGILIA. O, no, no, no.
+  VOLUMNIA. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't.
+  MENENIUS. So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a victory in
+    his pocket? The wounds become him.
+  VOLUMNIA. On's brows, Menenius, he comes the third time home with
+    the oaken garland.
+  MENENIUS. Has he disciplin'd Aufidius soundly?
+  VOLUMNIA. Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius
+    got off.
+  MENENIUS. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that; an he
+    had stay'd by him, I would not have been so fidius'd for all the
+    chests in Corioli and the gold that's in them. Is the Senate
+    possess'd of this?  
+  VOLUMNIA. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes: the Senate has
+    letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name
+    of the war; he hath in this action outdone his former deeds
+    doubly.
+  VALERIA. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.
+  MENENIUS. Wondrous! Ay, I warrant you, and not without his true
+    purchasing.
+  VIRGILIA. The gods grant them true!
+  VOLUMNIA. True! pow, waw.
+  MENENIUS. True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded?
+    [To the TRIBUNES]  God save your good worships! Marcius is coming
+    home; he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?
+  VOLUMNIA. I' th' shoulder and i' th' left arm; there will be large
+    cicatrices to show the people when he shall stand for his place.
+    He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' th' body.
+  MENENIUS. One i' th' neck and two i' th' thigh- there's nine that I
+    know.
+  VOLUMNIA. He had before this last expedition twenty-five wounds
+    upon him.
+  MENENIUS. Now it's twenty-seven; every gash was an enemy's grave.  
+    [A shout and flourish]  Hark! the trumpets.
+  VOLUMNIA. These are the ushers of Marcius. Before him he carries
+      noise, and behind him he leaves tears;
+    Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie,
+    Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.
+
+            A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the
+              GENERAL, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them,
+           CORIOLANUS, crown'd with an oaken garland; with
+                   CAPTAINS and soldiers and a HERALD
+
+  HERALD. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
+    Within Corioli gates, where he hath won,
+    With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these
+    In honour follows Coriolanus.
+    Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!             [Flourish]
+  ALL. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!
+  CORIOLANUS. No more of this, it does offend my heart.
+    Pray now, no more.
+  COMINIUS. Look, sir, your mother!  
+  CORIOLANUS. O,
+    You have, I know, petition'd all the gods
+    For my prosperity!                                  [Kneels]
+  VOLUMNIA. Nay, my good soldier, up;
+    My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
+    By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd-
+    What is it? Coriolanus must I can thee?
+    But, O, thy wife!
+  CORIOLANUS. My gracious silence, hail!
+    Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home,
+    That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear,
+    Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,
+    And mothers that lack sons.
+  MENENIUS. Now the gods crown thee!
+  CORIOLANUS. And live you yet?  [To VALERIA]  O my sweet lady,
+    pardon.
+  VOLUMNIA. I know not where to turn.
+    O, welcome home! And welcome, General.
+    And y'are welcome all.
+  MENENIUS. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep  
+    And I could laugh; I am light and heavy. Welcome!
+    A curse begin at very root on's heart
+    That is not glad to see thee! You are three
+    That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of men,
+    We have some old crab trees here at home that will not
+    Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors.
+    We call a nettle but a nettle, and
+    The faults of fools but folly.
+  COMINIUS. Ever right.
+  CORIOLANUS. Menenius ever, ever.
+  HERALD. Give way there, and go on.
+  CORIOLANUS.  [To his wife and mother]  Your hand, and yours.
+    Ere in our own house I do shade my head,
+    The good patricians must be visited;
+    From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings,
+    But with them change of honours.
+  VOLUMNIA. I have lived
+    To see inherited my very wishes,
+    And the buildings of my fancy; only
+    There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but  
+    Our Rome will cast upon thee.
+  CORIOLANUS. Know, good mother,
+    I had rather be their servant in my way
+    Than sway with them in theirs.
+  COMINIUS. On, to the Capitol.
+                 [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before]
+
+                BRUTUS and SICINIUS come forward
+
+  BRUTUS. All tongues speak of him and the bleared sights
+    Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse
+    Into a rapture lets her baby cry
+    While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins
+    Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,
+    Clamb'ring the walls to eye him; stalls, bulks, windows,
+    Are smother'd up, leads fill'd and ridges hors'd
+    With variable complexions, all agreeing
+    In earnestness to see him. Seld-shown flamens
+    Do press among the popular throngs and puff
+    To win a vulgar station; our veil'd dames  
+    Commit the war of white and damask in
+    Their nicely gawded cheeks to th' wanton spoil
+    Of Phoebus' burning kisses. Such a pother,
+    As if that whatsoever god who leads him
+    Were slily crept into his human powers,
+    And gave him graceful posture.
+  SICINIUS. On the sudden
+    I warrant him consul.
+  BRUTUS. Then our office may
+    During his power go sleep.
+  SICINIUS. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours
+    From where he should begin and end, but will
+    Lose those he hath won.
+  BRUTUS. In that there's comfort.
+  SICINIUS. Doubt not
+    The commoners, for whom we stand, but they
+    Upon their ancient malice will forget
+    With the least cause these his new honours; which
+    That he will give them make I as little question
+    As he is proud to do't.  
+  BRUTUS. I heard him swear,
+    Were he to stand for consul, never would he
+    Appear i' th' market-place, nor on him put
+    The napless vesture of humility;
+    Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds
+    To th' people, beg their stinking breaths.
+  SICINIUS. 'Tis right.
+  BRUTUS. It was his word. O, he would miss it rather
+    Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him
+    And the desire of the nobles.
+  SICINIUS. I wish no better
+    Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it
+    In execution.
+  BRUTUS. 'Tis most like he will.
+  SICINIUS. It shall be to him then as our good wills:
+    A sure destruction.
+  BRUTUS. So it must fall out
+    To him or our authorities. For an end,
+    We must suggest the people in what hatred
+    He still hath held them; that to's power he would  
+    Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and
+    Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them
+    In human action and capacity
+    Of no more soul nor fitness for the world
+    Than camels in their war, who have their provand
+    Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows
+    For sinking under them.
+  SICINIUS. This, as you say, suggested
+    At some time when his soaring insolence
+    Shall touch the people- which time shall not want,
+    If he be put upon't, and that's as easy
+    As to set dogs on sheep- will be his fire
+    To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze
+    Shall darken him for ever.
+
+                           Enter A MESSENGER
+
+  BRUTUS. What's the matter?
+  MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought
+    That Marcius shall be consul.  
+    I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and
+    The blind to hear him speak; matrons flung gloves,
+    Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers,
+    Upon him as he pass'd; the nobles bended
+    As to Jove's statue, and the commons made
+    A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts.
+    I never saw the like.
+  BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol,
+    And carry with us ears and eyes for th' time,
+    But hearts for the event.
+  SICINIUS. Have with you.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Rome. The Capitol
+
+Enter two OFFICERS, to lay cushions, as it were in the Capitol
+
+  FIRST OFFICER. Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for
+    consulships?
+  SECOND OFFICER. Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one
+    Coriolanus will carry it.
+  FIRST OFFICER. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud and
+    loves not the common people.
+  SECOND OFFICER. Faith, there have been many great men that have
+    flatter'd the people, who ne'er loved them; and there be many
+    that they have loved, they know not wherefore; so that, if they
+    love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground.
+    Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or
+    hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their
+    disposition, and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly
+    see't.
+  FIRST OFFICER. If he did not care whether he had their love or no,
+    he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm;  
+    but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can
+    render it him, and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover
+    him their opposite. Now to seem to affect the malice and
+    displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes- to
+    flatter them for their love.
+  SECOND OFFICER. He hath deserved worthily of his country; and his
+    ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been
+    supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further
+    deed to have them at all, into their estimation and report; but
+    he hath so planted his honours in their eyes and his actions in
+    their hearts that for their tongues to be silent and not confess
+    so much were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise
+    were a malice that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof
+    and rebuke from every car that heard it.
+  FIRST OFFICER. No more of him; he's a worthy man. Make way, they
+    are coming.
+
+         A sennet. Enter the PATRICIANS and the TRIBUNES
+         OF THE PEOPLE, LICTORS before them; CORIOLANUS,
+            MENENIUS, COMINIUS the Consul. SICINIUS and  
+               BRUTUS take their places by themselves.
+                         CORIOLANUS stands
+
+  MENENIUS. Having determin'd of the Volsces, and
+    To send for Titus Lartius, it remains,
+    As the main point of this our after-meeting,
+    To gratify his noble service that
+    Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore please you,
+    Most reverend and grave elders, to desire
+    The present consul and last general
+    In our well-found successes to report
+    A little of that worthy work perform'd
+    By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom
+    We met here both to thank and to remember
+    With honours like himself.                 [CORIOLANUS sits]
+  FIRST SENATOR. Speak, good Cominius.
+    Leave nothing out for length, and make us think
+    Rather our state's defective for requital
+    Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' th' people,
+    We do request your kindest ears; and, after,  
+    Your loving motion toward the common body,
+    To yield what passes here.
+  SICINIUS. We are convented
+    Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts
+    Inclinable to honour and advance
+    The theme of our assembly.
+  BRUTUS. Which the rather
+    We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember
+    A kinder value of the people than
+    He hath hereto priz'd them at.
+  MENENIUS. That's off, that's off;
+    I would you rather had been silent. Please you
+    To hear Cominius speak?
+  BRUTUS. Most willingly.
+    But yet my caution was more pertinent
+    Than the rebuke you give it.
+  MENENIUS. He loves your people;
+    But tie him not to be their bedfellow.
+    Worthy Cominius, speak.
+                       [CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away]  
+    Nay, keep your place.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Sit, Coriolanus, never shame to hear
+    What you have nobly done.
+  CORIOLANUS. Your Honours' pardon.
+    I had rather have my wounds to heal again
+    Than hear say how I got them.
+  BRUTUS. Sir, I hope
+    My words disbench'd you not.
+  CORIOLANUS. No, sir; yet oft,
+    When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.
+    You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not. But your people,
+    I love them as they weigh-
+  MENENIUS. Pray now, sit down.
+  CORIOLANUS. I had rather have one scratch my head i' th' sun
+    When the alarum were struck than idly sit
+    To hear my nothings monster'd.                          Exit
+  MENENIUS. Masters of the people,
+    Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter-
+    That's thousand to one good one- when you now see
+    He had rather venture all his limbs for honour  
+    Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius.
+  COMINIUS. I shall lack voice; the deeds of Coriolanus
+    Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held
+    That valour is the chiefest virtue and
+    Most dignifies the haver. If it be,
+    The man I speak of cannot in the world
+    Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,
+    When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
+    Beyond the mark of others; our then Dictator,
+    Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight
+    When with his Amazonian chin he drove
+    The bristled lips before him; he bestrid
+    An o'erpress'd Roman and i' th' consul's view
+    Slew three opposers; Tarquin's self he met,
+    And struck him on his knee. In that day's feats,
+    When he might act the woman in the scene,
+    He prov'd best man i' th' field, and for his meed
+    Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
+    Man-ent'red thus, he waxed like a sea,
+    And in the brunt of seventeen battles since  
+    He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last,
+    Before and in Corioli, let me say
+    I cannot speak him home. He stopp'd the fliers,
+    And by his rare example made the coward
+    Turn terror into sport; as weeds before
+    A vessel under sail, so men obey'd
+    And fell below his stem. His sword, death's stamp,
+    Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
+    He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
+    Was tim'd with dying cries. Alone he ent'red
+    The mortal gate of th' city, which he painted
+    With shunless destiny; aidless came off,
+    And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
+    Corioli like a planet. Now all's his.
+    When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
+    His ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit
+    Re-quick'ned what in flesh was fatigate,
+    And to the battle came he; where he did
+    Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
+    'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd  
+    Both field and city ours he never stood
+    To ease his breast with panting.
+  MENENIUS. Worthy man!
+  FIRST SENATOR. He cannot but with measure fit the honours
+    Which we devise him.
+  COMINIUS. Our spoils he kick'd at,
+    And look'd upon things precious as they were
+    The common muck of the world. He covets less
+    Than misery itself would give, rewards
+    His deeds with doing them, and is content
+    To spend the time to end it.
+  MENENIUS. He's right noble;
+    Let him be call'd for.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Call Coriolanus.
+    OFFICER. He doth appear.
+
+                            Re-enter CORIOLANUS
+
+  MENENIUS. The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd
+    To make thee consul.  
+  CORIOLANUS. I do owe them still
+    My life and services.
+  MENENIUS. It then remains
+    That you do speak to the people.
+  CORIOLANUS. I do beseech you
+    Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot
+    Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them
+    For my wounds' sake to give their suffrage. Please you
+    That I may pass this doing.
+  SICINIUS. Sir, the people
+    Must have their voices; neither will they bate
+    One jot of ceremony.
+  MENENIUS. Put them not to't.
+    Pray you go fit you to the custom, and
+    Take to you, as your predecessors have,
+    Your honour with your form.
+  CORIOLANUS. It is a part
+    That I shall blush in acting, and might well
+    Be taken from the people.
+  BRUTUS. Mark you that?  
+  CORIOLANUS. To brag unto them 'Thus I did, and thus!'
+    Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide,
+    As if I had receiv'd them for the hire
+    Of their breath only!
+  MENENIUS. Do not stand upon't.
+    We recommend to you, Tribunes of the People,
+    Our purpose to them; and to our noble consul
+    Wish we all joy and honour.
+  SENATORS. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour!
+                             [Flourish. Cornets. Then exeunt all
+                                        but SICINIUS and BRUTUS]
+  BRUTUS. You see how he intends to use the people.
+  SICINIUS. May they perceive's intent! He will require them
+    As if he did contemn what he requested
+    Should be in them to give.
+  BRUTUS. Come, we'll inform them
+    Of our proceedings here. On th' market-place
+    I know they do attend us.                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Rome. The Forum
+
+Enter seven or eight citizens
+
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to
+    deny him.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. We may, sir, if we will.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a
+    power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds
+    and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those
+    wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we
+    must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is
+    monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a
+    monster of the multitude; of the which we being members should
+    bring ourselves to be monstrous members.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. And to make us no better thought of, a little help
+    will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck
+    not to call us the many-headed multitude.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. We have been call'd so of many; not that our heads
+    are some brown, some black, some abram, some bald, but that our
+    wits are so diversely colour'd; and truly I think if all our wits  
+    were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north,
+    south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to
+    all the points o' th' compass.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would
+    fly?
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's
+    will- 'tis strongly wedg'd up in a block-head; but if it were at
+    liberty 'twould sure southward.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Why that way?
+  THIRD CITIZEN. To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts
+   melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for
+    conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wife.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. YOU are never without your tricks; you may, you
+    may.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Are you all resolv'd to give your voices? But that's
+    no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would
+    incline to the people, there was never a worthier man.
+
+                Enter CORIOLANUS, in a gown of humility,
+                               with MENENIUS  
+
+    Here he comes, and in the gown of humility. Mark his behaviour.
+    We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he
+    stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his
+    requests by particulars, wherein every one of us has a single
+    honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues;
+    therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you shall go by him.
+  ALL. Content, content.                         Exeunt citizens
+  MENENIUS. O sir, you are not right; have you not known
+    The worthiest men have done't?
+  CORIOLANUS. What must I say?
+    'I pray, sir'- Plague upon't! I cannot bring
+    My tongue to such a pace. 'Look, sir, my wounds
+    I got them in my country's service, when
+    Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran
+    From th' noise of our own drums.'
+  MENENIUS. O me, the gods!
+    You must not speak of that. You must desire them
+    To think upon you.
+  CORIOLANUS. Think upon me? Hang 'em!  
+    I would they would forget me, like the virtues
+    Which our divines lose by 'em.
+  MENENIUS. You'll mar all.
+    I'll leave you. Pray you speak to 'em, I pray you,
+    In wholesome manner.                                    Exit
+
+                       Re-enter three of the citizens
+
+  CORIOLANUS. Bid them wash their faces
+    And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace.
+    You know the cause, sir, of my standing here.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't.
+  CORIOLANUS. Mine own desert.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Your own desert?
+  CORIOLANUS. Ay, not mine own desire.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. How, not your own desire?
+  CORIOLANUS. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor
+    with begging.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. YOU MUST think, if we give you anything, we hope to
+    gain by you.  
+  CORIOLANUS. Well then, I pray, your price o' th' consulship?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. The price is to ask it kindly.
+  CORIOLANUS. Kindly, sir, I pray let me ha't. I have wounds to show
+    you, which shall be yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what
+    say you?
+  SECOND CITIZEN. You shall ha' it, worthy sir.
+  CORIOLANUS. A match, sir. There's in all two worthy voices begg'd.
+    I have your alms. Adieu.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. But this is something odd.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. An 'twere to give again- but 'tis no matter.
+                                       Exeunt the three citizens
+
+                      Re-enter two other citizens
+
+  CORIOLANUS. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your
+    voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. You have deserved nobly of your country, and you
+    have not deserved nobly.
+  CORIOLANUS. Your enigma?
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. You have been a scourge to her enemies; you have  
+    been a rod to her friends. You have not indeed loved the common
+    people.
+  CORIOLANUS. You should account me the more virtuous, that I have
+    not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn
+    brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them; 'tis a
+    condition they account gentle; and since the wisdom of their
+    choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise
+    the insinuating nod and be off to them most counterfeitly. That
+    is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man
+    and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you I
+    may be consul.
+  FIFTH CITIZEN. We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give
+    you our voices heartily.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. You have received many wounds for your country.
+  CORIOLANUS. I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I
+    will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no farther.
+  BOTH CITIZENS. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily!
+                                                 Exeunt citizens
+  CORIOLANUS. Most sweet voices!
+    Better it is to die, better to starve,  
+    Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
+    Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here
+    To beg of Hob and Dick that do appear
+    Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't.
+    What custom wills, in all things should we do't,
+    The dust on antique time would lie unswept,
+    And mountainous error be too highly heap'd
+    For truth to o'erpeer. Rather than fool it so,
+    Let the high office and the honour go
+    To one that would do thus. I am half through:
+    The one part suffered, the other will I do.
+
+                      Re-enter three citizens more
+
+    Here come moe voices.
+    Your voices. For your voices I have fought;
+    Watch'd for your voices; for your voices bear
+    Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six
+    I have seen and heard of; for your voices have
+    Done many things, some less, some more. Your voices?  
+    Indeed, I would be consul.
+  SIXTH CITIZEN. He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest
+    man's voice.
+  SEVENTH CITIZEN. Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him
+    joy, and make him good friend to the people!
+  ALL. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul!
+                                                 Exeunt citizens
+  CORIOLANUS. Worthy voices!
+
+             Re-enter MENENIUS with BRUTUS and SICINIUS
+
+  MENENIUS. You have stood your limitation, and the tribunes
+    Endue you with the people's voice. Remains
+    That, in th' official marks invested, you
+    Anon do meet the Senate.
+  CORIOLANUS. Is this done?
+  SICINIUS. The custom of request you have discharg'd.
+    The people do admit you, and are summon'd
+    To meet anon, upon your approbation.
+  CORIOLANUS. Where? At the Senate House?  
+  SICINIUS. There, Coriolanus.
+  CORIOLANUS. May I change these garments?
+  SICINIUS. You may, sir.
+  CORIOLANUS. That I'll straight do, and, knowing myself again,
+    Repair to th' Senate House.
+  MENENIUS. I'll keep you company. Will you along?
+  BRUTUS. We stay here for the people.
+  SICINIUS. Fare you well.
+                                  Exeunt CORIOLANUS and MENENIUS
+    He has it now; and by his looks methinks
+    'Tis warm at's heart.
+  BRUTUS. With a proud heart he wore
+    His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people?
+
+                            Re-enter citizens
+
+  SICINIUS. How now, my masters! Have you chose this man?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. He has our voices, sir.
+  BRUTUS. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice,  
+    He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Certainly;
+    He flouted us downright.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. No, 'tis his kind of speech- he did not mock us.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says
+    He us'd us scornfully. He should have show'd us
+    His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for's country.
+  SICINIUS. Why, so he did, I am sure.
+  ALL. No, no; no man saw 'em.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. He said he had wounds which he could show in
+      private,
+    And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,
+    'I would be consul,' says he; 'aged custom
+    But by your voices will not so permit me;
+    Your voices therefore.' When we granted that,
+    Here was 'I thank you for your voices. Thank you,
+    Your most sweet voices. Now you have left your voices,
+    I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery?
+  SICINIUS. Why either were you ignorant to see't,
+    Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness  
+    To yield your voices?
+  BRUTUS. Could you not have told him-
+    As you were lesson'd- when he had no power
+    But was a petty servant to the state,
+    He was your enemy; ever spake against
+    Your liberties and the charters that you bear
+    I' th' body of the weal; and now, arriving
+    A place of potency and sway o' th' state,
+    If he should still malignantly remain
+    Fast foe to th' plebeii, your voices might
+    Be curses to yourselves? You should have said
+    That as his worthy deeds did claim no less
+    Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature
+    Would think upon you for your voices, and
+    Translate his malice towards you into love,
+    Standing your friendly lord.
+  SICINIUS. Thus to have said,
+    As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit
+    And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd
+    Either his gracious promise, which you might,  
+    As cause had call'd you up, have held him to;
+    Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature,
+    Which easily endures not article
+    Tying him to aught. So, putting him to rage,
+    You should have ta'en th' advantage of his choler
+    And pass'd him unelected.
+  BRUTUS. Did you perceive
+    He did solicit you in free contempt
+    When he did need your loves; and do you think
+    That his contempt shall not be bruising to you
+    When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies
+    No heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry
+    Against the rectorship of judgment?
+  SICINIUS. Have you
+    Ere now denied the asker, and now again,
+    Of him that did not ask but mock, bestow
+    Your su'd-for tongues?
+  THIRD CITIZEN. He's not confirm'd: we may deny him yet.
+  SECOND CITIZENS. And will deny him;
+    I'll have five hundred voices of that sound.  
+  FIRST CITIZEN. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece
+    'em.
+  BRUTUS. Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends
+    They have chose a consul that will from them take
+    Their liberties, make them of no more voice
+    Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking
+    As therefore kept to do so.
+  SICINIUS. Let them assemble;
+    And, on a safer judgment, all revoke
+    Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride
+    And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not
+    With what contempt he wore the humble weed;
+    How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves,
+    Thinking upon his services, took from you
+    Th' apprehension of his present portance,
+    Which, most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion
+    After the inveterate hate he bears you.
+  BRUTUS. Lay
+    A fault on us, your tribunes, that we labour'd,
+    No impediment between, but that you must  
+    Cast your election on him.
+  SICINIUS. Say you chose him
+    More after our commandment than as guided
+    By your own true affections; and that your minds,
+    Pre-occupied with what you rather must do
+    Than what you should, made you against the grain
+    To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us.
+  BRUTUS. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you,
+    How youngly he began to serve his country,
+    How long continued; and what stock he springs of-
+    The noble house o' th' Marcians; from whence came
+    That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son,
+    Who, after great Hostilius, here was king;
+    Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,
+    That our best water brought by conduits hither;
+    And Censorinus, nobly named so,
+    Twice being by the people chosen censor,
+    Was his great ancestor.
+  SICINIUS. One thus descended,
+    That hath beside well in his person wrought  
+    To be set high in place, we did commend
+    To your remembrances; but you have found,
+    Scaling his present bearing with his past,
+    That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke
+    Your sudden approbation.
+  BRUTUS. Say you ne'er had done't-
+    Harp on that still- but by our putting on;
+    And presently, when you have drawn your number,
+    Repair to th' Capitol.
+  CITIZENS. will will so; almost all
+    Repent in their election.                   Exeunt plebeians
+  BRUTUS. Let them go on;
+    This mutiny were better put in hazard
+    Than stay, past doubt, for greater.
+    If, as his nature is, he fall in rage
+    With their refusal, both observe and answer
+    The vantage of his anger.
+  SICINIUS. To th' Capitol, come.
+    We will be there before the stream o' th' people;
+    And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own,  
+    Which we have goaded onward.                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Rome. A street
+
+Cornets. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, all the GENTRY, COMINIUS,
+TITUS LARTIUS, and other SENATORS
+
+  CORIOLANUS. Tullus Aufidius, then, had made new head?
+  LARTIUS. He had, my lord; and that it was which caus'd
+    Our swifter composition.
+  CORIOLANUS. So then the Volsces stand but as at first,
+    Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road
+    Upon's again.
+  COMINIUS. They are worn, Lord Consul, so
+    That we shall hardly in our ages see
+    Their banners wave again.
+  CORIOLANUS. Saw you Aufidius?
+  LARTIUS. On safeguard he came to me, and did curse
+    Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely
+    Yielded the town. He is retir'd to Antium.
+  CORIOLANUS. Spoke he of me?
+  LARTIUS. He did, my lord.
+  CORIOLANUS. How? What?  
+  LARTIUS. How often he had met you, sword to sword;
+    That of all things upon the earth he hated
+    Your person most; that he would pawn his fortunes
+    To hopeless restitution, so he might
+    Be call'd your vanquisher.
+  CORIOLANUS. At Antium lives he?
+  LARTIUS. At Antium.
+  CORIOLANUS. I wish I had a cause to seek him there,
+    To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home.
+
+                       Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS
+
+    Behold, these are the tribunes of the people,
+    The tongues o' th' common mouth. I do despise them,
+    For they do prank them in authority,
+    Against all noble sufferance.
+  SICINIUS. Pass no further.
+  CORIOLANUS. Ha! What is that?
+  BRUTUS. It will be dangerous to go on- no further.
+  CORIOLANUS. What makes this change?  
+  MENENIUS. The matter?
+  COMINIUS. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common?
+  BRUTUS. Cominius, no.
+  CORIOLANUS. Have I had children's voices?
+  FIRST SENATOR. Tribunes, give way: he shall to th' market-place.
+  BRUTUS. The people are incens'd against him.
+  SICINIUS. Stop,
+    Or all will fall in broil.
+  CORIOLANUS. Are these your herd?
+    Must these have voices, that can yield them now
+    And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices?
+    You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth?
+    Have you not set them on?
+  MENENIUS. Be calm, be calm.
+  CORIOLANUS. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot,
+    To curb the will of the nobility;
+    Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule
+    Nor ever will be rul'd.
+  BRUTUS. Call't not a plot.
+    The people cry you mock'd them; and of late,  
+    When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd;
+    Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them
+    Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.
+  CORIOLANUS. Why, this was known before.
+  BRUTUS. Not to them all.
+  CORIOLANUS. Have you inform'd them sithence?
+  BRUTUS. How? I inform them!
+  COMINIUS. You are like to do such business.
+  BRUTUS. Not unlike
+    Each way to better yours.
+  CORIOLANUS. Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds,
+    Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me
+    Your fellow tribune.
+  SICINIUS. You show too much of that
+    For which the people stir; if you will pass
+    To where you are bound, you must enquire your way,
+    Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit,
+    Or never be so noble as a consul,
+    Nor yoke with him for tribune.
+  MENENIUS. Let's be calm.  
+  COMINIUS. The people are abus'd; set on. This palt'ring
+    Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus
+    Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely
+    I' th' plain way of his merit.
+  CORIOLANUS. Tell me of corn!
+    This was my speech, and I will speak't again-
+  MENENIUS. Not now, not now.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Not in this heat, sir, now.
+  CORIOLANUS. Now, as I live, I will.
+    My nobler friends, I crave their pardons.
+    For the mutable, rank-scented meiny, let them
+    Regard me as I do not flatter, and
+    Therein behold themselves. I say again,
+    In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our Senate
+    The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition,
+    Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd,
+    By mingling them with us, the honour'd number,
+    Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that
+    Which they have given to beggars.
+  MENENIUS. Well, no more.  
+  FIRST SENATOR. No more words, we beseech you.
+  CORIOLANUS. How? no more!
+    As for my country I have shed my blood,
+    Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs
+    Coin words till their decay against those measles
+    Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought
+    The very way to catch them.
+  BRUTUS. You speak o' th' people
+    As if you were a god, to punish; not
+    A man of their infirmity.
+  SICINIUS. 'Twere well
+    We let the people know't.
+  MENENIUS. What, what? his choler?
+  CORIOLANUS. Choler!
+    Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,
+    By Jove, 'twould be my mind!
+  SICINIUS. It is a mind
+    That shall remain a poison where it is,
+    Not poison any further.
+  CORIOLANUS. Shall remain!  
+    Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you
+    His absolute 'shall'?
+  COMINIUS. 'Twas from the canon.
+  CORIOLANUS. 'Shall'!
+    O good but most unwise patricians! Why,
+    You grave but reckless senators, have you thus
+    Given Hydra here to choose an officer
+    That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but
+    The horn and noise o' th' monster's, wants not spirit
+    To say he'll turn your current in a ditch,
+    And make your channel his? If he have power,
+    Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake
+    Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd,
+    Be not as common fools; if you are not,
+    Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians,
+    If they be senators; and they are no less,
+    When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste
+    Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate;
+    And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,'
+    His popular 'shall,' against a graver bench  
+    Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself,
+    It makes the consuls base; and my soul aches
+    To know, when two authorities are up,
+    Neither supreme, how soon confusion
+    May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take
+    The one by th' other.
+  COMINIUS. Well, on to th' market-place.
+  CORIOLANUS. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth
+    The corn o' th' storehouse gratis, as 'twas us'd
+    Sometime in Greece-
+  MENENIUS. Well, well, no more of that.
+  CORIOLANUS. Though there the people had more absolute pow'r-
+    I say they nourish'd disobedience, fed
+    The ruin of the state.
+  BRUTUS. Why shall the people give
+    One that speaks thus their voice?
+  CORIOLANUS. I'll give my reasons,
+    More worthier than their voices. They know the corn
+    Was not our recompense, resting well assur'd
+    They ne'er did service for't; being press'd to th' war  
+    Even when the navel of the state was touch'd,
+    They would not thread the gates. This kind of service
+    Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' th' war,
+    Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd
+    Most valour, spoke not for them. Th' accusation
+    Which they have often made against the Senate,
+    All cause unborn, could never be the native
+    Of our so frank donation. Well, what then?
+    How shall this bosom multiplied digest
+    The Senate's courtesy? Let deeds express
+    What's like to be their words: 'We did request it;
+    We are the greater poll, and in true fear
+    They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase
+    The nature of our seats, and make the rabble
+    Call our cares fears; which will in time
+    Break ope the locks o' th' Senate and bring in
+    The crows to peck the eagles.
+  MENENIUS. Come, enough.
+  BRUTUS. Enough, with over measure.
+  CORIOLANUS. No, take more.  
+    What may be sworn by, both divine and human,
+    Seal what I end withal! This double worship,
+    Where one part does disdain with cause, the other
+    Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom,
+    Cannot conclude but by the yea and no
+    Of general ignorance- it must omit
+    Real necessities, and give way the while
+    To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr'd, it follows
+    Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you-
+    You that will be less fearful than discreet;
+    That love the fundamental part of state
+    More than you doubt the change on't; that prefer
+    A noble life before a long, and wish
+    To jump a body with a dangerous physic
+    That's sure of death without it- at once pluck out
+    The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick
+    The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour
+    Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state
+    Of that integrity which should become't,
+    Not having the power to do the good it would,  
+    For th' ill which doth control't.
+  BRUTUS. Has said enough.
+  SICINIUS. Has spoken like a traitor and shall answer
+    As traitors do.
+  CORIOLANUS. Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee!
+    What should the people do with these bald tribunes,
+    On whom depending, their obedience fails
+    To the greater bench? In a rebellion,
+    When what's not meet, but what must be, was law,
+    Then were they chosen; in a better hour
+    Let what is meet be said it must be meet,
+    And throw their power i' th' dust.
+  BRUTUS. Manifest treason!
+  SICINIUS. This a consul? No.
+  BRUTUS. The aediles, ho!
+
+                           Enter an AEDILE
+
+    Let him be apprehended.
+  SICINIUS. Go call the people,  [Exit AEDILE]  in whose name myself  
+    Attach thee as a traitorous innovator,
+    A foe to th' public weal. Obey, I charge thee,
+    And follow to thine answer.
+  CORIOLANUS. Hence, old goat!
+  PATRICIANS. We'll surety him.
+  COMINIUS. Ag'd sir, hands off.
+  CORIOLANUS. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones
+    Out of thy garments.
+  SICINIUS. Help, ye citizens!
+
+              Enter a rabble of plebeians, with the AEDILES
+
+  MENENIUS. On both sides more respect.
+  SICINIUS. Here's he that would take from you all your power.
+  BRUTUS. Seize him, aediles.
+    PLEBEIANS. Down with him! down with him!
+  SECOND SENATOR. Weapons, weapons, weapons!
+                              [They all bustle about CORIOLANUS]
+  ALL. Tribunes! patricians! citizens! What, ho! Sicinius!
+    Brutus! Coriolanus! Citizens!  
+  PATRICIANS. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace!
+  MENENIUS. What is about to be? I am out of breath;
+    Confusion's near; I cannot speak. You tribunes
+    To th' people- Coriolanus, patience!
+    Speak, good Sicinius.
+  SICINIUS. Hear me, people; peace!
+  PLEBEIANS. Let's hear our tribune. Peace! Speak, speak, speak.
+  SICINIUS. You are at point to lose your liberties.
+    Marcius would have all from you; Marcius,
+    Whom late you have nam'd for consul.
+  MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie!
+    This is the way to kindle, not to quench.
+  FIRST SENATOR. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat.
+  SICINIUS. What is the city but the people?
+  PLEBEIANS. True,
+    The people are the city.
+  BRUTUS. By the consent of all we were establish'd
+    The people's magistrates.
+  PLEBEIANS. You so remain.
+  MENENIUS. And so are like to do.  
+  COMINIUS. That is the way to lay the city flat,
+    To bring the roof to the foundation,
+    And bury all which yet distinctly ranges
+    In heaps and piles of ruin.
+  SICINIUS. This deserves death.
+  BRUTUS. Or let us stand to our authority
+    Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce,
+    Upon the part o' th' people, in whose power
+    We were elected theirs: Marcius is worthy
+    Of present death.
+  SICINIUS. Therefore lay hold of him;
+    Bear him to th' rock Tarpeian, and from thence
+    Into destruction cast him.
+  BRUTUS. AEdiles, seize him.
+  PLEBEIANS. Yield, Marcius, yield.
+  MENENIUS. Hear me one word; beseech you, Tribunes,
+    Hear me but a word.
+  AEDILES. Peace, peace!
+  MENENIUS. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend,
+    And temp'rately proceed to what you would  
+    Thus violently redress.
+  BRUTUS. Sir, those cold ways,
+    That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous
+    Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him
+    And bear him to the rock.
+                                    [CORIOLANUS draws his sword]
+  CORIOLANUS. No: I'll die here.
+    There's some among you have beheld me fighting;
+    Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.
+  MENENIUS. Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile.
+  BRUTUS. Lay hands upon him.
+  MENENIUS. Help Marcius, help,
+    You that be noble; help him, young and old.
+  PLEBEIANS. Down with him, down with him!
+                      [In this mutiny the TRIBUNES, the AEDILES,
+                                     and the people are beat in]
+  MENENIUS. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away.
+    All will be nought else.
+  SECOND SENATOR. Get you gone.
+  CORIOLANUS. Stand fast;  
+    We have as many friends as enemies.
+  MENENIUS. Shall it be put to that?
+  FIRST SENATOR. The gods forbid!
+    I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house;
+    Leave us to cure this cause.
+  MENENIUS. For 'tis a sore upon us
+    You cannot tent yourself; be gone, beseech you.
+  COMINIUS. Come, sir, along with us.
+  CORIOLANUS. I would they were barbarians, as they are,
+    Though in Rome litter'd; not Romans, as they are not,
+    Though calved i' th' porch o' th' Capitol.
+  MENENIUS. Be gone.
+    Put not your worthy rage into your tongue;
+    One time will owe another.
+  CORIOLANUS. On fair ground
+    I could beat forty of them.
+  MENENIUS. I could myself
+    Take up a brace o' th' best of them; yea, the two tribunes.
+  COMINIUS. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic,
+    And manhood is call'd foolery when it stands  
+    Against a falling fabric. Will you hence,
+    Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend
+    Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear
+    What they are us'd to bear.
+  MENENIUS. Pray you be gone.
+    I'll try whether my old wit be in request
+    With those that have but little; this must be patch'd
+    With cloth of any colour.
+  COMINIUS. Nay, come away.
+                     Exeunt CORIOLANUS and COMINIUS, with others
+  PATRICIANS. This man has marr'd his fortune.
+  MENENIUS. His nature is too noble for the world:
+    He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
+    Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth;
+    What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;
+    And, being angry, does forget that ever
+    He heard the name of death.                 [A noise within]
+    Here's goodly work!
+  PATRICIANS. I would they were a-bed.
+  MENENIUS. I would they were in Tiber.  
+    What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?
+
+            Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, the rabble again
+
+  SICINIUS. Where is this viper
+    That would depopulate the city and
+    Be every man himself?
+  MENENIUS. You worthy Tribunes-
+  SICINIUS. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock
+    With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law,
+    And therefore law shall scorn him further trial
+    Than the severity of the public power,
+    Which he so sets at nought.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. He shall well know
+    The noble tribunes are the people's mouths,
+    And we their hands.
+  PLEBEIANS. He shall, sure on't.
+  MENENIUS. Sir, sir-
+  SICINIUS. Peace!
+  MENENIUS. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt  
+    With modest warrant.
+  SICINIUS. Sir, how comes't that you
+    Have holp to make this rescue?
+  MENENIUS. Hear me speak.
+    As I do know the consul's worthiness,
+    So can I name his faults.
+  SICINIUS. Consul! What consul?
+  MENENIUS. The consul Coriolanus.
+  BRUTUS. He consul!
+  PLEBEIANS. No, no, no, no, no.
+  MENENIUS. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people,
+    I may be heard, I would crave a word or two;
+    The which shall turn you to no further harm
+    Than so much loss of time.
+  SICINIUS. Speak briefly, then,
+    For we are peremptory to dispatch
+    This viperous traitor; to eject him hence
+    Were but one danger, and to keep him here
+    Our certain death; therefore it is decreed
+    He dies to-night.  
+  MENENIUS. Now the good gods forbid
+    That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
+    Towards her deserved children is enroll'd
+    In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
+    Should now eat up her own!
+  SICINIUS. He's a disease that must be cut away.
+  MENENIUS. O, he's a limb that has but a disease-
+    Mortal, to cut it off: to cure it, easy.
+    What has he done to Rome that's worthy death?
+    Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost-
+    Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath
+    By many an ounce- he dropt it for his country;
+    And what is left, to lose it by his country
+    Were to us all that do't and suffer it
+    A brand to th' end o' th' world.
+  SICINIUS. This is clean kam.
+  BRUTUS. Merely awry. When he did love his country,
+    It honour'd him.
+  SICINIUS. The service of the foot,
+    Being once gangren'd, is not then respected  
+    For what before it was.
+  BRUTUS. We'll hear no more.
+    Pursue him to his house and pluck him thence,
+    Lest his infection, being of catching nature,
+    Spread further.
+  MENENIUS. One word more, one word
+    This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find
+    The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late,
+    Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by process,
+    Lest parties- as he is belov'd- break out,
+    And sack great Rome with Romans.
+  BRUTUS. If it were so-
+  SICINIUS. What do ye talk?
+    Have we not had a taste of his obedience-
+    Our aediles smote, ourselves resisted? Come!
+  MENENIUS. Consider this: he has been bred i' th' wars
+    Since 'a could draw a sword, and is ill school'd
+    In bolted language; meal and bran together
+    He throws without distinction. Give me leave,
+    I'll go to him and undertake to bring him  
+    Where he shall answer by a lawful form,
+    In peace, to his utmost peril.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Noble Tribunes,
+    It is the humane way; the other course
+    Will prove too bloody, and the end of it
+    Unknown to the beginning.
+  SICINIUS. Noble Menenius,
+    Be you then as the people's officer.
+    Masters, lay down your weapons.
+  BRUTUS. Go not home.
+  SICINIUS. Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there;
+    Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed
+    In our first way.
+  MENENIUS. I'll bring him to you.
+    [To the SENATORS]  Let me desire your company; he must come,
+    Or what is worst will follow.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Pray you let's to him.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Rome. The house of CORIOLANUS
+
+Enter CORIOLANUS with NOBLES
+
+  CORIOLANUS. Let them pull all about mine ears, present me
+    Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels;
+    Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,
+    That the precipitation might down stretch
+    Below the beam of sight; yet will I still
+    Be thus to them.
+  FIRST PATRICIAN. You do the nobler.
+  CORIOLANUS. I muse my mother
+    Does not approve me further, who was wont
+    To call them woollen vassals, things created
+    To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads
+    In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder,
+    When one but of my ordinance stood up
+    To speak of peace or war.
+
+                          Enter VOLUMNIA
+  
+    I talk of you:
+    Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me
+    False to my nature? Rather say I play
+    The man I am.
+  VOLUMNIA. O, sir, sir, sir,
+    I would have had you put your power well on
+    Before you had worn it out.
+  CORIOLANUS. Let go.
+  VOLUMNIA. You might have been enough the man you are
+    With striving less to be so; lesser had been
+    The thwartings of your dispositions, if
+    You had not show'd them how ye were dispos'd,
+    Ere they lack'd power to cross you.
+  CORIOLANUS. Let them hang.
+  VOLUMNIA. Ay, and burn too.
+
+                    Enter MENENIUS with the SENATORS
+
+  MENENIUS. Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough;
+    You must return and mend it.  
+  FIRST SENATOR. There's no remedy,
+    Unless, by not so doing, our good city
+    Cleave in the midst and perish.
+  VOLUMNIA. Pray be counsell'd;
+    I have a heart as little apt as yours,
+    But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
+    To better vantage.
+  MENENIUS. Well said, noble woman!
+    Before he should thus stoop to th' herd, but that
+    The violent fit o' th' time craves it as physic
+    For the whole state, I would put mine armour on,
+    Which I can scarcely bear.
+  CORIOLANUS. What must I do?
+  MENENIUS. Return to th' tribunes.
+  CORIOLANUS. Well, what then, what then?
+  MENENIUS. Repent what you have spoke.
+  CORIOLANUS. For them! I cannot do it to the gods;
+    Must I then do't to them?
+  VOLUMNIA. You are too absolute;
+    Though therein you can never be too noble  
+    But when extremities speak. I have heard you say
+    Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
+    I' th' war do grow together; grant that, and tell me
+    In peace what each of them by th' other lose
+    That they combine not there.
+  CORIOLANUS. Tush, tush!
+  MENENIUS. A good demand.
+  VOLUMNIA. If it be honour in your wars to seem
+    The same you are not, which for your best ends
+    You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse
+    That it shall hold companionship in peace
+    With honour as in war; since that to both
+    It stands in like request?
+  CORIOLANUS. Why force you this?
+  VOLUMNIA. Because that now it lies you on to speak
+    To th' people, not by your own instruction,
+    Nor by th' matter which your heart prompts you,
+    But with such words that are but roted in
+    Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables
+    Of no allowance to your bosom's truth.  
+    Now, this no more dishonours you at all
+    Than to take in a town with gentle words,
+    Which else would put you to your fortune and
+    The hazard of much blood.
+    I would dissemble with my nature where
+    My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd
+    I should do so in honour. I am in this
+    Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles;
+    And you will rather show our general louts
+    How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon 'em
+    For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard
+    Of what that want might ruin.
+  MENENIUS. Noble lady!
+    Come, go with us, speak fair; you may salve so,
+    Not what is dangerous present, but the los
+    Of what is past.
+  VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, My son,
+    Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand;
+    And thus far having stretch'd it- here be with them-
+    Thy knee bussing the stones- for in such busines  
+    Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th' ignorant
+    More learned than the ears- waving thy head,
+    Which often thus correcting thy-stout heart,
+    Now humble as the ripest mulberry
+    That will not hold the handling. Or say to them
+    Thou art their soldier and, being bred in broils,
+    Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess,
+    Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim,
+    In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame
+    Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
+    As thou hast power and person.
+  MENENIUS. This but done
+    Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours;
+    For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
+    As words to little purpose.
+  VOLUMNIA. Prithee now,
+    Go, and be rul'd; although I know thou hadst rather
+    Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
+    Than flatter him in a bower.
+  
+                           Enter COMINIUS
+
+    Here is Cominius.
+  COMINIUS. I have been i' th' market-place; and, sir, 'tis fit
+    You make strong party, or defend yourself
+    By calmness or by absence; all's in anger.
+  MENENIUS. Only fair speech.
+  COMINIUS. I think 'twill serve, if he
+    Can thereto frame his spirit.
+  VOLUMNIA. He must and will.
+    Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.
+  CORIOLANUS. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? Must I
+    With my base tongue give to my noble heart
+    A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't;
+    Yet, were there but this single plot to lose,
+    This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it,
+    And throw't against the wind. To th' market-place!
+    You have put me now to such a part which never
+    I shall discharge to th' life.
+  COMINIUS. Come, come, we'll prompt you.  
+  VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said
+    My praises made thee first a soldier, so,
+    To have my praise for this, perform a part
+    Thou hast not done before.
+  CORIOLANUS. Well, I must do't.
+    Away, my disposition, and possess me
+    Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd,
+    Which quier'd with my drum, into a pipe
+    Small as an eunuch or the virgin voice
+    That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves
+    Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up
+    The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue
+    Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees,
+    Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his
+    That hath receiv'd an alms! I will not do't,
+    Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth,
+    And by my body's action teach my mind
+    A most inherent baseness.
+  VOLUMNIA. At thy choice, then.
+    To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour  
+    Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let
+    Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear
+    Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death
+    With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.
+    Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me;
+    But owe thy pride thyself.
+  CORIOLANUS. Pray be content.
+    Mother, I am going to the market-place;
+    Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves,
+    Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd
+    Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going.
+    Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul,
+    Or never trust to what my tongue can do
+    I' th' way of flattery further.
+  VOLUMNIA. Do your will.                                   Exit
+  COMINIUS. Away! The tribunes do attend you. Arm yourself
+    To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd
+    With accusations, as I hear, more strong
+    Than are upon you yet.
+  CORIOLANUS. The word is 'mildly.' Pray you let us go.  
+    Let them accuse me by invention; I
+    Will answer in mine honour.
+  MENENIUS. Ay, but mildly.
+  CORIOLANUS. Well, mildly be it then- mildly.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Rome. The Forum
+
+Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS
+
+  BRUTUS. In this point charge him home, that he affects
+    Tyrannical power. If he evade us there,
+    Enforce him with his envy to the people,
+    And that the spoil got on the Antiates
+    Was ne'er distributed.
+
+                           Enter an AEDILE
+
+    What, will he come?
+  AEDILE. He's coming.
+  BRUTUS. How accompanied?
+  AEDILE. With old Menenius, and those senators
+    That always favour'd him.
+  SICINIUS. Have you a catalogue
+    Of all the voices that we have procur'd,
+    Set down by th' poll?
+  AEDILE. I have; 'tis ready.  
+  SICINIUS. Have you corrected them by tribes?
+  AEDILE. I have.
+  SICINIUS. Assemble presently the people hither;
+    And when they hear me say 'It shall be so
+    I' th' right and strength o' th' commons' be it either
+    For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them,
+    If I say fine, cry 'Fine!'- if death, cry 'Death!'
+    Insisting on the old prerogative
+    And power i' th' truth o' th' cause.
+  AEDILE. I shall inform them.
+  BRUTUS. And when such time they have begun to cry,
+    Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd
+    Enforce the present execution
+    Of what we chance to sentence.
+  AEDILE. Very well.
+  SICINIUS. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint,
+    When we shall hap to give't them.
+  BRUTUS. Go about it.                               Exit AEDILE
+    Put him to choler straight. He hath been us'd
+    Ever to conquer, and to have his worth  
+    Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he cannot
+    Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks
+    What's in his heart, and that is there which looks
+    With us to break his neck.
+
+          Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS and COMINIUS, with others
+
+  SICINIUS. Well, here he comes.
+  MENENIUS. Calmly, I do beseech you.
+  CORIOLANUS. Ay, as an ostler, that for th' poorest piece
+    Will bear the knave by th' volume. Th' honour'd gods
+    Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice
+    Supplied with worthy men! plant love among's!
+    Throng our large temples with the shows of peace,
+    And not our streets with war!
+  FIRST SENATOR. Amen, amen!
+  MENENIUS. A noble wish.
+
+                  Re-enter the.AEDILE,with the plebeians
+  
+  SICINIUS. Draw near, ye people.
+  AEDILE. List to your tribunes. Audience! peace, I say!
+  CORIOLANUS. First, hear me speak.
+  BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, say. Peace, ho!
+  CORIOLANUS. Shall I be charg'd no further than this present?
+    Must all determine here?
+  SICINIUS. I do demand,
+    If you submit you to the people's voices,
+    Allow their officers, and are content
+    To suffer lawful censure for such faults
+    As shall be prov'd upon you.
+  CORIOLANUS. I am content.
+  MENENIUS. Lo, citizens, he says he is content.
+    The warlike service he has done, consider; think
+    Upon the wounds his body bears, which show
+    Like graves i' th' holy churchyard.
+  CORIOLANUS. Scratches with briers,
+    Scars to move laughter only.
+  MENENIUS. Consider further,
+    That when he speaks not like a citizen,  
+    You find him like a soldier; do not take
+    His rougher accents for malicious sounds,
+    But, as I say, such as become a soldier
+    Rather than envy you.
+  COMINIUS. Well, well! No more.
+  CORIOLANUS. What is the matter,
+    That being pass'd for consul with full voice,
+    I am so dishonour'd that the very hour
+    You take it off again?
+  SICINIUS. Answer to us.
+  CORIOLANUS. Say then; 'tis true, I ought so.
+  SICINIUS. We charge you that you have contriv'd to take
+    From Rome all season'd office, and to wind
+    Yourself into a power tyrannical;
+    For which you are a traitor to the people.
+  CORIOLANUS. How- traitor?
+  MENENIUS. Nay, temperately! Your promise.
+  CORIOLANUS. The fires i' th' lowest hell fold in the people!
+    Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune!
+    Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,  
+    In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in
+    Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say
+    'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free
+    As I do pray the gods.
+  SICINIUS. Mark you this, people?
+  PLEBEIANS. To th' rock, to th' rock, with him!
+  SICINIUS. Peace!
+    We need not put new matter to his charge.
+    What you have seen him do and heard him speak,
+    Beating your officers, cursing yourselves,
+    Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying
+    Those whose great power must try him- even this,
+    So criminal and in such capital kind,
+    Deserves th' extremest death.
+  BRUTUS. But since he hath
+    Serv'd well for Rome-
+  CORIOLANUS. What do you prate of service?
+  BRUTUS. I talk of that that know it.
+  CORIOLANUS. You!
+  MENENIUS. Is this the promise that you made your mother?  
+  COMINIUS. Know, I pray you-
+  CORIOLANUS. I'll know no further.
+    Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,
+    Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger
+    But with a grain a day, I would not buy
+    Their mercy at the price of one fair word,
+    Nor check my courage for what they can give,
+    To have't with saying 'Good morrow.'
+  SICINIUS. For that he has-
+    As much as in him lies- from time to time
+    Envied against the people, seeking means
+    To pluck away their power; as now at last
+    Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence
+    Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers
+    That do distribute it- in the name o' th' people,
+    And in the power of us the tribunes, we,
+    Ev'n from this instant, banish him our city,
+    In peril of precipitation
+    From off the rock Tarpeian, never more
+    To enter our Rome gates. I' th' people's name,  
+    I say it shall be so.
+  PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away!
+    He's banish'd, and it shall be so.
+  COMINIUS. Hear me, my masters and my common friends-
+  SICINIUS. He's sentenc'd; no more hearing.
+  COMINIUS. Let me speak.
+    I have been consul, and can show for Rome
+    Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love
+    My country's good with a respect more tender,
+    More holy and profound, than mine own life,
+    My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase
+    And treasure of my loins. Then if I would
+    Speak that-
+  SICINIUS. We know your drift. Speak what?
+  BRUTUS. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd,
+    As enemy to the people and his country.
+    It shall be so.
+  PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so.
+  CORIOLANUS. YOU common cry of curs, whose breath I hate
+    As reek o' th' rotten fens, whose loves I prize  
+    As the dead carcasses of unburied men
+    That do corrupt my air- I banish you.
+    And here remain with your uncertainty!
+    Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts;
+    Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,
+    Fan you into despair! Have the power still
+    To banish your defenders, till at length
+    Your ignorance- which finds not till it feels,
+    Making but reservation of yourselves
+    Still your own foes- deliver you
+    As most abated captives to some nation
+    That won you without blows! Despising
+    For you the city, thus I turn my back;
+    There is a world elsewhere.
+                                              Exeunt CORIOLANUS,
+                   COMINIUS, MENENIUS, with the other PATRICIANS
+  AEDILE. The people's enemy is gone, is gone!
+                        [They all shout and throw up their caps]
+  PLEBEIANS. Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone! Hoo-oo!
+  SICINIUS. Go see him out at gates, and follow him,  
+    As he hath follow'd you, with all despite;
+    Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard
+    Attend us through the city.
+  PLEBEIANS. Come, come, let's see him out at gates; come!
+    The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Rome. Before a gate of the city
+
+Enter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS,
+with the young NOBILITY of Rome
+
+  CORIOLANUS. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. The beast
+    With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,
+    Where is your ancient courage? You were us'd
+    To say extremities was the trier of spirits;
+    That common chances common men could bear;
+    That when the sea was calm all boats alike
+    Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows,
+    When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves
+    A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me
+    With precepts that would make invincible
+    The heart that conn'd them.
+  VIRGILIA. O heavens! O heavens!
+  CORIOLANUS. Nay, I prithee, woman-
+  VOLUMNIA. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,
+    And occupations perish!
+  CORIOLANUS. What, what, what!  
+    I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother,
+    Resume that spirit when you were wont to say,
+    If you had been the wife of Hercules,
+    Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd
+    Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,
+    Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother.
+    I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,
+    Thy tears are salter than a younger man's
+    And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General,
+    I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld
+    Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women
+    'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,
+    As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well
+    My hazards still have been your solace; and
+    Believe't not lightly- though I go alone,
+    Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen
+    Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen- your son
+    Will or exceed the common or be caught
+    With cautelous baits and practice.
+  VOLUMNIA. My first son,  
+    Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius
+    With thee awhile; determine on some course
+    More than a wild exposture to each chance
+    That starts i' th' way before thee.
+  VIRGILIA. O the gods!
+  COMINIUS. I'll follow thee a month, devise with the
+    Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us,
+    And we of thee; so, if the time thrust forth
+    A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send
+    O'er the vast world to seek a single man,
+    And lose advantage, which doth ever cool
+    I' th' absence of the needer.
+  CORIOLANUS. Fare ye well;
+    Thou hast years upon thee, and thou art too full
+    Of the wars' surfeits to go rove with one
+    That's yet unbruis'd; bring me but out at gate.
+    Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and
+    My friends of noble touch; when I am forth,
+    Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come.
+    While I remain above the ground you shall  
+    Hear from me still, and never of me aught
+    But what is like me formerly.
+  MENENIUS. That's worthily
+    As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep.
+    If I could shake off but one seven years
+    From these old arms and legs, by the good gods,
+    I'd with thee every foot.
+  CORIOLANUS. Give me thy hand.
+    Come.                                                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Rome. A street near the gate
+
+Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS with the AEDILE
+
+  SICINIUS. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further.
+    The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided
+    In his behalf.
+  BRUTUS. Now we have shown our power,
+    Let us seem humbler after it is done
+    Than when it was a-doing.
+  SICINIUS. Bid them home.
+    Say their great enemy is gone, and they
+    Stand in their ancient strength.
+  BRUTUS. Dismiss them home.                         Exit AEDILE
+    Here comes his mother.
+
+                   Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS
+
+  SICINIUS. Let's not meet her.
+  BRUTUS. Why?  
+  SICINIUS. They say she's mad.
+  BRUTUS. They have ta'en note of us; keep on your way.
+  VOLUMNIA. O, Y'are well met; th' hoarded plague o' th' gods
+    Requite your love!
+  MENENIUS. Peace, peace, be not so loud.
+  VOLUMNIA. If that I could for weeping, you should hear-
+    Nay, and you shall hear some.  [To BRUTUS] Will you be gone?
+  VIRGILIA.  [To SICINIUS]  You shall stay too. I would I had the
+      power
+    To say so to my husband.
+  SICINIUS. Are you mankind?
+  VOLUMNIA. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this, fool:
+    Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship
+    To banish him that struck more blows for Rome
+    Than thou hast spoken words?
+  SICINIUS. O blessed heavens!
+  VOLUMNIA. Moe noble blows than ever thou wise words;
+    And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what- yet go!
+    Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son
+    Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,  
+    His good sword in his hand.
+  SICINIUS. What then?
+  VIRGILIA. What then!
+    He'd make an end of thy posterity.
+  VOLUMNIA. Bastards and all.
+    Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!
+  MENENIUS. Come, come, peace.
+  SICINIUS. I would he had continued to his country
+    As he began, and not unknit himself
+    The noble knot he made.
+  BRUTUS. I would he had.
+  VOLUMNIA. 'I would he had!' 'Twas you incens'd the rabble-
+    Cats that can judge as fitly of his worth
+    As I can of those mysteries which heaven
+    Will not have earth to know.
+  BRUTUS. Pray, let's go.
+  VOLUMNIA. Now, pray, sir, get you gone;
+    You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:
+    As far as doth the Capitol exceed
+    The meanest house in Rome, so far my son-  
+    This lady's husband here, this, do you see?-
+    Whom you have banish'd does exceed you an.
+  BRUTUS. Well, well, we'll leave you.
+  SICINIUS. Why stay we to be baited
+    With one that wants her wits?                Exeunt TRIBUNES
+  VOLUMNIA. Take my prayers with you.
+    I would the gods had nothing else to do
+    But to confirm my curses. Could I meet 'em
+    But once a day, it would unclog my heart
+    Of what lies heavy to't.
+  MENENIUS. You have told them home,
+    And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me?
+  VOLUMNIA. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself,
+    And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go.
+    Leave this faint puling and lament as I do,
+    In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.
+                                    Exeunt VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA
+  MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie!                                  Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A highway between Rome and Antium
+
+Enter a ROMAN and a VOLSCE, meeting
+
+  ROMAN. I know you well, sir, and you know me; your name, I think,
+    is Adrian.
+  VOLSCE. It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you.
+  ROMAN. I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against 'em.
+    Know you me yet?
+  VOLSCE. Nicanor? No!
+  ROMAN. The same, sir.
+  VOLSCE. YOU had more beard when I last saw you, but your favour is
+    well appear'd by your tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a
+    note from the Volscian state, to find you out there. You have
+    well saved me a day's journey.
+  ROMAN. There hath been in Rome strange insurrections: the people
+    against the senators, patricians, and nobles.
+  VOLSCE. Hath been! Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so; they
+    are in a most warlike preparation, and hope to come upon them in
+    the heat of their division.
+  ROMAN. The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make  
+    it flame again; for the nobles receive so to heart the banishment
+    of that worthy Coriolanus that they are in a ripe aptness to take
+    all power from the people, and to pluck from them their tribunes
+    for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature
+    for the violent breaking out.
+  VOLSCE. Coriolanus banish'd!
+  ROMAN. Banish'd, sir.
+  VOLSCE. You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor.
+  ROMAN. The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said the
+    fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fall'n out
+    with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in
+    these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no
+    request of his country.
+  VOLSCE. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to
+    encounter you; you have ended my business, and I will merrily
+    accompany you home.
+  ROMAN. I shall between this and supper tell you most strange things
+    from Rome, all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you
+    an army ready, say you?
+  VOLSCE. A most royal one: the centurions and their charges,  
+    distinctly billeted, already in th' entertainment, and to be on
+    foot at an hour's warning.
+  ROMAN. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I
+    think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily
+    well met, and most glad of your company.
+  VOLSCE. You take my part from me, sir. I have the most cause to be
+    glad of yours.
+  ROMAN. Well, let us go together.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Antium. Before AUFIDIUS' house
+
+Enter CORIOLANUS, in mean apparel, disguis'd and muffled
+
+  CORIOLANUS. A goodly city is this Antium. City,
+    'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir
+    Of these fair edifices fore my wars
+    Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not.
+    Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones,
+    In puny battle slay me.
+
+                           Enter A CITIZEN
+
+    Save you, sir.
+  CITIZEN. And you.
+  CORIOLANUS. Direct me, if it be your will,
+    Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium?
+  CITIZEN. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state
+    At his house this night.
+  CORIOLANUS. Which is his house, beseech you?
+  CITIZEN. This here before you.  
+  CORIOLANUS. Thank you, sir; farewell.             Exit CITIZEN
+    O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
+    Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart,
+    Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise
+    Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love,
+    Unseparable, shall within this hour,
+    On a dissension of a doit, break out
+    To bitterest enmity; so fellest foes,
+    Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep
+    To take the one the other, by some chance,
+    Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends
+    And interjoin their issues. So with me:
+    My birthplace hate I, and my love's upon
+    This enemy town. I'll enter. If he slay me,
+    He does fair justice: if he give me way,
+    I'll do his country service.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Antium. AUFIDIUS' house
+
+Music plays. Enter A SERVINGMAN
+
+  FIRST SERVANT. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our
+    fellows are asleep.                                     Exit
+
+                     Enter another SERVINGMAN
+
+  SECOND SERVANT.Where's Cotus? My master calls for him.
+    Cotus!                                                  Exit
+
+                       Enter CORIOLANUS
+
+  CORIOLANUS. A goodly house. The feast smells well, but I
+    Appear not like a guest.
+
+                 Re-enter the first SERVINGMAN
+
+  FIRST SERVANT. What would you have, friend?
+    Whence are you? Here's no place for you: pray go to the door.  
+ Exit
+  CORIOLANUS. I have deserv'd no better entertainment
+    In being Coriolanus.
+
+                   Re-enter second SERVINGMAN
+
+  SECOND SERVANT. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his
+    head that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray get you out.
+  CORIOLANUS. Away!
+  SECOND SERVANT. Away? Get you away.
+  CORIOLANUS. Now th' art troublesome.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Are you so brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon.
+
+          Enter a third SERVINGMAN. The first meets him
+
+  THIRD SERVANT. What fellow's this?
+  FIRST SERVANT. A strange one as ever I look'd on. I cannot get him
+    out o' th' house. Prithee call my master to him.
+  THIRD SERVANT. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you avoid the
+    house.  
+  CORIOLANUS. Let me but stand- I will not hurt your hearth.
+  THIRD SERVANT. What are you?
+  CORIOLANUS. A gentleman.
+  THIRD SERVANT. A marv'llous poor one.
+  CORIOLANUS. True, so I am.
+  THIRD SERVANT. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other
+    station; here's no place for you. Pray you avoid. Come.
+  CORIOLANUS. Follow your function, go and batten on cold bits.
+                                      [Pushes him away from him]
+  THIRD SERVANT. What, you will not? Prithee tell my master what a
+    strange guest he has here.
+  SECOND SERVANT. And I shall.                              Exit
+  THIRD SERVANT. Where dwell'st thou?
+  CORIOLANUS. Under the canopy.
+  THIRD SERVANT. Under the canopy?
+  CORIOLANUS. Ay.
+  THIRD SERVANT. Where's that?
+  CORIOLANUS. I' th' city of kites and crows.
+  THIRD SERVANT. I' th' city of kites and crows!
+    What an ass it is! Then thou dwell'st with daws too?  
+  CORIOLANUS. No, I serve not thy master.
+  THIRD SERVANT. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master?
+  CORIOLANUS. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy
+    mistress. Thou prat'st and prat'st; serve with thy trencher;
+    hence!                                      [Beats him away]
+
+             Enter AUFIDIUS with the second SERVINGMAN
+
+  AUFIDIUS. Where is this fellow?
+  SECOND SERVANT. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for
+    disturbing the lords within.
+  AUFIDIUS. Whence com'st thou? What wouldst thou? Thy name?
+    Why speak'st not? Speak, man. What's thy name?
+  CORIOLANUS.  [Unmuffling]  If, Tullus,
+    Not yet thou know'st me, and, seeing me, dost not
+    Think me for the man I am, necessity
+    Commands me name myself.
+  AUFIDIUS. What is thy name?
+  CORIOLANUS. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears,
+    And harsh in sound to thine.  
+  AUFIDIUS. Say, what's thy name?
+    Thou has a grim appearance, and thy face
+    Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn,
+    Thou show'st a noble vessel. What's thy name?
+  CORIOLANUS. Prepare thy brow to frown- know'st thou me yet?
+  AUFIDIUS. I know thee not. Thy name?
+  CORIOLANUS. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done
+    To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces,
+    Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may
+    My surname, Coriolanus. The painful service,
+    The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood
+    Shed for my thankless country, are requited
+    But with that surname- a good memory
+    And witness of the malice and displeasure
+    Which thou shouldst bear me. Only that name remains;
+    The cruelty and envy of the people,
+    Permitted by our dastard nobles, who
+    Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest,
+    An suffer'd me by th' voice of slaves to be
+    Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity  
+    Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope,
+    Mistake me not, to save my life; for if
+    I had fear'd death, of all the men i' th' world
+    I would have 'voided thee; but in mere spite,
+    To be full quit of those my banishers,
+    Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast
+    A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge
+    Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims
+    Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight
+    And make my misery serve thy turn. So use it
+    That my revengeful services may prove
+    As benefits to thee; for I will fight
+    Against my cank'red country with the spleen
+    Of all the under fiends. But if so be
+    Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes
+    Th'art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am
+    Longer to live most weary, and present
+    My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice;
+    Which not to cut would show thee but a fool,
+    Since I have ever followed thee with hate,  
+    Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast,
+    And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
+    It be to do thee service.
+  AUFIDIUS. O Marcius, Marcius!
+    Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart
+    A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
+    Should from yond cloud speak divine things,
+    And say ''Tis true,' I'd not believe them more
+    Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine
+    Mine arms about that body, where against
+    My grained ash an hundred times hath broke
+    And scarr'd the moon with splinters; here I clip
+    The anvil of my sword, and do contest
+    As hotly and as nobly with thy love
+    As ever in ambitious strength I did
+    Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
+    I lov'd the maid I married; never man
+    Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here,
+    Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart
+    Than when I first my wedded mistress saw  
+    Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell the
+    We have a power on foot, and I had purpose
+    Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,
+    Or lose mine arm for't. Thou hast beat me out
+    Twelve several times, and I have nightly since
+    Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me-
+    We have been down together in my sleep,
+    Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat-
+    And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius,
+    Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that
+    Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all
+    From twelve to seventy, and, pouring war
+    Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
+    Like a bold flood o'erbeat. O, come, go in,
+    And take our friendly senators by th' hands,
+    Who now are here, taking their leaves of me
+    Who am prepar'd against your territories,
+    Though not for Rome itself.
+  CORIOLANUS. You bless me, gods!
+  AUFIDIUS. Therefore, most. absolute sir, if thou wilt have  
+    The leading of thine own revenges, take
+    Th' one half of my commission, and set down-
+    As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st
+    Thy country's strength and weakness- thine own ways,
+    Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,
+    Or rudely visit them in parts remote
+    To fright them ere destroy. But come in;
+    Let me commend thee first to those that shall
+    Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes!
+    And more a friend than e'er an enemy;
+    Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand; most welcome!
+                                  Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS
+
+                    The two SERVINGMEN come forward
+
+  FIRST SERVANT. Here's a strange alteration!
+  SECOND SERVANT. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with
+    a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report
+    of him.
+  FIRST SERVANT. What an arm he has! He turn'd me about with his  
+    finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in
+    him; he had, sir, a kind of face, methought- I cannot tell how to
+    term it.
+  FIRST SERVANT. He had so, looking as it were- Would I were hang'd,
+    but I thought there was more in him than I could think.
+  SECOND SERVANT. So did I, I'll be sworn. He is simply the rarest
+    man i' th' world.
+  FIRST SERVANT. I think he is; but a greater soldier than he you wot
+    on.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Who, my master?
+  FIRST SERVANT. Nay, it's no matter for that.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Worth six on him.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the
+    greater soldier.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that;
+    for the defence of a town our general is excellent.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and for an assault too.
+
+                       Re-enter the third SERVINGMAN  
+
+  THIRD SERVANT. O slaves, I can tell you news- news, you rascals!
+  BOTH. What, what, what? Let's partake.
+  THIRD SERVANT. I would not be a Roman, of all nations;
+    I had as lief be a condemn'd man.
+  BOTH. Wherefore? wherefore?
+  THIRD SERVANT. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general-
+    Caius Marcius.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Why do you say 'thwack our general'?
+  THIRD SERVANT. I do not say 'thwack our general,' but he was always
+    good enough for him.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too
+    hard for him, I have heard him say so himself.
+  FIRST SERVANT. He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth
+    on't; before Corioli he scotch'd him and notch'd him like a
+    carbonado.
+  SECOND SERVANT. An he had been cannibally given, he might have
+    broil'd and eaten him too.
+  FIRST SERVANT. But more of thy news!
+  THIRD SERVANT. Why, he is so made on here within as if he were son  
+    and heir to Mars; set at upper end o' th' table; no question
+    asked him by any of the senators but they stand bald before him.
+    Our general himself makes a mistress of him, sanctifies himself
+    with's hand, and turns up the white o' th' eye to his discourse.
+    But the bottom of the news is, our general is cut i' th' middle
+    and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the other has half
+    by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says,
+    and sowl the porter of Rome gates by th' ears; he will mow all
+    down before him, and leave his passage poll'd.
+  SECOND SERVANT. And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine.
+  THIRD SERVANT. Do't! He will do't; for look you, sir, he has as
+    many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it were, durst
+    not- look you, sir- show themselves, as we term it, his friends,
+    whilst he's in directitude.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Directitude? What's that?
+  THIRD SERVANT. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again and
+    the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies
+    after rain, and revel an with him.
+  FIRST SERVANT. But when goes this forward?
+  THIRD SERVANT. To-morrow, to-day, presently. You shall have the  
+    drum struck up this afternoon; 'tis as it were parcel of their
+    feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again.
+    This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, and
+    breed ballad-makers.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as
+    day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.
+    Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mull'd, deaf, sleepy,
+    insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a
+    destroyer of men.
+  SECOND SERVANT. 'Tis so; and as war in some sort may be said to be
+    a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of
+    cuckolds.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and it makes men hate one another.
+  THIRD SERVANT. Reason: because they then less need one another. The
+    wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians.
+    They are rising, they are rising.
+  BOTH. In, in, in, in!                                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Rome. A public place
+
+Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS
+
+  SICINIUS. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him.
+    His remedies are tame. The present peace
+    And quietness of the people, which before
+    Were in wild hurry, here do make his friends
+    Blush that the world goes well; who rather had,
+    Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold
+    Dissentious numbers pest'ring streets than see
+    Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
+    About their functions friendly.
+
+                          Enter MENENIUS
+
+  BRUTUS. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius?
+  SICINIUS. 'Tis he, 'tis he. O, he is grown most kind
+    Of late. Hail, sir!
+  MENENIUS. Hail to you both!
+  SICINIUS. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd  
+    But with his friends. The commonwealth doth stand,
+    And so would do, were he more angry at it.
+  MENENIUS. All's well, and might have been much better
+    He could have temporiz'd.
+  SICINIUS. Where is he, hear you?
+  MENENIUS. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife
+    Hear nothing from him.
+
+                     Enter three or four citizens
+
+  CITIZENS. The gods preserve you both!
+  SICINIUS. God-den, our neighbours.
+  BRUTUS. God-den to you all, god-den to you an.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees
+    Are bound to pray for you both.
+  SICINIUS. Live and thrive!
+  BRUTUS. Farewell, kind neighbours; we wish'd Coriolanus
+    Had lov'd you as we did.
+  CITIZENS. Now the gods keep you!
+  BOTH TRIBUNES. Farewell, farewell.             Exeunt citizens  
+  SICINIUS. This is a happier and more comely time
+    Than when these fellows ran about the streets
+    Crying confusion.
+  BRUTUS. Caius Marcius was
+    A worthy officer i' the war, but insolent,
+    O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking,
+    Self-loving-
+  SICINIUS. And affecting one sole throne,
+    Without assistance.
+  MENENIUS. I think not so.
+  SICINIUS. We should by this, to all our lamentation,
+    If he had gone forth consul, found it so.
+  BRUTUS. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome
+    Sits safe and still without him.
+
+                             Enter an AEDILE
+
+  AEDILE. Worthy tribunes,
+    There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,
+    Reports the Volsces with several powers  
+    Are ent'red in the Roman territories,
+    And with the deepest malice of the war
+    Destroy what lies before 'em.
+  MENENIUS. 'Tis Aufidius,
+    Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment,
+    Thrusts forth his horns again into the world,
+    Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome,
+    And durst not once peep out.
+  SICINIUS. Come, what talk you of Marcius?
+  BRUTUS. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be
+    The Volsces dare break with us.
+  MENENIUS. Cannot be!
+    We have record that very well it can;
+    And three examples of the like hath been
+    Within my age. But reason with the fellow
+    Before you punish him, where he heard this,
+    Lest you shall chance to whip your information
+    And beat the messenger who bids beware
+    Of what is to be dreaded.
+  SICINIUS. Tell not me.  
+    I know this cannot be.
+  BRUTUS. Not Possible.
+
+                           Enter A MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. The nobles in great earnestness are going
+    All to the Senate House; some news is come
+    That turns their countenances.
+  SICINIUS. 'Tis this slave-
+    Go whip him fore the people's eyes- his raising,
+    Nothing but his report.
+  MESSENGER. Yes, worthy sir,
+    The slave's report is seconded, and more,
+    More fearful, is deliver'd.
+  SICINIUS. What more fearful?
+  MESSENGER. It is spoke freely out of many mouths-
+    How probable I do not know- that Marcius,
+    Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome,
+    And vows revenge as spacious as between
+    The young'st and oldest thing.  
+  SICINIUS. This is most likely!
+  BRUTUS. Rais'd only that the weaker sort may wish
+    Good Marcius home again.
+  SICINIUS. The very trick on 't.
+  MENENIUS. This is unlikely.
+    He and Aufidius can no more atone
+    Than violent'st contrariety.
+
+                      Enter a second MESSENGER
+
+  SECOND MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Senate.
+    A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius
+    Associated with Aufidius, rages
+    Upon our territories, and have already
+    O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire and took
+    What lay before them.
+
+                            Enter COMINIUS
+
+  COMINIUS. O, you have made good work!  
+  MENENIUS. What news? what news?
+  COMINIUS. You have holp to ravish your own daughters and
+    To melt the city leads upon your pates,
+    To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses-
+  MENENIUS. What's the news? What's the news?
+  COMINIUS. Your temples burned in their cement, and
+    Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd
+    Into an auger's bore.
+  MENENIUS. Pray now, your news?
+    You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news.
+    If Marcius should be join'd wi' th' Volscians-
+  COMINIUS. If!
+    He is their god; he leads them like a thing
+    Made by some other deity than Nature,
+    That shapes man better; and they follow him
+    Against us brats with no less confidence
+    Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,
+    Or butchers killing flies.
+  MENENIUS. You have made good work,
+    You and your apron men; you that stood so much  
+    Upon the voice of occupation and
+    The breath of garlic-eaters!
+  COMINIUS. He'll shake
+    Your Rome about your ears.
+  MENENIUS. As Hercules
+    Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work!
+  BRUTUS. But is this true, sir?
+  COMINIUS. Ay; and you'll look pale
+    Before you find it other. All the regions
+    Do smilingly revolt, and who resists
+    Are mock'd for valiant ignorance,
+    And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him?
+    Your enemies and his find something in him.
+  MENENIUS. We are all undone unless
+    The noble man have mercy.
+  COMINIUS. Who shall ask it?
+    The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people
+    Deserve such pity of him as the wolf
+    Does of the shepherds; for his best friends, if they
+    Should say 'Be good to Rome'- they charg'd him even  
+    As those should do that had deserv'd his hate,
+    And therein show'd fike enemies.
+  MENENIUS. 'Tis true;
+    If he were putting to my house the brand
+    That should consume it, I have not the face
+    To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair hands,
+    You and your crafts! You have crafted fair!
+  COMINIUS. You have brought
+    A trembling upon Rome, such as was never
+    S' incapable of help.
+  BOTH TRIBUNES. Say not we brought it.
+  MENENIUS. How! Was't we? We lov'd him, but, like beasts
+    And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters,
+    Who did hoot him out o' th' city.
+  COMINIUS. But I fear
+    They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius,
+    The second name of men, obeys his points
+    As if he were his officer. Desperation
+    Is all the policy, strength, and defence,
+    That Rome can make against them.  
+
+                       Enter a troop of citizens
+
+  MENENIUS. Here comes the clusters.
+    And is Aufidius with him? You are they
+    That made the air unwholesome when you cast
+    Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at
+    Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming,
+    And not a hair upon a soldier's head
+    Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs
+    As you threw caps up will he tumble down,
+    And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter;
+    If he could burn us all into one coal
+    We have deserv'd it.
+  PLEBEIANS. Faith, we hear fearful news.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. For mine own part,
+    When I said banish him, I said 'twas pity.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. And so did I.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very
+    many of us. That we did, we did for the best; and though we  
+    willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our
+    will.
+  COMINIUS. Y'are goodly things, you voices!
+  MENENIUS. You have made
+    Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol?
+  COMINIUS. O, ay, what else?
+                                    Exeunt COMINIUS and MENENIUS
+  SICINIUS. Go, masters, get you be not dismay'd;
+    These are a side that would be glad to have
+    This true which they so seem to fear. Go home,
+    And show no sign of fear.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I
+    ever said we were i' th' wrong when we banish'd him.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. So did we all. But come, let's home.
+                                                 Exeunt citizens
+  BRUTUS. I do not like this news.
+  SICINIUS. Nor I.
+  BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth
+    Would buy this for a lie!
+  SICINIUS. Pray let's go.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+A camp at a short distance from Rome
+
+Enter AUFIDIUS with his LIEUTENANT
+
+  AUFIDIUS. Do they still fly to th' Roman?
+  LIEUTENANT. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but
+    Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat,
+    Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;
+    And you are dark'ned in this action, sir,
+    Even by your own.
+  AUFIDIUS. I cannot help it now,
+    Unless by using means I lame the foot
+    Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,
+    Even to my person, than I thought he would
+    When first I did embrace him; yet his nature
+    In that's no changeling, and I must excuse
+    What cannot be amended.
+  LIEUTENANT. Yet I wish, sir-
+    I mean, for your particular- you had not
+    Join'd in commission with him, but either
+    Had borne the action of yourself, or else  
+    To him had left it solely.
+  AUFIDIUS. I understand thee well; and be thou sure,
+    When he shall come to his account, he knows not
+    What I can urge against him. Although it seems,
+    And so he thinks, and is no less apparent
+    To th' vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly
+    And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,
+    Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon
+    As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone
+    That which shall break his neck or hazard mine
+    Whene'er we come to our account.
+  LIEUTENANT. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome?
+  AUFIDIUS. All places yield to him ere he sits down,
+    And the nobility of Rome are his;
+    The senators and patricians love him too.
+    The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people
+    Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty
+    To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome
+    As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it
+    By sovereignty of nature. First he was  
+    A noble servant to them, but he could not
+    Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride,
+    Which out of daily fortune ever taints
+    The happy man; whether defect of judgment,
+    To fail in the disposing of those chances
+    Which he was lord of; or whether nature,
+    Not to be other than one thing, not moving
+    From th' casque to th' cushion, but commanding peace
+    Even with the same austerity and garb
+    As he controll'd the war; but one of these-
+    As he hath spices of them all- not all,
+    For I dare so far free him- made him fear'd,
+    So hated, and so banish'd. But he has a merit
+    To choke it in the utt'rance. So our virtues
+    Lie in th' interpretation of the time;
+    And power, unto itself most commendable,
+    Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair
+    T' extol what it hath done.
+    One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;
+    Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.  
+    Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,
+    Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Rome. A public place
+
+Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes, with others
+
+  MENENIUS. No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said
+    Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him
+    In a most dear particular. He call'd me father;
+    But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him:
+    A mile before his tent fall down, and knee
+    The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd
+    To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.
+  COMINIUS. He would not seem to know me.
+  MENENIUS. Do you hear?
+  COMINIUS. Yet one time he did call me by my name.
+    I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops
+    That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus'
+    He would not answer to; forbid all names;
+    He was a kind of nothing, titleless,
+    Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire
+    Of burning Rome.  
+  MENENIUS. Why, so! You have made good work.
+    A pair of tribunes that have wrack'd for Rome
+    To make coals cheap- a noble memory!
+  COMINIUS. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon
+    When it was less expected; he replied,
+    It was a bare petition of a state
+    To one whom they had punish'd.
+  MENENIUS. Very well.
+    Could he say less?
+  COMINIUS. I offer'd to awaken his regard
+    For's private friends; his answer to me was,
+    He could not stay to pick them in a pile
+    Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly,
+    For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt
+    And still to nose th' offence.
+  MENENIUS. For one poor grain or two!
+    I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child,
+    And this brave fellow too- we are the grains:
+    You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt
+    Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.  
+  SICINIUS. Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid
+    In this so never-needed help, yet do not
+    Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you
+    Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,
+    More than the instant army we can make,
+    Might stop our countryman.
+  MENENIUS. No; I'll not meddle.
+  SICINIUS. Pray you go to him.
+  MENENIUS. What should I do?
+  BRUTUS. Only make trial what your love can do
+    For Rome, towards Marcius.
+  MENENIUS. Well, and say that Marcius
+    Return me, as Cominius is return'd,
+    Unheard- what then?
+    But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
+    With his unkindness? Say't be so?
+  SICINIUS. Yet your good will
+    Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure
+    As you intended well.
+  MENENIUS. I'll undertake't;  
+    I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip
+    And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me.
+    He was not taken well: he had not din'd;
+    The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then
+    We pout upon the morning, are unapt
+    To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd
+    These pipes and these conveyances of our blood
+    With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
+    Than in our priest-like fasts. Therefore I'll watch him
+    Till he be dieted to my request,
+    And then I'll set upon him.
+  BRUTUS. You know the very road into his kindness
+    And cannot lose your way.
+  MENENIUS. Good faith, I'll prove him,
+    Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge
+    Of my success.                                          Exit
+  COMINIUS. He'll never hear him.
+  SICINIUS. Not?
+  COMINIUS. I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye
+    Red as 'twould burn Rome, and his injury  
+    The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him;
+    'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise'; dismiss'd me
+    Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do,
+    He sent in writing after me; what he would not,
+    Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions;
+    So that all hope is vain,
+    Unless his noble mother and his wife,
+    Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him
+    For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence,
+    And with our fair entreaties haste them on.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The Volscian camp before Rome
+
+Enter MENENIUS to the WATCH on guard
+
+  FIRST WATCH. Stay. Whence are you?
+  SECOND WATCH. Stand, and go back.
+  MENENIUS. You guard like men, 'tis well; but, by your leave,
+    I am an officer of state and come
+    To speak with Coriolanus.
+  FIRST WATCH. From whence?
+  MENENIUS. From Rome.
+  FIRST WATCH. YOU may not pass; you must return. Our general
+    Will no more hear from thence.
+  SECOND WATCH. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire before
+    You'll speak with Coriolanus.
+  MENENIUS. Good my friends,
+    If you have heard your general talk of Rome
+    And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks
+    My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius.
+  FIRST WATCH. Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name
+    Is not here passable.  
+  MENENIUS. I tell thee, fellow,
+    Thy general is my lover. I have been
+    The book of his good acts whence men have read
+    His fame unparallel'd haply amplified;
+    For I have ever verified my friends-
+    Of whom he's chief- with all the size that verity
+    Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes,
+    Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,
+    I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise
+    Have almost stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow,
+    I must have leave to pass.
+  FIRST WATCH. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf
+    as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here;
+    no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely.
+    Therefore go back.
+  MENENIUS. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always
+    factionary on the party of your general.
+  SECOND WATCH. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you
+    have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say you cannot
+    pass. Therefore go back.  
+  MENENIUS. Has he din'd, canst thou tell? For I would not speak with
+    him till after dinner.
+  FIRST WATCH. You are a Roman, are you?
+  MENENIUS. I am as thy general is.
+  FIRST WATCH. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when
+    you have push'd out your gates the very defender of them, and in
+    a violent popular ignorance given your enemy your shield, think
+    to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the
+    virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied
+    intercession of such a decay'd dotant as you seem to be? Can you
+    think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame
+    in with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceiv'd; therefore
+    back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You are condemn'd;
+    our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.
+  MENENIUS. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me
+    with estimation.
+  FIRST WATCH. Come, my captain knows you not.
+  MENENIUS. I mean thy general.
+  FIRST WATCH. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; go, lest I
+    let forth your half pint of blood. Back- that's the utmost of  
+    your having. Back.
+  MENENIUS. Nay, but fellow, fellow-
+
+                      Enter CORIOLANUS with AUFIDIUS
+
+  CORIOLANUS. What's the matter?
+  MENENIUS. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall
+    know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack
+    guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus. Guess but by my
+    entertainment with him if thou stand'st not i' th' state of
+    hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship and crueller
+    in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what's to come
+    upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy
+    particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father
+    Menenius does! O my son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us;
+    look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come
+    to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I
+    have been blown out of your gates with sighs, and conjure thee to
+    pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage
+    thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this,  
+    who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee.
+  CORIOLANUS. Away!
+  MENENIUS. How! away!
+  CORIOLANUS. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs
+    Are servanted to others. Though I owe
+    My revenge properly, my remission lies
+    In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,
+    Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather
+    Than pity note how much. Therefore be gone.
+    Mine ears against your suits are stronger than
+    Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee,
+    Take this along; I writ it for thy sake     [Gives a letter]
+    And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,
+    I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius,
+    Was my belov'd in Rome; yet thou behold'st.
+  AUFIDIUS. You keep a constant temper.
+                                  Exeunt CORIOLANUS and Aufidius
+  FIRST WATCH. Now, sir, is your name Menenius?
+  SECOND WATCH. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power! You know the
+    way home again.  
+  FIRST WATCH. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your
+    greatness back?
+  SECOND WATCH. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon?
+  MENENIUS. I neither care for th' world nor your general; for such
+    things as you, I can scarce think there's any, y'are so slight.
+    He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another.
+    Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long;
+    and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was
+    said to: Away!                                          Exit
+  FIRST WATCH. A noble fellow, I warrant him.
+  SECOND WATCH. The worthy fellow is our general; he's the rock, the
+    oak not to be wind-shaken.                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The tent of CORIOLANUS
+
+Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others
+
+  CORIOLANUS. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow
+    Set down our host. My partner in this action,
+    You must report to th' Volscian lords how plainly
+    I have borne this business.
+  AUFIDIUS. Only their ends
+    You have respected; stopp'd your ears against
+    The general suit of Rome; never admitted
+    A private whisper- no, not with such friends
+    That thought them sure of you.
+  CORIOLANUS. This last old man,
+    Whom with crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
+    Lov'd me above the measure of a father;
+    Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge
+    Was to send him; for whose old love I have-
+    Though I show'd sourly to him- once more offer'd
+    The first conditions, which they did refuse
+    And cannot now accept. To grace him only,  
+    That thought he could do more, a very little
+    I have yielded to; fresh embassies and suits,
+    Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter
+    Will I lend ear to.  [Shout within]  Ha! what shout is this?
+    Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
+    In the same time 'tis made? I will not.
+
+       Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, VALERIA,
+                   YOUNG MARCIUS, with attendants
+
+    My wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould
+    Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
+    The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection!
+    All bond and privilege of nature, break!
+    Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.
+    What is that curtsy worth? or those doves' eyes,
+    Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not
+    Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows,
+    As if Olympus to a molehill should
+    In supplication nod; and my young boy  
+    Hath an aspect of intercession which
+    Great nature cries 'Deny not.' Let the Volsces
+    Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I'll never
+    Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand
+    As if a man were author of himself
+    And knew no other kin.
+  VIRGILIA. My lord and husband!
+  CORIOLANUS. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.
+  VIRGILIA. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd
+    Makes you think so.
+  CORIOLANUS. Like a dull actor now
+    I have forgot my part and I am out,
+    Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
+    Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,
+    For that, 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss
+    Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
+    Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
+    I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip
+    Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate,
+    And the most noble mother of the world  
+    Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' th' earth;       [Kneels]
+    Of thy deep duty more impression show
+    Than that of common sons.
+  VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest!
+    Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint
+    I kneel before thee, and unproperly
+    Show duty, as mistaken all this while
+    Between the child and parent.                       [Kneels]
+  CORIOLANUS. What's this?
+    Your knees to me, to your corrected son?
+    Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
+    Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
+    Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun,
+    Murd'ring impossibility, to make
+    What cannot be slight work.
+  VOLUMNIA. Thou art my warrior;
+    I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?
+  CORIOLANUS. The noble sister of Publicola,
+    The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle
+    That's curdied by the frost from purest snow,  
+    And hangs on Dian's temple- dear Valeria!
+  VOLUMNIA. This is a poor epitome of yours,
+    Which by th' interpretation of full time
+    May show like all yourself.
+  CORIOLANUS. The god of soldiers,
+    With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
+    Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove
+    To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars
+    Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
+    And saving those that eye thee!
+  VOLUMNIA. Your knee, sirrah.
+  CORIOLANUS. That's my brave boy.
+  VOLUMNIA. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,
+    Are suitors to you.
+  CORIOLANUS. I beseech you, peace!
+    Or, if you'd ask, remember this before:
+    The thing I have forsworn to grant may never
+    Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
+    Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
+    Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not  
+    Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not
+    T'allay my rages and revenges with
+    Your colder reasons.
+  VOLUMNIA. O, no more, no more!
+    You have said you will not grant us any thing-
+    For we have nothing else to ask but that
+    Which you deny already; yet we will ask,
+    That, if you fail in our request, the blame
+    May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.
+  CORIOLANUS. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll
+    Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request?
+  VOLUMNIA. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment
+    And state of bodies would bewray what life
+    We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself
+    How more unfortunate than all living women
+    Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should
+    Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,
+    Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow,
+    Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
+    The son, the husband, and the father, tearing  
+    His country's bowels out. And to poor we
+    Thine enmity's most capital: thou bar'st us
+    Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
+    That all but we enjoy. For how can we,
+    Alas, how can we for our country pray,
+    Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory,
+    Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose
+    The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,
+    Our comfort in the country. We must find
+    An evident calamity, though we had
+    Our wish, which side should win; for either thou
+    Must as a foreign recreant be led
+    With manacles through our streets, or else
+    Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,
+    And bear the palm for having bravely shed
+    Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
+    I purpose not to wait on fortune till
+    These wars determine; if I can not persuade thee
+    Rather to show a noble grace to both parts
+    Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner  
+    March to assault thy country than to tread-
+    Trust to't, thou shalt not- on thy mother's womb
+    That brought thee to this world.
+  VIRGILIA. Ay, and mine,
+    That brought you forth this boy to keep your name
+    Living to time.
+  BOY. 'A shall not tread on me!
+    I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.
+  CORIOLANUS. Not of a woman's tenderness to be
+    Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
+    I have sat too long.                                [Rising]
+  VOLUMNIA. Nay, go not from us thus.
+    If it were so that our request did tend
+    To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
+    The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us
+    As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit
+    Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces
+    May say 'This mercy we have show'd,' the Romans
+    'This we receiv'd,' and each in either side
+    Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest  
+    For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son,
+    The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
+    That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
+    Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name
+    Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
+    Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,
+    But with his last attempt he wip'd it out,
+    Destroy'd his country, and his name remains
+    To th' ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son.
+    Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,
+    To imitate the graces of the gods,
+    To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,
+    And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
+    That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?
+    Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
+    Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you:
+    He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy;
+    Perhaps thy childishness will move him more
+    Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world
+    More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate  
+    Like one i' th' stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
+    Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy,
+    When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,
+    Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home
+    Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust,
+    And spurn me back; but if it he not so,
+    Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee,
+    That thou restrain'st from me the duty which
+    To a mother's part belongs. He turns away.
+    Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.
+    To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride
+    Than pity to our prayers. Down. An end;
+    This is the last. So we will home to Rome,
+    And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold's!
+    This boy, that cannot tell what he would have
+    But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship,
+    Does reason our petition with more strength
+    Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go.
+    This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
+    His wife is in Corioli, and his child  
+    Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch.
+    I am hush'd until our city be afire,
+    And then I'll speak a little.
+                              [He holds her by the hand, silent]
+  CORIOLANUS. O mother, mother!
+    What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
+    The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
+    They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!
+    You have won a happy victory to Rome;
+    But for your son- believe it, O, believe it!-
+    Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
+    If not most mortal to him. But let it come.
+    Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
+    I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
+    Were you in my stead, would you have heard
+    A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius?
+  AUFIDIUS. I was mov'd withal.
+  CORIOLANUS. I dare be sworn you were!
+    And, sir, it is no little thing to make
+    Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,  
+    What peace you'fl make, advise me. For my part,
+    I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you
+    Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife!
+  AUFIDIUS.  [Aside]  I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy
+      honour
+    At difference in thee. Out of that I'll work
+    Myself a former fortune.
+  CORIOLANUS.  [To the ladies]  Ay, by and by;
+    But we will drink together; and you shall bear
+    A better witness back than words, which we,
+    On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
+    Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve
+    To have a temple built you. All the swords
+    In Italy, and her confederate arms,
+    Could not have made this peace.                       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Rome. A public place
+
+Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS
+
+  MENENIUS. See you yond coign o' th' Capitol, yond cornerstone?
+  SICINIUS. Why, what of that?
+  MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little
+    finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his
+    mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't;
+    our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution.
+  SICINIUS. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the
+    condition of a man?
+  MENENIUS. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet
+    your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to
+    dragon; he has wings, he's more than a creeping thing.
+  SICINIUS. He lov'd his mother dearly.
+  MENENIUS. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now
+    than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe
+    grapes; when he walks, he moves like an engine and the ground
+    shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with
+    his eye, talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in  
+    his state as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is
+    finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but
+    eternity, and a heaven to throne in.
+  SICINIUS. Yes- mercy, if you report him truly.
+  MENENIUS. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother
+    shall bring from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is
+    milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find. And all this
+    is 'long of you.
+  SICINIUS. The gods be good unto us!
+  MENENIUS. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us.
+    When we banish'd him we respected not them; and, he returning to
+    break our necks, they respect not us.
+
+                           Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house.
+    The plebeians have got your fellow tribune
+    And hale him up and down; all swearing if
+    The Roman ladies bring not comfort home
+    They'll give him death by inches.  
+
+                         Enter another MESSENGER
+
+  SICINIUS. What's the news?
+  SECOND MESSENGER. Good news, good news! The ladies have prevail'd,
+    The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone.
+    A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
+    No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins.
+  SICINIUS. Friend,
+    Art thou certain this is true? Is't most certain?
+  SECOND MESSENGER. As certain as I know the sun is fire.
+    Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it?
+    Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide
+    As the recomforted through th' gates. Why, hark you!
+                  [Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together]
+    The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,
+    Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,
+    Make the sun dance. Hark you!               [A shout within]
+  MENENIUS. This is good news.
+    I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia  
+    Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
+    A city full; of tribunes such as you,
+    A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day:
+    This morning for ten thousand of your throats
+    I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!
+                                   [Sound still with the shouts]
+  SICINIUS. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next,
+    Accept my thankfulness.
+  SECOND MESSENGER. Sir, we have all
+    Great cause to give great thanks.
+  SICINIUS. They are near the city?
+  MESSENGER. Almost at point to enter.
+  SICINIUS. We'll meet them,
+    And help the joy.                                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Rome. A street near the gate
+
+Enter two SENATORS With VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, passing over the stage,
+'With other LORDS
+
+  FIRST SENATOR. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome!
+    Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,
+    And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them.
+    Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius,
+    Repeal him with the welcome of his mother;
+  ALL. Welcome, ladies, welcome!
+                    [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Corioli. A public place
+
+Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with attendents
+
+  AUFIDIUS. Go tell the lords o' th' city I am here;
+    Deliver them this paper' having read it,
+    Bid them repair to th' market-place, where I,
+    Even in theirs and in the commons' ears,
+    Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse
+    The city ports by this hath enter'd and
+    Intends t' appear before the people, hoping
+    To purge himself with words. Dispatch.
+                                               Exeunt attendants
+
+           Enter three or four CONSPIRATORS of AUFIDIUS' faction
+
+    Most welcome!
+  FIRST CONSPIRATOR. How is it with our general?
+  AUFIDIUS. Even so
+    As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
+    And with his charity slain.  
+  SECOND CONSPIRATOR. Most noble sir,
+    If you do hold the same intent wherein
+    You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
+    Of your great danger.
+  AUFIDIUS. Sir, I cannot tell;
+    We must proceed as we do find the people.
+  THIRD CONSPIRATOR. The people will remain uncertain whilst
+    'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either
+    Makes the survivor heir of all.
+  AUFIDIUS. I know it;
+    And my pretext to strike at him admits
+    A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
+    Mine honour for his truth; who being so heighten'd,
+    He watered his new plants with dews of flattery,
+    Seducing so my friends; and to this end
+    He bow'd his nature, never known before
+    But to be rough, unswayable, and free.
+  THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Sir, his stoutness
+    When he did stand for consul, which he lost
+    By lack of stooping-  
+  AUFIDIUS. That I would have spoken of.
+    Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth,
+    Presented to my knife his throat. I took him;
+    Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way
+    In all his own desires; nay, let him choose
+    Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,
+    My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments
+    In mine own person; holp to reap the fame
+    Which he did end all his, and took some pride
+    To do myself this wrong. Till, at the last,
+    I seem'd his follower, not partner; and
+    He wag'd me with his countenance as if
+    I had been mercenary.
+  FIRST CONSPIRATOR. So he did, my lord.
+    The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last,
+    When he had carried Rome and that we look'd
+    For no less spoil than glory-
+  AUFIDIUS. There was it;
+    For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.
+    At a few drops of women's rheum, which are  
+    As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour
+    Of our great action; therefore shall he die,
+    And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!
+                                                      [Drums and
+                trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people]
+  FIRST CONSPIRATOR. Your native town you enter'd like a post,
+    And had no welcomes home; but he returns
+    Splitting the air with noise.
+  SECOND CONSPIRATOR. And patient fools,
+    Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear
+    With giving him glory.
+  THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Therefore, at your vantage,
+    Ere he express himself or move the people
+    With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
+    Which we will second. When he lies along,
+    After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury
+    His reasons with his body.
+  AUFIDIUS. Say no more:
+    Here come the lords.
+  
+                     Enter the LORDS of the city
+
+  LORDS. You are most welcome home.
+  AUFIDIUS. I have not deserv'd it.
+    But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused
+    What I have written to you?
+  LORDS. We have.
+  FIRST LORD. And grieve to hear't.
+    What faults he made before the last, I think
+    Might have found easy fines; but there to end
+    Where he was to begin, and give away
+    The benefit of our levies, answering us
+    With our own charge, making a treaty where
+    There was a yielding- this admits no excuse.
+  AUFIDIUS. He approaches; you shall hear him.
+
+            Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours;
+                      the commoners being with him
+
+  CORIOLANUS. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier;  
+    No more infected with my country's love
+    Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
+    Under your great command. You are to know
+    That prosperously I have attempted, and
+    With bloody passage led your wars even to
+    The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home
+    Doth more than counterpoise a full third part
+    The charges of the action. We have made peace
+    With no less honour to the Antiates
+    Than shame to th' Romans; and we here deliver,
+    Subscrib'd by th' consuls and patricians,
+    Together with the seal o' th' Senate, what
+    We have compounded on.
+  AUFIDIUS. Read it not, noble lords;
+    But tell the traitor in the highest degree
+    He hath abus'd your powers.
+  CORIOLANUS. Traitor! How now?
+  AUFIDIUS. Ay, traitor, Marcius.
+  CORIOLANUS. Marcius!
+  AUFIDIUS. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius! Dost thou think  
+    I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
+    Coriolanus, in Corioli?
+    You lords and heads o' th' state, perfidiously
+    He has betray'd your business and given up,
+    For certain drops of salt, your city Rome-
+    I say your city- to his wife and mother;
+    Breaking his oath and resolution like
+    A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
+    Counsel o' th' war; but at his nurse's tears
+    He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
+    That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
+    Look'd wond'ring each at others.
+  CORIOLANUS. Hear'st thou, Mars?
+  AUFIDIUS. Name not the god, thou boy of tears-
+  CORIOLANUS. Ha!
+  AUFIDIUS. -no more.
+  CORIOLANUS. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
+    Too great for what contains it. 'Boy'! O slave!
+    Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever
+    I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,  
+    Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion-
+    Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him, that
+    Must bear my beating to his grave- shall join
+    To thrust the lie unto him.
+  FIRST LORD. Peace, both, and hear me speak.
+  CORIOLANUS. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,
+    Stain all your edges on me. 'Boy'! False hound!
+    If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there
+    That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
+    Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli.
+    Alone I did it. 'Boy'!
+  AUFIDIUS. Why, noble lords,
+    Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,
+    Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
+    Fore your own eyes and ears?
+  CONSPIRATORS. Let him die for't.
+  ALL THE PEOPLE. Tear him to pieces. Do it presently. He kill'd my
+    son. My daughter. He kill'd my cousin Marcus. He kill'd my
+    father.
+  SECOND LORD. Peace, ho! No outrage- peace!  
+    The man is noble, and his fame folds in
+    This orb o' th' earth. His last offences to us
+    Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
+    And trouble not the peace.
+  CORIOLANUS. O that I had him,
+    With six Aufidiuses, or more- his tribe,
+    To use my lawful sword!
+  AUFIDIUS. Insolent villain!
+  CONSPIRATORS. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!
+           [The CONSPIRATORS draw and kill CORIOLANUS,who falls.
+                                         AUFIDIUS stands on him]
+  LORDS. Hold, hold, hold, hold!
+  AUFIDIUS. My noble masters, hear me speak.
+  FIRST LORD. O Tullus!
+  SECOND LORD. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.
+  THIRD LORD. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet;
+    Put up your swords.
+  AUFIDIUS. My lords, when you shall know- as in this rage,
+    Provok'd by him, you cannot- the great danger
+    Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice  
+    That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
+    To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver
+    Myself your loyal servant, or endure
+    Your heaviest censure.
+  FIRST LORD. Bear from hence his body,
+    And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
+    As the most noble corse that ever herald
+    Did follow to his um.
+  SECOND LORD. His own impatience
+    Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
+    Let's make the best of it.
+  AUFIDIUS. My rage is gone,
+    And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up.
+    Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.
+    Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully;
+    Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
+    Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
+    Which to this hour bewail the injury,
+    Yet he shall have a noble memory.
+    Assist.               Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS  
+                                          [A dead march sounded]
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1609
+
+CYMBELINE
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  CYMBELINE, King of Britain
+  CLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband
+  POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen
+  BELARIUS, a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan
+
+  GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the
+            names of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius
+  PHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus
+  IACHIMO,  Italian, friend to Philario
+  A FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario
+  CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman Forces
+  A ROMAN CAPTAIN
+  TWO BRITISH CAPTAINS
+  PISANIO, servant to Posthumus
+  CORNELIUS, a physician
+  TWO LORDS of Cymbeline's court
+  TWO GENTLEMEN of the same
+  TWO GAOLERS
+
+  QUEEN, wife to Cymbeline  
+  IMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen
+  HELEN, a lady attending on Imogen
+
+  APPARITIONS
+
+  Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Soothsayer, a
+    Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers,
+    Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Britain; Italy
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Britain. The garden of CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods
+    No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
+    Still seem as does the King's.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what's the matter?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
+    He purpos'd to his wife's sole son- a widow
+    That late he married- hath referr'd herself
+    Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded;
+    Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd. All
+    Is outward sorrow, though I think the King
+    Be touch'd at very heart.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. None but the King?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen,
+    That most desir'd the match. But not a courtier,
+    Although they wear their faces to the bent
+    Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not
+    Glad at the thing they scowl at.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. And why so?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath miss'd the Princess is a thing  
+    Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her-
+    I mean that married her, alack, good man!
+    And therefore banish'd- is a creature such
+    As, to seek through the regions of the earth
+    For one his like, there would be something failing
+    In him that should compare. I do not think
+    So fair an outward and such stuff within
+    Endows a man but he.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. You speak him far.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I do extend him, sir, within himself;
+    Crush him together rather than unfold
+    His measure duly.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. What's his name and birth?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I cannot delve him to the root; his father
+    Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
+    Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
+    But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
+    He serv'd with glory and admir'd success,
+    So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
+    And had, besides this gentleman in question,  
+    Two other sons, who, in the wars o' th' time,
+    Died with their swords in hand; for which their father,
+    Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
+    That he quit being; and his gentle lady,
+    Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
+    As he was born. The King he takes the babe
+    To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
+    Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
+    Puts to him all the learnings that his time
+    Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
+    As we do air, fast as 'twas minist'red,
+    And in's spring became a harvest, liv'd in court-
+    Which rare it is to do- most prais'd, most lov'd,
+    A sample to the youngest; to th' more mature
+    A glass that feated them; and to the graver
+    A child that guided dotards. To his mistress,
+    For whom he now is banish'd- her own price
+    Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
+    By her election may be truly read
+    What kind of man he is.  
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I honour him
+    Even out of your report. But pray you tell me,
+    Is she sole child to th' King?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. His only child.
+    He had two sons- if this be worth your hearing,
+    Mark it- the eldest of them at three years old,
+    I' th' swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
+    Were stol'n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge
+    Which way they went.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. How long is this ago?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Some twenty years.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. That a king's children should be so convey'd,
+    So slackly guarded, and the search so slow
+    That could not trace them!
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
+    Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
+    Yet is it true, sir.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do well believe you.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. We must forbear; here comes the gentleman,
+    The Queen, and Princess.                              Exeunt  
+
+              Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN
+
+  QUEEN. No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter,
+    After the slander of most stepmothers,
+    Evil-ey'd unto you. You're my prisoner, but
+    Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
+    That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
+    So soon as I can win th' offended King,
+    I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet
+    The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
+    You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
+    Your wisdom may inform you.
+  POSTHUMUS. Please your Highness,
+    I will from hence to-day.
+  QUEEN. You know the peril.
+    I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
+    The pangs of barr'd affections, though the King
+    Hath charg'd you should not speak together.             Exit
+  IMOGEN. O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant  
+    Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
+    I something fear my father's wrath, but nothing-
+    Always reserv'd my holy duty- what
+    His rage can do on me. You must be gone;
+    And I shall here abide the hourly shot
+    Of angry eyes, not comforted to live
+    But that there is this jewel in the world
+    That I may see again.
+  POSTHUMUS. My queen! my mistress!
+    O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
+    To be suspected of more tenderness
+    Than doth become a man. I will remain
+    The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth;
+    My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
+    Who to my father was a friend, to me
+    Known but by letter; thither write, my queen,
+    And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
+    Though ink be made of gall.
+
+                     Re-enter QUEEN  
+
+  QUEEN. Be brief, I pray you.
+    If the King come, I shall incur I know not
+    How much of his displeasure. [Aside] Yet I'll move him
+    To walk this way. I never do him wrong
+    But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
+    Pays dear for my offences.                              Exit
+  POSTHUMUS. Should we be taking leave
+    As long a term as yet we have to live,
+    The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!
+  IMOGEN. Nay, stay a little.
+    Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
+    Such parting were too petty. Look here, love:
+    This diamond was my mother's; take it, heart;
+    But keep it till you woo another wife,
+    When Imogen is dead.
+  POSTHUMUS. How, how? Another?
+    You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
+    And sear up my embracements from a next
+    With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here  
+                                              [Puts on the ring]
+    While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
+    As I my poor self did exchange for you,
+    To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
+    I still win of you. For my sake wear this;
+    It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
+    Upon this fairest prisoner.     [Puts a bracelet on her arm]
+  IMOGEN. O the gods!
+    When shall we see again?
+
+                  Enter CYMBELINE and LORDS
+
+  POSTHUMUS. Alack, the King!
+  CYMBELINE. Thou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight
+    If after this command thou fraught the court
+    With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away!
+    Thou'rt poison to my blood.
+  POSTHUMUS. The gods protect you,
+    And bless the good remainders of the court!
+    I am gone.                                              Exit  
+  IMOGEN. There cannot be a pinch in death
+    More sharp than this is.
+  CYMBELINE. O disloyal thing,
+    That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
+    A year's age on me!
+  IMOGEN. I beseech you, sir,
+    Harm not yourself with your vexation.
+    I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
+    Subdues all pangs, all fears.
+  CYMBELINE. Past grace? obedience?
+  IMOGEN. Past hope, and in despair; that way past grace.
+  CYMBELINE. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
+  IMOGEN. O blessed that I might not! I chose an eagle,
+    And did avoid a puttock.
+  CYMBELINE. Thou took'st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne
+    A seat for baseness.
+  IMOGEN. No; I rather added
+    A lustre to it.
+  CYMBELINE. O thou vile one!
+  IMOGEN. Sir,  
+    It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus.
+    You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
+    A man worth any woman; overbuys me
+    Almost the sum he pays.
+  CYMBELINE. What, art thou mad?
+  IMOGEN. Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were
+    A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
+    Our neighbour shepherd's son!
+
+                          Re-enter QUEEN
+
+  CYMBELINE. Thou foolish thing!
+    [To the QUEEN] They were again together. You have done
+    Not after our command. Away with her,
+    And pen her up.
+  QUEEN. Beseech your patience.- Peace,
+    Dear lady daughter, peace!- Sweet sovereign,
+    Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort
+    Out of your best advice.
+  CYMBELINE. Nay, let her languish  
+    A drop of blood a day and, being aged,
+    Die of this folly.                          Exit, with LORDS
+
+                          Enter PISANIO
+
+  QUEEN. Fie! you must give way.
+    Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
+  PISANIO. My lord your son drew on my master.
+  QUEEN. Ha!
+    No harm, I trust, is done?
+  PISANIO. There might have been,
+    But that my master rather play'd than fought,
+    And had no help of anger; they were parted
+    By gentlemen at hand.
+  QUEEN. I am very glad on't.
+  IMOGEN. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part
+    To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
+    I would they were in Afric both together;
+    Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
+    The goer-back. Why came you from your master?  
+  PISANIO. On his command. He would not suffer me
+    To bring him to the haven; left these notes
+    Of what commands I should be subject to,
+    When't pleas'd you to employ me.
+  QUEEN. This hath been
+    Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour
+    He will remain so.
+  PISANIO. I humbly thank your Highness.
+  QUEEN. Pray walk awhile.
+  IMOGEN. About some half-hour hence,
+    Pray you speak with me. You shall at least
+    Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Britain. A public place
+
+Enter CLOTEN and two LORDS
+
+  FIRST LORD. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence
+    of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out,
+    air comes in; there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
+  CLOTEN. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] No, faith; not so much as his patience.
+  FIRST LORD. Hurt him! His body's a passable carcass if he be not
+    hurt. It is a throughfare for steel if it be not hurt.
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] His steel was in debt; it went o' th' back
+    side the town.
+  CLOTEN. The villain would not stand me.
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] No; but he fled forward still, toward your
+    face.
+  FIRST LORD. Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he
+    added to your having, gave you some ground.
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] As many inches as you have oceans.
+    Puppies!
+  CLOTEN. I would they had not come between us.  
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] So would I, till you had measur'd how long a
+    fool you were upon the ground.
+  CLOTEN. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me!
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is
+    damn'd.
+  FIRST LORD. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go
+    not together; she's a good sign, but I have seen small reflection
+    of her wit.
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection
+    should hurt her.
+  CLOTEN. Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt
+    done!
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of
+    an ass, which is no great hurt.
+  CLOTEN. You'll go with us?
+  FIRST LORD. I'll attend your lordship.
+  CLOTEN. Nay, come, let's go together.
+  SECOND LORD. Well, my lord.                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO
+
+  IMOGEN. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' th' haven,
+    And questioned'st every sail; if he should write,
+    And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
+    As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
+    That he spake to thee?
+  PISANIO. It was: his queen, his queen!
+  IMOGEN. Then wav'd his handkerchief?
+  PISANIO. And kiss'd it, madam.
+  IMOGEN. Senseless linen, happier therein than I!
+    And that was all?
+  PISANIO. No, madam; for so long
+    As he could make me with his eye, or care
+    Distinguish him from others, he did keep
+    The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
+    Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind
+    Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
+    How swift his ship.  
+  IMOGEN. Thou shouldst have made him
+    As little as a crow, or less, ere left
+    To after-eye him.
+  PISANIO. Madam, so I did.
+  IMOGEN. I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack'd them but
+    To look upon him, till the diminution
+    Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
+    Nay, followed him till he had melted from
+    The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
+    Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
+    When shall we hear from him?
+  PISANIO. Be assur'd, madam,
+    With his next vantage.
+  IMOGEN. I did not take my leave of him, but had
+    Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him
+    How I would think on him at certain hours
+    Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear
+    The shes of Italy should not betray
+    Mine interest and his honour; or have charg'd him,
+    At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,  
+    T' encounter me with orisons, for then
+    I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
+    Give him that parting kiss which I had set
+    Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
+    And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
+    Shakes all our buds from growing.
+
+                        Enter a LADY
+
+  LADY. The Queen, madam,
+    Desires your Highness' company.
+  IMOGEN. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
+    I will attend the Queen.
+  PISANIO. Madam, I shall.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Rome. PHILARIO'S house
+
+Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a FRENCHMAN, a DUTCHMAN, and a SPANIARD
+
+  IACHIMO. Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then
+    of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath
+    been allowed the name of. But I could then have look'd on him
+    without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his
+    endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by
+    items.
+  PHILARIO. You speak of him when he was less furnish'd than now he
+    is with that which makes him both without and within.
+  FRENCHMAN. I have seen him in France; we had very many there could
+    behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.
+  IACHIMO. This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein he
+    must be weighed rather by her value than his own, words him, I
+    doubt not, a great deal from the matter.
+  FRENCHMAN. And then his banishment.
+  IACHIMO. Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable
+    divorce under her colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it
+    but to fortify her judgment, which else an easy battery might lay  
+    flat, for taking a beggar, without less quality. But how comes it
+    he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?
+  PHILARIO. His father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have
+    been often bound for no less than my life.
+
+                       Enter POSTHUMUS
+
+    Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as
+    suits with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his
+    quality. I beseech you all be better known to this gentleman,
+    whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. How worthy he is
+    I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his
+    own hearing.
+  FRENCHMAN. Sir, we have known together in Orleans.
+  POSTHUMUS. Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,
+    which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.
+  FRENCHMAN. Sir, you o'errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did
+    atone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have
+    been put together with so mortal a purpose as then each bore,
+    upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature.  
+  POSTHUMUS. By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller;
+    rather shunn'd to go even with what I heard than in my every
+    action to be guided by others' experiences; but upon my mended
+    judgment- if I offend not to say it is mended- my quarrel was not
+    altogether slight.
+  FRENCHMAN. Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and
+    by such two that would by all likelihood have confounded one the
+    other or have fall'n both.
+  IACHIMO. Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
+  FRENCHMAN. Safely, I think. 'Twas a contention in public, which
+    may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like
+    an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in
+    praise of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that time
+    vouching- and upon warrant of bloody affirmation- his to be more
+    fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less
+    attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France.
+  IACHIMO. That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's opinion,
+    by this, worn out.
+  POSTHUMUS. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.
+  IACHIMO. You must not so far prefer her fore ours of Italy.  
+  POSTHUMUS. Being so far provok'd as I was in France, I would abate
+    her nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.
+  IACHIMO. As fair and as good- a kind of hand-in-hand comparison-
+    had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain.
+    If she went before others I have seen as that diamond of yours
+    outlustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she
+    excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that
+    is, nor you the lady.
+  POSTHUMUS. I prais'd her as I rated her. So do I my stone.
+  IACHIMO. What do you esteem it at?
+  POSTHUMUS. More than the world enjoys.
+  IACHIMO. Either your unparagon'd mistress is dead, or she's
+    outpriz'd by a trifle.
+  POSTHUMUS. You are mistaken: the one may be sold or given, if there
+    were wealth enough for the purchase or merit for the gift; the
+    other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.
+  IACHIMO. Which the gods have given you?
+  POSTHUMUS. Which by their graces I will keep.
+  IACHIMO. You may wear her in title yours; but you know strange fowl
+    light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol'n too. So  
+    your brace of unprizable estimations, the one is but frail and
+    the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish'd
+    courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.
+  POSTHUMUS. Your Italy contains none so accomplish'd a courtier to
+    convince the honour of my mistress, if in the holding or loss of
+    that you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of
+    thieves; notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.
+  PHILARIO. Let us leave here, gentlemen.
+  POSTHUMUS. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank
+    him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.
+  IACHIMO. With five times so much conversation I should get ground
+    of your fair mistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had
+    I admittance and opportunity to friend.
+  POSTHUMUS. No, no.
+  IACHIMO. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your
+    ring, which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it something. But I make
+    my wager rather against your confidence than her reputation; and,
+    to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
+    lady in the world.
+  POSTHUMUS. You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a persuasion,  
+    and I doubt not you sustain what y'are worthy of by your attempt.
+  IACHIMO. What's that?
+  POSTHUMUS. A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve
+    more- a punishment too.
+  PHILARIO. Gentlemen, enough of this. It came in too suddenly; let
+    it die as it was born, and I pray you be better acquainted.
+  IACHIMO. Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on th'
+    approbation of what I have spoke!
+  POSTHUMUS. What lady would you choose to assail?
+  IACHIMO. Yours, whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will
+    lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring that, commend me to the
+    court where your lady is, with no more advantage than the
+    opportunity of a second conference, and I will bring from thence
+    that honour of hers which you imagine so reserv'd.
+  POSTHUMUS. I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I
+    hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it.
+  IACHIMO. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy
+    ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from
+    tainting. But I see you have some religion in you, that you fear.
+  POSTHUMUS. This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver  
+    purpose, I hope.
+  IACHIMO. I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what's
+    spoken, I swear.
+  POSTHUMUS. Will you? I Shall but lend my diamond till your return.
+    Let there be covenants drawn between's. My mistress exceeds in
+    goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to
+    this match: here's my ring.
+  PHILARIO. I will have it no lay.
+  IACHIMO. By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient
+    testimony that I have enjoy'd the dearest bodily part of your
+    mistress, my ten thousand ducats are yours; so is your diamond
+    too. If I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have
+    trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours-
+    provided I have your commendation for my more free entertainment.
+  POSTHUMUS. I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt
+    us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon
+    her, and give me directly to understand you have prevail'd, I am
+    no further your enemy- she is not worth our debate; if she remain
+    unseduc'd, you not making it appear otherwise, for your ill
+    opinion and th' assault you have made to her chastity you shall  
+    answer me with your sword.
+  IACHIMO. Your hand- a covenant! We will have these things set down
+    by lawful counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the
+    bargain should catch cold and starve. I will fetch my gold and
+    have our two wagers recorded.
+  POSTHUMUS. Agreed.                Exeunt POSTHUMUS and IACHIMO
+  FRENCHMAN. Will this hold, think you?
+  PHILARIO. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow 'em.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+Enter QUEEN, LADIES, and CORNELIUS
+
+  QUEEN. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;
+    Make haste; who has the note of them?
+  LADY. I, madam.
+  QUEEN. Dispatch.                                 Exeunt LADIES
+    Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs?
+  CORNELIUS. Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.
+                                              [Presenting a box]
+    But I beseech your Grace, without offence-
+    My conscience bids me ask- wherefore you have
+    Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds
+    Which are the movers of a languishing death,
+    But, though slow, deadly?
+  QUEEN. I wonder, Doctor,
+    Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
+    Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
+    To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
+    That our great king himself doth woo me oft  
+    For my confections? Having thus far proceeded-
+    Unless thou think'st me devilish- is't not meet
+    That I did amplify my judgment in
+    Other conclusions? I will try the forces
+    Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
+    We count not worth the hanging- but none human-
+    To try the vigour of them, and apply
+    Allayments to their act, and by them gather
+    Their several virtues and effects.
+  CORNELIUS. Your Highness
+    Shall from this practice but make hard your heart;
+    Besides, the seeing these effects will be
+    Both noisome and infectious.
+  QUEEN. O, content thee.
+
+                        Enter PISANIO
+
+    [Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
+    Will I first work. He's for his master,
+    An enemy to my son.- How now, Pisanio!  
+    Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
+    Take your own way.
+  CORNELIUS. [Aside] I do suspect you, madam;
+    But you shall do no harm.
+  QUEEN. [To PISANIO] Hark thee, a word.
+  CORNELIUS. [Aside] I do not like her. She doth think she has
+    Strange ling'ring poisons. I do know her spirit,
+    And will not trust one of her malice with
+    A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
+    Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile,
+    Which first perchance she'll prove on cats and dogs,
+    Then afterward up higher; but there is
+    No danger in what show of death it makes,
+    More than the locking up the spirits a time,
+    To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
+    With a most false effect; and I the truer
+    So to be false with her.
+  QUEEN. No further service, Doctor,
+    Until I send for thee.
+  CORNELIUS. I humbly take my leave.                        Exit  
+  QUEEN. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
+    She will not quench, and let instructions enter
+    Where folly now possesses? Do thou work.
+    When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
+    I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
+    As great as is thy master; greater, for
+    His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
+    Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor
+    Continue where he is. To shift his being
+    Is to exchange one misery with another,
+    And every day that comes comes comes to
+    A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect
+    To be depender on a thing that leans,
+    Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends
+    So much as but to prop him?
+                  [The QUEEN drops the box. PISANIO takes it up]
+    Thou tak'st up
+    Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour.
+    It is a thing I made, which hath the King
+    Five times redeem'd from death. I do not know  
+    What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it;
+    It is an earnest of a further good
+    That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
+    The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
+    Think what a chance thou changest on; but think
+    Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son,
+    Who shall take notice of thee. I'll move the King
+    To any shape of thy preferment, such
+    As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
+    That set thee on to this desert, am bound
+    To load thy merit richly. Call my women.
+    Think on my words.                              Exit PISANIO
+    A sly and constant knave,
+    Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master,
+    And the remembrancer of her to hold
+    The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
+    Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
+    Of leigers for her sweet; and which she after,
+    Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd
+    To taste of too.  
+
+                   Re-enter PISANIO and LADIES
+
+    So, so. Well done, well done.
+    The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
+    Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
+    Think on my words.                   Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES
+  PISANIO. And shall do.
+    But when to my good lord I prove untrue
+    I'll choke myself- there's all I'll do for you.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Britain. The palace
+
+Enter IMOGEN alone
+
+  IMOGEN. A father cruel and a step-dame false;
+    A foolish suitor to a wedded lady
+    That hath her husband banish'd. O, that husband!
+    My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
+    Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
+    As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
+    Is the desire that's glorious. Blessed be those,
+    How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
+    Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!
+
+                    Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO
+
+  PISANIO. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome
+    Comes from my lord with letters.
+  IACHIMO. Change you, madam?
+    The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
+    And greets your Highness dearly.         [Presents a letter]  
+  IMOGEN. Thanks, good sir.
+    You're kindly welcome.
+  IACHIMO. [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich!
+    If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
+    She is alone th' Arabian bird, and I
+    Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
+    Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
+    Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
+    Rather, directly fly.
+  IMOGEN. [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
+    kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him
+    accordingly, as you value your trust.       LEONATUS.'
+
+    So far I read aloud;
+    But even the very middle of my heart
+    Is warm'd by th' rest and takes it thankfully.
+    You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
+    Have words to bid you; and shall find it so
+    In all that I can do.
+  IACHIMO. Thanks, fairest lady.  
+    What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
+    To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop
+    Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
+    The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
+    Upon the number'd beach, and can we not
+    Partition make with spectacles so precious
+    'Twixt fair and foul?
+  IMOGEN. What makes your admiration?
+  IACHIMO. It cannot be i' th' eye, for apes and monkeys,
+    'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and
+    Contemn with mows the other; nor i' th' judgment,
+    For idiots in this case of favour would
+    Be wisely definite; nor i' th' appetite;
+    Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd,
+    Should make desire vomit emptiness,
+    Not so allur'd to feed.
+  IMOGEN. What is the matter, trow?
+  IACHIMO. The cloyed will-
+    That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
+    Both fill'd and running- ravening first the lamb,  
+    Longs after for the garbage.
+  IMOGEN. What, dear sir,
+    Thus raps you? Are you well?
+  IACHIMO. Thanks, madam; well.- Beseech you, sir,
+    Desire my man's abode where I did leave him.
+    He's strange and peevish.
+  PISANIO. I was going, sir,
+    To give him welcome.                                    Exit
+  IMOGEN. Continues well my lord? His health beseech you?
+  IACHIMO. Well, madam.
+  IMOGEN. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is.
+  IACHIMO. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
+    So merry and so gamesome. He is call'd
+    The Britain reveller.
+  IMOGEN. When he was here
+    He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
+    Not knowing why.
+  IACHIMO. I never saw him sad.
+    There is a Frenchman his companion, one
+    An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves  
+    A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces
+    The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton-
+    Your lord, I mean- laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,
+    Can my sides hold, to think that man- who knows
+    By history, report, or his own proof,
+    What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
+    But must be- will's free hours languish for
+    Assured bondage?'
+  IMOGEN. Will my lord say so?
+  IACHIMO. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.
+    It is a recreation to be by
+    And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know
+    Some men are much to blame.
+  IMOGEN. Not he, I hope.
+  IACHIMO. Not he; but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
+    Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
+    In you, which I account his, beyond all talents.
+    Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
+    To pity too.
+  IMOGEN. What do you pity, sir?  
+  IACHIMO. Two creatures heartily.
+  IMOGEN. Am I one, sir?
+    You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
+    Deserves your pity?
+  IACHIMO. Lamentable! What,
+    To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
+    I' th' dungeon by a snuff?
+  IMOGEN. I pray you, sir,
+    Deliver with more openness your answers
+    To my demands. Why do you pity me?
+  IACHIMO. That others do,
+    I was about to say, enjoy your- But
+    It is an office of the gods to venge it,
+    Not mine to speak on't.
+  IMOGEN. You do seem to know
+    Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you-
+    Since doubting things go ill often hurts more
+    Than to be sure they do; for certainties
+    Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
+    The remedy then born- discover to me  
+    What both you spur and stop.
+  IACHIMO. Had I this cheek
+    To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
+    Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
+    To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
+    Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
+    Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
+    Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
+    That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
+    Made hard with hourly falsehood- falsehood as
+    With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
+    Base and illustrious as the smoky light
+    That's fed with stinking tallow- it were fit
+    That all the plagues of hell should at one time
+    Encounter such revolt.
+  IMOGEN. My lord, I fear,
+    Has forgot Britain.
+  IACHIMO. And himself. Not I
+    Inclin'd to this intelligence pronounce
+    The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces  
+    That from my mutest conscience to my tongue
+    Charms this report out.
+  IMOGEN. Let me hear no more.
+  IACHIMO. O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
+    With pity that doth make me sick! A lady
+    So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
+    Would make the great'st king double, to be partner'd
+    With tomboys hir'd with that self exhibition
+    Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ventures
+    That play with all infirmities for gold
+    Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
+    As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd;
+    Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
+    Recoil from your great stock.
+  IMOGEN. Reveng'd?
+    How should I be reveng'd? If this be true-
+    As I have such a heart that both mine ears
+    Must not in haste abuse- if it be true,
+    How should I be reveng'd?
+  IACHIMO. Should he make me  
+    Live like Diana's priest betwixt cold sheets,
+    Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
+    In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
+    I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
+    More noble than that runagate to your bed,
+    And will continue fast to your affection,
+    Still close as sure.
+  IMOGEN. What ho, Pisanio!
+  IACHIMO. Let me my service tender on your lips.
+  IMOGEN. Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
+    So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
+    Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
+    For such an end thou seek'st, as base as strange.
+    Thou wrong'st a gentleman who is as far
+    From thy report as thou from honour; and
+    Solicits here a lady that disdains
+    Thee and the devil alike.- What ho, Pisanio!-
+    The King my father shall be made acquainted
+    Of thy assault. If he shall think it fit
+    A saucy stranger in his court to mart  
+    As in a Romish stew, and to expound
+    His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
+    He little cares for, and a daughter who
+    He not respects at all.- What ho, Pisanio!
+  IACHIMO. O happy Leonatus! I may say
+    The credit that thy lady hath of thee
+    Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
+    Her assur'd credit. Blessed live you long,
+    A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
+    Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
+    For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
+    I have spoke this to know if your affiance
+    Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord
+    That which he is new o'er; and he is one
+    The truest manner'd, such a holy witch
+    That he enchants societies into him,
+    Half all men's hearts are his.
+  IMOGEN. You make amends.
+  IACHIMO. He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
+    He hath a kind of honour sets him of  
+    More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
+    Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd
+    To try your taking of a false report, which hath
+    Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
+    In the election of a sir so rare,
+    Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him
+    Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,
+    Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray your pardon.
+  IMOGEN. All's well, sir; take my pow'r i' th' court for yours.
+  IACHIMO. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
+    T' entreat your Grace but in a small request,
+    And yet of moment too, for it concerns
+    Your lord; myself and other noble friends
+    Are partners in the business.
+  IMOGEN. Pray what is't?
+  IACHIMO. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord-
+    The best feather of our wing- have mingled sums
+    To buy a present for the Emperor;
+    Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
+    In France. 'Tis plate of rare device, and jewels  
+    Of rich and exquisite form, their values great;
+    And I am something curious, being strange,
+    To have them in safe stowage. May it please you
+    To take them in protection?
+  IMOGEN. Willingly;
+    And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
+    My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
+    In my bedchamber.
+  IACHIMO. They are in a trunk,
+    Attended by my men. I will make bold
+    To send them to you only for this night;
+    I must aboard to-morrow.
+  IMOGEN. O, no, no.
+  IACHIMO. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
+    By length'ning my return. From Gallia
+    I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
+    To see your Grace.
+  IMOGEN. I thank you for your pains.
+    But not away to-morrow!
+  IACHIMO. O, I must, madam.  
+    Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
+    To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night.
+    I have outstood my time, which is material
+    'To th' tender of our present.
+  IMOGEN. I will write.
+    Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept
+    And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Britain. Before CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+Enter CLOTEN and the two LORDS
+
+  CLOTEN. Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss'd the jack,
+    upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on't; and
+    then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I
+    borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them at my
+    pleasure.
+  FIRST LORD. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your
+    bowl.
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it
+    would have run all out.
+  CLOTEN. When a gentleman is dispos'd to swear, it is not for any
+    standers-by to curtail his oaths. Ha?
+  SECOND LORD. No, my lord; [Aside] nor crop the ears of them.
+  CLOTEN. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction? Would he had been
+    one of my rank!
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] To have smell'd like a fool.
+  CLOTEN. I am not vex'd more at anything in th' earth. A pox on't! I
+    had rather not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me,  
+    because of the Queen my mother. Every jackslave hath his bellyful
+    of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody
+    can match.
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
+    cock, with your comb on.
+  CLOTEN. Sayest thou?
+  SECOND LORD. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
+    companion that you give offence to.
+  CLOTEN. No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to
+    my inferiors.
+  SECOND LORD. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
+  CLOTEN. Why, so I say.
+  FIRST LORD. Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court
+    to-night?
+  CLOTEN. A stranger, and I not known on't?
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
+    not.
+  FIRST LORD. There's an Italian come, and, 'tis thought, one of
+    Leonatus' friends.
+  CLOTEN. Leonatus? A banish'd rascal; and he's another, whatsoever  
+    he be. Who told you of this stranger?
+  FIRST LORD. One of your lordship's pages.
+  CLOTEN. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation
+    in't?
+  SECOND LORD. You cannot derogate, my lord.
+  CLOTEN. Not easily, I think.
+  SECOND LORD. [Aside] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues,
+    being foolish, do not derogate.
+  CLOTEN. Come, I'll go see this Italian. What I have lost to-day at
+    bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.
+  SECOND LORD. I'll attend your lordship.
+                                    Exeunt CLOTEN and FIRST LORD
+    That such a crafty devil as is his mother
+    Should yield the world this ass! A woman that
+    Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
+    Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
+    And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
+    Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
+    Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
+    A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer  
+    More hateful than the foul expulsion is
+    Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
+    Of the divorce he'd make! The heavens hold firm
+    The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak'd
+    That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand
+    T' enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!         Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Britain. IMOGEN'S bedchamber in CYMBELINE'S palace; a trunk in one corner
+
+Enter IMOGEN in her bed, and a LADY attending
+
+  IMOGEN. Who's there? My woman? Helen?
+  LADY. Please you, madam.
+  IMOGEN. What hour is it?
+  LADY. Almost midnight, madam.
+  IMOGEN. I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak;
+    Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed.
+    Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
+    And if thou canst awake by four o' th' clock,
+    I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly.    Exit LADY
+    To your protection I commend me, gods.
+    From fairies and the tempters of the night
+    Guard me, beseech ye!
+                          [Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk]
+  IACHIMO. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
+    Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
+    Did softly press the rushes ere he waken'd  
+    The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
+    How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily,
+    And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
+    But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
+    How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
+    Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o' th' taper
+    Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids
+    To see th' enclosed lights, now canopied
+    Under these windows white and azure, lac'd
+    With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design
+    To note the chamber. I will write all down:
+    Such and such pictures; there the window; such
+    Th' adornment of her bed; the arras, figures-
+    Why, such and such; and the contents o' th' story.
+    Ah, but some natural notes about her body
+    Above ten thousand meaner movables
+    Would testify, t' enrich mine inventory.
+    O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
+    And be her sense but as a monument,
+    Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off;  
+                                       [Taking off her bracelet]
+    As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
+    'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
+    As strongly as the conscience does within,
+    To th' madding of her lord. On her left breast
+    A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
+    I' th' bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher
+    Stronger than ever law could make; this secret
+    Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
+    The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
+    Why should I write this down that's riveted,
+    Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
+    The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
+    Where Philomel gave up. I have enough.
+    To th' trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
+    Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
+    May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
+    Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.  [Clock strikes]
+    One, two, three. Time, time!             Exit into the trunk
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+CYMBELINE'S palace. An ante-chamber adjoining IMOGEN'S apartments
+
+Enter CLOTEN and LORDS
+
+  FIRST LORD. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most
+    coldest that ever turn'd up ace.
+  CLOTEN. It would make any man cold to lose.
+  FIRST LORD. But not every man patient after the noble temper of
+    your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
+  CLOTEN. Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this
+    foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning,
+    is't not?
+  FIRST LORD. Day, my lord.
+  CLOTEN. I would this music would come. I am advised to give her
+    music a mornings; they say it will penetrate.
+
+                       Enter musicians
+
+    Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so.
+    We'll try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but  
+    I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited
+    thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to
+    it- and then let her consider.
+
+                 SONG
+
+      Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
+        And Phoebus 'gins arise,
+      His steeds to water at those springs
+        On chalic'd flow'rs that lies;
+      And winking Mary-buds begin
+        To ope their golden eyes.
+      With everything that pretty bin,
+        My lady sweet, arise;
+          Arise, arise!
+
+    So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music
+    the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which
+    horsehairs and calves' guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
+    boot, can never amend.                      Exeunt musicians  
+
+                    Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN
+
+  SECOND LORD. Here comes the King.
+  CLOTEN. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up
+    so early. He cannot choose but take this service I have done
+    fatherly.- Good morrow to your Majesty and to my gracious mother.
+  CYMBELINE. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
+    Will she not forth?
+  CLOTEN. I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no
+    notice.
+  CYMBELINE. The exile of her minion is too new;
+    She hath not yet forgot him; some more time
+    Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
+    And then she's yours.
+  QUEEN. You are most bound to th' King,
+    Who lets go by no vantages that may
+    Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
+    To orderly soliciting, and be friended
+    With aptness of the season; make denials  
+    Increase your services; so seem as if
+    You were inspir'd to do those duties which
+    You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
+    Save when command to your dismission tends,
+    And therein you are senseless.
+  CLOTEN. Senseless? Not so.
+
+                    Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
+    The one is Caius Lucius.
+  CYMBELINE. A worthy fellow,
+    Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
+    But that's no fault of his. We must receive him
+    According to the honour of his sender;
+    And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
+    We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
+    When you have given good morning to your mistress,
+    Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
+    T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.  
+                                           Exeunt all but CLOTEN
+  CLOTEN. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
+    Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!     [Knocks]
+    I know her women are about her; what
+    If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
+    Which buys admittance; oft it doth-yea, and makes
+    Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
+    Their deer to th' stand o' th' stealer; and 'tis gold
+    Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
+    Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What
+    Can it not do and undo? I will make
+    One of her women lawyer to me, for
+    I yet not understand the case myself.
+    By your leave.                                      [Knocks]
+
+                            Enter a LADY
+
+  LADY. Who's there that knocks?
+  CLOTEN. A gentleman.
+  LADY. No more?  
+  CLOTEN. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
+  LADY. That's more
+    Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
+    Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?
+  CLOTEN. Your lady's person; is she ready?
+  LADY. Ay,
+    To keep her chamber.
+  CLOTEN. There is gold for you; sell me your good report.
+  LADY. How? My good name? or to report of you
+    What I shall think is good? The Princess!
+
+                        Enter IMOGEN
+
+  CLOTEN. Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.
+                                                       Exit LADY
+  IMOGEN. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
+    For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give
+    Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
+    And scarce can spare them.
+  CLOTEN. Still I swear I love you.  
+  IMOGEN. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me.
+    If you swear still, your recompense is still
+    That I regard it not.
+  CLOTEN. This is no answer.
+  IMOGEN. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
+    I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith,
+    I shall unfold equal discourtesy
+    To your best kindness; one of your great knowing
+    Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
+  CLOTEN. To leave you in your madness 'twere my sin;
+    I will not.
+  IMOGEN. Fools are not mad folks.
+  CLOTEN. Do you call me fool?
+  IMOGEN. As I am mad, I do;
+    If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
+    That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
+    You put me to forget a lady's manners
+    By being so verbal; and learn now, for all,
+    That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
+    By th' very truth of it, I care not for you,  
+    And am so near the lack of charity
+    To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather
+    You felt than make't my boast.
+  CLOTEN. You sin against
+    Obedience, which you owe your father. For
+    The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
+    One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
+    With scraps o' th' court- it is no contract, none.
+    And though it be allowed in meaner parties-
+    Yet who than he more mean?- to knit their souls-
+    On whom there is no more dependency
+    But brats and beggary- in self-figur'd knot,
+    Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
+    The consequence o' th' crown, and must not foil
+    The precious note of it with a base slave,
+    A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
+    A pantler- not so eminent!
+  IMOGEN. Profane fellow!
+    Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
+    But what thou art besides, thou wert too base  
+    To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough,
+    Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
+    Comparative for your virtues to be styl'd
+    The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
+    For being preferr'd so well.
+  CLOTEN. The south fog rot him!
+  IMOGEN. He never can meet more mischance than come
+    To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st garment
+    That ever hath but clipp'd his body is dearer
+    In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
+    Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
+
+                    Enter PISANIO
+
+  CLOTEN. 'His garments'! Now the devil-
+  IMOGEN. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
+  CLOTEN. 'His garment'!
+  IMOGEN. I am sprited with a fool;
+    Frighted, and ang'red worse. Go bid my woman
+    Search for a jewel that too casually  
+    Hath left mine arm. It was thy master's; shrew me,
+    If I would lose it for a revenue
+    Of any king's in Europe! I do think
+    I saw't this morning; confident I am
+    Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it.
+    I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
+    That I kiss aught but he.
+  PISANIO. 'Twill not be lost.
+  IMOGEN. I hope so. Go and search.                 Exit PISANIO
+  CLOTEN. You have abus'd me.
+    'His meanest garment'!
+  IMOGEN. Ay, I said so, sir.
+    If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't.
+  CLOTEN. I will inform your father.
+  IMOGEN. Your mother too.
+    She's my good lady and will conceive, I hope,
+    But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
+    To th' worst of discontent.                             Exit
+  CLOTEN. I'll be reveng'd.
+    'His mean'st garment'! Well.                            Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Rome. PHILARIO'S house
+
+Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO
+
+  POSTHUMUS. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure
+    To win the King as I am bold her honour
+    Will remain hers.
+  PHILARIO. What means do you make to him?
+  POSTHUMUS. Not any; but abide the change of time,
+    Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
+    That warmer days would come. In these fear'd hopes
+    I barely gratify your love; they failing,
+    I must die much your debtor.
+  PHILARIO. Your very goodness and your company
+    O'erpays all I can do. By this your king
+    Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius
+    Will do's commission throughly; and I think
+    He'll grant the tribute, send th' arrearages,
+    Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
+    Is yet fresh in their grief.
+  POSTHUMUS. I do believe  
+    Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
+    That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
+    The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
+    In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
+    Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
+    Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar
+    Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
+    Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
+    Now mingled with their courages, will make known
+    To their approvers they are people such
+    That mend upon the world.
+
+                      Enter IACHIMO
+
+  PHILARIO. See! Iachimo!
+  POSTHUMUS. The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
+    And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
+    To make your vessel nimble.
+  PHILARIO. Welcome, sir.
+  POSTHUMUS. I hope the briefness of your answer made  
+    The speediness of your return.
+  IACHIMO. Your lady
+    Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.
+  POSTHUMUS. And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
+    Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
+    And be false with them.
+  IACHIMO. Here are letters for you.
+  POSTHUMUS. Their tenour good, I trust.
+  IACHIMO. 'Tis very like.
+  PHILARIO. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
+    When you were there?
+  IACHIMO. He was expected then,
+    But not approach'd.
+  POSTHUMUS. All is well yet.
+    Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is't not
+    Too dull for your good wearing?
+  IACHIMO. If I have lost it,
+    I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
+    I'll make a journey twice as far t' enjoy
+    A second night of such sweet shortness which  
+    Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
+  POSTHUMUS. The stone's too hard to come by.
+  IACHIMO. Not a whit,
+    Your lady being so easy.
+  POSTHUMUS. Make not, sir,
+    Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we
+    Must not continue friends.
+  IACHIMO. Good sir, we must,
+    If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
+    The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
+    We were to question farther; but I now
+    Profess myself the winner of her honour,
+    Together with your ring; and not the wronger
+    Of her or you, having proceeded but
+    By both your wills.
+  POSTHUMUS. If you can make't apparent
+    That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
+    And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion
+    You had of her pure honour gains or loses
+    Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both  
+    To who shall find them.
+  IACHIMO. Sir, my circumstances,
+    Being so near the truth as I will make them,
+    Must first induce you to believe- whose strength
+    I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not
+    You'll give me leave to spare when you shall find
+    You need it not.
+  POSTHUMUS. Proceed.
+  IACHIMO. First, her bedchamber,
+    Where I confess I slept not, but profess
+    Had that was well worth watching-it was hang'd
+    With tapestry of silk and silver; the story,
+    Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman
+    And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
+    The press of boats or pride. A piece of work
+    So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
+    In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd
+    Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
+    Since the true life on't was-
+  POSTHUMUS. This is true;  
+    And this you might have heard of here, by me
+    Or by some other.
+  IACHIMO. More particulars
+    Must justify my knowledge.
+  POSTHUMUS. So they must,
+    Or do your honour injury.
+  IACHIMO. The chimney
+    Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece
+    Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures
+    So likely to report themselves. The cutter
+    Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
+    Motion and breath left out.
+  POSTHUMUS. This is a thing
+    Which you might from relation likewise reap,
+    Being, as it is, much spoke of.
+  IACHIMO. The roof o' th' chamber
+    With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons-
+    I had forgot them- were two winking Cupids
+    Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
+    Depending on their brands.  
+  POSTHUMUS. This is her honour!
+    Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise
+    Be given to your remembrance; the description
+    Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
+    The wager you have laid.
+  IACHIMO. Then, if you can,                [Shows the bracelet]
+    Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!
+    And now 'tis up again. It must be married
+    To that your diamond; I'll keep them.
+  POSTHUMUS. Jove!
+    Once more let me behold it. Is it that
+    Which I left with her?
+  IACHIMO. Sir- I thank her- that.
+    She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
+    Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
+    And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said
+    She priz'd it once.
+  POSTHUMUS. May be she pluck'd it of
+    To send it me.
+  IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she?  
+  POSTHUMUS. O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;
+                                                [Gives the ring]
+    It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
+    Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour
+    Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love
+    Where there's another man. The vows of women
+    Of no more bondage be to where they are made
+    Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.
+    O, above measure false!
+  PHILARIO. Have patience, sir,
+    And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won.
+    It may be probable she lost it, or
+    Who knows if one her women, being corrupted
+    Hath stol'n it from her?
+  POSTHUMUS. Very true;
+    And so I hope he came by't. Back my ring.
+    Render to me some corporal sign about her,
+    More evident than this; for this was stol'n.
+  IACHIMO. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!
+  POSTHUMUS. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.  
+    'Tis true- nay, keep the ring, 'tis true. I am sure
+    She would not lose it. Her attendants are
+    All sworn and honourable- they induc'd to steal it!
+    And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy'd her.
+    The cognizance of her incontinency
+    Is this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.
+    There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
+    Divide themselves between you!
+  PHILARIO. Sir, be patient;
+    This is not strong enough to be believ'd
+    Of one persuaded well of.
+  POSTHUMUS. Never talk on't;
+    She hath been colted by him.
+  IACHIMO. If you seek
+    For further satisfying, under her breast-
+    Worthy the pressing- lies a mole, right proud
+    Of that most delicate lodging. By my life,
+    I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
+    To feed again, though full. You do remember
+    This stain upon her?  
+  POSTHUMUS. Ay, and it doth confirm
+    Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
+    Were there no more but it.
+  IACHIMO. Will you hear more?
+  POSTHUMUS. Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns.
+    Once, and a million!
+  IACHIMO. I'll be sworn-
+  POSTHUMUS. No swearing.
+    If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
+    And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
+    Thou'st made me cuckold.
+  IACHIMO. I'll deny nothing.
+  POSTHUMUS. O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!
+    I will go there and do't, i' th' court, before
+    Her father. I'll do something-                          Exit
+  PHILARIO. Quite besides
+    The government of patience! You have won.
+    Let's follow him and pervert the present wrath
+    He hath against himself.
+  IACHIMO. With all my heart.                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Rome. Another room in PHILARIO'S house
+
+Enter POSTHUMUS
+
+  POSTHUMUS. Is there no way for men to be, but women
+    Must be half-workers? We are all bastards,
+    And that most venerable man which I
+    Did call my father was I know not where
+    When I was stamp'd. Some coiner with his tools
+    Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd
+    The Dian of that time. So doth my wife
+    The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
+    Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
+    And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
+    A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
+    Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
+    As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
+    This yellow Iachimo in an hour- was't not?
+    Or less!- at first? Perchance he spoke not, but,
+    Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
+    Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition  
+    But what he look'd for should oppose and she
+    Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
+    The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
+    That tends to vice in man but I affirm
+    It is the woman's part. Be it lying, note it,
+    The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
+    Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
+    Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
+    Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
+    All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,
+    Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all;
+    For even to vice
+    They are not constant, but are changing still
+    One vice but of a minute old for one
+    Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
+    Detest them, curse them. Yet 'tis greater skill
+    In a true hate to pray they have their will:
+    The very devils cannot plague them better.              Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Britain. A hall in CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and LORDS at one door,
+and at another CAIUS LUCIUS and attendants
+
+  CYMBELINE. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?
+  LUCIUS. When Julius Caesar- whose remembrance yet
+    Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues
+    Be theme and hearing ever- was in this Britain,
+    And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
+    Famous in Caesar's praises no whit less
+    Than in his feats deserving it, for him
+    And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
+    Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
+    Is left untender'd.
+  QUEEN. And, to kill the marvel,
+    Shall be so ever.
+  CLOTEN. There be many Caesars
+    Ere such another Julius. Britain is
+    A world by itself, and we will nothing pay
+    For wearing our own noses.  
+  QUEEN. That opportunity,
+    Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
+    We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
+    The kings your ancestors, together with
+    The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
+    As Neptune's park, ribb'd and pal'd in
+    With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
+    With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats
+    But suck them up to th' top-mast. A kind of conquest
+    Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
+    Of 'came, and saw, and overcame.' With shame-
+    The first that ever touch'd him- he was carried
+    From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping-
+    Poor ignorant baubles!- on our terrible seas,
+    Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
+    As easily 'gainst our rocks; for joy whereof
+    The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point-
+    O, giglot fortune!- to master Caesar's sword,
+    Made Lud's Town with rejoicing fires bright
+    And Britons strut with courage.  
+  CLOTEN. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is
+    stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no
+    moe such Caesars. Other of them may have crook'd noses; but to
+    owe such straight arms, none.
+  CYMBELINE. Son, let your mother end.
+  CLOTEN. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan.
+    I do not say I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should
+    we pay tribute? If Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket,
+    or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light;
+    else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.
+  CYMBELINE. You must know,
+    Till the injurious Romans did extort
+    This tribute from us, we were free. Caesar's ambition-
+    Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
+    The sides o' th' world- against all colour here
+    Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake of
+    Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
+    Ourselves to be.
+  CLOTEN. We do.
+  CYMBELINE. Say then to Caesar,  
+    Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
+    Ordain'd our laws- whose use the sword of Caesar
+    Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
+    Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
+    Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws,
+    Who was the first of Britain which did put
+    His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
+    Himself a king.
+  LUCIUS. I am sorry, Cymbeline,
+    That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar-
+    Caesar, that hath moe kings his servants than
+    Thyself domestic officers- thine enemy.
+    Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
+    In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee; look
+    For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
+    I thank thee for myself.
+  CYMBELINE. Thou art welcome, Caius.
+    Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
+    Much under him; of him I gather'd honour,
+    Which he to seek of me again, perforce,  
+    Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
+    That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
+    Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent
+    Which not to read would show the Britons cold;
+    So Caesar shall not find them.
+  LUCIUS. Let proof speak.
+  CLOTEN. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or
+    two, or longer. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
+    shall find us in our salt-water girdle. If you beat us out of it,
+    it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare
+    the better for you; and there's an end.
+  LUCIUS. So, sir.
+  CYMBELINE. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine;
+    All the remain is, welcome.                           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Britain. Another room in CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+Enter PISANIO reading of a letter
+
+  PISANIO. How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
+    What monsters her accuse? Leonatus!
+    O master, what a strange infection
+    Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian-
+    As poisonous-tongu'd as handed- hath prevail'd
+    On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.
+    She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
+    More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
+    As would take in some virtue. O my master!
+    Thy mind to her is now as low as were
+    Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her?
+    Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
+    Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood?
+    If it be so to do good service, never
+    Let me be counted serviceable. How look I
+    That I should seem to lack humanity
+    So much as this fact comes to? [Reads] 'Do't. The letter  
+    That I have sent her, by her own command
+    Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper,
+    Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
+    Art thou a fedary for this act, and look'st
+    So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
+
+                      Enter IMOGEN
+
+    I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
+  IMOGEN. How now, Pisanio!
+  PISANIO. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
+  IMOGEN. Who? thy lord? That is my lord- Leonatus?
+    O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
+    That knew the stars as I his characters-
+    He'd lay the future open. You good gods,
+    Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
+    Of my lord's health, of his content; yet not
+    That we two are asunder- let that grieve him!
+    Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
+    For it doth physic love- of his content,  
+    All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
+    You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
+    And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike;
+    Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
+    You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!
+                                                         [Reads]
+    'Justice and your father's wrath, should he take me in his
+    dominion, could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of
+    creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I
+    am in Cambria, at Milford Haven. What your own love will out of
+    this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness that
+    remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love
+                                            LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'
+
+    O for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
+    He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me
+    How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
+    May plod it in a week, why may not I
+    Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio-
+    Who long'st like me to see thy lord, who long'st-  
+    O, let me 'bate!- but not like me, yet long'st,
+    But in a fainter kind- O, not like me,
+    For mine's beyond beyond!-say, and speak thick-
+    Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing
+    To th' smothering of the sense- how far it is
+    To this same blessed Milford. And by th' way
+    Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
+    T' inherit such a haven. But first of all,
+    How we may steal from hence; and for the gap
+    That we shall make in time from our hence-going
+    And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence.
+    Why should excuse be born or ere begot?
+    We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak,
+    How many score of miles may we well ride
+    'Twixt hour and hour?
+  PISANIO. One score 'twixt sun and sun,
+    Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too.
+  IMOGEN. Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
+    Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers
+    Where horses have been nimbler than the sands  
+    That run i' th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.
+    Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
+    She'll home to her father; and provide me presently
+    A riding suit, no costlier than would fit
+    A franklin's huswife.
+  PISANIO. Madam, you're best consider.
+  IMOGEN. I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here,
+    Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them
+    That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
+    Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say;
+    Accessible is none but Milford way.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Wales. A mountainous country with a cave
+
+Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
+
+  BELARIUS. A goodly day not to keep house with such
+    Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
+    Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you
+    To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs
+    Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
+    And keep their impious turbans on without
+    Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
+    We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
+    As prouder livers do.
+  GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven!
+  ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven!
+  BELARIUS. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill,
+    Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
+    When you above perceive me like a crow,
+    That it is place which lessens and sets off;
+    And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
+    Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war.  
+    This service is not service so being done,
+    But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus
+    Draws us a profit from all things we see,
+    And often to our comfort shall we find
+    The sharded beetle in a safer hold
+    Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
+    Is nobler than attending for a check,
+    Richer than doing nothing for a bribe,
+    Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
+    Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,
+    Yet keeps his book uncross'd. No life to ours!
+  GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg'd,
+    Have never wing'd from view o' th' nest, nor know not
+    What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
+    If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
+    That have a sharper known; well corresponding
+    With your stiff age. But unto us it is
+    A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,
+    A prison for a debtor that not dares
+    To stride a limit.  
+  ARVIRAGUS. What should we speak of
+    When we are old as you? When we shall hear
+    The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
+    In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse.
+    The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
+    We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey,
+    Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat.
+    Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
+    We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
+    And sing our bondage freely.
+  BELARIUS. How you speak!
+    Did you but know the city's usuries,
+    And felt them knowingly- the art o' th' court,
+    As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
+    Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that
+    The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' th' war,
+    A pain that only seems to seek out danger
+    I' th'name of fame and honour, which dies i' th'search,
+    And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph
+    As record of fair act; nay, many times,  
+    Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse-
+    Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story
+    The world may read in me; my body's mark'd
+    With Roman swords, and my report was once
+    first with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;
+    And when a soldier was the theme, my name
+    Was not far off. Then was I as a tree
+    Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night
+    A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
+    Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
+    And left me bare to weather.
+  GUIDERIUS. Uncertain favour!
+  BELARIUS. My fault being nothing- as I have told you oft-
+    But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
+    Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
+    I was confederate with the Romans. So
+    Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
+    This rock and these demesnes have been my world,
+    Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid
+    More pious debts to heaven than in all  
+    The fore-end of my time. But up to th' mountains!
+    This is not hunters' language. He that strikes
+    The venison first shall be the lord o' th' feast;
+    To him the other two shall minister;
+    And we will fear no poison, which attends
+    In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.
+                                  Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS
+    How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
+    These boys know little they are sons to th' King,
+    Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
+    They think they are mine; and though train'd up thus meanly
+    I' th' cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
+    The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
+    In simple and low things to prince it much
+    Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
+    The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
+    The King his father call'd Guiderius- Jove!
+    When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
+    The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
+    Into my story; say 'Thus mine enemy fell,  
+    And thus I set my foot on's neck'; even then
+    The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
+    Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
+    That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
+    Once Arviragus, in as like a figure
+    Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
+    His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rous'd!
+    O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows
+    Thou didst unjustly banish me! Whereon,
+    At three and two years old, I stole these babes,
+    Thinking to bar thee of succession as
+    Thou refts me of my lands. Euriphile,
+    Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother,
+    And every day do honour to her grave.
+    Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
+    They take for natural father. The game is up.           Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Wales, near Milford Haven
+
+Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN
+
+  IMOGEN. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
+    Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother so
+    To see me first as I have now. Pisanio! Man!
+    Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
+    That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
+    From th' inward of thee? One but painted thus
+    Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
+    Beyond self-explication. Put thyself
+    Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
+    Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
+    Why tender'st thou that paper to me with
+    A look untender! If't be summer news,
+    Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
+    But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand?
+    That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
+    And he's at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue
+    May take off some extremity, which to read  
+    Would be even mortal to me.
+  PISANIO. Please you read,
+    And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
+    The most disdain'd of fortune.
+  IMOGEN. [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in
+    my bed, the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not
+    out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as
+    certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act
+    for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let
+    thine own hands take away her life; I shall give thee opportunity
+    at Milford Haven; she hath my letter for the purpose; where, if
+    thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art
+    the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.'
+  PISANIO. What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper
+    Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
+    Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
+    Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
+    Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
+    All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states,
+    Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,  
+    This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
+  IMOGEN. False to his bed? What is it to be false?
+    To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
+    To weep twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature,
+    To break it with a fearful dream of him,
+    And cry myself awake? That's false to's bed,
+    Is it?
+  PISANIO. Alas, good lady!
+  IMOGEN. I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo,
+    Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
+    Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks,
+    Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy,
+    Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him.
+    Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
+    And for I am richer than to hang by th' walls
+    I must be ripp'd. To pieces with me! O,
+    Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
+    By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
+    Put on for villainy; not born where't grows,
+    But worn a bait for ladies.  
+  PISANIO. Good madam, hear me.
+  IMOGEN. True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
+    Were, in his time, thought false; and Sinon's weeping
+    Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
+    From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,
+    Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men:
+    Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd
+    From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest;
+    Do thou thy master's bidding; when thou seest him,
+    A little witness my obedience. Look!
+    I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit
+    The innocent mansion of my love, my heart.
+    Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief;
+    Thy master is not there, who was indeed
+    The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike.
+    Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,
+    But now thou seem'st a coward.
+  PISANIO. Hence, vile instrument!
+    Thou shalt not damn my hand.
+  IMOGEN. Why, I must die;  
+    And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
+    No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
+    There is a prohibition so divine
+    That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart-
+    Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence!-
+    Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
+    The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus
+    All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
+    Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
+    Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
+    Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd
+    Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
+    Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
+    That didst set up my disobedience 'gainst the King
+    My father, and make me put into contempt the suits
+    Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
+    It is no act of common passage but
+    A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself
+    To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
+    That now thou tirest on, how thy memory  
+    Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee dispatch.
+    The lamp entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?
+    Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
+    When I desire it too.
+  PISANIO. O gracious lady,
+    Since I receiv'd command to do this busines
+    I have not slept one wink.
+  IMOGEN. Do't, and to bed then.
+  PISANIO. I'll wake mine eyeballs first.
+  IMOGEN. Wherefore then
+    Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
+    So many miles with a pretence? This place?
+    Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
+    The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
+    For my being absent?- whereunto I never
+    Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far
+    To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
+    Th' elected deer before thee?
+  PISANIO. But to win time
+    To lose so bad employment, in the which  
+    I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
+    Hear me with patience.
+  IMOGEN. Talk thy tongue weary- speak.
+    I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,
+    Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
+    Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
+  PISANIO. Then, madam,
+    I thought you would not back again.
+  IMOGEN. Most like-
+    Bringing me here to kill me.
+  PISANIO. Not so, neither;
+    But if I were as wise as honest, then
+    My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
+    But that my master is abus'd. Some villain,
+    Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both
+    This cursed injury.
+  IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan!
+  PISANIO. No, on my life!
+    I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
+    Some bloody sign of it, for 'tis commanded  
+    I should do so. You shall be miss'd at court,
+    And that will well confirm it.
+  IMOGEN. Why, good fellow,
+    What shall I do the while? where bide? how live?
+    Or in my life what comfort, when I am
+    Dead to my husband?
+  PISANIO. If you'll back to th' court-
+  IMOGEN. No court, no father, nor no more ado
+    With that harsh, noble, simple nothing-
+    That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
+    As fearful as a siege.
+  PISANIO. If not at court,
+    Then not in Britain must you bide.
+  IMOGEN. Where then?
+    Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
+    Are they not but in Britain? I' th' world's volume
+    Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't;
+    In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee think
+    There's livers out of Britain.
+  PISANIO. I am most glad  
+    You think of other place. Th' ambassador,
+  LUCIUS the Roman, comes to Milford Haven
+    To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind
+    Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
+    That which t' appear itself must not yet be
+    But by self-danger, you should tread a course
+    Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near
+    The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,
+    That though his actions were not visible, yet
+    Report should render him hourly to your ear
+    As truly as he moves.
+  IMOGEN. O! for such means,
+    Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
+    I would adventure.
+  PISANIO. Well then, here's the point:
+    You must forget to be a woman; change
+    Command into obedience; fear and niceness-
+    The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
+    Woman it pretty self- into a waggish courage;
+    Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and  
+    As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must
+    Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
+    Exposing it- but, O, the harder heart!
+    Alack, no remedy!- to the greedy touch
+    Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
+    Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein
+    You made great Juno angry.
+  IMOGEN. Nay, be brief;
+    I see into thy end, and am almost
+    A man already.
+  PISANIO. First, make yourself but like one.
+    Fore-thinking this, I have already fit-
+    'Tis in my cloak-bag- doublet, hat, hose, all
+    That answer to them. Would you, in their serving,
+    And with what imitation you can borrow
+    From youth of such a season, fore noble Lucius
+    Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
+    Wherein you're happy- which will make him know
+    If that his head have ear in music; doubtless
+    With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,  
+    And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad-
+    You have me, rich; and I will never fail
+    Beginning nor supplyment.
+  IMOGEN. Thou art all the comfort
+    The gods will diet me with. Prithee away!
+    There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
+    All that good time will give us. This attempt
+    I am soldier to, and will abide it with
+    A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.
+  PISANIO. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
+    Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
+    Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
+    Here is a box; I had it from the Queen.
+    What's in't is precious. If you are sick at sea
+    Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
+    Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
+    And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
+    Direct you to the best!
+  IMOGEN. Amen. I thank thee.                   Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and LORDS
+
+  CYMBELINE. Thus far; and so farewell.
+  LUCIUS. Thanks, royal sir.
+    My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence,
+    And am right sorry that I must report ye
+    My master's enemy.
+  CYMBELINE. Our subjects, sir,
+    Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
+    To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
+    Appear unkinglike.
+  LUCIUS. So, sir. I desire of you
+    A conduct overland to Milford Haven.
+    Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you!
+  CYMBELINE. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
+    The due of honour in no point omit.
+    So farewell, noble Lucius.
+  LUCIUS. Your hand, my lord.
+  CLOTEN. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth  
+    I wear it as your enemy.
+  LUCIUS. Sir, the event
+    Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
+  CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
+    Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
+                                         Exeunt LUCIUS and LORDS
+  QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us
+    That we have given him cause.
+  CLOTEN. 'Tis all the better;
+    Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
+  CYMBELINE. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
+    How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
+    Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness.
+    The pow'rs that he already hath in Gallia
+    Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
+    His war for Britain.
+  QUEEN. 'Tis not sleepy business,
+    But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.
+  CYMBELINE. Our expectation that it would be thus
+    Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,  
+    Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
+    Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
+    The duty of the day. She looks us like
+    A thing more made of malice than of duty;
+    We have noted it. Call her before us, for
+    We have been too slight in sufferance.      Exit a MESSENGER
+  QUEEN. Royal sir,
+    Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
+    Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
+    'Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty,
+    Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady
+    So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,
+    And strokes death to her.
+
+                 Re-enter MESSENGER
+
+  CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How
+    Can her contempt be answer'd?
+  MESSENGER. Please you, sir,
+    Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer  
+    That will be given to th' loud of noise we make.
+  QUEEN. My lord, when last I went to visit her,
+    She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close;
+    Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity
+    She should that duty leave unpaid to you
+    Which daily she was bound to proffer. This
+    She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
+    Made me to blame in memory.
+  CYMBELINE. Her doors lock'd?
+    Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
+    Prove false!                                            Exit
+  QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King.
+  CLOTEN. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
+    I have not seen these two days.
+  QUEEN. Go, look after.                             Exit CLOTEN
+    Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!
+    He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence
+    Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes
+    It is a thing most precious. But for her,
+    Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz'd her;  
+    Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown
+    To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is
+    To death or to dishonour, and my end
+    Can make good use of either. She being down,
+    I have the placing of the British crown.
+
+                   Re-enter CLOTEN
+
+    How now, my son?
+  CLOTEN. 'Tis certain she is fled.
+    Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none
+    Dare come about him.
+  QUEEN. All the better. May
+    This night forestall him of the coming day!             Exit
+  CLOTEN. I love and hate her; for she's fair and royal,
+    And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
+    Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one
+    The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
+    Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but
+    Disdaining me and throwing favours on  
+    The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
+    That what's else rare is chok'd; and in that point
+    I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
+    To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools
+    Shall-
+
+                    Enter PISANIO
+
+    Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
+    Come hither. Ah, you precious pander! Villain,
+    Where is thy lady? In a word, or else
+    Thou art straightway with the fiends.
+  PISANIO. O good my lord!
+  CLOTEN. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter-
+    I will not ask again. Close villain,
+    I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
+    Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
+    From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
+    A dram of worth be drawn.
+  PISANIO. Alas, my lord,  
+    How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
+    He is in Rome.
+  CLOTEN. Where is she, sir? Come nearer.
+    No farther halting! Satisfy me home
+    What is become of her.
+  PISANIO. O my all-worthy lord!
+  CLOTEN. All-worthy villain!
+    Discover where thy mistress is at once,
+    At the next word. No more of 'worthy lord'!
+    Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
+    Thy condemnation and thy death.
+  PISANIO. Then, sir,
+    This paper is the history of my knowledge
+    Touching her flight.                   [Presenting a letter]
+  CLOTEN. Let's see't. I will pursue her
+    Even to Augustus' throne.
+  PISANIO. [Aside] Or this or perish.
+    She's far enough; and what he learns by this
+    May prove his travel, not her danger.
+  CLOTEN. Humh!  
+  PISANIO. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
+    Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
+  CLOTEN. Sirrah, is this letter true?
+  PISANIO. Sir, as I think.
+  CLOTEN. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou wouldst
+    not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those
+    employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a
+    serious industry- that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to
+    perform it directly and truly- I would think thee an honest man;
+    thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice
+    for thy preferment.
+  PISANIO. Well, my good lord.
+  CLOTEN. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou
+    hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou
+    canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower
+    of mine. Wilt thou serve me?
+  PISANIO. Sir, I will.
+  CLOTEN. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy late
+    master's garments in thy possession?
+  PISANIO. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when  
+    he took leave of my lady and mistress.
+  CLOTEN. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let
+    it be thy first service; go.
+  PISANIO. I shall, my lord.                                Exit
+  CLOTEN. Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing;
+    I'll remember't anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I
+    kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a
+    time- the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart- that she
+    held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble
+    and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities.
+    With that suit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him,
+    and in her eyes. There shall she see my valour, which will then
+    be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of
+    insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined-
+    which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that
+    she so prais'd- to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home
+    again. She hath despis'd me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my
+    revenge.
+
+                Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes  
+
+    Be those the garments?
+  PISANIO. Ay, my noble lord.
+  CLOTEN. How long is't since she went to Milford Haven?
+  PISANIO. She can scarce be there yet.
+  CLOTEN. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing
+    that I have commanded thee. The third is that thou wilt be a
+    voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous and true, preferment
+    shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would
+    I had wings to follow it! Come, and be true.            Exit
+  PISANIO. Thou bid'st me to my loss; for true to thee
+    Were to prove false, which I will never be,
+    To him that is most true. To Milford go,
+    And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
+    You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
+    Be cross'd with slowness! Labour be his meed!           Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS
+
+Enter IMOGEN alone, in boy's clothes
+
+  IMOGEN. I see a man's life is a tedious one.
+    I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together
+    Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick
+    But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
+    When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
+    Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think
+    Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
+    Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me
+    I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie,
+    That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
+    A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
+    When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
+    Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood
+    Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
+    Thou art one o' th' false ones. Now I think on thee
+    My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
+    At point to sink for food. But what is this?  
+    Here is a path to't; 'tis some savage hold.
+    I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine,
+    Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
+    Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever
+    Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
+    If anything that's civil, speak; if savage,
+    Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
+    Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
+    But fear the sword, like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
+    Such a foe, good heavens!                 Exit into the cave
+
+            Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
+
+  BELARIUS. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman and
+    Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I
+    Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match.
+    The sweat of industry would dry and die
+    But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs
+    Will make what's homely savoury; weariness
+    Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth  
+    Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here,
+    Poor house, that keep'st thyself!
+  GUIDERIUS. I am thoroughly weary.
+  ARVIRAGUS. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
+  GUIDERIUS. There is cold meat i' th' cave; we'll browse on that
+    Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.
+  BELARIUS. [Looking into the cave] Stay, come not in.
+    But that it eats our victuals, I should think
+    Here were a fairy.
+  GUIDERIUS. What's the matter, sir?
+  BELARIUS.. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
+    An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
+    No elder than a boy!
+
+                       Re-enter IMOGEN
+
+  IMOGEN. Good masters, harm me not.
+    Before I enter'd here I call'd, and thought
+    To have begg'd or bought what I have took. Good troth,
+    I have stol'n nought; nor would not though I had found  
+    Gold strew'd i' th' floor. Here's money for my meat.
+    I would have left it on the board, so soon
+    As I had made my meal, and parted
+    With pray'rs for the provider.
+  GUIDERIUS. Money, youth?
+  ARVIRAGUS. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,
+    As 'tis no better reckon'd but of those
+    Who worship dirty gods.
+  IMOGEN. I see you're angry.
+    Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
+    Have died had I not made it.
+  BELARIUS. Whither bound?
+  IMOGEN. To Milford Haven.
+  BELARIUS. What's your name?
+  IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
+    Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford;
+    To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
+    I am fall'n in this offence.
+  BELARIUS. Prithee, fair youth,
+    Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds  
+    By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
+    'Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer
+    Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.
+    Boys, bid him welcome.
+  GUIDERIUS. Were you a woman, youth,
+    I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty
+    I bid for you as I'd buy.
+  ARVIRAGUS. I'll make't my comfort
+    He is a man. I'll love him as my brother;
+    And such a welcome as I'd give to him
+    After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome!
+    Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.
+  IMOGEN. 'Mongst friends,
+    If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so that they
+    Had been my father's sons! Then had my prize
+    Been less, and so more equal ballasting
+    To thee, Posthumus.
+  BELARIUS. He wrings at some distress.
+  GUIDERIUS. Would I could free't!
+  ARVIRAGUS. Or I, whate'er it be,  
+    What pain it cost, what danger! Gods!
+  BELARIUS. [Whispering] Hark, boys.
+  IMOGEN. [Aside] Great men,
+    That had a court no bigger than this cave,
+    That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
+    Which their own conscience seal'd them, laying by
+    That nothing-gift of differing multitudes,
+    Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
+    I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
+    Since Leonatus' false.
+  BELARIUS. It shall be so.
+    Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in.
+    Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
+    We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
+    So far as thou wilt speak it.
+  GUIDERIUS. Pray draw near.
+  ARVIRAGUS. The night to th' owl and morn to th' lark less welcome.
+  IMOGEN. Thanks, sir.
+  ARVIRAGUS. I pray draw near.                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+Rome. A public place
+
+Enter two ROMAN SENATORS and TRIBUNES
+
+  FIRST SENATOR. This is the tenour of the Emperor's writ:
+    That since the common men are now in action
+    'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
+    And that the legions now in Gallia are
+    Full weak to undertake our wars against
+    The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
+    The gentry to this business. He creates
+    Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes,
+    For this immediate levy, he commands
+    His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!
+  TRIBUNE. Is Lucius general of the forces?
+  SECOND SENATOR. Ay.
+  TRIBUNE. Remaining now in Gallia?
+  FIRST SENATOR. With those legions
+    Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
+    Must be supplyant. The words of your commission
+    Will tie you to the numbers and the time  
+    Of their dispatch.
+  TRIBUNE. We will discharge our duty.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Wales. Near the cave of BELARIUS
+
+Enter CLOTEN alone
+
+  CLOTEN. I am near to th' place where they should meet, if Pisanio
+    have mapp'd it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should
+    his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be
+    fit too? The rather- saving reverence of the word- for 'tis said
+    a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman.
+    I dare speak it to myself, for it is not vain-glory for a man and
+    his glass to confer in his own chamber- I mean, the lines of my
+    body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not
+    beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time,
+    above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and
+    more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this imperceiverant
+    thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy
+    head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this
+    hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces
+    before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her father,
+    who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my
+    mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my  
+    commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a
+    sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very
+    description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not
+    deceive me.                                             Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS
+
+Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN
+
+  BELARIUS. [To IMOGEN] You are not well. Remain here in the cave;
+    We'll come to you after hunting.
+  ARVIRAGUS. [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here.
+    Are we not brothers?
+  IMOGEN. So man and man should be;
+    But clay and clay differs in dignity,
+    Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.
+  GUIDERIUS. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.
+  IMOGEN. So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
+    But not so citizen a wanton as
+    To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me;
+    Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom
+    Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
+    Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
+    To one not sociable. I am not very sick,
+    Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here.  
+    I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
+    Stealing so poorly.
+  GUIDERIUS. I love thee; I have spoke it.
+    How much the quantity, the weight as much
+    As I do love my father.
+  BELARIUS. What? how? how?
+  ARVIRAGUS. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
+    In my good brother's fault. I know not why
+    I love this youth, and I have heard you say
+    Love's reason's without reason. The bier at door,
+    And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
+    'My father, not this youth.'
+  BELARIUS. [Aside] O noble strain!
+    O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
+    Cowards father cowards and base things sire base.
+    Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
+    I'm not their father; yet who this should be
+    Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.-
+    'Tis the ninth hour o' th' morn.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Brother, farewell.  
+  IMOGEN. I wish ye sport.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Your health. [To BELARIUS] So please you, sir.
+  IMOGEN. [Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have
+      heard!
+    Our courtiers say all's savage but at court.
+    Experience, O, thou disprov'st report!
+    Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish,
+    Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
+    I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
+    I'll now taste of thy drug.                  [Swallows some]
+  GUIDERIUS. I could not stir him.
+    He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
+    Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter
+    I might know more.
+  BELARIUS. To th' field, to th' field!
+    We'll leave you for this time. Go in and rest.
+  ARVIRAGUS. We'll not be long away.
+  BELARIUS. Pray be not sick,
+    For you must be our huswife.  
+  IMOGEN. Well, or ill,
+    I am bound to you.
+  BELARIUS. And shalt be ever.         Exit IMOGEN into the cave
+    This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had
+    Good ancestors.
+  ARVIRAGUS. How angel-like he sings!
+  GUIDERIUS. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters,
+    And sauc'd our broths as Juno had been sick,
+    And he her dieter.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Nobly he yokes
+    A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
+    Was that it was for not being such a smile;
+    The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly
+    From so divine a temple to commix
+    With winds that sailors rail at.
+  GUIDERIUS. I do note
+    That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
+    Mingle their spurs together.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Grow patience!
+    And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine  
+    His perishing root with the increasing vine!
+  BELARIUS. It is great morning. Come, away! Who's there?
+
+                      Enter CLOTEN
+
+  CLOTEN. I cannot find those runagates; that villain
+    Hath mock'd me. I am faint.
+  BELARIUS. Those runagates?
+    Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
+    Cloten, the son o' th' Queen. I fear some ambush.
+    I saw him not these many years, and yet
+    I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!
+  GUIDERIUS. He is but one; you and my brother search
+    What companies are near. Pray you away;
+    Let me alone with him.         Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS
+  CLOTEN. Soft! What are you
+    That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?
+    I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
+  GUIDERIUS. A thing
+    More slavish did I ne'er than answering  
+    'A slave' without a knock.
+  CLOTEN. Thou art a robber,
+    A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.
+  GUIDERIUS. To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I
+    An arm as big as thine, a heart as big?
+    Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
+    My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art;
+    Why I should yield to thee.
+  CLOTEN. Thou villain base,
+    Know'st me not by my clothes?
+  GUIDERIUS. No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
+    Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes,
+    Which, as it seems, make thee.
+  CLOTEN. Thou precious varlet,
+    My tailor made them not.
+  GUIDERIUS. Hence, then, and thank
+    The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
+    I am loath to beat thee.
+  CLOTEN. Thou injurious thief,
+    Hear but my name, and tremble.  
+  GUIDERIUS. What's thy name?
+  CLOTEN. Cloten, thou villain.
+  GUIDERIUS. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
+    I cannot tremble at it. Were it toad, or adder, spider,
+    'Twould move me sooner.
+  CLOTEN. To thy further fear,
+    Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
+    I am son to th' Queen.
+  GUIDERIUS. I'm sorry for't; not seeming
+    So worthy as thy birth.
+  CLOTEN. Art not afeard?
+  GUIDERIUS. Those that I reverence, those I fear- the wise:
+    At fools I laugh, not fear them.
+  CLOTEN. Die the death.
+    When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
+    I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
+    And on the gates of Lud's Town set your heads.
+    Yield, rustic mountaineer.                  Exeunt, fighting
+
+                Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS  
+
+  BELARIUS. No company's abroad.
+  ARVIRAGUS. None in the world; you did mistake him, sure.
+  BELARIUS. I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him,
+    But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
+    Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
+    And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute
+    'Twas very Cloten.
+  ARVIRAGUS. In this place we left them.
+    I wish my brother make good time with him,
+    You say he is so fell.
+  BELARIUS. Being scarce made up,
+    I mean to man, he had not apprehension
+    Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
+    Is oft the cease of fear.
+
+              Re-enter GUIDERIUS with CLOTEN'S head
+
+    But, see, thy brother.
+  GUIDERIUS. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;  
+    There was no money in't. Not Hercules
+    Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none;
+    Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
+    My head as I do his.
+  BELARIUS. What hast thou done?
+  GUIDERIUS. I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,
+    Son to the Queen, after his own report;
+    Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
+    With his own single hand he'd take us in,
+    Displace our heads where- thank the gods!- they grow,
+    And set them on Lud's Town.
+  BELARIUS. We are all undone.
+  GUIDERIUS. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose
+    But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
+    Protects not us; then why should we be tender
+    To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
+    Play judge and executioner all himself,
+    For we do fear the law? What company
+    Discover you abroad?
+  BELARIUS. No single soul  
+    Can we set eye on, but in an safe reason
+    He must have some attendants. Though his humour
+    Was nothing but mutation- ay, and that
+    From one bad thing to worse- not frenzy, not
+    Absolute madness could so far have rav'd,
+    To bring him here alone. Although perhaps
+    It may be heard at court that such as we
+    Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
+    May make some stronger head- the which he hearing,
+    As it is like him, might break out and swear
+    He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable
+    To come alone, either he so undertaking
+    Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear,
+    If we do fear this body hath a tail
+    More perilous than the head.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Let ordinance
+    Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe'er,
+    My brother hath done well.
+  BELARIUS. I had no mind
+    To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness  
+    Did make my way long forth.
+  GUIDERIUS. With his own sword,
+    Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
+    His head from him. I'll throw't into the creek
+    Behind our rock, and let it to the sea
+    And tell the fishes he's the Queen's son, Cloten.
+    That's all I reck.                                      Exit
+  BELARIUS. I fear'twill be reveng'd.
+    Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour
+    Becomes thee well enough.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Would I had done't,
+    So the revenge alone pursu'd me! Polydore,
+    I love thee brotherly, but envy much
+    Thou hast robb'd me of this deed. I would revenges,
+    That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,
+    And put us to our answer.
+  BELARIUS. Well, 'tis done.
+    We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
+    Where there's no profit. I prithee to our rock.
+    You and Fidele play the cooks; I'll stay  
+    Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him
+    To dinner presently.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Poor sick Fidele!
+    I'll willingly to him; to gain his colour
+    I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood,
+    And praise myself for charity.                          Exit
+  BELARIUS. O thou goddess,
+    Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon'st
+    In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
+    As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
+    Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
+    Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind
+    That by the top doth take the mountain pine
+    And make him stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonder
+    That an invisible instinct should frame them
+    To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
+    Civility not seen from other, valour
+    That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
+    As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
+    What Cloten's being here to us portends,  
+    Or what his death will bring us.
+
+                    Re-enter GUIDERIUS
+
+  GUIDERIUS. Where's my brother?
+    I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
+    In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
+    For his return.                               [Solemn music]
+  BELARIUS. My ingenious instrument!
+    Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion
+    Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!
+  GUIDERIUS. Is he at home?
+  BELARIUS. He went hence even now.
+  GUIDERIUS. What does he mean? Since death of my dear'st mother
+    It did not speak before. All solemn things
+    Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
+    Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
+    Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
+    Is Cadwal mad?
+  
+       Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN as dead, bearing
+                         her in his arms
+
+  BELARIUS. Look, here he comes,
+    And brings the dire occasion in his arms
+    Of what we blame him for!
+  ARVIRAGUS. The bird is dead
+    That we have made so much on. I had rather
+    Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
+    To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
+    Than have seen this.
+  GUIDERIUS. O sweetest, fairest lily!
+    My brother wears thee not the one half so well
+    As when thou grew'st thyself.
+  BELARIUS. O melancholy!
+    Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
+    The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare
+    Might'st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
+    Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
+    Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.  
+    How found you him?
+  ARVIRAGUS. Stark, as you see;
+    Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
+    Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek
+    Reposing on a cushion.
+  GUIDERIUS. Where?
+  ARVIRAGUS. O' th' floor;
+    His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept, and put
+    My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
+    Answer'd my steps too loud.
+  GUIDERIUS. Why, he but sleeps.
+    If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed;
+    With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
+    And worms will not come to thee.
+  ARVIRAGUS. With fairest flowers,
+    Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
+    I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
+    The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
+    The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
+    The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,  
+    Out-sweet'ned not thy breath. The ruddock would,
+    With charitable bill- O bill, sore shaming
+    Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
+    Without a monument!- bring thee all this;
+    Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are none,
+    To winter-ground thy corse-
+  GUIDERIUS. Prithee have done,
+    And do not play in wench-like words with that
+    Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
+    And not protract with admiration what
+    Is now due debt. To th' grave.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Say, where shall's lay him?
+  GUIDERIUS. By good Euriphile, our mother.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Be't so;
+    And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
+    Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground,
+    As once to our mother; use like note and words,
+    Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
+  GUIDERIUS. Cadwal,
+    I cannot sing. I'll weep, and word it with thee;  
+    For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
+    Than priests and fanes that lie.
+  ARVIRAGUS. We'll speak it, then.
+  BELARIUS. Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less, for Cloten
+    Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
+    And though he came our enemy, remember
+    He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting
+    Together have one dust, yet reverence-
+    That angel of the world- doth make distinction
+    Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;
+    And though you took his life, as being our foe,
+    Yet bury him as a prince.
+  GUIDERIUS. Pray you fetch him hither.
+    Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
+    When neither are alive.
+  ARVIRAGUS. If you'll go fetch him,
+    We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.
+                                                   Exit BELARIUS
+  GUIDERIUS. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th' East;
+    My father hath a reason for't.  
+  ARVIRAGUS. 'Tis true.
+  GUIDERIUS. Come on, then, and remove him.
+  ARVIRAGUS. So. Begin.
+
+                      SONG
+
+  GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the heat o' th' sun
+               Nor the furious winter's rages;
+             Thou thy worldly task hast done,
+               Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.
+             Golden lads and girls all must,
+             As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
+
+  ARVIRAGUS. Fear no more the frown o' th' great;
+               Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.
+             Care no more to clothe and eat;
+               To thee the reed is as the oak.
+             The sceptre, learning, physic, must
+             All follow this and come to dust.
+  
+  GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the lightning flash,
+  ARVIRAGUS.   Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone;
+  GUIDERIUS. Fear not slander, censure rash;
+  ARVIRAGUS.   Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.
+  BOTH.      All lovers young, all lovers must
+             Consign to thee and come to dust.
+
+  GUIDERIUS. No exorciser harm thee!
+  ARVIRAGUS. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
+  GUIDERIUS. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
+  ARVIRAGUS. Nothing ill come near thee!
+  BOTH.      Quiet consummation have,
+             And renowned be thy grave!
+
+         Re-enter BELARIUS with the body of CLOTEN
+
+  GUIDERIUS. We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down.
+  BELARIUS. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more.
+    The herbs that have on them cold dew o' th' night
+    Are strewings fit'st for graves. Upon their faces.  
+    You were as flow'rs, now wither'd. Even so
+    These herblets shall which we upon you strew.
+    Come on, away. Apart upon our knees.
+    The ground that gave them first has them again.
+    Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
+                                           Exeunt all but IMOGEN
+  IMOGEN. [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way?
+    I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither?
+    'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?
+    I have gone all night. Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
+    But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses!
+                                               [Seeing the body]
+    These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world;
+    This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
+    For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
+    And cook to honest creatures. But 'tis not so;
+    'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
+    Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes
+    Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
+    I tremble still with fear; but if there be  
+    Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
+    As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
+    The dream's here still. Even when I wake it is
+    Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
+    A headless man? The garments of Posthumus?
+    I know the shape of's leg; this is his hand,
+    His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,
+    The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face-
+    Murder in heaven! How! 'Tis gone. Pisanio,
+    All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
+    And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
+    Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
+    Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read
+    Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
+    Hath with his forged letters- damn'd Pisanio-
+    From this most bravest vessel of the world
+    Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas,
+    Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me! where's that?
+    Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
+    And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?  
+    'Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them
+    Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
+    The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
+    And cordial to me, have I not found it
+    Murd'rous to th' senses? That confirms it home.
+    This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten. O!
+    Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
+    That we the horrider may seem to those
+    Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord!
+                                    [Falls fainting on the body]
+
+           Enter LUCIUS, CAPTAINS, and a SOOTHSAYER
+
+  CAPTAIN. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
+    After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
+    You here at Milford Haven; with your ships,
+    They are in readiness.
+  LUCIUS. But what from Rome?
+  CAPTAIN. The Senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
+    And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,  
+    That promise noble service; and they come
+    Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
+    Sienna's brother.
+  LUCIUS. When expect you them?
+  CAPTAIN. With the next benefit o' th' wind.
+  LUCIUS. This forwardness
+    Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
+    Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
+    What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?
+  SOOTHSAYER. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision-
+    I fast and pray'd for their intelligence- thus:
+    I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
+    From the spongy south to this part of the west,
+    There vanish'd in the sunbeams; which portends,
+    Unless my sins abuse my divination,
+    Success to th' Roman host.
+  LUCIUS. Dream often so,
+    And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
+    Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
+    It was a worthy building. How? a page?  
+    Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather;
+    For nature doth abhor to make his bed
+    With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
+    Let's see the boy's face.
+  CAPTAIN. He's alive, my lord.
+  LUCIUS. He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
+    Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems
+    They crave to be demanded. Who is this
+    Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
+    That, otherwise than noble nature did,
+    Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
+    In this sad wreck? How came't? Who is't? What art thou?
+  IMOGEN. I am nothing; or if not,
+    Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
+    A very valiant Briton and a good,
+    That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!
+    There is no more such masters. I may wander
+    From east to occident; cry out for service;
+    Try many, all good; serve truly; never
+    Find such another master.  
+  LUCIUS. 'Lack, good youth!
+    Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than
+    Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.
+  IMOGEN. Richard du Champ. [Aside] If I do lie, and do
+    No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
+    They'll pardon it.- Say you, sir?
+  LUCIUS. Thy name?
+  IMOGEN. Fidele, sir.
+  LUCIUS. Thou dost approve thyself the very same;
+    Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
+    Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
+    Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure,
+    No less belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters,
+    Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
+    Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.
+  IMOGEN. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
+    I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
+    As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
+    With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
+    And on it said a century of prayers,  
+    Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
+    And leaving so his service, follow you,
+    So please you entertain me.
+  LUCIUS. Ay, good youth;
+    And rather father thee than master thee.
+    My friends,
+    The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us
+    Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
+    And make him with our pikes and partisans
+    A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
+    By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd
+    As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes.
+    Some falls are means the happier to arise.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace
+
+Enter CYMBELINE, LORDS, PISANIO, and attendants
+
+  CYMBELINE. Again! and bring me word how 'tis with her.
+                                               Exit an attendant
+    A fever with the absence of her son;
+    A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
+    How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
+    The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
+    Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
+    When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
+    So needful for this present. It strikes me past
+    The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
+    Who needs must know of her departure and
+    Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
+    By a sharp torture.
+  PISANIO. Sir, my life is yours;
+    I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress,
+    I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
+    Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness,  
+    Hold me your loyal servant.
+  LORD. Good my liege,
+    The day that she was missing he was here.
+    I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
+    All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
+    There wants no diligence in seeking him,
+    And will no doubt be found.
+  CYMBELINE. The time is troublesome.
+    [To PISANIO] We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
+    Does yet depend.
+  LORD. So please your Majesty,
+    The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
+    Are landed on your coast, with a supply
+    Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent.
+  CYMBELINE. Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
+    I am amaz'd with matter.
+  LORD. Good my liege,
+    Your preparation can affront no less
+    Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready.
+    The want is but to put those pow'rs in motion  
+    That long to move.
+  CYMBELINE. I thank you. Let's withdraw,
+    And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
+    What can from Italy annoy us; but
+    We grieve at chances here. Away!      Exeunt all but PISANIO
+  PISANIO. I heard no letter from my master since
+    I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange.
+    Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
+    To yield me often tidings. Neither know
+    What is betid to Cloten, but remain
+    Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
+    Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
+    These present wars shall find I love my country,
+    Even to the note o' th' King, or I'll fall in them.
+    All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
+    Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.      Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS
+
+Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
+
+  GUIDERIUS. The noise is round about us.
+  BELARIUS. Let us from it.
+  ARVIRAGUS. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
+    From action and adventure?
+  GUIDERIUS. Nay, what hope
+    Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans
+    Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
+    For barbarous and unnatural revolts
+    During their use, and slay us after.
+  BELARIUS. Sons,
+    We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
+    To the King's party there's no going. Newness
+    Of Cloten's death- we being not known, not muster'd
+    Among the bands-may drive us to a render
+    Where we have liv'd, and so extort from's that
+    Which we have done, whose answer would be death,
+    Drawn on with torture.  
+  GUIDERIUS. This is, sir, a doubt
+    In such a time nothing becoming you
+    Nor satisfying us.
+  ARVIRAGUS. It is not likely
+    That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
+    Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
+    And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
+    That they will waste their time upon our note,
+    To know from whence we are.
+  BELARIUS. O, I am known
+    Of many in the army. Many years,
+    Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
+    From my remembrance. And, besides, the King
+    Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves,
+    Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
+    The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
+    To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
+    But to be still hot summer's tanlings and
+    The shrinking slaves of winter.
+  GUIDERIUS. Than be so,  
+    Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th' army.
+    I and my brother are not known; yourself
+    So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
+    Cannot be questioned.
+  ARVIRAGUS. By this sun that shines,
+    I'll thither. What thing is't that I never
+    Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood
+    But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
+    Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
+    A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
+    Nor iron on his heel! I am asham'd
+    To look upon the holy sun, to have
+    The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
+    So long a poor unknown.
+  GUIDERIUS. By heavens, I'll go!
+    If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
+    I'll take the better care; but if you will not,
+    The hazard therefore due fall on me by
+    The hands of Romans!
+  ARVIRAGUS. So say I. Amen.  
+  BELARIUS. No reason I, since of your lives you set
+    So slight a valuation, should reserve
+    My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
+    If in your country wars you chance to die,
+    That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie.
+    Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn
+    Till it fly out and show them princes born.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Britain. The Roman camp
+
+Enter POSTHUMUS alone, with a bloody handkerchief
+
+  POSTHUMUS. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd
+    Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
+    If each of you should take this course, how many
+    Must murder wives much better than themselves
+    For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
+    Every good servant does not all commands;
+    No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
+    Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
+    Had liv'd to put on this; so had you saved
+    The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
+    Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack,
+    You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
+    To have them fall no more. You some permit
+    To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
+    And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.
+    But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills,
+    And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither  
+    Among th' Italian gentry, and to fight
+    Against my lady's kingdom. 'Tis enough
+    That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
+    I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
+    Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me
+    Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
+    As does a Britain peasant. So I'll fight
+    Against the part I come with; so I'll die
+    For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
+    Is every breath a death. And thus unknown,
+    Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
+    Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
+    More valour in me than my habits show.
+    Gods, put the strength o' th' Leonati in me!
+    To shame the guise o' th' world, I will begin
+    The fashion- less without and more within.              Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps
+
+Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army at one door, and the British army
+at another, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor soldier.
+They march over and go out.  Alarums.  Then enter again, in skirmish,
+IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS.  He vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO,
+and then leaves him
+
+  IACHIMO. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
+    Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady,
+    The Princess of this country, and the air on't
+    Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
+    A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me
+    In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne
+    As I wear mine are titles but of scorn.
+    If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
+    This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
+    Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods.            Exit
+
+    The battle continues; the BRITONS fly; CYMBELINE is taken.
+    Then enter to his rescue BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS  
+
+  BELARIUS. Stand, stand! We have th' advantage of the ground;
+    The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but
+    The villainy of our fears.
+  GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Stand, stand, and fight!
+
+    Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons; they rescue
+    CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS and IACHIMO,
+                         with IMOGEN
+
+  LUCIUS. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
+    For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
+    As war were hoodwink'd.
+  IACHIMO. 'Tis their fresh supplies.
+  LUCIUS. It is a day turn'd strangely. Or betimes
+    Let's reinforce or fly.                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Another part of the field
+
+Enter POSTHUMUS and a Britain LORD
+
+  LORD. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?
+  POSTHUMUS. I did:
+    Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
+  LORD. I did.
+  POSTHUMUS. No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,
+    But that the heavens fought. The King himself
+    Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
+    And but the backs of Britons seen, an flying,
+    Through a strait lane- the enemy, full-hearted,
+    Lolling the tongue with slaught'ring, having work
+    More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
+    Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
+    Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm'd
+    With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
+    To die with length'ned shame.
+  LORD. Where was this lane?
+  POSTHUMUS. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf,  
+    Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier-
+    An honest one, I warrant, who deserv'd
+    So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
+    In doing this for's country. Athwart the lane
+    He, with two striplings- lads more like to run
+    The country base than to commit such slaughter;
+    With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
+    Than those for preservation cas'd or shame-
+    Made good the passage, cried to those that fled
+    'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men.
+    To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand;
+    Or we are Romans and will give you that,
+    Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save
+    But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!' These three,
+    Three thousand confident, in act as many-
+    For three performers are the file when all
+    The rest do nothing- with this word 'Stand, stand!'
+    Accommodated by the place, more charming
+    With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd
+    A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,  
+    Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some turn'd coward
+    But by example- O, a sin in war
+    Damn'd in the first beginners!- gan to look
+    The way that they did and to grin like lions
+    Upon the pikes o' th' hunters. Then began
+    A stop i' th' chaser, a retire; anon
+    A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly,
+    Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
+    The strides they victors made; and now our cowards,
+    Like fragments in hard voyages, became
+    The life o' th' need. Having found the back-door open
+    Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
+    Some slain before, some dying, some their friends
+    O'erborne i' th' former wave. Ten chas'd by one
+    Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty.
+    Those that would die or ere resist are grown
+    The mortal bugs o' th' field.
+  LORD. This was strange chance:
+    A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
+  POSTHUMUS. Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made  
+    Rather to wonder at the things you hear
+    Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
+    And vent it for a mock'ry? Here is one:
+    'Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane,
+    Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'
+  LORD. Nay, be not angry, sir.
+  POSTHUMUS. 'Lack, to what end?
+    Who dares not stand his foe I'll be his friend;
+    For if he'll do as he is made to do,
+    I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
+    You have put me into rhyme.
+  LORD. Farewell; you're angry.                             Exit
+  POSTHUMUS. Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,
+    To be i' th' field and ask 'What news?' of me!
+    To-day how many would have given their honours
+    To have sav'd their carcasses! took heel to do't,
+    And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
+    Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
+    Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster,
+    'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,  
+    Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we
+    That draw his knives i' th' war. Well, I will find him;
+    For being now a favourer to the Briton,
+    No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
+    The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
+    But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
+    Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
+    Here made by th' Roman; great the answer be
+    Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death;
+    On either side I come to spend my breath,
+    Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again,
+    But end it by some means for Imogen.
+
+            Enter two BRITISH CAPTAINS and soldiers
+
+  FIRST CAPTAIN. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken.
+    'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
+  SECOND CAPTAIN. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
+    That gave th' affront with them.
+  FIRST CAPTAIN. So 'tis reported;  
+    But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?
+  POSTHUMUS. A Roman,
+    Who had not now been drooping here if seconds
+    Had answer'd him.
+  SECOND CAPTAIN. Lay hands on him; a dog!
+    A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
+    What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service,
+    As if he were of note. Bring him to th' King.
+
+   Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman
+   captives. The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers
+            him over to a gaoler. Exeunt omnes
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Britain. A prison
+
+Enter POSTHUMUS and two GAOLERS
+
+  FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you;
+    So graze as you find pasture.
+  SECOND GAOLER. Ay, or a stomach.                Exeunt GAOLERS
+  POSTHUMUS. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way,
+    I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
+    Than one that's sick o' th' gout, since he had rather
+    Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd
+    By th' sure physician death, who is the key
+    T' unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
+    More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me
+    The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
+    Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
+    So children temporal fathers do appease;
+    Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,
+    I cannot do it better than in gyves,
+    Desir'd more than constrain'd. To satisfy,
+    If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take  
+    No stricter render of me than my all.
+    I know you are more clement than vile men,
+    Who of their broken debtors take a third,
+    A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
+    On their abatement; that's not my desire.
+    For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
+    'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it.
+    'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
+    Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake;
+    You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow'rs,
+    If you will take this audit, take this life,
+    And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
+    I'll speak to thee in silence.                      [Sleeps]
+
+        Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS
+        LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man attired
+         like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient
+          matron, his WIFE, and mother to POSTHUMUS, with
+        music before them. Then, after other music, follows
+           the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS,  
+              with wounds, as they died in the wars.
+          They circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping
+
+  SICILIUS. No more, thou thunder-master, show
+              Thy spite on mortal flies.
+            With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
+              That thy adulteries
+                Rates and revenges.
+            Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
+              Whose face I never saw?
+            I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
+              Attending nature's law;
+            Whose father then, as men report
+              Thou orphans' father art,
+            Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
+              From this earth-vexing smart.
+
+  MOTHER.   Lucina lent not me her aid,
+              But took me in my throes,
+            That from me was Posthumus ripp'd,  
+              Came crying 'mongst his foes,
+                A thing of pity.
+
+  SICILIUS. Great Nature like his ancestry
+              Moulded the stuff so fair
+            That he deserv'd the praise o' th' world
+              As great Sicilius' heir.
+
+  FIRST BROTHER. When once he was mature for man,
+              In Britain where was he
+            That could stand up his parallel,
+              Or fruitful object be
+            In eye of Imogen, that best
+              Could deem his dignity?
+
+  MOTHER.   With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
+              To be exil'd and thrown
+            From Leonati seat and cast
+            From her his dearest one,
+              Sweet Imogen?  
+
+  SICILIUS. Why did you suffer Iachimo,
+              Slight thing of Italy,
+            To taint his nobler heart and brain
+              With needless jealousy,
+            And to become the geck and scorn
+              O' th' other's villainy?
+
+  SECOND BROTHER. For this from stiller seats we came,
+              Our parents and us twain,
+            That, striking in our country's cause,
+              Fell bravely and were slain,
+            Our fealty and Tenantius' right
+              With honour to maintain.
+
+  FIRST BROTHER. Like hardiment Posthumus hath
+              To Cymbeline perform'd.
+            Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
+              Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
+            The graces for his merits due,  
+              Being all to dolours turn'd?
+
+  SICILIUS. Thy crystal window ope; look out;
+              No longer exercise
+            Upon a valiant race thy harsh
+              And potent injuries.
+
+  MOTHER.   Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
+              Take off his miseries.
+
+  SICILIUS. Peep through thy marble mansion. Help!
+              Or we poor ghosts will cry
+            To th' shining synod of the rest
+              Against thy deity.
+
+  BROTHERS. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,
+              And from thy justice fly.
+
+       JUPITER descends-in thunder and lightning, sitting
+       upon an eagle. He throws a thunderbolt. The GHOSTS  
+                     fall on their knees
+
+  JUPITER. No more, you petty spirits of region low,
+    Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts
+    Accuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know,
+    Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?
+    Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest
+    Upon your never-withering banks of flow'rs.
+    Be not with mortal accidents opprest:
+    No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours.
+    Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
+    The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
+    Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift;
+    His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
+    Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
+    Our temple was he married. Rise and fade!
+    He shall be lord of Lady Imogen,
+    And happier much by his affliction made.
+    This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
+    Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine;  
+    And so, away; no farther with your din
+    Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
+    Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.            [Ascends]
+  SICILIUS. He came in thunder; his celestial breath
+    Was sulpherous to smell; the holy eagle
+    Stoop'd as to foot us. His ascension is
+    More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird
+    Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,
+    As when his god is pleas'd.
+  ALL. Thanks, Jupiter!
+  SICILIUS. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
+    His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest,
+    Let us with care perform his great behest.   [GHOSTS vanish]
+
+  POSTHUMUS. [Waking] Sleep, thou has been a grandsire and begot
+    A father to me; and thou hast created
+    A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn,
+    Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born.
+    And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend
+    On greatness' favour, dream as I have done;  
+    Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve;
+    Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
+    And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I,
+    That have this golden chance, and know not why.
+    What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!
+    Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
+    Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects
+    So follow to be most unlike our courtiers,
+    As good as promise.
+
+    [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown,
+    without seeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air;
+    and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches which,
+    being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
+    stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
+    Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
+
+    'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
+    Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing,
+    Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such  
+    As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
+    The action of my life is like it, which
+    I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
+
+                  Re-enter GAOLER
+
+  GAOLER. Come, sir, are you ready for death?
+  POSTHUMUS. Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.
+  GAOLER. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are
+    well cook'd.
+  POSTHUMUS. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish
+    pays the shot.
+  GAOLER. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you
+    shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills,
+    which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth.
+    You come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much
+    drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are
+    paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier
+    for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of
+    heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the  
+    charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice. You
+    have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and
+    to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and
+    counters; so the acquittance follows.
+  POSTHUMUS. I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
+  GAOLER. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a
+    man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to
+    bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look
+    you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
+  POSTHUMUS. Yes indeed do I, fellow.
+  GAOLER. Your death has eyes in's head, then; I have not seen him so
+    pictur'd. You must either be directed by some that take upon them
+    to know, or to take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not
+    know, or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you
+    shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to
+    tell one.
+  POSTHUMUS. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct
+    them the way I am going, but such as wink and will not use them.
+  GAOLER. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the
+    best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's  
+    the way of winking.
+
+                        Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King.
+  POSTHUMUS. Thou bring'st good news: I am call'd to be made free.
+  GAOLER. I'll be hang'd then.
+  POSTHUMUS. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the
+    dead.                         Exeunt POSTHUMUS and MESSENGER
+  GAOLER. Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets,
+    I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier
+    knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some
+    of them too that die against their wills; so should I, if I were
+    one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O, there
+    were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my
+    present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't.     Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Britain. CYMBELINE'S tent
+
+Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, LORDS,
+OFFICERS, and attendants
+
+  CYMBELINE. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
+    Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
+    That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
+    Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
+    Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found.
+    He shall be happy that can find him, if
+    Our grace can make him so.
+  BELARIUS. I never saw
+    Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
+    Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
+    But beggary and poor looks.
+  CYMBELINE. No tidings of him?
+  PISANIO. He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
+    But no trace of him.
+  CYMBELINE. To my grief, I am
+    The heir of his reward; [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]  
+      which I will add
+    To you, the liver, heart, and brain, of Britain,
+    By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
+    To ask of whence you are. Report it.
+  BELARIUS. Sir,
+    In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen;
+    Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
+    Unless I add we are honest.
+  CYMBELINE. Bow your knees.
+    Arise my knights o' th' battle; I create you
+    Companions to our person, and will fit you
+    With dignities becoming your estates.
+
+             Enter CORNELIUS and LADIES
+
+    There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
+    Greet you our victory? You look like Romans,
+    And not o' th' court of Britain.
+  CORNELIUS. Hail, great King!
+    To sour your happiness I must report  
+    The Queen is dead.
+  CYMBELINE. Who worse than a physician
+    Would this report become? But I consider
+    By med'cine'life may be prolong'd, yet death
+    Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
+  CORNELIUS. With horror, madly dying, like her life;
+    Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
+    Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
+    I will report, so please you; these her women
+    Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks
+    Were present when she finish'd.
+  CYMBELINE. Prithee say.
+  CORNELIUS. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only
+    Affected greatness got by you, not you;
+    Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
+    Abhorr'd your person.
+  CYMBELINE. She alone knew this;
+    And but she spoke it dying, I would not
+    Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
+  CORNELIUS. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love  
+    With such integrity, she did confess
+    Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
+    But that her flight prevented it, she had
+    Ta'en off by poison.
+  CYMBELINE. O most delicate fiend!
+    Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?
+  CORNELIUS. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
+    For you a mortal mineral, which, being took,
+    Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring,
+    By inches waste you. In which time she purpos'd,
+    By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
+    O'ercome you with her show; and in time,
+    When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
+    Her son into th' adoption of the crown;
+    But failing of her end by his strange absence,
+    Grew shameless-desperate, open'd, in despite
+    Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented
+    The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so,
+    Despairing, died.
+  CYMBELINE. Heard you all this, her women?  
+  LADY. We did, so please your Highness.
+  CYMBELINE. Mine eyes
+    Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
+    Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart
+    That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious
+    To have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter!
+    That it was folly in me thou mayst say,
+    And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
+
+         Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the SOOTHSAYER, and other
+      Roman prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN
+
+    Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
+    The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
+    Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit
+    That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
+    Of you their captives, which ourself have granted;
+    So think of your estate.
+  LUCIUS. Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day
+    Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,  
+    We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd
+    Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
+    Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
+    May be call'd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth
+    A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.
+    Augustus lives to think on't; and so much
+    For my peculiar care. This one thing only
+    I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born,
+    Let him be ransom'd. Never master had
+    A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
+    So tender over his occasions, true,
+    So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join
+    With my request, which I'll make bold your Highness
+    Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm
+    Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir,
+    And spare no blood beside.
+  CYMBELINE. I have surely seen him;
+    His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
+    Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
+    And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore  
+    To say 'Live, boy.' Ne'er thank thy master. Live;
+    And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
+    Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
+    Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
+    The noblest ta'en.
+  IMOGEN. I humbly thank your Highness.
+  LUCIUS. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
+    And yet I know thou wilt.
+  IMOGEN. No, no! Alack,
+    There's other work in hand. I see a thing
+    Bitter to me as death; your life, good master,
+    Must shuffle for itself.
+  LUCIUS. The boy disdains me,
+    He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys
+    That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
+    Why stands he so perplex'd?
+  CYMBELINE. What wouldst thou, boy?
+    I love thee more and more; think more and more
+    What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak,
+    Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?  
+  IMOGEN. He is a Roman, no more kin to me
+    Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal,
+    Am something nearer.
+  CYMBELINE. Wherefore ey'st him so?
+  IMOGEN. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
+    To give me hearing.
+  CYMBELINE. Ay, with all my heart,
+    And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
+  IMOGEN. Fidele, sir.
+  CYMBELINE. Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
+    I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.
+                           [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]
+  BELARIUS. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
+  ARVIRAGUS. One sand another
+    Not more resembles- that sweet rosy lad
+    Who died and was Fidele. What think you?
+  GUIDERIUS. The same dead thing alive.
+  BELARIUS. Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear.
+    Creatures may be alike; were't he, I am sure
+    He would have spoke to us.  
+  GUIDERIUS. But we saw him dead.
+  BELARIUS. Be silent; let's see further.
+  PISANIO. [Aside] It is my mistress.
+    Since she is living, let the time run on
+    To good or bad.               [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN advance]
+  CYMBELINE. Come, stand thou by our side;
+    Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth;
+    Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
+    Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
+    Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
+    Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.
+  IMOGEN. My boon is that this gentleman may render
+    Of whom he had this ring.
+  POSTHUMUS. [Aside] What's that to him?
+  CYMBELINE. That diamond upon your finger, say
+    How came it yours?
+  IACHIMO. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
+    Which to be spoke would torture thee.
+  CYMBELINE. How? me?
+  IACHIMO. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that  
+    Which torments me to conceal. By villainy
+    I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel,
+    Whom thou didst banish; and- which more may grieve thee,
+    As it doth me- a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
+    'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?
+  CYMBELINE. All that belongs to this.
+  IACHIMO. That paragon, thy daughter,
+    For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits
+    Quail to remember- Give me leave, I faint.
+  CYMBELINE. My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength;
+    I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
+    Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.
+  IACHIMO. Upon a time- unhappy was the clock
+    That struck the hour!- was in Rome- accurs'd
+    The mansion where!- 'twas at a feast- O, would
+    Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
+    Those which I heav'd to head!- the good Posthumus-
+    What should I say? he was too good to be
+    Where ill men were, and was the best of all
+    Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly  
+    Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
+    For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
+    Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
+    The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva,
+    Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
+    A shop of all the qualities that man
+    Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,
+    Fairness which strikes the eye-
+  CYMBELINE. I stand on fire.
+    Come to the matter.
+  IACHIMO. All too soon I shall,
+    Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
+    Most like a noble lord in love and one
+    That had a royal lover, took his hint;
+    And not dispraising whom we prais'd- therein
+    He was as calm as virtue- he began
+    His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made,
+    And then a mind put in't, either our brags
+    Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
+    Prov'd us unspeaking sots.  
+  CYMBELINE. Nay, nay, to th' purpose.
+  IACHIMO. Your daughter's chastity- there it begins.
+    He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams
+    And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch,
+    Made scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him
+    Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
+    Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
+    In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring
+    By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
+    No lesser of her honour confident
+    Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
+    And would so, had it been a carbuncle
+    Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
+    Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
+    Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,
+    Remember me at court, where I was taught
+    Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
+    'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd
+    Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
+    Gan in your duller Britain operate  
+    Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
+    And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd
+    That I return'd with simular proof enough
+    To make the noble Leonatus mad,
+    By wounding his belief in her renown
+    With tokens thus and thus; averring notes
+    Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet-
+    O cunning, how I got it!- nay, some marks
+    Of secret on her person, that he could not
+    But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
+    I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon-
+    Methinks I see him now-
+  POSTHUMUS. [Coming forward] Ay, so thou dost,
+    Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
+    Egregious murderer, thief, anything
+    That's due to all the villains past, in being,
+    To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
+    Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out
+    For torturers ingenious. It is I
+    That all th' abhorred things o' th' earth amend  
+    By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
+    That kill'd thy daughter; villain-like, I lie-
+    That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
+    A sacrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
+    Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
+    Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
+    The dogs o' th' street to bay me. Every villain
+    Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and
+    Be villainy less than 'twas! O Imogen!
+    My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
+    Imogen, Imogen!
+  IMOGEN. Peace, my lord. Hear, hear!
+  POSTHUMUS. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
+    There lies thy part.                [Strikes her. She falls]
+  PISANIO. O gentlemen, help!
+    Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
+    You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help!
+    Mine honour'd lady!
+  CYMBELINE. Does the world go round?
+  POSTHUMUS. How comes these staggers on me?  
+  PISANIO. Wake, my mistress!
+  CYMBELINE. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
+    To death with mortal joy.
+  PISANIO. How fares my mistress?
+  IMOGEN. O, get thee from my sight;
+    Thou gav'st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!
+    Breathe not where princes are.
+  CYMBELINE. The tune of Imogen!
+  PISANIO. Lady,
+    The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
+    That box I gave you was not thought by me
+    A precious thing! I had it from the Queen.
+  CYMBELINE. New matter still?
+  IMOGEN. It poison'd me.
+  CORNELIUS. O gods!
+    I left out one thing which the Queen confess'd,
+    Which must approve thee honest. 'If Pisanio
+    Have' said she 'given his mistress that confection
+    Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
+    As I would serve a rat.'  
+  CYMBELINE. What's this, Cornelius?
+  CORNELIUS. The Queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
+    To temper poisons for her; still pretending
+    The satisfaction of her knowledge only
+    In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
+    Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose
+    Was of more danger, did compound for her
+    A certain stuff, which, being ta'en would cease
+    The present pow'r of life, but in short time
+    All offices of nature should again
+    Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
+  IMOGEN. Most like I did, for I was dead.
+  BELARIUS. My boys,
+    There was our error.
+  GUIDERIUS. This is sure Fidele.
+  IMOGEN. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
+    Think that you are upon a rock, and now
+    Throw me again.                              [Embracing him]
+  POSTHUMUS. Hang there like fruit, my soul,
+    Till the tree die!  
+  CYMBELINE. How now, my flesh? my child?
+    What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
+    Wilt thou not speak to me?
+  IMOGEN. [Kneeling] Your blessing, sir.
+  BELARIUS. [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS] Though you did love this
+      youth, I blame ye not;
+    You had a motive for't.
+  CYMBELINE. My tears that fall
+    Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
+    Thy mother's dead.
+  IMOGEN. I am sorry for't, my lord.
+  CYMBELINE. O, she was naught, and long of her it was
+    That we meet here so strangely; but her son
+    Is gone, we know not how nor where.
+  PISANIO. My lord,
+    Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
+    Upon my lady's missing, came to me
+    With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
+    If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
+    It was my instant death. By accident  
+    I had a feigned letter of my master's
+    Then in my pocket, which directed him
+    To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
+    Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
+    Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts
+    With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
+    My lady's honour. What became of him
+    I further know not.
+  GUIDERIUS. Let me end the story:
+    I slew him there.
+  CYMBELINE. Marry, the gods forfend!
+    I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
+    Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth,
+    Deny't again.
+  GUIDERIUS. I have spoke it, and I did it.
+  CYMBELINE. He was a prince.
+  GUIDERIUS. A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me
+    Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
+    With language that would make me spurn the sea,
+    If it could so roar to me. I cut off's head,  
+    And am right glad he is not standing here
+    To tell this tale of mine.
+  CYMBELINE. I am sorry for thee.
+    By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
+    Endure our law. Thou'rt dead.
+  IMOGEN. That headless man
+    I thought had been my lord.
+  CYMBELINE. Bind the offender,
+    And take him from our presence.
+  BELARIUS. Stay, sir King.
+    This man is better than the man he slew,
+    As well descended as thyself, and hath
+    More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
+    Had ever scar for. [To the guard] Let his arms alone;
+    They were not born for bondage.
+  CYMBELINE. Why, old soldier,
+    Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for
+    By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
+    As good as we?
+  ARVIRAGUS. In that he spake too far.  
+  CYMBELINE. And thou shalt die for't.
+  BELARIUS. We will die all three;
+    But I will prove that two on's are as good
+    As I have given out him. My sons, I must
+    For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
+    Though haply well for you.
+  ARVIRAGUS. Your danger's ours.
+  GUIDERIUS. And our good his.
+  BELARIUS. Have at it then by leave!
+    Thou hadst, great King, a subject who
+    Was call'd Belarius.
+  CYMBELINE. What of him? He is
+    A banish'd traitor.
+  BELARIUS. He it is that hath
+    Assum'd this age; indeed a banish'd man;
+    I know not how a traitor.
+  CYMBELINE. Take him hence,
+    The whole world shall not save him.
+  BELARIUS. Not too hot.
+    First pay me for the nursing of thy sons,  
+    And let it be confiscate all, so soon
+    As I have receiv'd it.
+  CYMBELINE. Nursing of my sons?
+  BELARIUS. I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee.
+    Ere I arise I will prefer my sons;
+    Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
+    These two young gentlemen that call me father,
+    And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
+    They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
+    And blood of your begetting.
+  CYMBELINE. How? my issue?
+  BELARIUS. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
+    Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd.
+    Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
+    Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
+    Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes-
+    For such and so they are- these twenty years
+    Have I train'd up; those arts they have as
+    Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as
+    Your Highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,  
+    Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
+    Upon my banishment; I mov'd her to't,
+    Having receiv'd the punishment before
+    For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty
+    Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
+    The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
+    Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
+    Here are your sons again, and I must lose
+    Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
+    The benediction of these covering heavens
+    Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
+    To inlay heaven with stars.
+  CYMBELINE. Thou weep'st and speak'st.
+    The service that you three have done is more
+    Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children.
+    If these be they, I know not how to wish
+    A pair of worthier sons.
+  BELARIUS. Be pleas'd awhile.
+    This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
+    Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius;  
+    This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
+    Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
+    In a most curious mantle, wrought by th' hand
+    Of his queen mother, which for more probation
+    I can with ease produce.
+  CYMBELINE. Guiderius had
+    Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
+    It was a mark of wonder.
+  BELARIUS. This is he,
+    Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
+    It was wise nature's end in the donation,
+    To be his evidence now.
+  CYMBELINE. O, what am I?
+    A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
+    Rejoic'd deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
+    That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
+    You may reign in them now! O Imogen,
+    Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
+  IMOGEN. No, my lord;
+    I have got two worlds by't. O my gentle brothers,  
+    Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
+    But I am truest speaker! You call'd me brother,
+    When I was but your sister: I you brothers,
+    When we were so indeed.
+  CYMBELINE. Did you e'er meet?
+  ARVIRAGUS. Ay, my good lord.
+  GUIDERIUS. And at first meeting lov'd,
+    Continu'd so until we thought he died.
+  CORNELIUS. By the Queen's dram she swallow'd.
+  CYMBELINE. O rare instinct!
+    When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgment
+    Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
+    Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv'd you?
+    And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
+    How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
+    Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
+    And your three motives to the battle, with
+    I know not how much more, should be demanded,
+    And all the other by-dependences,
+    From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place  
+    Will serve our long interrogatories. See,
+    Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;
+    And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
+    On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting
+    Each object with a joy; the counterchange
+    Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
+    And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
+    [To BELARIUS] Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.
+  IMOGEN. You are my father too, and did relieve me
+    To see this gracious season.
+  CYMBELINE. All o'erjoy'd
+    Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too,
+    For they shall taste our comfort.
+  IMOGEN. My good master,
+    I will yet do you service.
+  LUCIUS. Happy be you!
+  CYMBELINE. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
+    He would have well becom'd this place and grac'd
+    The thankings of a king.
+  POSTHUMUS. I am, sir,  
+    The soldier that did company these three
+    In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
+    The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
+    Speak, Iachimo. I had you down, and might
+    Have made you finish.
+  IACHIMO. [Kneeling] I am down again;
+    But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
+    As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
+    Which I so often owe; but your ring first,
+    And here the bracelet of the truest princess
+    That ever swore her faith.
+  POSTHUMUS. Kneel not to me.
+    The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you;
+    The malice towards you to forgive you. Live,
+    And deal with others better.
+  CYMBELINE. Nobly doom'd!
+    We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
+    Pardon's the word to all.
+  ARVIRAGUS. You holp us, sir,
+    As you did mean indeed to be our brother;  
+    Joy'd are we that you are.
+  POSTHUMUS. Your servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome,
+    Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought
+    Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
+    Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
+    Of mine own kindred. When I wak'd, I found
+    This label on my bosom; whose containing
+    Is so from sense in hardness that I can
+    Make no collection of it. Let him show
+    His skill in the construction.
+  LUCIUS. Philarmonus!
+  SOOTHSAYER. Here, my good lord.
+  LUCIUS. Read, and declare the meaning.
+  SOOTHSAYER. [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
+    unknown, without seeking find, and be embrac'd by
+    a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall
+    be lopp'd branches which, being dead many years, shall
+    after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow;
+    then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate
+    and flourish in peace and plenty.'  
+    Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
+    The fit and apt construction of thy name,
+    Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.
+    [To CYMBELINE] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
+    Which we call 'mollis aer,' and 'mollis aer'
+    We term it 'mulier'; which 'mulier' I divine
+    Is this most constant wife, who even now
+    Answering the letter of the oracle,
+    Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
+    With this most tender air.
+  CYMBELINE. This hath some seeming.
+  SOOTHSAYER. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
+    Personates thee; and thy lopp'd branches point
+    Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol'n,
+    For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
+    To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
+    Promises Britain peace and plenty.
+  CYMBELINE. Well,
+    My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
+    Although the victor, we submit to Caesar  
+    And to the Roman empire, promising
+    To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
+    We were dissuaded by our wicked queen,
+    Whom heavens in justice, both on her and hers,
+    Have laid most heavy hand.
+  SOOTHSAYER. The fingers of the pow'rs above do tune
+    The harmony of this peace. The vision
+    Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
+    Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant
+    Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
+    From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
+    Lessen'd herself and in the beams o' th' sun
+    So vanish'd; which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
+    Th'imperial Caesar, Caesar, should again unite
+    His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
+    Which shines here in the west.
+  CYMBELINE. Laud we the gods;
+    And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
+    From our bless'd altars. Publish we this peace
+    To all our subjects. Set we forward; let  
+    A Roman and a British ensign wave
+    Friendly together. So through Lud's Town march;
+    And in the temple of great Jupiter
+    Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
+    Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
+    Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.      Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+
+
+1604
+
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK
+
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  Claudius, King of Denmark.
+  Marcellus, Officer.
+  Hamlet, son to the former, and nephew to the present king.
+  Polonius, Lord Chamberlain.
+  Horatio, friend to Hamlet.
+  Laertes, son to Polonius.
+  Voltemand, courtier.
+  Cornelius, courtier.
+  Rosencrantz, courtier.
+  Guildenstern, courtier.
+  Osric, courtier.
+  A Gentleman, courtier.
+  A Priest.
+  Marcellus, officer.
+  Bernardo, officer.
+  Francisco, a soldier
+  Reynaldo, servant to Polonius.
+  Players.
+  Two Clowns, gravediggers.
+  Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.  
+  A Norwegian Captain.
+  English Ambassadors.
+
+  Getrude, Queen of Denmark, mother to Hamlet.
+  Ophelia, daughter to Polonius.
+
+  Ghost of Hamlet's Father.
+
+  Lords, ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, Attendants.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+SCENE.- Elsinore.
+
+
+ACT I. Scene I.
+Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.
+
+Enter two Sentinels-[first,] Francisco, [who paces up and down
+at his post; then] Bernardo, [who approaches him].
+
+  Ber. Who's there.?
+  Fran. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.
+  Ber. Long live the King!
+  Fran. Bernardo?
+  Ber. He.
+  Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.
+  Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.
+  Fran. For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold,
+    And I am sick at heart.
+  Ber. Have you had quiet guard?
+  Fran. Not a mouse stirring.
+  Ber. Well, good night.
+    If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
+    The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.
+
+                    Enter Horatio and Marcellus.  
+
+  Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there?
+  Hor. Friends to this ground.
+  Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.
+  Fran. Give you good night.
+  Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier.
+    Who hath reliev'd you?
+  Fran. Bernardo hath my place.
+    Give you good night.                                   Exit.
+  Mar. Holla, Bernardo!
+  Ber. Say-
+    What, is Horatio there ?
+  Hor. A piece of him.
+  Ber. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.
+  Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?
+  Ber. I have seen nothing.
+  Mar. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,
+    And will not let belief take hold of him
+    Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us.
+    Therefore I have entreated him along,  
+    With us to watch the minutes of this night,
+    That, if again this apparition come,
+    He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
+  Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
+  Ber. Sit down awhile,
+    And let us once again assail your ears,
+    That are so fortified against our story,
+    What we two nights have seen.
+  Hor. Well, sit we down,
+    And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
+  Ber. Last night of all,
+    When yond same star that's westward from the pole
+    Had made his course t' illume that part of heaven
+    Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
+    The bell then beating one-
+
+                        Enter Ghost.
+
+  Mar. Peace! break thee off! Look where it comes again!
+  Ber. In the same figure, like the King that's dead.  
+  Mar. Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
+  Ber. Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.
+  Hor. Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.
+  Ber. It would be spoke to.
+  Mar. Question it, Horatio.
+  Hor. What art thou that usurp'st this time of night
+    Together with that fair and warlike form
+    In which the majesty of buried Denmark
+    Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee speak!
+  Mar. It is offended.
+  Ber. See, it stalks away!
+  Hor. Stay! Speak, speak! I charge thee speak!
+                                                     Exit Ghost.
+  Mar. 'Tis gone and will not answer.
+  Ber. How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale.
+    Is not this something more than fantasy?
+    What think you on't?
+  Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe
+    Without the sensible and true avouch
+    Of mine own eyes.  
+  Mar. Is it not like the King?
+  Hor. As thou art to thyself.
+    Such was the very armour he had on
+    When he th' ambitious Norway combated.
+    So frown'd he once when, in an angry parle,
+    He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
+    'Tis strange.
+  Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
+    With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
+  Hor. In what particular thought to work I know not;
+    But, in the gross and scope of my opinion,
+    This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
+  Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me he that knows,
+    Why this same strict and most observant watch
+    So nightly toils the subject of the land,
+    And why such daily cast of brazen cannon
+    And foreign mart for implements of war;
+    Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
+    Does not divide the Sunday from the week.
+    What might be toward, that this sweaty haste  
+    Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day?
+    Who is't that can inform me?
+  Hor. That can I.
+    At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
+    Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
+    Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
+    Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
+    Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet
+    (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him)
+    Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact,
+    Well ratified by law and heraldry,
+    Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
+    Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror;
+    Against the which a moiety competent
+    Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
+    To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
+    Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same comart
+    And carriage of the article design'd,
+    His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
+    Of unimproved mettle hot and full,  
+    Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
+    Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
+    For food and diet, to some enterprise
+    That hath a stomach in't; which is no other,
+    As it doth well appear unto our state,
+    But to recover of us, by strong hand
+    And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
+    So by his father lost; and this, I take it,
+    Is the main motive of our preparations,
+    The source of this our watch, and the chief head
+    Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
+  Ber. I think it be no other but e'en so.
+    Well may it sort that this portentous figure
+    Comes armed through our watch, so like the King
+    That was and is the question of these wars.
+  Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
+    In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
+    A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
+    The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
+    Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;  
+    As stars with trains of fire, and dews of blood,
+    Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
+    Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
+    Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
+    And even the like precurse of fierce events,
+    As harbingers preceding still the fates
+    And prologue to the omen coming on,
+    Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
+    Unto our climature and countrymen.
+
+                      Enter Ghost again.
+
+    But soft! behold! Lo, where it comes again!
+    I'll cross it, though it blast me.- Stay illusion!
+                                               Spreads his arms.
+    If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
+    Speak to me.
+    If there be any good thing to be done,
+    That may to thee do ease, and, race to me,
+    Speak to me.  
+    If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
+    Which happily foreknowing may avoid,
+    O, speak!
+    Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
+    Extorted treasure in the womb of earth
+    (For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death),
+                                                 The cock crows.
+    Speak of it! Stay, and speak!- Stop it, Marcellus!
+  Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
+  Hor. Do, if it will not stand.
+  Ber. 'Tis here!
+  Hor. 'Tis here!
+  Mar. 'Tis gone!
+                                                     Exit Ghost.
+    We do it wrong, being so majestical,
+    To offer it the show of violence;
+    For it is as the air, invulnerable,
+    And our vain blows malicious mockery.
+  Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
+  Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing  
+    Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
+    The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
+    Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
+    Awake the god of day; and at his warning,
+    Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
+    Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies
+    To his confine; and of the truth herein
+    This present object made probation.
+  Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
+    Some say that ever, 'gainst that season comes
+    Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
+    The bird of dawning singeth all night long;
+    And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
+    The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
+    No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
+    So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
+  Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it.
+    But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
+    Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
+    Break we our watch up; and by my advice  
+    Let us impart what we have seen to-night
+    Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
+    This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
+    Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
+    As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
+    Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
+    Where we shall find him most conveniently.           Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle.
+
+Flourish. [Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet,
+Polonius, Laertes and his sister Ophelia, [Voltemand, Cornelius,]
+Lords Attendant.
+
+  King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
+    The memory be green, and that it us befitted
+    To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
+    To be contracted in one brow of woe,
+    Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
+    That we with wisest sorrow think on him
+    Together with remembrance of ourselves.
+    Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
+    Th' imperial jointress to this warlike state,
+    Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,
+    With an auspicious, and a dropping eye,
+    With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
+    In equal scale weighing delight and dole,
+    Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr'd
+    Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone  
+    With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
+    Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
+    Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
+    Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
+    Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
+    Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,
+    He hath not fail'd to pester us with message
+    Importing the surrender of those lands
+    Lost by his father, with all bands of law,
+    To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
+    Now for ourself and for this time of meeting.
+    Thus much the business is: we have here writ
+    To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
+    Who, impotent and bedrid, scarcely hears
+    Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress
+    His further gait herein, in that the levies,
+    The lists, and full proportions are all made
+    Out of his subject; and we here dispatch
+    You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand,
+    For bearers of this greeting to old Norway,  
+    Giving to you no further personal power
+    To business with the King, more than the scope
+    Of these dilated articles allow.            [Gives a paper.]
+    Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.
+  Cor., Volt. In that, and all things, will we show our duty.
+  King. We doubt it nothing. Heartily farewell.
+                                 Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius.
+    And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
+    You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?
+    You cannot speak of reason to the Dane
+    And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes,
+    That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
+    The head is not more native to the heart,
+    The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
+    Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
+    What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
+  Laer. My dread lord,
+    Your leave and favour to return to France;
+    From whence though willingly I came to Denmark
+    To show my duty in your coronation,  
+    Yet now I must confess, that duty done,
+    My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France
+    And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
+  King. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?
+  Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave
+    By laboursome petition, and at last
+    Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent.
+    I do beseech you give him leave to go.
+  King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes. Time be thine,
+    And thy best graces spend it at thy will!
+    But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son-
+  Ham. [aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind!
+  King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
+  Ham. Not so, my lord. I am too much i' th' sun.
+  Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
+    And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
+    Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
+    Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
+    Thou know'st 'tis common. All that lives must die,
+    Passing through nature to eternity.  
+  Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
+  Queen. If it be,
+    Why seems it so particular with thee?
+  Ham. Seems, madam, Nay, it is. I know not 'seems.'
+    'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
+    Nor customary suits of solemn black,
+    Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
+    No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
+    Nor the dejected havior of the visage,
+    Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,
+    'That can denote me truly. These indeed seem,
+    For they are actions that a man might play;
+    But I have that within which passeth show-
+    These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
+  King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
+    To give these mourning duties to your father;
+    But you must know, your father lost a father;
+    That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound
+    In filial obligation for some term
+    To do obsequious sorrow. But to persever  
+    In obstinate condolement is a course
+    Of impious stubbornness. 'Tis unmanly grief;
+    It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
+    A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
+    An understanding simple and unschool'd;
+    For what we know must be, and is as common
+    As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
+    Why should we in our peevish opposition
+    Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
+    A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
+    To reason most absurd, whose common theme
+    Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
+    From the first corse till he that died to-day,
+    'This must be so.' We pray you throw to earth
+    This unprevailing woe, and think of us
+    As of a father; for let the world take note
+    You are the most immediate to our throne,
+    And with no less nobility of love
+    Than that which dearest father bears his son
+    Do I impart toward you. For your intent  
+    In going back to school in Wittenberg,
+    It is most retrograde to our desire;
+    And we beseech you, bend you to remain
+    Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
+    Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
+  Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.
+    I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
+  Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
+  King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply.
+    Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come.
+    This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
+    Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof,
+    No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day
+    But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
+    And the King's rouse the heaven shall bruit again,
+    Respeaking earthly thunder. Come away.
+                                Flourish. Exeunt all but Hamlet.
+  Ham. O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
+    Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
+    Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd  
+    His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
+    How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
+    Seem to me all the uses of this world!
+    Fie on't! ah, fie! 'Tis an unweeded garden
+    That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
+    Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
+    But two months dead! Nay, not so much, not two.
+    So excellent a king, that was to this
+    Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
+    That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
+    Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
+    Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
+    As if increase of appetite had grown
+    By what it fed on; and yet, within a month-
+    Let me not think on't! Frailty, thy name is woman!-
+    A little month, or ere those shoes were old
+    With which she followed my poor father's body
+    Like Niobe, all tears- why she, even she
+    (O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason
+    Would have mourn'd longer) married with my uncle;  
+    My father's brother, but no more like my father
+    Than I to Hercules. Within a month,
+    Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
+    Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
+    She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
+    With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
+    It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
+    But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue!
+
+          Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.
+
+  Hor. Hail to your lordship!
+  Ham. I am glad to see you well.
+    Horatio!- or I do forget myself.
+  Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
+  Ham. Sir, my good friend- I'll change that name with you.
+    And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
+    Marcellus?
+  Mar. My good lord!
+  Ham. I am very glad to see you.- [To Bernardo] Good even, sir.-  
+    But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
+  Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
+  Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so,
+    Nor shall you do my ear that violence
+    To make it truster of your own report
+    Against yourself. I know you are no truant.
+    But what is your affair in Elsinore?
+    We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
+  Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
+  Ham. I prithee do not mock me, fellow student.
+    I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
+  Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
+  Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats
+    Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
+    Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
+    Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
+    My father- methinks I see my father.
+  Hor. O, where, my lord?
+  Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
+  Hor. I saw him once. He was a goodly king.  
+  Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all.
+    I shall not look upon his like again.
+  Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
+  Ham. Saw? who?
+  Hor. My lord, the King your father.
+  Ham. The King my father?
+  Hor. Season your admiration for a while
+    With an attent ear, till I may deliver
+    Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
+    This marvel to you.
+  Ham. For God's love let me hear!
+  Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen
+    (Marcellus and Bernardo) on their watch
+    In the dead vast and middle of the night
+    Been thus encount'red. A figure like your father,
+    Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,
+    Appears before them and with solemn march
+    Goes slow and stately by them. Thrice he walk'd
+    By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
+    Within his truncheon's length; whilst they distill'd  
+    Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
+    Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
+    In dreadful secrecy impart they did,
+    And I with them the third night kept the watch;
+    Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
+    Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
+    The apparition comes. I knew your father.
+    These hands are not more like.
+  Ham. But where was this?
+  Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
+  Ham. Did you not speak to it?
+  Hor. My lord, I did;
+    But answer made it none. Yet once methought
+    It lifted up it head and did address
+    Itself to motion, like as it would speak;
+    But even then the morning cock crew loud,
+    And at the sound it shrunk in haste away
+    And vanish'd from our sight.
+  Ham. 'Tis very strange.
+  Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;  
+    And we did think it writ down in our duty
+    To let you know of it.
+  Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs. But this troubles me.
+    Hold you the watch to-night?
+  Both [Mar. and Ber.] We do, my lord.
+  Ham. Arm'd, say you?
+  Both. Arm'd, my lord.
+  Ham. From top to toe?
+  Both. My lord, from head to foot.
+  Ham. Then saw you not his face?
+  Hor. O, yes, my lord! He wore his beaver up.
+  Ham. What, look'd he frowningly.
+  Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
+  Ham. Pale or red?
+  Hor. Nay, very pale.
+  Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?
+  Hor. Most constantly.
+  Ham. I would I had been there.
+  Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.
+  Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?  
+  Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
+  Both. Longer, longer.
+  Hor. Not when I saw't.
+  Ham. His beard was grizzled- no?
+  Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
+    A sable silver'd.
+  Ham. I will watch to-night.
+    Perchance 'twill walk again.
+  Hor. I warr'nt it will.
+  Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
+    I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
+    And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
+    If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
+    Let it be tenable in your silence still;
+    And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
+    Give it an understanding but no tongue.
+    I will requite your loves. So, fare you well.
+    Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
+    I'll visit you.
+  All. Our duty to your honour.  
+  Ham. Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell.
+                                        Exeunt [all but Hamlet].
+    My father's spirit- in arms? All is not well.
+    I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come!
+    Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise,
+    Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
+Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.
+
+Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
+
+  Laer. My necessaries are embark'd. Farewell.
+    And, sister, as the winds give benefit
+    And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
+    But let me hear from you.
+  Oph. Do you doubt that?
+  Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
+    Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;
+    A violet in the youth of primy nature,
+    Forward, not permanent- sweet, not lasting;
+    The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
+    No more.
+  Oph. No more but so?
+  Laer. Think it no more.
+    For nature crescent does not grow alone
+    In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,
+    The inward service of the mind and soul
+    Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,  
+    And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
+    The virtue of his will; but you must fear,
+    His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
+    For he himself is subject to his birth.
+    He may not, as unvalued persons do,
+    Carve for himself, for on his choice depends
+    The safety and health of this whole state,
+    And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
+    Unto the voice and yielding of that body
+    Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
+    It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
+    As he in his particular act and place
+    May give his saying deed; which is no further
+    Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
+    Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain
+    If with too credent ear you list his songs,
+    Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
+    To his unmast'red importunity.
+    Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,
+    And keep you in the rear of your affection,  
+    Out of the shot and danger of desire.
+    The chariest maid is prodigal enough
+    If she unmask her beauty to the moon.
+    Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes.
+    The canker galls the infants of the spring
+    Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd,
+    And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
+    Contagious blastments are most imminent.
+    Be wary then; best safety lies in fear.
+    Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
+  Oph. I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
+    As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
+    Do not as some ungracious pastors do,
+    Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
+    Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
+    Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
+    And recks not his own rede.
+  Laer. O, fear me not!
+
+                       Enter Polonius.  
+
+    I stay too long. But here my father comes.
+    A double blessing is a double grace;
+    Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
+  Pol. Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!
+    The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
+    And you are stay'd for. There- my blessing with thee!
+    And these few precepts in thy memory
+    Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
+    Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
+    Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar:
+    Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
+    Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel;
+    But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
+    Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
+    Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,
+    Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
+    Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
+    Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
+    Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,  
+    But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
+    For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
+    And they in France of the best rank and station
+    Are most select and generous, chief in that.
+    Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
+    For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
+    And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
+    This above all- to thine own self be true,
+    And it must follow, as the night the day,
+    Thou canst not then be false to any man.
+    Farewell. My blessing season this in thee!
+  Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
+  Pol. The time invites you. Go, your servants tend.
+  Laer. Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well
+    What I have said to you.
+  Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd,
+    And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
+  Laer. Farewell.                                          Exit.
+  Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
+  Oph. So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.  
+  Pol. Marry, well bethought!
+    'Tis told me he hath very oft of late
+    Given private time to you, and you yourself
+    Have of your audience been most free and bounteous.
+    If it be so- as so 'tis put on me,
+    And that in way of caution- I must tell you
+    You do not understand yourself so clearly
+    As it behooves my daughter and your honour.
+    What is between you? Give me up the truth.
+  Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
+    Of his affection to me.
+  Pol. Affection? Pooh! You speak like a green girl,
+    Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
+    Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
+  Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think,
+  Pol. Marry, I will teach you! Think yourself a baby
+    That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
+    Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly,
+    Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
+    Running it thus) you'll tender me a fool.  
+  Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
+    In honourable fashion.
+  Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it. Go to, go to!
+  Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
+    With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
+  Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks! I do know,
+    When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
+    Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, daughter,
+    Giving more light than heat, extinct in both
+    Even in their promise, as it is a-making,
+    You must not take for fire. From this time
+    Be something scanter of your maiden presence.
+    Set your entreatments at a higher rate
+    Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
+    Believe so much in him, that he is young,
+    And with a larger tether may he walk
+    Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
+    Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
+    Not of that dye which their investments show,
+    But mere implorators of unholy suits,  
+    Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
+    The better to beguile. This is for all:
+    I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth
+    Have you so slander any moment leisure
+    As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
+    Look to't, I charge you. Come your ways.
+  Oph. I shall obey, my lord.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+Elsinore. The platform before the Castle.
+
+Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.
+
+  Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
+  Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.
+  Ham. What hour now?
+  Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.
+  Mar. No, it is struck.
+  Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season
+    Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
+                   A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off.
+    What does this mean, my lord?
+  Ham. The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
+    Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring upspring reels,
+    And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
+    The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out
+    The triumph of his pledge.
+  Hor. Is it a custom?
+  Ham. Ay, marry, is't;
+    But to my mind, though I am native here  
+    And to the manner born, it is a custom
+    More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
+    This heavy-headed revel east and west
+    Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations;
+    They clip us drunkards and with swinish phrase
+    Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
+    From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
+    The pith and marrow of our attribute.
+    So oft it chances in particular men
+    That, for some vicious mole of nature in them,
+    As in their birth,- wherein they are not guilty,
+    Since nature cannot choose his origin,-
+    By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
+    Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
+    Or by some habit that too much o'erleavens
+    The form of plausive manners, that these men
+    Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
+    Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,
+    Their virtues else- be they as pure as grace,
+    As infinite as man may undergo-  
+    Shall in the general censure take corruption
+    From that particular fault. The dram of e'il
+    Doth all the noble substance often dout To his own scandal.
+
+                         Enter Ghost.
+
+  Hor. Look, my lord, it comes!
+  Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
+    Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
+    Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
+    Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
+    Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
+    That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
+    King, father, royal Dane. O, answer me?
+    Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell
+    Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
+    Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre
+    Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
+    Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws
+    To cast thee up again. What may this mean  
+    That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
+    Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,
+    Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
+    So horridly to shake our disposition
+    With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
+    Say, why is this? wherefore? What should we do?
+                                           Ghost beckons Hamlet.
+  Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
+    As if it some impartment did desire
+    To you alone.
+  Mar. Look with what courteous action
+    It waves you to a more removed ground.
+    But do not go with it!
+  Hor. No, by no means!
+  Ham. It will not speak. Then will I follow it.
+  Hor. Do not, my lord!
+  Ham. Why, what should be the fear?
+    I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
+    And for my soul, what can it do to that,
+    Being a thing immortal as itself?  
+    It waves me forth again. I'll follow it.
+  Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
+    Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
+    That beetles o'er his base into the sea,
+    And there assume some other, horrible form
+    Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
+    And draw you into madness? Think of it.
+    The very place puts toys of desperation,
+    Without more motive, into every brain
+    That looks so many fadoms to the sea
+    And hears it roar beneath.
+  Ham. It waves me still.
+    Go on. I'll follow thee.
+  Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
+  Ham. Hold off your hands!
+  Hor. Be rul'd. You shall not go.
+  Ham. My fate cries out
+    And makes each petty artire in this body
+    As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
+                                                [Ghost beckons.]  
+    Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
+    By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!-
+    I say, away!- Go on. I'll follow thee.
+                                        Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.
+  Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.
+  Mar. Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him.
+  Hor. Have after. To what issue wail this come?
+  Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
+  Hor. Heaven will direct it.
+  Mar. Nay, let's follow him.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Elsinore. The Castle. Another part of the fortifications.
+
+Enter Ghost and Hamlet.
+
+  Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak! I'll go no further.
+  Ghost. Mark me.
+  Ham. I will.
+  Ghost. My hour is almost come,
+    When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames
+    Must render up myself.
+  Ham. Alas, poor ghost!
+  Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
+    To what I shall unfold.
+  Ham. Speak. I am bound to hear.
+  Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
+  Ham. What?
+  Ghost. I am thy father's spirit,
+    Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
+    And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,
+    Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
+    Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid  
+    To tell the secrets of my prison house,
+    I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
+    Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
+    Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
+    Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
+    And each particular hair to stand an end
+    Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.
+    But this eternal blazon must not be
+    To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
+    If thou didst ever thy dear father love-
+  Ham. O God!
+  Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.
+  Ham. Murther?
+  Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best it is;
+    But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
+  Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift
+    As meditation or the thoughts of love,
+    May sweep to my revenge.
+  Ghost. I find thee apt;
+    And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed  
+    That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
+    Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.
+    'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
+    A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark
+    Is by a forged process of my death
+    Rankly abus'd. But know, thou noble youth,
+    The serpent that did sting thy father's life
+    Now wears his crown.
+  Ham. O my prophetic soul!
+    My uncle?
+  Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
+    With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts-
+    O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
+    So to seduce!- won to his shameful lust
+    The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.
+    O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there,
+    From me, whose love was of that dignity
+    That it went hand in hand even with the vow
+    I made to her in marriage, and to decline
+    Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor  
+    To those of mine!
+    But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
+    Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
+    So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
+    Will sate itself in a celestial bed
+    And prey on garbage.
+    But soft! methinks I scent the morning air.
+    Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
+    My custom always of the afternoon,
+    Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
+    With juice of cursed hebona in a vial,
+    And in the porches of my ears did pour
+    The leperous distilment; whose effect
+    Holds such an enmity with blood of man
+    That swift as quicksilverr it courses through
+    The natural gates and alleys of the body,
+    And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
+    And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
+    The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine;
+    And a most instant tetter bark'd about,  
+    Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust
+    All my smooth body.
+    Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
+    Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd;
+    Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
+    Unhous'led, disappointed, unanel'd,
+    No reckoning made, but sent to my account
+    With all my imperfections on my head.
+  Ham. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
+  Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not.
+    Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
+    A couch for luxury and damned incest.
+    But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,
+    Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
+    Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven,
+    And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge
+    To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once.
+    The glowworm shows the matin to be near
+    And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
+    Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me.                      Exit.  
+  Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?
+    And shall I couple hell? Hold, hold, my heart!
+    And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
+    But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee?
+    Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
+    In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
+    Yea, from the table of my memory
+    I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
+    All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past
+    That youth and observation copied there,
+    And thy commandment all alone shall live
+    Within the book and volume of my brain,
+    Unmix'd with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!
+    O most pernicious woman!
+    O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
+    My tables! Meet it is I set it down
+    That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
+    At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark.        [Writes.]
+    So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word:
+    It is 'Adieu, adieu! Remember me.'  
+    I have sworn't.
+  Hor. (within) My lord, my lord!
+
+                   Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
+
+  Mar. Lord Hamlet!
+  Hor. Heaven secure him!
+  Ham. So be it!
+  Mar. Illo, ho, ho, my lord!
+  Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.
+  Mar. How is't, my noble lord?
+  Hor. What news, my lord?
+  Mar. O, wonderful!
+  Hor. Good my lord, tell it.
+  Ham. No, you will reveal it.
+  Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven!
+  Mar. Nor I, my lord.
+  Ham. How say you then? Would heart of man once think it?
+    But you'll be secret?
+  Both. Ay, by heaven, my lord.  
+  Ham. There's neer a villain dwelling in all Denmark
+    But he's an arrant knave.
+  Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
+    To tell us this.
+  Ham. Why, right! You are in the right!
+    And so, without more circumstance at all,
+    I hold it fit that we shake hands and part;
+    You, as your business and desires shall point you,
+    For every man hath business and desire,
+    Such as it is; and for my own poor part,
+    Look you, I'll go pray.
+  Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
+  Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily;
+    Yes, faith, heartily.
+  Hor. There's no offence, my lord.
+  Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
+    And much offence too. Touching this vision here,
+    It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you.
+    For your desire to know what is between us,
+    O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good friends,  
+    As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
+    Give me one poor request.
+  Hor. What is't, my lord? We will.
+  Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night.
+  Both. My lord, we will not.
+  Ham. Nay, but swear't.
+  Hor. In faith,
+    My lord, not I.
+  Mar. Nor I, my lord- in faith.
+  Ham. Upon my sword.
+  Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already.
+  Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.
+
+                 Ghost cries under the stage.
+
+  Ghost. Swear.
+  Ham. Aha boy, say'st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny?
+    Come on! You hear this fellow in the cellarage.
+    Consent to swear.
+  Hor. Propose the oath, my lord.  
+  Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen.
+    Swear by my sword.
+  Ghost. [beneath] Swear.
+  Ham. Hic et ubique? Then we'll shift our ground.
+    Come hither, gentlemen,
+    And lay your hands again upon my sword.
+    Never to speak of this that you have heard:
+    Swear by my sword.
+  Ghost. [beneath] Swear by his sword.
+  Ham. Well said, old mole! Canst work i' th' earth so fast?
+    A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends."
+  Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
+  Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
+    There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
+    Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
+    But come!
+    Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
+    How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself
+    (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
+    To put an antic disposition on),  
+    That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
+    With arms encumb'red thus, or this head-shake,
+    Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
+    As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,'
+    Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an if they might,'
+    Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
+    That you know aught of me- this is not to do,
+    So grace and mercy at your most need help you,
+    Swear.
+  Ghost. [beneath] Swear.
+                                                   [They swear.]
+  Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen,
+    With all my love I do commend me to you;
+    And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
+    May do t' express his love and friending to you,
+    God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;
+    And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
+    The time is out of joint. O cursed spite
+    That ever I was born to set it right!
+    Nay, come, let's go together.  
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+Act II. Scene I.
+Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.
+
+Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.
+
+  Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.
+  Rey. I will, my lord.
+  Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo,
+    Before You visit him, to make inquire
+    Of his behaviour.
+  Rey. My lord, I did intend it.
+  Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,
+    Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
+    And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
+    What company, at what expense; and finding
+    By this encompassment and drift of question
+    That they do know my son, come you more nearer
+    Than your particular demands will touch it.
+    Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;
+    As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,
+    And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?
+  Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.  
+  Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well.
+    But if't be he I mean, he's very wild
+    Addicted so and so'; and there put on him
+    What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank
+    As may dishonour him- take heed of that;
+    But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips
+    As are companions noted and most known
+    To youth and liberty.
+  Rey. As gaming, my lord.
+  Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,
+    Drabbing. You may go so far.
+  Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.
+  Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge.
+    You must not put another scandal on him,
+    That he is open to incontinency.
+    That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly
+    That they may seem the taints of liberty,
+    The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
+    A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
+    Of general assault.  
+  Rey. But, my good lord-
+  Pol. Wherefore should you do this?
+  Rey. Ay, my lord,
+    I would know that.
+  Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift,
+    And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.
+    You laying these slight sullies on my son
+    As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,
+    Mark you,
+    Your party in converse, him you would sound,
+    Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
+    The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd
+    He closes with you in this consequence:
+    'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'-
+    According to the phrase or the addition
+    Of man and country-
+  Rey. Very good, my lord.
+  Pol. And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about to say?
+    By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave?
+  Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and  
+    gentleman.'
+  Pol. At 'closes in the consequence'- Ay, marry!
+    He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman.
+    I saw him yesterday, or t'other day,
+    Or then, or then, with such or such; and, as you say,
+    There was 'a gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;
+    There falling out at tennis'; or perchance,
+    'I saw him enter such a house of sale,'
+    Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.
+    See you now-
+    Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;
+    And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
+    With windlasses and with assays of bias,
+    By indirections find directions out.
+    So, by my former lecture and advice,
+    Shall you my son. You have me, have you not
+  Rey. My lord, I have.
+  Pol. God b' wi' ye, fare ye well!
+  Rey. Good my lord!                                    [Going.]
+  Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself.  
+  Rey. I shall, my lord.
+  Pol. And let him ply his music.
+  Rey. Well, my lord.
+  Pol. Farewell!
+                                                  Exit Reynaldo.
+
+                       Enter Ophelia.
+
+    How now, Ophelia? What's the matter?
+  Oph. O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
+  Pol. With what, i' th' name of God I
+  Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
+    Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,
+    No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,
+    Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle;
+    Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
+    And with a look so piteous in purport
+    As if he had been loosed out of hell
+    To speak of horrors- he comes before me.
+  Pol. Mad for thy love?  
+  Oph. My lord, I do not know,
+    But truly I do fear it.
+  Pol. What said he?
+  Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
+    Then goes he to the length of all his arm,
+    And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
+    He falls to such perusal of my face
+    As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so.
+    At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
+    And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
+    He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound
+    As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
+    And end his being. That done, he lets me go,
+    And with his head over his shoulder turn'd
+    He seem'd to find his way without his eyes,
+    For out o' doors he went without their help
+    And to the last bended their light on me.
+  Pol. Come, go with me. I will go seek the King.
+    This is the very ecstasy of love,
+    Whose violent property fordoes itself  
+    And leads the will to desperate undertakings
+    As oft as any passion under heaven
+    That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.
+    What, have you given him any hard words of late?
+  Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
+    I did repel his letters and denied
+    His access to me.
+  Pol. That hath made him mad.
+    I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
+    I had not quoted him. I fear'd he did but trifle
+    And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousy!
+    By heaven, it is as proper to our age
+    To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
+    As it is common for the younger sort
+    To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.
+    This must be known; which, being kept close, might move
+    More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
+    Come.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+Scene II.
+Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
+
+Flourish. [Enter King and Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, cum aliis.
+
+  King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
+    Moreover that we much did long to see you,
+    The need we have to use you did provoke
+    Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
+    Of Hamlet's transformation. So I call it,
+    Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man
+    Resembles that it was. What it should be,
+    More than his father's death, that thus hath put him
+    So much from th' understanding of himself,
+    I cannot dream of. I entreat you both
+    That, being of so young clays brought up with him,
+    And since so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour,
+    That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
+    Some little time; so by your companies
+    To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather
+    So much as from occasion you may glean,  
+    Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus
+    That, open'd, lies within our remedy.
+  Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you,
+    And sure I am two men there are not living
+    To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
+    To show us so much gentry and good will
+    As to expend your time with us awhile
+    For the supply and profit of our hope,
+    Your visitation shall receive such thanks
+    As fits a king's remembrance.
+  Ros. Both your Majesties
+    Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
+    Put your dread pleasures more into command
+    Than to entreaty.
+  Guil. But we both obey,
+    And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,
+    To lay our service freely at your feet,
+    To be commanded.
+  King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.
+  Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.  
+    And I beseech you instantly to visit
+    My too much changed son.- Go, some of you,
+    And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
+  Guil. Heavens make our presence and our practices
+    Pleasant and helpful to him!
+  Queen. Ay, amen!
+                 Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, [with some
+                                                    Attendants].
+
+                         Enter Polonius.
+
+  Pol. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
+    Are joyfully return'd.
+  King. Thou still hast been the father of good news.
+  Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,
+    I hold my duty as I hold my soul,
+    Both to my God and to my gracious king;
+    And I do think- or else this brain of mine
+    Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
+    As it hath us'd to do- that I have found  
+    The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
+  King. O, speak of that! That do I long to hear.
+  Pol. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors.
+    My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
+  King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
+                                                [Exit Polonius.]
+    He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
+    The head and source of all your son's distemper.
+  Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main,
+    His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage.
+  King. Well, we shall sift him.
+
+              Enter Polonius, Voltemand, and Cornelius.
+
+    Welcome, my good friends.
+    Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway?
+  Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires.
+    Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
+    His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd
+    To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack,  
+    But better look'd into, he truly found
+    It was against your Highness; whereat griev'd,
+    That so his sickness, age, and impotence
+    Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests
+    On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys,
+    Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine,
+    Makes vow before his uncle never more
+    To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty.
+    Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
+    Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee
+    And his commission to employ those soldiers,
+    So levied as before, against the Polack;
+    With an entreaty, herein further shown,
+                                                [Gives a paper.]
+    That it might please you to give quiet pass
+    Through your dominions for this enterprise,
+    On such regards of safety and allowance
+    As therein are set down.
+  King. It likes us well;
+    And at our more consider'd time we'll read,  
+    Answer, and think upon this business.
+    Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour.
+    Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together.
+    Most welcome home!                       Exeunt Ambassadors.
+  Pol. This business is well ended.
+    My liege, and madam, to expostulate
+    What majesty should be, what duty is,
+    Why day is day, night is night, and time is time.
+    Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
+    Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
+    And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
+    I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
+    Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
+    What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
+    But let that go.
+  Queen. More matter, with less art.
+  Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
+    That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity;
+    And pity 'tis 'tis true. A foolish figure!
+    But farewell it, for I will use no art.  
+    Mad let us grant him then. And now remains
+    That we find out the cause of this effect-
+    Or rather say, the cause of this defect,
+    For this effect defective comes by cause.
+    Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.
+    Perpend.
+    I have a daughter (have while she is mine),
+    Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
+    Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.
+                                             [Reads] the letter.
+    'To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified
+      Ophelia,'-
+
+    That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is a vile
+      phrase.
+    But you shall hear. Thus:
+                                                        [Reads.]
+    'In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.'
+  Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?
+  Pol. Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful.     [Reads.]  
+
+          'Doubt thou the stars are fire;
+            Doubt that the sun doth move;
+          Doubt truth to be a liar;
+            But never doubt I love.
+      'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to
+    reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe
+    it. Adieu.
+      'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him,
+                                                          HAMLET.'
+
+    This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me;
+    And more above, hath his solicitings,
+    As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
+    All given to mine ear.
+  King. But how hath she
+    Receiv'd his love?
+  Pol. What do you think of me?
+  King. As of a man faithful and honourable.
+  Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you think,  
+    When I had seen this hot love on the wing
+    (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that,
+    Before my daughter told me), what might you,
+    Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think,
+    If I had play'd the desk or table book,
+    Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,
+    Or look'd upon this love with idle sight?
+    What might you think? No, I went round to work
+    And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
+    'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star.
+    This must not be.' And then I prescripts gave her,
+    That she should lock herself from his resort,
+    Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
+    Which done, she took the fruits of my advice,
+    And he, repulsed, a short tale to make,
+    Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
+    Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,
+    Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
+    Into the madness wherein now he raves,
+    And all we mourn for.  
+  King. Do you think 'tis this?
+  Queen. it may be, very like.
+  Pol. Hath there been such a time- I would fain know that-
+    That I have Positively said ''Tis so,'
+    When it prov'd otherwise.?
+  King. Not that I know.
+  Pol. [points to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if this
+      be otherwise.
+    If circumstances lead me, I will find
+    Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
+    Within the centre.
+  King. How may we try it further?
+  Pol. You know sometimes he walks four hours together
+    Here in the lobby.
+  Queen. So he does indeed.
+  Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him.
+    Be you and I behind an arras then.
+    Mark the encounter. If he love her not,
+    And he not from his reason fall'n thereon
+    Let me be no assistant for a state,  
+    But keep a farm and carters.
+  King. We will try it.
+
+                 Enter Hamlet, reading on a book.
+
+  Queen. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
+  Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away
+    I'll board him presently. O, give me leave.
+                       Exeunt King and Queen, [with Attendants].
+    How does my good Lord Hamlet?
+  Ham. Well, God-a-mercy.
+  Pol. Do you know me, my lord?
+  Ham. Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
+  Pol. Not I, my lord.
+  Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man.
+  Pol. Honest, my lord?
+  Ham. Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man
+    pick'd out of ten thousand.
+  Pol. That's very true, my lord.
+  Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god  
+    kissing carrion- Have you a daughter?
+  Pol. I have, my lord.
+  Ham. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but not
+    as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.
+  Pol. [aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet
+    he knew me not at first. He said I was a fishmonger. He is far
+    gone, far gone! And truly in my youth I suff'red much extremity
+    for love- very near this. I'll speak to him again.- What do you
+    read, my lord?
+  Ham. Words, words, words.
+  Pol. What is the matter, my lord?
+  Ham. Between who?
+  Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
+  Ham. Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says here that old men
+    have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes
+    purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a
+    plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams. All which,
+    sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it
+    not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir,
+    should be old as I am if, like a crab, you could go backward.  
+  Pol. [aside] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't.-
+   Will You walk out of the air, my lord?
+  Ham. Into my grave?
+  Pol. Indeed, that is out o' th' air. [Aside] How pregnant sometimes
+    his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which
+    reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I
+    will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between
+    him and my daughter.- My honourable lord, I will most humbly take
+    my leave of you.
+  Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more
+    willingly part withal- except my life, except my life, except my
+    life,
+
+                    Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
+
+  Pol. Fare you well, my lord.
+  Ham. These tedious old fools!
+  Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. There he is.
+  Ros. [to Polonius] God save you, sir!
+                                                Exit [Polonius].  
+  Guil. My honour'd lord!
+  Ros. My most dear lord!
+  Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah,
+    Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both?
+  Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth.
+  Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy.
+    On Fortune's cap we are not the very button.
+  Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe?
+  Ros. Neither, my lord.
+  Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her
+    favours?
+  Guil. Faith, her privates we.
+  Ham. In the secret parts of Fortune? O! most true! she is a
+    strumpet. What news ?
+  Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
+  Ham. Then is doomsday near! But your news is not true. Let me
+    question more in particular. What have you, my good friends,
+    deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison
+    hither?
+  Guil. Prison, my lord?  
+  Ham. Denmark's a prison.
+  Ros. Then is the world one.
+  Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and
+    dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst.
+  Ros. We think not so, my lord.
+  Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good
+    or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.
+  Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for your
+    mind.
+  Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a
+    king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
+  Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance of
+    the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
+  Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.
+  Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that
+    it is but a shadow's shadow.
+  Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch'd
+    heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to th' court? for, by my
+    fay, I cannot reason.
+  Both. We'll wait upon you.  
+  Ham. No such matter! I will not sort you with the rest of my
+    servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most
+    dreadfully attended. But in the beaten way of friendship, what
+    make you at Elsinore?
+  Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.
+  Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you;
+    and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were
+    you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free
+    visitation? Come, deal justly with me. Come, come! Nay, speak.
+  Guil. What should we say, my lord?
+  Ham. Why, anything- but to th' purpose. You were sent for; and
+    there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties
+    have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen
+    have sent for you.
+  Ros. To what end, my lord?
+  Ham. That you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the rights
+    of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the
+    obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a
+    better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with
+    me, whether you were sent for or no.  
+  Ros. [aside to Guildenstern] What say you?
+  Ham. [aside] Nay then, I have an eye of you.- If you love me, hold
+    not off.
+  Guil. My lord, we were sent for.
+  Ham. I will tell you why. So shall my anticipation prevent your
+    discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no
+    feather. I have of late- but wherefore I know not- lost all my
+    mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so
+    heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth,
+    seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the
+    air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical
+    roof fretted with golden fire- why, it appeareth no other thing
+    to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a
+    piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in
+    faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in
+    action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the
+    beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to me what
+    is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me- no, nor woman
+    neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
+  Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.  
+  Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'?
+  Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten
+    entertainment the players shall receive from you. We coted them
+    on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service.
+  Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome- his Majesty shall
+    have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and
+    target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall
+    end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose
+    lungs are tickle o' th' sere; and the lady shall say her mind
+    freely, or the blank verse shall halt fort. What players are
+    they?
+  Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the
+    tragedians of the city.
+  Ham. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in
+    reputation and profit, was better both ways.
+  Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late
+    innovation.
+  Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the
+    city? Are they so follow'd?
+  Ros. No indeed are they not.  
+  Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty?
+  Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is,
+    sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top
+    of question and are most tyrannically clapp'd fort. These are now
+    the fashion, and so berattle the common stages (so they call
+    them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills and
+    dare scarce come thither.
+  Ham. What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they
+    escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can
+    sing? Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow
+    themselves to common players (as it is most like, if their means
+    are no better), their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim
+    against their own succession.
+  Ros. Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation
+    holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was, for a
+    while, no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player
+    went to cuffs in the question.
+  Ham. Is't possible?
+  Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of brains.
+  Ham. Do the boys carry it away?  
+  Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord- Hercules and his load too.
+  Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and
+    those that would make mows at him while my father lived give
+    twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in
+    little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if
+    philosophy could find it out.
+
+                     Flourish for the Players.
+
+  Guil. There are the players.
+  Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come! Th'
+    appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply
+    with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players (which I
+    tell you must show fairly outwards) should more appear like
+    entertainment than yours. You are welcome. But my uncle-father
+    and aunt-mother are deceiv'd.
+  Guil. In what, my dear lord?
+  Ham. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I
+    know a hawk from a handsaw.
+  
+                            Enter Polonius.
+
+  Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen!
+  Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern- and you too- at each ear a hearer!
+    That great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling
+    clouts.
+  Ros. Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say an old
+    man is twice a child.
+  Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it.-
+   You say right, sir; a Monday morning; twas so indeed.
+  Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you.
+  Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in
+    Rome-
+  Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord.
+  Ham. Buzz, buzz!
+  Pol. Upon my honour-
+  Ham. Then came each actor on his ass-
+  Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy,
+    history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral,
+    tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral; scene  
+    individable, or poem unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor
+    Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are
+    the only men.
+  Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!
+  Pol. What treasure had he, my lord?
+  Ham. Why,
+
+         'One fair daughter, and no more,
+           The which he loved passing well.'
+
+  Pol. [aside] Still on my daughter.
+  Ham. Am I not i' th' right, old Jephthah?
+  Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I
+    love passing well.
+  Ham. Nay, that follows not.
+  Pol. What follows then, my lord?
+  Ham. Why,
+
+           'As by lot, God wot,'
+
+ and then, you know,
+  
+           'It came to pass, as most like it was.'
+
+    The first row of the pious chanson will show you more; for look
+    where my abridgment comes.
+
+                     Enter four or five Players.
+
+    You are welcome, masters; welcome, all.- I am glad to see thee
+    well.- Welcome, good friends.- O, my old friend? Why, thy face is
+    valanc'd since I saw thee last. Com'st' thou to' beard me in
+    Denmark?- What, my young lady and mistress? By'r Lady, your
+    ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the
+    altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a piece of
+    uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring.- Masters, you are
+    all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at
+    anything we see. We'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a
+    taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech.
+  1. Play. What speech, my good lord?
+  Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted;
+    or if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember, pleas'd  
+    not the million, 'twas caviary to the general; but it was (as I
+    receiv'd it, and others, whose judgments in such matters cried in
+    the top of mine) an excellent play, well digested in the scenes,
+    set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember one said
+    there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury,
+    nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of
+    affectation; but call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as
+    sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in't
+    I chiefly lov'd. 'Twas AEneas' tale to Dido, and thereabout of it
+    especially where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in
+    your memory, begin at this line- let me see, let me see:
+
+         'The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast-'
+
+    'Tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus:
+
+         'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
+         Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
+         When he lay couched in the ominous horse,
+         Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd  
+         With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot
+         Now is be total gules, horridly trick'd
+         With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
+         Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets,
+         That lend a tyrannous and a damned light
+         To their lord's murther. Roasted in wrath and fire,
+         And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore,
+         With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
+         Old grandsire Priam seeks.'
+
+    So, proceed you.
+  Pol. Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good
+     discretion.
+
+  1. Play. 'Anon he finds him,
+      Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword,
+      Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
+      Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd,
+      Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
+      But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword  
+      Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
+      Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
+      Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
+      Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo! his sword,
+      Which was declining on the milky head
+      Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' th' air to stick.
+      So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
+      And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
+      Did nothing.
+      But, as we often see, against some storm,
+      A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
+      The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
+      As hush as death- anon the dreadful thunder
+      Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause,
+      Aroused vengeance sets him new awork;
+      And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
+      On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
+      With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
+      Now falls on Priam.
+      Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods,  
+      In general synod take away her power;
+      Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
+      And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
+      As low as to the fiends!
+
+  Pol. This is too long.
+  Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard.- Prithee say on.
+    He's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on; come to
+    Hecuba.
+
+  1. Play. 'But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen-'
+
+  Ham. 'The mobled queen'?
+  Pol. That's good! 'Mobled queen' is good.
+
+  1. Play. 'Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames
+      With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head
+      Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
+      About her lank and all o'erteemed loins,
+      A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up-  
+      Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd
+      'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd.
+      But if the gods themselves did see her then,
+      When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
+      In Mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,
+      The instant burst of clamour that she made
+      (Unless things mortal move them not at all)
+      Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven
+      And passion in the gods.'
+
+  Pol. Look, whe'r he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's
+    eyes. Prithee no more!
+  Ham. 'Tis well. I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.-
+    Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd? Do you
+    hear? Let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract and brief
+    chronicles of the time. After your death you were better have a
+    bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
+  Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
+  Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better! Use every man after his
+    desert, and who should scape whipping? Use them after your own  
+    honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in
+    your bounty. Take them in.
+  Pol. Come, sirs.
+  Ham. Follow him, friends. We'll hear a play to-morrow.
+                 Exeunt Polonius and Players [except the First].
+    Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play 'The Murther of
+    Gonzago'?
+  1. Play. Ay, my lord.
+  Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a
+    speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down and
+    insert in't, could you not?
+  1. Play. Ay, my lord.
+  Ham. Very well. Follow that lord- and look you mock him not.
+                                            [Exit First Player.]
+    My good friends, I'll leave you till night. You are welcome to
+    Elsinore.
+  Ros. Good my lord!
+  Ham. Ay, so, God b' wi' ye!
+                            [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
+    Now I am alone.  
+    O what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
+    Is it not monstrous that this player here,
+    But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
+    Could force his soul so to his own conceit
+    That, from her working, all his visage wann'd,
+    Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
+    A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
+    With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!
+    For Hecuba!
+    What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
+    That he should weep for her? What would he do,
+    Had he the motive and the cue for passion
+    That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
+    And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
+    Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
+    Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
+    The very faculties of eyes and ears.
+    Yet I,
+    A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak
+    Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,  
+    And can say nothing! No, not for a king,
+    Upon whose property and most dear life
+    A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
+    Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
+    Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
+    Tweaks me by th' nose? gives me the lie i' th' throat
+    As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this, ha?
+    'Swounds, I should take it! for it cannot be
+    But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
+    To make oppression bitter, or ere this
+    I should have fatted all the region kites
+    With this slave's offal. Bloody bawdy villain!
+    Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
+    O, vengeance!
+    Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
+    That I, the son of a dear father murther'd,
+    Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
+    Must (like a whore) unpack my heart with words
+    And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
+    A scullion!  
+    Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! Hum, I have heard
+    That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
+    Have by the very cunning of the scene
+    Been struck so to the soul that presently
+    They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
+    For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
+    With most miraculous organ, I'll have these Players
+    Play something like the murther of my father
+    Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks;
+    I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench,
+    I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
+    May be a devil; and the devil hath power
+    T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
+    Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
+    As he is very potent with such spirits,
+    Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
+    More relative than this. The play's the thing
+    Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.         Exit.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT III. Scene I.
+Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
+
+Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords.
+
+  King. And can you by no drift of circumstance
+    Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
+    Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
+    With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
+  Ros. He does confess he feels himself distracted,
+    But from what cause he will by no means speak.
+  Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
+    But with a crafty madness keeps aloof
+    When we would bring him on to some confession
+    Of his true state.
+  Queen. Did he receive you well?
+  Ros. Most like a gentleman.
+  Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition.
+  Ros. Niggard of question, but of our demands
+    Most free in his reply.
+  Queen. Did you assay him  
+    To any pastime?
+  Ros. Madam, it so fell out that certain players
+    We o'erraught on the way. Of these we told him,
+    And there did seem in him a kind of joy
+    To hear of it. They are here about the court,
+    And, as I think, they have already order
+    This night to play before him.
+  Pol. 'Tis most true;
+    And he beseech'd me to entreat your Majesties
+    To hear and see the matter.
+  King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me
+    To hear him so inclin'd.
+    Good gentlemen, give him a further edge
+    And drive his purpose on to these delights.
+  Ros. We shall, my lord.
+                            Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
+  King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
+    For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
+    That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
+    Affront Ophelia.  
+    Her father and myself (lawful espials)
+    Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen,
+    We may of their encounter frankly judge
+    And gather by him, as he is behav'd,
+    If't be th' affliction of his love, or no,
+    That thus he suffers for.
+  Queen. I shall obey you;
+    And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish
+    That your good beauties be the happy cause
+    Of Hamlet's wildness. So shall I hope your virtues
+    Will bring him to his wonted way again,
+    To both your honours.
+  Oph. Madam, I wish it may.
+                                                   [Exit Queen.]
+  Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.- Gracious, so please you,
+    We will bestow ourselves.- [To Ophelia] Read on this book,
+    That show of such an exercise may colour
+    Your loneliness.- We are oft to blame in this,
+    'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage
+    And pious action we do sugar o'er  
+    The Devil himself.
+  King. [aside] O, 'tis too true!
+    How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
+    The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art,
+    Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
+    Than is my deed to my most painted word.
+    O heavy burthen!
+  Pol. I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord.
+                                      Exeunt King and Polonius].
+
+                           Enter Hamlet.
+
+  Ham. To be, or not to be- that is the question:
+    Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
+    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
+    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
+    And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep-
+    No more; and by a sleep to say we end
+    The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
+    That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation  
+    Devoutly to be wish'd. To die- to sleep.
+    To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!
+    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
+    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
+    Must give us pause. There's the respect
+    That makes calamity of so long life.
+    For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
+    Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
+    The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
+    The insolence of office, and the spurns
+    That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
+    When he himself might his quietus make
+    With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,
+    To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
+    But that the dread of something after death-
+    The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
+    No traveller returns- puzzles the will,
+    And makes us rather bear those ills we have
+    Than fly to others that we know not of?
+    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,  
+    And thus the native hue of resolution
+    Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
+    And enterprises of great pith and moment
+    With this regard their currents turn awry
+    And lose the name of action.- Soft you now!
+    The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons
+    Be all my sins rememb'red.
+  Oph. Good my lord,
+    How does your honour for this many a day?
+  Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well.
+  Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours
+    That I have longed long to re-deliver.
+    I pray you, now receive them.
+  Ham. No, not I!
+    I never gave you aught.
+  Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well you did,
+    And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd
+    As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost,
+    Take these again; for to the noble mind
+    Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.  
+    There, my lord.
+  Ham. Ha, ha! Are you honest?
+  Oph. My lord?
+  Ham. Are you fair?
+  Oph. What means your lordship?
+  Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no
+    discourse to your beauty.
+  Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
+  Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform
+    honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can
+    translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox,
+    but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.
+  Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
+  Ham. You should not have believ'd me; for virtue cannot so
+    inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you
+    not.
+  Oph. I was the more deceived.
+  Ham. Get thee to a nunnery! Why wouldst thou be a breeder of
+    sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse
+    me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me.  
+    I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my
+    beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give
+    them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I
+    do, crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all;
+    believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your
+    father?
+  Oph. At home, my lord.
+  Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool
+    nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
+  Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens!
+  Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry:
+    be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape
+    calumny. Get thee to a nunnery. Go, farewell. Or if thou wilt
+    needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what
+    monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; and quickly too.
+    Farewell.
+  Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him!
+  Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath
+    given you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig, you
+    amble, and you lisp; you nickname God's creatures and make your  
+    wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! it hath made
+    me mad. I say, we will have no moe marriages. Those that are
+    married already- all but one- shall live; the rest shall keep as
+    they are. To a nunnery, go.                            Exit.
+  Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
+    The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword,
+    Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
+    The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
+    Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down!
+    And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
+    That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
+    Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
+    Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
+    That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
+    Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
+    T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
+
+                   Enter King and Polonius.
+
+  King. Love? his affections do not that way tend;  
+    Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little,
+    Was not like madness. There's something in his soul
+    O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
+    And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
+    Will be some danger; which for to prevent,
+    I have in quick determination
+    Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England
+    For the demand of our neglected tribute.
+    Haply the seas, and countries different,
+    With variable objects, shall expel
+    This something-settled matter in his heart,
+    Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
+    From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
+  Pol. It shall do well. But yet do I believe
+    The origin and commencement of his grief
+    Sprung from neglected love.- How now, Ophelia?
+    You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said.
+    We heard it all.- My lord, do as you please;
+    But if you hold it fit, after the play
+    Let his queen mother all alone entreat him  
+    To show his grief. Let her be round with him;
+    And I'll be plac'd so please you, in the ear
+    Of all their conference. If she find him not,
+    To England send him; or confine him where
+    Your wisdom best shall think.
+  King. It shall be so.
+    Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Elsinore. hall in the Castle.
+
+Enter Hamlet and three of the Players.
+
+  Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you,
+    trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our
+    players do, I had as live the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do
+    not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all
+    gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say)
+    whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a
+    temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the
+    soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to
+    tatters, to very rags, to split the cars of the groundlings, who
+    (for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb
+    shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipp'd for o'erdoing
+    Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.
+  Player. I warrant your honour.
+  Ham. Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your
+    tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with
+    this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of
+    nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing,  
+    whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as
+    'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show Virtue her own feature,
+    scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his
+    form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though
+    it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious
+    grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance
+    o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I
+    have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly (not to
+    speak it profanely), that, neither having the accent of
+    Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so
+    strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's
+    journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated
+    humanity so abominably.
+  Player. I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir.
+  Ham. O, reform it altogether! And let those that play your clowns
+    speak no more than is set down for them. For there be of them
+    that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren
+    spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time some necessary
+    question of the play be then to be considered. That's villanous
+    and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go  
+    make you ready.
+                                                 Exeunt Players.
+
+            Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.
+
+    How now, my lord? Will the King hear this piece of work?
+  Pol. And the Queen too, and that presently.
+  Ham. Bid the players make haste, [Exit Polonius.] Will you two
+    help to hasten them?
+  Both. We will, my lord.                       Exeunt they two.
+  Ham. What, ho, Horatio!
+
+                      Enter Horatio.
+
+  Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service.
+  Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
+    As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.
+  Hor. O, my dear lord!
+  Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter;
+    For what advancement may I hope from thee,  
+    That no revenue hast but thy good spirits
+    To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?
+    No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
+    And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
+    Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
+    Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
+    And could of men distinguish, her election
+    Hath scald thee for herself. For thou hast been
+    As one, in suff'ring all, that suffers nothing;
+    A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards
+    Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blest are those
+    Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled
+    That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
+    To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
+    That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
+    In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
+    As I do thee. Something too much of this I
+    There is a play to-night before the King.
+    One scene of it comes near the circumstance,
+    Which I have told thee, of my father's death.  
+    I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot,
+    Even with the very comment of thy soul
+    Observe my uncle. If his occulted guilt
+    Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
+    It is a damned ghost that we have seen,
+    And my imaginations are as foul
+    As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note;
+    For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,
+    And after we will both our judgments join
+    In censure of his seeming.
+  Hor. Well, my lord.
+    If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,
+    And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
+
+    Sound a flourish. [Enter Trumpets and Kettledrums. Danish
+    march. [Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz,
+      Guildenstern, and other Lords attendant, with the Guard
+                       carrying torches.
+
+  Ham. They are coming to the play. I must be idle.  
+    Get you a place.
+  King. How fares our cousin Hamlet?
+  Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish. I eat the air,
+    promise-cramm'd. You cannot feed capons so.
+  King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet. These words are not
+    mine.
+  Ham. No, nor mine now. [To Polonius] My lord, you play'd once
+    i' th' university, you say?
+  Pol. That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.
+  Ham. What did you enact?
+  Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' th' Capitol; Brutus
+    kill'd me.
+  Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be
+    the players ready.
+  Ros. Ay, my lord. They stay upon your patience.
+  Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
+  Ham. No, good mother. Here's metal more attractive.
+  Pol. [to the King] O, ho! do you mark that?
+  Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
+                                  [Sits down at Ophelia's feet.]  
+  Oph. No, my lord.
+  Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap?
+  Oph. Ay, my lord.
+  Ham. Do you think I meant country matters?
+  Oph. I think nothing, my lord.
+  Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.
+  Oph. What is, my lord?
+  Ham. Nothing.
+  Oph. You are merry, my lord.
+  Ham. Who, I?
+  Oph. Ay, my lord.
+  Ham. O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry?
+    For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died
+    within 's two hours.
+  Oph. Nay 'tis twice two months, my lord.
+  Ham. So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a
+    suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten
+    yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life
+    half a year. But, by'r Lady, he must build churches then; or else
+    shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose  
+    epitaph is 'For O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot!'
+
+               Hautboys play. The dumb show enters.
+
+    Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing
+    him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation
+    unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her
+    neck. He lays him down upon a bank of flowers. She, seeing
+    him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his
+    crown, kisses it, pours poison in the sleeper's ears, and
+    leaves him. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes
+    passionate action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes,
+    comes in again, seem to condole with her. The dead body is
+    carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she
+    seems harsh and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts
+    his love.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+  Oph. What means this, my lord?
+  Ham. Marry, this is miching malhecho; it means mischief.  
+  Oph. Belike this show imports the argument of the play.
+
+                      Enter Prologue.
+
+  Ham. We shall know by this fellow. The players cannot keep counsel;
+    they'll tell all.
+  Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant?
+  Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him. Be not you asham'd to
+    show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.
+  Oph. You are naught, you are naught! I'll mark the play.
+
+    Pro. For us, and for our tragedy,
+      Here stooping to your clemency,
+      We beg your hearing patiently.                     [Exit.]
+
+  Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
+  Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord.
+  Ham. As woman's love.
+
+              Enter [two Players as] King and Queen.  
+
+    King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round
+      Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
+      And thirty dozed moons with borrowed sheen
+      About the world have times twelve thirties been,
+      Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
+      Unite comutual in most sacred bands.
+    Queen. So many journeys may the sun and moon
+      Make us again count o'er ere love be done!
+      But woe is me! you are so sick of late,
+      So far from cheer and from your former state.
+      That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
+      Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must;
+      For women's fear and love holds quantity,
+      In neither aught, or in extremity.
+      Now what my love is, proof hath made you know;
+      And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.
+      Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
+      Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
+    King. Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;  
+      My operant powers their functions leave to do.
+      And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
+      Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind
+      For husband shalt thou-
+    Queen. O, confound the rest!
+      Such love must needs be treason in my breast.
+      When second husband let me be accurst!
+      None wed the second but who killed the first.
+
+  Ham. [aside] Wormwood, wormwood!
+
+    Queen. The instances that second marriage move
+      Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
+      A second time I kill my husband dead
+      When second husband kisses me in bed.
+    King. I do believe you think what now you speak;
+      But what we do determine oft we break.
+      Purpose is but the slave to memory,
+      Of violent birth, but poor validity;
+      Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree,  
+      But fill unshaken when they mellow be.
+      Most necessary 'tis that we forget
+      To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt.
+      What to ourselves in passion we propose,
+      The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
+      The violence of either grief or joy
+      Their own enactures with themselves destroy.
+      Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
+      Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
+      This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange
+      That even our loves should with our fortunes change;
+      For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
+      Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
+      The great man down, you mark his favourite flies,
+      The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies;
+      And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,
+      For who not needs shall never lack a friend,
+      And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
+      Directly seasons him his enemy.
+      But, orderly to end where I begun,  
+      Our wills and fates do so contrary run
+      That our devices still are overthrown;
+      Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
+      So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
+      But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
+    Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light,
+      Sport and repose lock from me day and night,
+      To desperation turn my trust and hope,
+      An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope,
+      Each opposite that blanks the face of joy
+      Meet what I would have well, and it destroy,
+      Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,
+      If, once a widow, ever I be wife!
+
+  Ham. If she should break it now!
+
+    King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile.
+      My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
+      The tedious day with sleep.
+    Queen. Sleep rock thy brain,  
+                                                    [He] sleeps.
+      And never come mischance between us twain!
+Exit.
+
+  Ham. Madam, how like you this play?
+  Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
+  Ham. O, but she'll keep her word.
+  King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?
+  Ham. No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' th'
+    world.
+  King. What do you call the play?
+  Ham. 'The Mousetrap.' Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the
+    image of a murther done in Vienna. Gonzago is the duke's name;
+    his wife, Baptista. You shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish piece of
+    work; but what o' that? Your Majesty, and we that have free
+    souls, it touches us not. Let the gall'd jade winch; our withers
+    are unwrung.
+
+                         Enter Lucianus.
+  
+    This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.
+  Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
+  Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see
+    the puppets dallying.
+  Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
+  Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.
+  Oph. Still better, and worse.
+  Ham. So you must take your husbands.- Begin, murtherer. Pox, leave
+    thy damnable faces, and begin! Come, the croaking raven doth
+    bellow for revenge.
+
+    Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;
+      Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
+      Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
+      With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
+      Thy natural magic and dire property
+      On wholesome life usurp immediately.
+                                   Pours the poison in his ears.
+
+  Ham. He poisons him i' th' garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago.  
+    The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You
+    shall see anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
+  Oph. The King rises.
+  Ham. What, frighted with false fire?
+  Queen. How fares my lord?
+  Pol. Give o'er the play.
+  King. Give me some light! Away!
+  All. Lights, lights, lights!
+                              Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.
+  Ham.   Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
+          The hart ungalled play;
+         For some must watch, while some must sleep:
+          Thus runs the world away.
+    Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers- if the rest of my
+    fortunes turn Turk with me-with two Provincial roses on my raz'd
+    shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?
+  Hor. Half a share.
+  Ham.   A whole one I!
+         For thou dost know, O Damon dear,
+           This realm dismantled was  
+         Of Jove himself; and now reigns here
+           A very, very- pajock.
+  Hor. You might have rhym'd.
+  Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand
+    pound! Didst perceive?
+  Hor. Very well, my lord.
+  Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning?
+  Hor. I did very well note him.
+  Ham.   Aha! Come, some music! Come, the recorders!
+         For if the King like not the comedy,
+         Why then, belike he likes it not, perdy.
+    Come, some music!
+
+                Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
+
+  Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
+  Ham. Sir, a whole history.
+  Guil. The King, sir-
+  Ham. Ay, sir, what of him?
+  Guil. Is in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd.  
+  Ham. With drink, sir?
+  Guil. No, my lord; rather with choler.
+  Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to
+    the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps
+    plunge him into far more choler.
+  Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start
+    not so wildly from my affair.
+  Ham. I am tame, sir; pronounce.
+  Guil. The Queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit
+    hath sent me to you.
+  Ham. You are welcome.
+  Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed.
+    If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do
+    your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon and my return
+    shall be the end of my business.
+  Ham. Sir, I cannot.
+  Guil. What, my lord?
+  Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseas'd. But, sir, such
+    answer is I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say,
+    my mother. Therefore no more, but to the matter! My mother, you  
+    say-
+  Ros. Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into
+    amazement and admiration.
+  Ham. O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no
+    sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart.
+  Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
+  Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any
+    further trade with us?
+  Ros. My lord, you once did love me.
+  Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers!
+  Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely
+    bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to
+    your friend.
+  Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.
+  Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself
+    for your succession in Denmark?
+  Ham. Ay, sir, but 'while the grass grows'- the proverb is something
+    musty.
+
+                     Enter the Players with recorders.  
+
+    O, the recorders! Let me see one. To withdraw with you- why do
+    you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me
+    into a toil?
+  Guil. O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.
+  Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?
+  Guil. My lord, I cannot.
+  Ham. I pray you.
+  Guil. Believe me, I cannot.
+  Ham. I do beseech you.
+  Guil. I know, no touch of it, my lord.
+  Ham. It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your
+    fingers and thumbs, give it breath with your mouth, and it will
+    discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.
+  Guil. But these cannot I command to any utt'rance of harmony. I
+    have not the skill.
+  Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You
+    would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would
+    pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my
+    lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music,  
+    excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it
+    speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be play'd on than a
+    pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me,
+    you cannot play upon me.
+
+                        Enter Polonius.
+
+    God bless you, sir!
+  Pol. My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.
+  Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
+  Pol. By th' mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed.
+  Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel.
+  Pol. It is back'd like a weasel.
+  Ham. Or like a whale.
+  Pol. Very like a whale.
+  Ham. Then will I come to my mother by-and-by.- They fool me to the
+    top of my bent.- I will come by-and-by.
+  Pol. I will say so.                                      Exit.
+  Ham. 'By-and-by' is easily said.- Leave me, friends.
+                                        [Exeunt all but Hamlet.]  
+    'Tis now the very witching time of night,
+    When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
+    Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood
+    And do such bitter business as the day
+    Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother!
+    O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
+    The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom.
+    Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
+    I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
+    My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites-
+    How in my words somever she be shent,
+    To give them seals never, my soul, consent!             Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+A room in the Castle.
+
+Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.
+
+  King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
+    To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;
+    I your commission will forthwith dispatch,
+    And he to England shall along with you.
+    The terms of our estate may not endure
+    Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow
+    Out of his lunacies.
+  Guil. We will ourselves provide.
+    Most holy and religious fear it is
+    To keep those many many bodies safe
+    That live and feed upon your Majesty.
+  Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound
+    With all the strength and armour of the mind
+    To keep itself from noyance; but much more
+    That spirit upon whose weal depends and rests
+    The lives of many. The cesse of majesty
+    Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw  
+    What's near it with it. It is a massy wheel,
+    Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,
+    To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
+    Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls,
+    Each small annexment, petty consequence,
+    Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone
+    Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.
+  King. Arm you, I pray you, to th', speedy voyage;
+    For we will fetters put upon this fear,
+    Which now goes too free-footed.
+  Both. We will haste us.
+                                               Exeunt Gentlemen.
+
+                   Enter Polonius.
+
+  Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet.
+    Behind the arras I'll convey myself
+    To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home;
+    And, as you said, and wisely was it said,
+    'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,  
+    Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
+    The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege.
+    I'll call upon you ere you go to bed
+    And tell you what I know.
+  King. Thanks, dear my lord.
+                                                Exit [Polonius].
+    O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
+    It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
+    A brother's murther! Pray can I not,
+    Though inclination be as sharp as will.
+    My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
+    And, like a man to double business bound,
+    I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
+    And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
+    Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
+    Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
+    To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy
+    But to confront the visage of offence?
+    And what's in prayer but this twofold force,
+    To be forestalled ere we come to fall,  
+    Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up;
+    My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
+    Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murther'?
+    That cannot be; since I am still possess'd
+    Of those effects for which I did the murther-
+    My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
+    May one be pardon'd and retain th' offence?
+    In the corrupted currents of this world
+    Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice,
+    And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
+    Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above.
+    There is no shuffling; there the action lies
+    In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd,
+    Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
+    To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
+    Try what repentance can. What can it not?
+    Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
+    O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
+    O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
+    Art more engag'd! Help, angels! Make assay.  
+    Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel,
+    Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
+    All may be well.                                  He kneels.
+
+                         Enter Hamlet.
+
+  Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying;
+    And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven,
+    And so am I reveng'd. That would be scann'd.
+    A villain kills my father; and for that,
+    I, his sole son, do this same villain send
+    To heaven.
+    Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge!
+    He took my father grossly, full of bread,
+    With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
+    And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven?
+    But in our circumstance and course of thought,
+    'Tis heavy with him; and am I then reveng'd,
+    To take him in the purging of his soul,
+    When he is fit and seasoned for his passage?  
+    No.
+    Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent.
+    When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage;
+    Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed;
+    At gaming, swearing, or about some act
+    That has no relish of salvation in't-
+    Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,
+    And that his soul may be as damn'd and black
+    As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays.
+    This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.              Exit.
+  King. [rises] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below.
+    Words without thoughts never to heaven go.             Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+The Queen's closet.
+
+Enter Queen and Polonius.
+
+  Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home to him.
+    Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
+    And that your Grace hath screen'd and stood between
+    Much heat and him. I'll silence me even here.
+    Pray you be round with him.
+  Ham. (within) Mother, mother, mother!
+  Queen. I'll warrant you; fear me not. Withdraw; I hear him coming.
+                              [Polonius hides behind the arras.]
+
+                          Enter Hamlet.
+
+  Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter?
+  Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
+  Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended.
+  Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
+  Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
+  Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet?  
+  Ham. What's the matter now?
+  Queen. Have you forgot me?
+  Ham. No, by the rood, not so!
+    You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
+    And (would it were not so!) you are my mother.
+  Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.
+  Ham. Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge I
+    You go not till I set you up a glass
+    Where you may see the inmost part of you.
+  Queen. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murther me?
+    Help, help, ho!
+  Pol. [behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
+  Ham. [draws] How now? a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!
+            [Makes a pass through the arras and] kills Polonius.
+  Pol. [behind] O, I am slain!
+  Queen. O me, what hast thou done?
+  Ham. Nay, I know not. Is it the King?
+  Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
+  Ham. A bloody deed- almost as bad, good mother,
+    As kill a king, and marry with his brother.  
+  Queen. As kill a king?
+  Ham. Ay, lady, it was my word.
+                         [Lifts up the arras and sees Polonius.]
+    Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
+    I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune.
+    Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
+    Leave wringing of your hinds. Peace! sit you down
+    And let me wring your heart; for so I shall
+    If it be made of penetrable stuff;
+    If damned custom have not braz'd it so
+    That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
+  Queen. What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue
+    In noise so rude against me?
+  Ham. Such an act
+    That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
+    Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose
+    From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
+    And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows
+    As false as dicers' oaths. O, such a deed
+    As from the body of contraction plucks  
+    The very soul, and sweet religion makes
+    A rhapsody of words! Heaven's face doth glow;
+    Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
+    With tristful visage, as against the doom,
+    Is thought-sick at the act.
+  Queen. Ay me, what act,
+    That roars so loud and thunders in the index?
+  Ham. Look here upon th's picture, and on this,
+    The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
+    See what a grace was seated on this brow;
+    Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
+    An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
+    A station like the herald Mercury
+    New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill:
+    A combination and a form indeed
+    Where every god did seem to set his seal
+    To give the world assurance of a man.
+    This was your husband. Look you now what follows.
+    Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear
+    Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?  
+    Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
+    And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes
+    You cannot call it love; for at your age
+    The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble,
+    And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
+    Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have,
+    Else could you not have motion; but sure that sense
+    Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
+    Nor sense to ecstacy was ne'er so thrall'd
+    But it reserv'd some quantity of choice
+    To serve in such a difference. What devil was't
+    That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
+    Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
+    Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
+    Or but a sickly part of one true sense
+    Could not so mope.
+    O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
+    If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
+    To flaming youth let virtue be as wax
+    And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame  
+    When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
+    Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
+    And reason panders will.
+  Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more!
+    Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul,
+    And there I see such black and grained spots
+    As will not leave their tinct.
+  Ham. Nay, but to live
+    In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
+    Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
+    Over the nasty sty!
+  Queen. O, speak to me no more!
+    These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
+    No more, sweet Hamlet!
+  Ham. A murtherer and a villain!
+    A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
+    Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;
+    A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
+    That from a shelf the precious diadem stole
+    And put it in his pocket!  
+  Queen. No more!
+
+                Enter the Ghost in his nightgown.
+
+  Ham. A king of shreds and patches!-
+    Save me and hover o'er me with your wings,
+    You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
+  Queen. Alas, he's mad!
+  Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
+    That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by
+    Th' important acting of your dread command?
+    O, say!
+  Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation
+    Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
+    But look, amazement on thy mother sits.
+    O, step between her and her fighting soul
+    Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
+    Speak to her, Hamlet.
+  Ham. How is it with you, lady?
+  Queen. Alas, how is't with you,  
+    That you do bend your eye on vacancy,
+    And with th' encorporal air do hold discourse?
+    Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
+    And, as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm,
+    Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements,
+    Start up and stand an end. O gentle son,
+    Upon the beat and flame of thy distemper
+    Sprinkle cool patience! Whereon do you look?
+  Ham. On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares!
+    His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
+    Would make them capable.- Do not look upon me,
+    Lest with this piteous action you convert
+    My stern effects. Then what I have to do
+    Will want true colour- tears perchance for blood.
+  Queen. To whom do you speak this?
+  Ham. Do you see nothing there?
+  Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
+  Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?
+  Queen. No, nothing but ourselves.
+  Ham. Why, look you there! Look how it steals away!  
+    My father, in his habit as he liv'd!
+    Look where he goes even now out at the portal!
+                                                     Exit Ghost.
+  Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain.
+    This bodiless creation ecstasy
+    Is very cunning in.
+  Ham. Ecstasy?
+    My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time
+    And makes as healthful music. It is not madness
+    That I have utt'red. Bring me to the test,
+    And I the matter will reword; which madness
+    Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
+    Lay not that flattering unction to your soul
+    That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
+    It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
+    Whiles rank corruption, mining all within,
+    Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
+    Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
+    And do not spread the compost on the weeds
+    To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;  
+    For in the fatness of these pursy times
+    Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg-
+    Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
+  Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
+  Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it,
+    And live the purer with the other half,
+    Good night- but go not to my uncle's bed.
+    Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
+    That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat
+    Of habits evil, is angel yet in this,
+    That to the use of actions fair and good
+    He likewise gives a frock or livery,
+    That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
+    And that shall lend a kind of easiness
+    To the next abstinence; the next more easy;
+    For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
+    And either [master] the devil, or throw him out
+    With wondrous potency. Once more, good night;
+    And when you are desirous to be blest,
+    I'll blessing beg of you.- For this same lord,  
+    I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so,
+    To punish me with this, and this with me,
+    That I must be their scourge and minister.
+    I will bestow him, and will answer well
+    The death I gave him. So again, good night.
+    I must be cruel, only to be kind;
+    Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
+    One word more, good lady.
+  Queen. What shall I do?
+  Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:
+    Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed;
+    Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
+    And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
+    Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
+    Make you to ravel all this matter out,
+    That I essentially am not in madness,
+    But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;
+    For who that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
+    Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib
+    Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so?  
+    No, in despite of sense and secrecy,
+    Unpeg the basket on the house's top,
+    Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape,
+    To try conclusions, in the basket creep
+    And break your own neck down.
+  Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,
+    And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
+    What thou hast said to me.
+  Ham. I must to England; you know that?
+  Queen. Alack,
+    I had forgot! 'Tis so concluded on.
+  Ham. There's letters seal'd; and my two schoolfellows,
+    Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
+    They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way
+    And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
+    For 'tis the sport to have the enginer
+    Hoist with his own petar; and 't shall go hard
+    But I will delve one yard below their mines
+    And blow them at the moon. O, 'tis most sweet
+    When in one line two crafts directly meet.  
+    This man shall set me packing.
+    I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.-
+    Mother, good night.- Indeed, this counsellor
+    Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
+    Who was in life a foolish peating knave.
+    Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
+    Good night, mother.
+                  [Exit the Queen. Then] Exit Hamlet, tugging in
+                                                       Polonius.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT IV. Scene I.
+Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
+
+Enter King and Queen, with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
+
+  King. There's matter in these sighs. These profound heaves
+    You must translate; 'tis fit we understand them.
+    Where is your son?
+  Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while.
+                          [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]
+    Ah, mine own lord, what have I seen to-night!
+  King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?
+  Queen. Mad as the sea and wind when both contend
+    Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit
+    Behind the arras hearing something stir,
+    Whips out his rapier, cries 'A rat, a rat!'
+    And in this brainish apprehension kills
+    The unseen good old man.
+  King. O heavy deed!
+    It had been so with us, had we been there.
+    His liberty is full of threats to all-
+    To you yourself, to us, to every one.  
+    Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
+    It will be laid to us, whose providence
+    Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt
+    This mad young man. But so much was our love
+    We would not understand what was most fit,
+    But, like the owner of a foul disease,
+    To keep it from divulging, let it feed
+    Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
+  Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd;
+    O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
+    Among a mineral of metals base,
+    Shows itself pure. He weeps for what is done.
+  King. O Gertrude, come away!
+    The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch
+    But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed
+    We must with all our majesty and skill
+    Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guildenstern!
+
+             Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
+  
+    Friends both, go join you with some further aid.
+    Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
+    And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him.
+    Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body
+    Into the chapel. I pray you haste in this.
+                          Exeunt [Rosencrantz and Guildenstern].
+    Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends
+    And let them know both what we mean to do
+    And what's untimely done. [So haply slander-]
+    Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,
+    As level as the cannon to his blank,
+    Transports his poisoned shot- may miss our name
+    And hit the woundless air.- O, come away!
+    My soul is full of discord and dismay.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Elsinore. A passage in the Castle.
+
+Enter Hamlet.
+
+  Ham. Safely stow'd.
+  Gentlemen. (within) Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!
+  Ham. But soft! What noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come.
+
+               Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
+
+  Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
+  Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
+  Ros. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence
+    And bear it to the chapel.
+  Ham. Do not believe it.
+  Ros. Believe what?
+  Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be
+    demanded of a sponge, what replication should be made by the son
+    of a king?
+  Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
+  Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the King's countenance, his rewards,  
+    his authorities. But such officers do the King best service in
+    the end. He keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw;
+    first mouth'd, to be last Swallowed. When he needs what you have
+    glean'd, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry
+    again.
+  Ros. I understand you not, my lord.
+  Ham. I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.
+  Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to
+    the King.
+  Ham. The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body.
+    The King is a thing-
+  Guil. A thing, my lord?
+  Ham. Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
+
+Enter King.
+
+  King. I have sent to seek him and to find the body.
+    How dangerous is it that this man goes loose!
+    Yet must not we put the strong law on him.
+    He's lov'd of the distracted multitude,
+    Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;
+    And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weigh'd,
+    But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even,
+    This sudden sending him away must seem
+    Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown
+    By desperate appliance are reliev'd,
+    Or not at all.
+
+                    Enter Rosencrantz.
+
+    How now O What hath befall'n?
+  Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord,
+    We cannot get from him.  
+  King. But where is he?
+  Ros. Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.
+  King. Bring him before us.
+  Ros. Ho, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord.
+
+        Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern [with Attendants].
+
+  King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
+  Ham. At supper.
+  King. At supper? Where?
+  Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain
+    convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your
+    only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and
+    we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar
+    is but variable service- two dishes, but to one table. That's the
+    end.
+  King. Alas, alas!
+  Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat
+    of the fish that hath fed of that worm.
+  King. What dost thou mean by this?  
+  Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through
+    the guts of a beggar.
+  King. Where is Polonius?
+  Ham. In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not
+    there, seek him i' th' other place yourself. But indeed, if you
+    find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up
+    the stair, into the lobby.
+  King. Go seek him there. [To Attendants.]
+  Ham. He will stay till you come.
+                                            [Exeunt Attendants.]
+  King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,-
+    Which we do tender as we dearly grieve
+    For that which thou hast done,- must send thee hence
+    With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself.
+    The bark is ready and the wind at help,
+    Th' associates tend, and everything is bent
+    For England.
+  Ham. For England?
+  King. Ay, Hamlet.
+  Ham. Good.  
+  King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
+  Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But come, for England!
+    Farewell, dear mother.
+  King. Thy loving father, Hamlet.
+  Ham. My mother! Father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is
+    one flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England!
+Exit.
+  King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard.
+    Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night.
+    Away! for everything is seal'd and done
+    That else leans on th' affair. Pray you make haste.
+                            Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern]
+    And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,-
+    As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
+    Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
+    After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
+    Pays homage to us,- thou mayst not coldly set
+    Our sovereign process, which imports at full,
+    By letters congruing to that effect,
+    The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;  
+    For like the hectic in my blood he rages,
+    And thou must cure me. Till I know 'tis done,
+    Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.             Exit.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+Near Elsinore.
+
+Enter Fortinbras with his Army over the stage.
+
+  For. Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king.
+    Tell him that by his license Fortinbras
+    Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march
+    Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
+    if that his Majesty would aught with us,
+    We shall express our duty in his eye;
+    And let him know so.
+  Capt. I will do't, my lord.
+  For. Go softly on.
+                                   Exeunt [all but the Captain].
+
+       Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, [Guildenstern,] and others.
+
+  Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these?
+  Capt. They are of Norway, sir.
+  Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you?
+  Capt. Against some part of Poland.  
+  Ham. Who commands them, sir?
+  Capt. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.
+  Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,
+    Or for some frontier?
+  Capt. Truly to speak, and with no addition,
+    We go to gain a little patch of ground
+    That hath in it no profit but the name.
+    To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
+    Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole
+    A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.
+  Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
+  Capt. Yes, it is already garrison'd.
+  Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats
+    Will not debate the question of this straw.
+    This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,
+    That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
+    Why the man dies.- I humbly thank you, sir.
+  Capt. God b' wi' you, sir.                             [Exit.]
+  Ros. Will't please you go, my lord?
+  Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little before.  
+                                        [Exeunt all but Hamlet.]
+    How all occasions do inform against me
+    And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
+    If his chief good and market of his time
+    Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.
+    Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
+    Looking before and after, gave us not
+    That capability and godlike reason
+    To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be
+    Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
+    Of thinking too precisely on th' event,-
+    A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom
+    And ever three parts coward,- I do not know
+    Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do,'
+    Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means
+    To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me.
+    Witness this army of such mass and charge,
+    Led by a delicate and tender prince,
+    Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd,
+    Makes mouths at the invisible event,  
+    Exposing what is mortal and unsure
+    To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
+    Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great
+    Is not to stir without great argument,
+    But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
+    When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
+    That have a father klll'd, a mother stain'd,
+    Excitements of my reason and my blood,
+    And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
+    The imminent death of twenty thousand men
+    That for a fantasy and trick of fame
+    Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
+    Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
+    Which is not tomb enough and continent
+    To hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
+    My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!            Exit.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
+
+Enter Horatio, Queen, and a Gentleman.
+
+  Queen. I will not speak with her.
+  Gent. She is importunate, indeed distract.
+    Her mood will needs be pitied.
+  Queen. What would she have?
+  Gent. She speaks much of her father; says she hears
+    There's tricks i' th' world, and hems, and beats her heart;
+    Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
+    That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing,
+    Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
+    The hearers to collection; they aim at it,
+    And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;
+    Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them,
+    Indeed would make one think there might be thought,
+    Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
+  Hor. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew
+    Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
+  Queen. Let her come in.  
+                                               [Exit Gentleman.]
+    [Aside] To my sick soul (as sin's true nature is)
+    Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss.
+    So full of artless jealousy is guilt
+    It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
+
+                 Enter Ophelia distracted.
+
+  Oph. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?
+  Queen. How now, Ophelia?
+  Oph. (sings)
+         How should I your true-love know
+           From another one?
+         By his cockle bat and' staff
+           And his sandal shoon.
+
+  Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
+  Oph. Say you? Nay, pray You mark.
+
+    (Sings) He is dead and gone, lady,  
+              He is dead and gone;
+            At his head a grass-green turf,
+              At his heels a stone.
+
+    O, ho!
+  Queen. Nay, but Ophelia-
+  Oph. Pray you mark.
+
+    (Sings) White his shroud as the mountain snow-
+
+                    Enter King.
+
+  Queen. Alas, look here, my lord!
+  Oph. (Sings)
+           Larded all with sweet flowers;
+         Which bewept to the grave did not go
+           With true-love showers.
+
+  King. How do you, pretty lady?
+  Oph. Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter.  
+    Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at
+    your table!
+  King. Conceit upon her father.
+  Oph. Pray let's have no words of this; but when they ask, you what
+    it means, say you this:
+
+    (Sings) To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
+              All in the morning bedtime,
+            And I a maid at your window,
+              To be your Valentine.
+
+            Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es
+              And dupp'd the chamber door,
+            Let in the maid, that out a maid
+              Never departed more.
+
+  King. Pretty Ophelia!
+  Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't!
+
+    [Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity,  
+              Alack, and fie for shame!
+            Young men will do't if they come to't
+              By Cock, they are to blame.
+
+            Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me,
+              You promis'd me to wed.'
+
+    He answers:
+
+            'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun,
+              An thou hadst not come to my bed.'
+
+  King. How long hath she been thus?
+  Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot
+    choose but weep to think they would lay him i' th' cold ground.
+    My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you for your good
+    counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet
+    ladies. Good night, good night.                         Exit
+  King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.
+                                                 [Exit Horatio.]  
+    O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
+    All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,
+    When sorrows come, they come not single spies.
+    But in battalions! First, her father slain;
+    Next, Your son gone, and he most violent author
+    Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
+    Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
+    For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly
+    In hugger-mugger to inter him; Poor Ophelia
+    Divided from herself and her fair-judgment,
+    Without the which we are Pictures or mere beasts;
+    Last, and as such containing as all these,
+    Her brother is in secret come from France;
+    And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
+    Feeds on his wonder, keep, himself in clouds,
+    With pestilent speeches of his father's death,
+    Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
+    Will nothing stick Our person to arraign
+    In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
+    Like to a murd'ring piece, in many places  
+    Give, me superfluous death.                  A noise within.
+  Queen. Alack, what noise is this?
+  King. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.
+
+                     Enter a Messenger.
+
+    What is the matter?
+  Mess. Save Yourself, my lord:
+    The ocean, overpeering of his list,
+    Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
+    Than Young Laertes, in a riotous head,
+    O'erbears Your offices. The rabble call him lord;
+    And, as the world were now but to begin,
+    Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
+    The ratifiers and props of every word,
+    They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!'
+    Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,
+    'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!'
+                                                 A noise within.
+  Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!  
+    O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!
+  King. The doors are broke.
+
+                    Enter Laertes with others.
+
+  Laer. Where is this king?- Sirs, staid you all without.
+  All. No, let's come in!
+  Laer. I pray you give me leave.
+  All. We will, we will!
+  Laer. I thank you. Keep the door.      [Exeunt his Followers.]
+    O thou vile king,
+    Give me my father!
+  Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.
+  Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;
+    Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot
+    Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows
+    Of my true mother.
+  King. What is the cause, Laertes,
+    That thy rebellion looks so giantlike?
+    Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person.  
+    There's such divinity doth hedge a king
+    That treason can but peep to what it would,
+    Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,
+    Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude.
+    Speak, man.
+  Laer. Where is my father?
+  King. Dead.
+  Queen. But not by him!
+  King. Let him demand his fill.
+  Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
+    To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil
+    Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
+    I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
+    That both the world, I give to negligence,
+    Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
+    Most throughly for my father.
+  King. Who shall stay you?
+  Laer. My will, not all the world!
+    And for my means, I'll husband them so well
+    They shall go far with little.  
+  King. Good Laertes,
+    If you desire to know the certainty
+    Of your dear father's death, is't writ in Your revenge
+    That swoopstake you will draw both friend and foe,
+    Winner and loser?
+  Laer. None but his enemies.
+  King. Will you know them then?
+  Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms
+    And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,
+    Repast them with my blood.
+  King. Why, now You speak
+    Like a good child and a true gentleman.
+    That I am guiltless of your father's death,
+    And am most sensibly in grief for it,
+    It shall as level to your judgment pierce
+    As day does to your eye.
+                              A noise within: 'Let her come in.'
+  Laer. How now? What noise is that?
+
+                      Enter Ophelia.  
+
+    O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt
+    Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
+    By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight
+    Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
+    Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
+    O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits
+    Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
+    Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,
+    It sends some precious instance of itself
+    After the thing it loves.
+
+  Oph. (sings)
+         They bore him barefac'd on the bier
+           (Hey non nony, nony, hey nony)
+         And in his grave rain'd many a tear.
+
+    Fare you well, my dove!
+  Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
+    It could not move thus.  
+  Oph. You must sing 'A-down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.' O,
+    how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his
+    master's daughter.
+  Laer. This nothing's more than matter.
+  Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love,
+    remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
+  Laer. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted.
+  Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you,
+    and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays.
+    O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I
+    would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father
+    died. They say he made a good end.
+
+    [Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
+
+  Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
+    She turns to favour and to prettiness.
+  Oph. (sings)
+         And will he not come again?
+         And will he not come again?
+           No, no, he is dead;  
+           Go to thy deathbed;
+         He never will come again.
+
+         His beard was as white as snow,
+         All flaxen was his poll.
+           He is gone, he is gone,
+           And we cast away moan.
+         God 'a'mercy on his soul!
+
+    And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi', you.
+Exit.
+  Laer. Do you see this, O God?
+  King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
+    Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
+    Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
+    And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me.
+    If by direct or by collateral hand
+    They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
+    Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
+    To you in satisfaction; but if not,  
+    Be you content to lend your patience to us,
+    And we shall jointly labour with your soul
+    To give it due content.
+  Laer. Let this be so.
+    His means of death, his obscure funeral-
+    No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
+    No noble rite nor formal ostentation,-
+    Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
+    That I must call't in question.
+  King. So you shall;
+    And where th' offence is let the great axe fall.
+    I pray you go with me.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+Scene VI.
+Elsinore. Another room in the Castle.
+
+Enter Horatio with an Attendant.
+
+  Hor. What are they that would speak with me?
+  Servant. Seafaring men, sir. They say they have letters for you.
+  Hor. Let them come in.
+                                               [Exit Attendant.]
+    I do not know from what part of the world
+    I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
+
+                          Enter Sailors.
+
+  Sailor. God bless you, sir.
+  Hor. Let him bless thee too.
+  Sailor. 'A shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you,
+    sir,- it comes from th' ambassador that was bound for England- if
+    your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.
+  Hor. (reads the letter) 'Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook'd
+    this, give these fellows some means to the King. They have
+    letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of  
+    very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too
+    slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I
+    boarded them. On the instant they got clear of our ship; so I
+    alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves
+    of mercy; but they knew what they did: I am to do a good turn for
+    them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou
+    to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. I have words
+    to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too
+    light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring
+    thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course
+    for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.
+                            'He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.'
+
+    Come, I will give you way for these your letters,
+    And do't the speedier that you may direct me
+    To him from whom you brought them.                   Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+Scene VII.
+Elsinore. Another room in the Castle.
+
+Enter King and Laertes.
+
+  King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,
+    And You must put me in your heart for friend,
+    Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
+    That he which hath your noble father slain
+    Pursued my life.
+  Laer. It well appears. But tell me
+    Why you proceeded not against these feats
+    So crimeful and so capital in nature,
+    As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,
+    You mainly were stirr'd up.
+  King. O, for two special reasons,
+    Which may to you, perhaps, seein much unsinew'd,
+    But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother
+    Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,-
+    My virtue or my plague, be it either which,-
+    She's so conjunctive to my life and soul
+    That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,  
+    I could not but by her. The other motive
+    Why to a public count I might not go
+    Is the great love the general gender bear him,
+    Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
+    Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,
+    Convert his gives to graces; so that my arrows,
+    Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,
+    Would have reverted to my bow again,
+    And not where I had aim'd them.
+  Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;
+    A sister driven into desp'rate terms,
+    Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
+    Stood challenger on mount of all the age
+    For her perfections. But my revenge will come.
+  King. Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think
+    That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
+    That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
+    And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more.
+    I lov'd your father, and we love ourself,
+    And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine-  
+
+                 Enter a Messenger with letters.
+
+    How now? What news?
+  Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:
+    This to your Majesty; this to the Queen.
+  King. From Hamlet? Who brought them?
+  Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not.
+    They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them
+    Of him that brought them.
+  King. Laertes, you shall hear them.
+    Leave us.
+                                                 Exit Messenger.
+    [Reads]'High and Mighty,-You shall know I am set naked on your
+    kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes;
+    when I shall (first asking your pardon thereunto) recount the
+    occasion of my sudden and more strange return.
+                                                     'HAMLET.'
+    What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
+    Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?  
+  Laer. Know you the hand?
+  King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!'
+    And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.'
+    Can you advise me?
+  Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come!
+    It warms the very sickness in my heart
+    That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
+    'Thus didest thou.'
+  King. If it be so, Laertes
+    (As how should it be so? how otherwise?),
+    Will you be rul'd by me?
+  Laer. Ay my lord,
+    So you will not o'errule me to a peace.
+  King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd
+    As checking at his voyage, and that he means
+    No more to undertake it, I will work him
+    To exploit now ripe in my device,
+    Under the which he shall not choose but fall;
+    And for his death no wind
+    But even his mother shall uncharge the practice  
+    And call it accident.
+  Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd;
+    The rather, if you could devise it so
+    That I might be the organ.
+  King. It falls right.
+    You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
+    And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
+    Wherein they say you shine, Your sun of parts
+    Did not together pluck such envy from him
+    As did that one; and that, in my regard,
+    Of the unworthiest siege.
+  Laer. What part is that, my lord?
+  King. A very riband in the cap of youth-
+    Yet needfull too; for youth no less becomes
+    The light and careless livery that it wears
+    Thin settled age his sables and his weeds,
+    Importing health and graveness. Two months since
+    Here was a gentleman of Normandy.
+    I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,
+    And they can well on horseback; but this gallant  
+    Had witchcraft in't. He grew unto his seat,
+    And to such wondrous doing brought his horse
+    As had he been incorps'd and demi-natur'd
+    With the brave beast. So far he topp'd my thought
+    That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
+    Come short of what he did.
+  Laer. A Norman was't?
+  King. A Norman.
+  Laer. Upon my life, Lamound.
+  King. The very same.
+  Laer. I know him well. He is the broach indeed
+    And gem of all the nation.
+  King. He made confession of you;
+    And gave you such a masterly report
+    For art and exercise in your defence,
+    And for your rapier most especially,
+    That he cried out 'twould be a sight indeed
+    If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation
+    He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
+    If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his  
+    Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy
+    That he could nothing do but wish and beg
+    Your sudden coming o'er to play with you.
+    Now, out of this-
+  Laer. What out of this, my lord?
+  King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
+    Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
+    A face without a heart,'
+  Laer. Why ask you this?
+  King. Not that I think you did not love your father;
+    But that I know love is begun by time,
+    And that I see, in passages of proof,
+    Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
+    There lives within the very flame of love
+    A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;
+    And nothing is at a like goodness still;
+    For goodness, growing to a plurisy,
+    Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,
+    We should do when we would; for this 'would' changes,
+    And hath abatements and delays as many  
+    As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
+    And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh,
+    That hurts by easing. But to the quick o' th' ulcer!
+    Hamlet comes back. What would you undertake
+    To show yourself your father's son in deed
+    More than in words?
+  Laer. To cut his throat i' th' church!
+  King. No place indeed should murther sanctuarize;
+    Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,
+    Will you do this? Keep close within your chamber.
+    Will return'd shall know you are come home.
+    We'll put on those shall praise your excellence
+    And set a double varnish on the fame
+    The Frenchman gave you; bring you in fine together
+    And wager on your heads. He, being remiss,
+    Most generous, and free from all contriving,
+    Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease,
+    Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
+    A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,
+    Requite him for your father.  
+  Laer. I will do't!
+    And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword.
+    I bought an unction of a mountebank,
+    So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
+    Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
+    Collected from all simples that have virtue
+    Under the moon, can save the thing from death
+    This is but scratch'd withal. I'll touch my point
+    With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
+    It may be death.
+  King. Let's further think of this,
+    Weigh what convenience both of time and means
+    May fit us to our shape. If this should fall,
+    And that our drift look through our bad performance.
+    'Twere better not assay'd. Therefore this project
+    Should have a back or second, that might hold
+    If this did blast in proof. Soft! let me see.
+    We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings-
+    I ha't!
+    When in your motion you are hot and dry-  
+    As make your bouts more violent to that end-
+    And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him
+    A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
+    If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,
+    Our purpose may hold there.- But stay, what noise,
+
+                           Enter Queen.
+
+    How now, sweet queen?
+  Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
+    So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
+  Laer. Drown'd! O, where?
+  Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
+    That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
+    There with fantastic garlands did she come
+    Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
+    That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
+    But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.
+    There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
+    Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,  
+    When down her weedy trophies and herself
+    Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide
+    And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
+    Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
+    As one incapable of her own distress,
+    Or like a creature native and indued
+    Unto that element; but long it could not be
+    Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
+    Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
+    To muddy death.
+  Laer. Alas, then she is drown'd?
+  Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.
+  Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
+    And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet
+    It is our trick; nature her custom holds,
+    Let shame say what it will. When these are gone,
+    The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord.
+    I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze
+    But that this folly douts it.                          Exit.
+  King. Let's follow, Gertrude.  
+    How much I had to do to calm his rage I
+    Now fear I this will give it start again;
+    Therefore let's follow.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. Scene I.
+Elsinore. A churchyard.
+
+Enter two Clowns, [with spades and pickaxes].
+
+  Clown. Is she to be buried in Christian burial when she wilfully
+    seeks her own salvation?
+  Other. I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight.
+    The crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian burial.
+  Clown. How can that be, unless she drown'd herself in her own
+    defence?
+  Other. Why, 'tis found so.
+  Clown. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies
+    the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an
+    act hath three branches-it is to act, to do, and to perform;
+    argal, she drown'd herself wittingly.
+  Other. Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver!
+  Clown. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the
+    man; good. If the man go to this water and drown himself, it is,
+    will he nill he, he goes- mark you that. But if the water come to
+    him and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not
+    guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.  
+  Other. But is this law?
+  Clown. Ay, marry, is't- crowner's quest law.
+  Other. Will you ha' the truth an't? If this had not been a
+    gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.
+  Clown. Why, there thou say'st! And the more pity that great folk
+    should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves
+    more than their even-Christen. Come, my spade! There is no
+    ancient gentlemen but gard'ners, ditchers, and grave-makers. They
+    hold up Adam's profession.
+  Other. Was he a gentleman?
+  Clown. 'A was the first that ever bore arms.
+  Other. Why, he had none.
+  Clown. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture?
+    The Scripture says Adam digg'd. Could he dig without arms? I'll
+    put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the
+    purpose, confess thyself-
+  Other. Go to!
+  Clown. What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the
+    shipwright, or the carpenter?
+  Other. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand  
+    tenants.
+  Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows does well.
+    But how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now,
+    thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the
+    church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come!
+  Other. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a
+    carpenter?
+  Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
+  Other. Marry, now I can tell!
+  Clown. To't.
+  Other. Mass, I cannot tell.
+
+                 Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off.
+
+  Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will
+    not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this
+    question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he makes lasts
+    till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of
+    liquor.
+                                            [Exit Second Clown.]  
+
+                       [Clown digs and] sings.
+
+       In youth when I did love, did love,
+         Methought it was very sweet;
+       To contract- O- the time for- a- my behove,
+         O, methought there- a- was nothing- a- meet.
+
+  Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at
+    grave-making?
+  Hor. Custom hath made it in him a Property of easiness.
+  Ham. 'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath the daintier
+    sense.
+  Clown. (sings)
+         But age with his stealing steps
+           Hath clawed me in his clutch,
+         And hath shipped me intil the land,
+           As if I had never been such.
+                                            [Throws up a skull.]
+  
+  Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the
+    knave jowls it to the ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that
+    did the first murther! This might be the pate of a Politician,
+    which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God,
+    might it not?
+  Hor. It might, my lord.
+  Ham. Or of a courtier, which could say 'Good morrow, sweet lord!
+    How dost thou, good lord?' This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that
+    prais'd my Lord Such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg it- might
+    it not?
+  Hor. Ay, my lord.
+  Ham. Why, e'en so! and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, and knock'd
+    about the mazzard with a sexton's spade. Here's fine revolution,
+    and we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the
+    breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think
+    on't.
+  Clown. (Sings)
+         A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,
+           For and a shrouding sheet;
+         O, a Pit of clay for to be made  
+           For such a guest is meet.
+                                      Throws up [another skull].
+
+  Ham. There's another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer?
+    Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures,
+    and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock
+    him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him
+    of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a
+    great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his
+    fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of
+    his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine
+    pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no more of
+    his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth
+    of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will
+    scarcely lie in this box; and must th' inheritor himself have no
+    more, ha?
+  Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.
+  Ham. Is not parchment made of sheepskins?
+  Hor. Ay, my lord, And of calveskins too.
+  Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I  
+    will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah?
+  Clown. Mine, sir.
+
+    [Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made
+              For such a guest is meet.
+
+  Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.
+  Clown. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours.
+    For my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.
+  Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine. 'Tis for
+    the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.
+  Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you.
+  Ham. What man dost thou dig it for?
+  Clown. For no man, sir.
+  Ham. What woman then?
+  Clown. For none neither.
+  Ham. Who is to be buried in't?
+  Clown. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.
+  Ham. How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or
+    equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, this three years
+    I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe  
+    of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he galls
+    his kibe.- How long hast thou been a grave-maker?
+  Clown. Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day that our
+    last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.
+  Ham. How long is that since?
+  Clown. Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It was the
+    very day that young Hamlet was born- he that is mad, and sent
+    into England.
+  Ham. Ay, marry, why was be sent into England?
+  Clown. Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his wits there;
+    or, if 'a do not, 'tis no great matter there.
+  Ham. Why?
+  Clown. 'Twill not he seen in him there. There the men are as mad as
+    he.
+  Ham. How came he mad?
+  Clown. Very strangely, they say.
+  Ham. How strangely?
+  Clown. Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
+  Ham. Upon what ground?
+  Clown. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy  
+    thirty years.
+  Ham. How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot?
+  Clown. Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die (as we have many
+    pocky corses now-a-days that will scarce hold the laying in, I
+    will last you some eight year or nine year. A tanner will last
+    you nine year.
+  Ham. Why he more than another?
+  Clown. Why, sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade that 'a will
+    keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of
+    your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now. This skull hath lien
+    you i' th' earth three-and-twenty years.
+  Ham. Whose was it?
+  Clown. A whoreson, mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think it was?
+  Ham. Nay, I know not.
+  Clown. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A pour'd a flagon of
+    Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's
+    skull, the King's jester.
+  Ham. This?
+  Clown. E'en that.
+  Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him,  
+    Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He
+    hath borne me on his back a thousand tunes. And now how abhorred
+    in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those
+    lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes
+    now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that
+    were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your
+    own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n? Now get you to my lady's
+    chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this
+    favour she must come. Make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio,
+    tell me one thing.
+  Hor. What's that, my lord?
+  Ham. Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' th' earth?
+  Hor. E'en so.
+  Ham. And smelt so? Pah!
+                                          [Puts down the skull.]
+  Hor. E'en so, my lord.
+  Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not
+    imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it
+    stopping a bunghole?
+  Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.  
+  Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty
+    enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died,
+    Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is
+    earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam (whereto he
+    was converted) might they not stop a beer barrel?
+    Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,
+    Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
+    O, that that earth which kept the world in awe
+    Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!
+    But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King-
+
+    Enter [priests with] a coffin [in funeral procession], King,
+             Queen, Laertes, with Lords attendant.]
+
+    The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow?
+    And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken
+    The corse they follow did with desp'rate hand
+    Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate.
+    Couch we awhile, and mark.
+                                         [Retires with Horatio.]  
+  Laer. What ceremony else?
+  Ham. That is Laertes,
+    A very noble youth. Mark.
+  Laer. What ceremony else?
+  Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
+    As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful;
+    And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
+    She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd
+    Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers,
+    Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her.
+    Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,
+    Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
+    Of bell and burial.
+  Laer. Must there no more be done?
+  Priest. No more be done.
+    We should profane the service of the dead
+    To sing a requiem and such rest to her
+    As to peace-parted souls.
+  Laer. Lay her i' th' earth;
+    And from her fair and unpolluted flesh  
+    May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
+    A minist'ring angel shall my sister be
+    When thou liest howling.
+  Ham. What, the fair Ophelia?
+  Queen. Sweets to the sweet! Farewell.
+                                             [Scatters flowers.]
+    I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;
+    I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
+    And not have strew'd thy grave.
+  Laer. O, treble woe
+    Fall ten times treble on that cursed head
+    Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
+    Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
+    Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.
+                                             Leaps in the grave.
+    Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead
+    Till of this flat a mountain you have made
+    T' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head
+    Of blue Olympus.
+  Ham. [comes forward] What is he whose grief  
+    Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
+    Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand
+    Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,
+    Hamlet the Dane.                    [Leaps in after Laertes.
+  Laer. The devil take thy soul!
+                                            [Grapples with him].
+  Ham. Thou pray'st not well.
+    I prithee take thy fingers from my throat;
+    For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
+    Yet have I in me something dangerous,
+    Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand!
+  King. Pluck thein asunder.
+  Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet!
+  All. Gentlemen!
+  Hor. Good my lord, be quiet.
+             [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the
+                                                         grave.]
+  Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme
+    Until my eyelids will no longer wag.
+  Queen. O my son, what theme?  
+  Ham. I lov'd Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers
+    Could not (with all their quantity of love)
+    Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?
+  King. O, he is mad, Laertes.
+  Queen. For love of God, forbear him!
+  Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou't do.
+    Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself?
+    Woo't drink up esill? eat a crocodile?
+    I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine?
+    To outface me with leaping in her grave?
+    Be buried quick with her, and so will I.
+    And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
+    Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
+    Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
+    Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
+    I'll rant as well as thou.
+  Queen. This is mere madness;
+    And thus a while the fit will work on him.
+    Anon, as patient as the female dove
+    When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,  
+    His silence will sit drooping.
+  Ham. Hear you, sir!
+    What is the reason that you use me thus?
+    I lov'd you ever. But it is no matter.
+    Let Hercules himself do what he may,
+    The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.
+Exit.
+  King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.
+                                                   Exit Horatio.
+    [To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech.
+    We'll put the matter to the present push.-
+    Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.-
+    This grave shall have a living monument.
+    An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;
+    Till then in patience our proceeding be.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Elsinore. A hall in the Castle.
+
+Enter Hamlet and Horatio.
+
+  Ham. So much for this, sir; now shall you see the other.
+    You do remember all the circumstance?
+  Hor. Remember it, my lord!
+  Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting
+    That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay
+    Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly-
+    And prais'd be rashness for it; let us know,
+    Our indiscretion sometime serves us well
+    When our deep plots do pall; and that should learn us
+    There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
+    Rough-hew them how we will-
+  Hor. That is most certain.
+  Ham. Up from my cabin,
+    My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
+    Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire,
+    Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
+    To mine own room again; making so bold  
+    (My fears forgetting manners) to unseal
+    Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio
+    (O royal knavery!), an exact command,
+    Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
+    Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
+    With, hoo! such bugs and goblins in my life-
+    That, on the supervise, no leisure bated,
+    No, not to stay the finding of the axe,
+    My head should be struck off.
+  Hor. Is't possible?
+  Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more leisure.
+    But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed?
+  Hor. I beseech you.
+  Ham. Being thus benetted round with villanies,
+    Or I could make a prologue to my brains,
+    They had begun the play. I sat me down;
+    Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair.
+    I once did hold it, as our statists do,
+    A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much
+    How to forget that learning; but, sir, now  
+    It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know
+    Th' effect of what I wrote?
+  Hor. Ay, good my lord.
+  Ham. An earnest conjuration from the King,
+    As England was his faithful tributary,
+    As love between them like the palm might flourish,
+    As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
+    And stand a comma 'tween their amities,
+    And many such-like as's of great charge,
+    That, on the view and knowing of these contents,
+    Without debatement further, more or less,
+    He should the bearers put to sudden death,
+    Not shriving time allow'd.
+  Hor. How was this seal'd?
+  Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.
+    I had my father's signet in my purse,
+    which was the model of that Danish seal;
+    Folded the writ up in the form of th' other,
+    Subscrib'd it, gave't th' impression, plac'd it safely,
+    The changeling never known. Now, the next day  
+    Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent
+    Thou know'st already.
+  Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't.
+  Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this employment!
+    They are not near my conscience; their defeat
+    Does by their own insinuation grow.
+    'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes
+    Between the pass and fell incensed points
+    Of mighty opposites.
+  Hor. Why, what a king is this!
+  Ham. Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me now upon-
+    He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother;
+    Popp'd in between th' election and my hopes;
+    Thrown out his angle for my Proper life,
+    And with such coz'nage- is't not perfect conscience
+    To quit him with this arm? And is't not to be damn'd
+    To let this canker of our nature come
+    In further evil?
+  Hor. It must be shortly known to him from England
+    What is the issue of the business there.  
+  Ham. It will be short; the interim is mine,
+    And a man's life is no more than to say 'one.'
+    But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
+    That to Laertes I forgot myself,
+    For by the image of my cause I see
+    The portraiture of his. I'll court his favours.
+    But sure the bravery of his grief did put me
+    Into a tow'ring passion.
+  Hor. Peace! Who comes here?
+
+                 Enter young Osric, a courtier.
+
+  Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.
+  Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. [Aside to Horatio] Dost know this
+    waterfly?
+  Hor. [aside to Hamlet] No, my good lord.
+  Ham. [aside to Horatio] Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a
+    vice to know him. He hath much land, and fertile. Let a beast be
+    lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's mess. 'Tis
+    a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.  
+  Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart
+    a thing to you from his Majesty.
+  Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit. Put your
+    bonnet to his right use. 'Tis for the head.
+  Osr. I thank your lordship, it is very hot.
+  Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly.
+  Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.
+  Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion.
+  Osr. Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, as 'twere- I cannot
+    tell how. But, my lord, his Majesty bade me signify to you that
+    he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter-
+  Ham. I beseech you remember.
+                           [Hamlet moves him to put on his hat.]
+  Osr. Nay, good my lord; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here is
+    newly come to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman,
+    full of most excellent differences, of very soft society and
+    great showing. Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card
+    or calendar of gentry; for you shall find in him the continent of
+    what part a gentleman would see.
+  Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you; though, I  
+    know, to divide him inventorially would dozy th' arithmetic of
+    memory, and yet but yaw neither in respect of his quick sail.
+    But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great
+    article, and his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to make
+    true diction of him, his semblable is his mirror, and who else
+    would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.
+  Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.
+  Ham. The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more
+    rawer breath
+  Osr. Sir?
+  Hor [aside to Hamlet] Is't not possible to understand in another
+    tongue? You will do't, sir, really.
+  Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentleman
+  Osr. Of Laertes?
+  Hor. [aside] His purse is empty already. All's golden words are
+    spent.
+  Ham. Of him, sir.
+  Osr. I know you are not ignorant-
+  Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, it would not
+    much approve me. Well, sir?  
+  Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is-
+  Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in
+    excellence; but to know a man well were to know himself.
+  Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on him
+    by them, in his meed he's unfellowed.
+  Ham. What's his weapon?
+  Osr. Rapier and dagger.
+  Ham. That's two of his weapons- but well.
+  Osr. The King, sir, hath wager'd with him six Barbary horses;
+    against the which he has impon'd, as I take it, six French
+    rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and
+    so. Three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy,
+    very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of
+    very liberal conceit.
+  Ham. What call you the carriages?
+  Hor. [aside to Hamlet] I knew you must be edified by the margent
+    ere you had done.
+  Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers.
+  Ham. The phrase would be more germane to the matter if we could
+    carry cannon by our sides. I would it might be hangers till then.  
+    But on! Six Barbary horses against six French swords, their
+    assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages: that's the French
+    bet against the Danish. Why is this all impon'd, as you call it?
+  Osr. The King, sir, hath laid that, in a dozen passes between
+    yourself and him, he shall not exceed you three hits; he hath
+    laid on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate trial
+    if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer.
+  Ham. How if I answer no?
+  Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.
+  Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please his Majesty,
+    it is the breathing time of day with me. Let the foils be
+    brought, the gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose,
+    I will win for him if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my
+    shame and the odd hits.
+  Osr. Shall I redeliver you e'en so?
+  Ham. To this effect, sir, after what flourish your nature will.
+  Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship.
+  Ham. Yours, yours. [Exit Osric.] He does well to commend it
+    himself; there are no tongues else for's turn.
+  Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.  
+  Ham. He did comply with his dug before he suck'd it. Thus has he,
+    and many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes
+    on, only got the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter-
+    a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through and
+    through the most fann'd and winnowed opinions; and do but blow
+    them to their trial-the bubbles are out,
+
+                            Enter a Lord.
+
+  Lord. My lord, his Majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who
+    brings back to him, that you attend him in the hall. He sends to
+    know if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will
+    take longer time.
+  Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they follow the King's pleasure.
+    If his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now or whensoever, provided
+    I be so able as now.
+  Lord. The King and Queen and all are coming down.
+  Ham. In happy time.
+  Lord. The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to
+    Laertes before you fall to play.  
+  Ham. She well instructs me.
+                                                    [Exit Lord.]
+  Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord.
+  Ham. I do not think so. Since he went into France I have been in
+    continual practice. I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not
+    think how ill all's here about my heart. But it is no matter.
+  Hor. Nay, good my lord -
+  Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gaingiving as
+    would perhaps trouble a woman.
+  Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestall their
+    repair hither and say you are not fit.
+  Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury; there's a special providence in
+    the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come', if it be
+    not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come:
+    the readiness is all. Since no man knows aught of what he leaves,
+    what is't to leave betimes? Let be.
+
+    Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Osric, and Lords, with other
+              Attendants with foils and gauntlets.
+               A table and flagons of wine on it.  
+
+  King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.
+                    [The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's.]
+  Ham. Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong;
+    But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.
+    This presence knows,
+    And you must needs have heard, how I am punish'd
+    With sore distraction. What I have done
+    That might your nature, honour, and exception
+    Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.
+    Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet.
+    If Hamlet from himself be taken away,
+    And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,
+    Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
+    Who does it, then? His madness. If't be so,
+    Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
+    His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
+    Sir, in this audience,
+    Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil
+    Free me so far in your most generous thoughts  
+    That I have shot my arrow o'er the house
+    And hurt my brother.
+  Laer. I am satisfied in nature,
+    Whose motive in this case should stir me most
+    To my revenge. But in my terms of honour
+    I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement
+    Till by some elder masters of known honour
+    I have a voice and precedent of peace
+    To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time
+    I do receive your offer'd love like love,
+    And will not wrong it.
+  Ham. I embrace it freely,
+    And will this brother's wager frankly play.
+    Give us the foils. Come on.
+  Laer. Come, one for me.
+  Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes. In mine ignorance
+    Your skill shall, like a star i' th' darkest night,
+    Stick fiery off indeed.
+  Laer. You mock me, sir.
+  Ham. No, by this bad.  
+  King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet,
+    You know the wager?
+  Ham. Very well, my lord.
+    Your Grace has laid the odds o' th' weaker side.
+  King. I do not fear it, I have seen you both;
+    But since he is better'd, we have therefore odds.
+  Laer. This is too heavy; let me see another.
+  Ham. This likes me well. These foils have all a length?
+                                                Prepare to play.
+  Osr. Ay, my good lord.
+  King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table.
+    If Hamlet give the first or second hit,
+    Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
+    Let all the battlements their ordnance fire;
+    The King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath,
+    And in the cup an union shall he throw
+    Richer than that which four successive kings
+    In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups;
+    And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
+    The trumpet to the cannoneer without,  
+    The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth,
+    'Now the King drinks to Hamlet.' Come, begin.
+    And you the judges, bear a wary eye.
+  Ham. Come on, sir.
+  Laer. Come, my lord.                                They play.
+  Ham. One.
+  Laer. No.
+  Ham. Judgment!
+  Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit.
+  Laer. Well, again!
+  King. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine;
+    Here's to thy health.
+               [Drum; trumpets sound; a piece goes off [within].
+    Give him the cup.
+  Ham. I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile.
+    Come. (They play.) Another hit. What say you?
+  Laer. A touch, a touch; I do confess't.
+  King. Our son shall win.
+  Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath.
+    Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows.  
+    The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
+  Ham. Good madam!
+  King. Gertrude, do not drink.
+  Queen. I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me.          Drinks.
+  King. [aside] It is the poison'd cup; it is too late.
+  Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by-and-by.
+  Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face.
+  Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now.
+  King. I do not think't.
+  Laer. [aside] And yet it is almost against my conscience.
+  Ham. Come for the third, Laertes! You but dally.
+    pray You Pass with your best violence;
+    I am afeard You make a wanton of me.
+  Laer. Say you so? Come on.                               Play.
+  Osr. Nothing neither way.
+  Laer. Have at you now!
+                [Laertes wounds Hamlet; then] in scuffling, they
+                    change rapiers, [and Hamlet wounds Laertes].
+  King. Part them! They are incens'd.
+  Ham. Nay come! again!                         The Queen falls.  
+  Osr. Look to the Queen there, ho!
+  Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord?
+  Osr. How is't, Laertes?
+  Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric.
+    I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
+  Ham. How does the Queen?
+  King. She sounds to see them bleed.
+  Queen. No, no! the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet!
+    The drink, the drink! I am poison'd.                 [Dies.]
+  Ham. O villany! Ho! let the door be lock'd.
+    Treachery! Seek it out.
+                                                [Laertes falls.]
+  Laer. It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain;
+    No medicine in the world can do thee good.
+    In thee there is not half an hour of life.
+    The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
+    Unbated and envenom'd. The foul practice
+    Hath turn'd itself on me. Lo, here I lie,
+    Never to rise again. Thy mother's poison'd.
+    I can no more. The King, the King's to blame.  
+  Ham. The point envenom'd too?
+    Then, venom, to thy work.                    Hurts the King.
+  All. Treason! treason!
+  King. O, yet defend me, friends! I am but hurt.
+  Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Dane,
+    Drink off this potion! Is thy union here?
+    Follow my mother.                                 King dies.
+  Laer. He is justly serv'd.
+    It is a poison temper'd by himself.
+    Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet.
+    Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,
+    Nor thine on me!                                       Dies.
+  Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.
+    I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu!
+    You that look pale and tremble at this chance,
+    That are but mutes or audience to this act,
+    Had I but time (as this fell sergeant, Death,
+    Is strict in his arrest) O, I could tell you-
+    But let it be. Horatio, I am dead;
+    Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright  
+    To the unsatisfied.
+  Hor. Never believe it.
+    I am more an antique Roman than a Dane.
+    Here's yet some liquor left.
+  Ham. As th'art a man,
+    Give me the cup. Let go! By heaven, I'll ha't.
+    O good Horatio, what a wounded name
+    (Things standing thus unknown) shall live behind me!
+    If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
+    Absent thee from felicity awhile,
+    And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
+    To tell my story.         [March afar off, and shot within.]
+    What warlike noise is this?
+  Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland,
+    To the ambassadors of England gives
+    This warlike volley.
+  Ham. O, I die, Horatio!
+    The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit.
+    I cannot live to hear the news from England,
+    But I do prophesy th' election lights  
+    On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice.
+    So tell him, with th' occurrents, more and less,
+    Which have solicited- the rest is silence.             Dies.
+  Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,
+    And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
+                                                 [March within.]
+    Why does the drum come hither?
+
+    Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassadors, with Drum,
+                  Colours, and Attendants.
+
+  Fort. Where is this sight?
+  Hor. What is it you will see?
+    If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.
+  Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud Death,
+    What feast is toward in thine eternal cell
+    That thou so many princes at a shot
+    So bloodily hast struck.
+  Ambassador. The sight is dismal;
+    And our affairs from England come too late.  
+    The ears are senseless that should give us bearing
+    To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd
+    That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.
+    Where should We have our thanks?
+  Hor. Not from his mouth,
+    Had it th' ability of life to thank you.
+    He never gave commandment for their death.
+    But since, so jump upon this bloody question,
+    You from the Polack wars, and you from England,
+    Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies
+    High on a stage be placed to the view;
+    And let me speak to the yet unknowing world
+    How these things came about. So shall You hear
+    Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts;
+    Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters;
+    Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause;
+    And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
+    Fall'n on th' inventors' heads. All this can I
+    Truly deliver.
+  Fort. Let us haste to hear it,  
+    And call the noblest to the audience.
+    For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune.
+    I have some rights of memory in this kingdom
+    Which now, to claim my vantage doth invite me.
+  Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak,
+    And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more.
+    But let this same be presently perform'd,
+    Even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance
+    On plots and errors happen.
+  Fort. Let four captains
+    Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage;
+    For he was likely, had he been put on,
+    To have prov'd most royally; and for his passage
+    The soldiers' music and the rites of war
+    Speak loudly for him.
+    Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this
+    Becomes the field but here shows much amiss.
+    Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
+            Exeunt marching; after the which a peal of ordnance
+                                                   are shot off.  
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1598
+
+THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH
+
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  King Henry the Fourth.
+  Henry, Prince of Wales, son to the King.
+  Prince John of Lancaster, son to the King.
+  Earl of Westmoreland.
+  Sir Walter Blunt.
+  Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester.
+  Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.
+  Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son.
+  Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
+  Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York.
+  Archibald, Earl of Douglas.
+  Owen Glendower.
+  Sir Richard Vernon.
+  Sir John Falstaff.
+  Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of York.
+  Poins.
+  Gadshill
+  Peto.
+  Bardolph.
+  
+  Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.
+  Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer.
+  Mistress Quickly, hostess of the Boar's Head in Eastcheap.
+
+  Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two
+    Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE.--England and Wales.
+
+
+ACT I. Scene I.
+London. The Palace.
+
+Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland,
+[Sir Walter Blunt,] with others.
+
+  King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
+    Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
+    And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
+    To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
+    No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
+    Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood.
+    No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
+    Nor Bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs
+    Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes
+    Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
+    All of one nature, of one substance bred,
+    Did lately meet in the intestine shock
+    And furious close of civil butchery,
+    Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks
+    March all one way and be no more oppos'd
+    Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.  
+    The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
+    No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
+    As far as to the sepulchre of Christ-
+    Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
+    We are impressed and engag'd to fight-
+    Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,
+    Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
+    To chase these pagans in those holy fields
+    Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
+    Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
+    For our advantage on the bitter cross.
+    But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,
+    And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go.
+    Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
+    Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
+    What yesternight our Council did decree
+    In forwarding this dear expedience.
+  West. My liege, this haste was hot in question
+    And many limits of the charge set down
+    But yesternight; when all athwart there came  
+    A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
+    Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,
+    Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
+    Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
+    Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
+    A thousand of his people butchered;
+    Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
+    Such beastly shameless transformation,
+    By those Welshwomen done as may not be
+    Without much shame retold or spoken of.
+  King. It seems then that the tidings of this broil
+    Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
+  West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord;
+    For more uneven and unwelcome news
+    Came from the North, and thus it did import:
+    On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there,
+    Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
+    That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
+    At Holmedon met,
+    Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;  
+    As by discharge of their artillery
+    And shape of likelihood the news was told;
+    For he that brought them, in the very heat
+    And pride of their contention did take horse,
+    Uncertain of the issue any way.
+  King. Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,
+    Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
+    Stain'd with the variation of each soil
+    Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,
+    And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
+    The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;
+    Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
+    Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
+    On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
+    Mordake Earl of Fife and eldest son
+    To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,
+    Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
+    And is not this an honourable spoil?
+    A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?
+  West. In faith,  
+    It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
+  King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin
+    In envy that my Lord Northumberland
+    Should be the father to so blest a son-
+    A son who is the theme of honour's tongue,
+    Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
+    Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride;
+    Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
+    See riot and dishonour stain the brow
+    Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd
+    That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
+    In cradle clothes our children where they lay,
+    And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
+    Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
+    But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
+    Of this young Percy's pride? The prisoners
+    Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd
+    To his own use he keeps, and sends me word
+    I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
+  West. This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester,  
+    Malevolent to you In all aspects,
+    Which makes him prune himself and bristle up
+    The crest of youth against your dignity.
+  King. But I have sent for him to answer this;
+    And for this cause awhile we must neglect
+    Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
+    Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
+    Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords;
+    But come yourself with speed to us again;
+    For more is to be said and to be done
+    Than out of anger can be uttered.
+  West. I will my liege.                                 Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+London. An apartment of the Prince's.
+
+Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John Falstaff.
+
+  Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
+  Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and
+    unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after
+    noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou
+    wouldest truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time
+    of the day, Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons,
+    and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping
+    houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in
+    flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so
+    superfluous to demand the time of the day.
+  Fal. Indeed you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go
+    by the moon And the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that
+    wand'ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art
+    king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace thou
+    wilt have none-
+  Prince. What, none?
+  Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to  
+    an egg and butter.
+  Prince. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.
+  Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that
+    are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's
+    beauty. Let us be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade,
+    Minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good
+    government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste
+    mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
+  Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of
+    us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being
+    governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: a purse
+    of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night and most
+    dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by,'
+    and spent with crying 'Bring in'; now ill as low an ebb as the
+    foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a flow as the ridge
+    of the gallows.
+  Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad- and is not my hostess of
+    the tavern a most sweet wench?
+  Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle- and is not
+    a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?  
+  Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy
+    quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?
+  Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?
+  Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and oft.
+  Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
+  Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
+  Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and
+    where it would not, I have used my credit.
+  Fal. Yea, and so us'd it that, were it not here apparent that thou
+    art heir apparent- But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be
+    gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution
+    thus fubb'd as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the
+    law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
+  Prince. No; thou shalt.
+  Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.
+  Prince. Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the
+    hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.
+  Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour as
+    well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.
+  Prince. For obtaining of suits?  
+  Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean
+    wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugg'd
+    bear.
+  Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.
+  Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
+  Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor
+    Ditch?
+  Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most
+    comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee
+    trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew
+    where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of
+    the Council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir,
+    but I mark'd him not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I
+    regarded him not; and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the street
+    too.
+  Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and
+    no man regards it.
+  Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to
+    corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal- God
+    forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and  
+    now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of
+    the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over!
+    By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain! I'll be damn'd for
+    never a king's son in Christendom.
+  Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?
+  Fal. Zounds, where thou wilt, lad! I'll make one. An I do not, call
+    me villain and baffle me.
+  Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee- from praying to
+    purse-taking.
+  Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man to
+    labour in his vocation.
+
+                             Enter Poins.
+
+    Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men
+    were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for
+    him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried 'Stand!'
+    to a true man.
+  Prince. Good morrow, Ned.
+  Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What  
+    says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee
+    about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a
+    cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?
+  Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his
+    bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give
+    the devil his due.
+  Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the devil.
+  Prince. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil.
+  Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock
+    early, at Gadshill! There are pilgrims gong to Canterbury with
+    rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I
+    have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves.
+    Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester. I have bespoke supper
+    to-morrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If
+    you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will
+    not, tarry at home and be hang'd!
+  Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you
+    for going.
+  Poins. You will, chops?
+  Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?  
+  Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.
+  Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee,
+    nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal if thou darest not stand
+    for ten shillings.
+  Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.
+  Fal. Why, that's well said.
+  Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
+  Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
+  Prince. I care not.
+  Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will
+    lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go.
+  Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the ears
+    of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he hears
+    may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake)
+    prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want
+    countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in Eastcheap.
+  Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!
+                                                  Exit Falstaff.
+  Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow. I
+    have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff,  
+    Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have
+    already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they
+    have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off
+    from my shoulders.
+  Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth?
+  Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint them
+    a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and
+    then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they
+    shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.
+  Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by
+    our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
+  Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the
+    wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and,
+    sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our
+    noted outward garments.
+  Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.
+  Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred
+    cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight
+    longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of
+    this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same fat  
+    rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least,
+    he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he
+    endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.
+  Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary
+    and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell.
+  Poins. Farewell, my lord.                                Exit.
+  Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold
+    The unyok'd humour of your idleness.
+    Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
+    Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
+    To smother up his beauty from the world,
+    That, when he please again to lie himself,
+    Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at
+    By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
+    Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
+    If all the year were playing holidays,
+    To sport would be as tedious as to work;
+    But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
+    And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
+    So, when this loose behaviour I throw off  
+    And pay the debt I never promised,
+    By how much better than my word I am,
+    By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
+    And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
+    My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,
+    Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
+    Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
+    I'll so offend to make offence a skill,
+    Redeeming time when men think least I will.            Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+London. The Palace.
+
+Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt,
+with others.
+
+  King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
+    Unapt to stir at these indignities,
+    And you have found me, for accordingly
+    You tread upon my patience; but be sure
+    I will from henceforth rather be myself,
+    Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition,
+    Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
+    And therefore lost that title of respect
+    Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
+  Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
+    The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it-
+    And that same greatness too which our own hands
+    Have holp to make so portly.
+  North. My lord-
+  King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
+    Danger and disobedience in thine eye.  
+    O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
+    And majesty might never yet endure
+    The moody frontier of a servant brow.
+    Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need
+    'Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
+                                                 Exit Worcester.
+    You were about to speak.
+  North. Yea, my good lord.
+    Those prisoners in your Highness' name demanded
+    Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
+    Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
+    As is delivered to your Majesty.
+    Either envy, therefore, or misprision
+    Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
+  Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
+    But I remember, when the fight was done,
+    When I was dry with rage and extreme toll,
+    Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
+    Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress'd,
+    Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd  
+    Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home.
+    He was perfumed like a milliner,
+    And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
+    A pouncet box, which ever and anon
+    He gave his nose, and took't away again;
+    Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
+    Took it in snuff; and still he smil'd and talk'd;
+    And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
+    He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
+    To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
+    Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
+    With many holiday and lady terms
+    He questioned me, amongst the rest demanded
+    My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.
+    I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
+    To be so pest'red with a popingay,
+    Out of my grief and my impatience
+    Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what-
+    He should, or he should not; for he made me mad
+    To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,  
+    And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman
+    Of guns and drums and wounds- God save the mark!-
+    And telling me the sovereignest thing on earth
+    Was parmacity for an inward bruise;
+    And that it was great pity, so it was,
+    This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
+    Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
+    Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
+    So cowardly; and but for these vile 'guns,
+    He would himself have been a soldier.
+    This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
+    I answered indirectly, as I said,
+    And I beseech you, let not his report
+    Come current for an accusation
+    Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
+  Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my lord,
+    Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
+    To such a person, and in such a place,
+    At such a time, with all the rest retold,
+    May reasonably die, and never rise  
+    To do him wrong, or any way impeach
+    What then he said, so he unsay it now.
+  King. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
+    But with proviso and exception,
+    That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
+    His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
+    Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
+    The lives of those that he did lead to fight
+    Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower,
+    Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
+    Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
+    Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
+    Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears
+    When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
+    No, on the barren mountains let him starve!
+    For I shall never hold that man my friend
+    Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
+    To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
+  Hot. Revolted Mortimer?
+    He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,  
+    But by the chance of war. To prove that true
+    Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
+    Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took
+    When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
+    In single opposition hand to hand,
+    He did confound the best part of an hour
+    In changing hardiment with great Glendower.
+    Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink,
+    Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
+    Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
+    Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds
+    And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,
+    Bloodstained with these valiant cohabitants.
+    Never did base and rotten policy
+    Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
+    Nor never could the noble Mortimer
+    Receive so many, and all willingly.
+    Then let not him be slandered with revolt.
+  King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him!
+    He never did encounter with Glendower.  
+    I tell thee
+    He durst as well have met the devil alone
+    As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
+    Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth
+    Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
+    Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
+    Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
+    As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,
+    We license your departure with your son.-
+    Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.
+                                 Exeunt King, [Blunt, and Train]
+  Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them,
+    I will not send them. I will after straight
+    And tell him so; for I will else my heart,
+    Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
+  North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.
+    Here comes your uncle.
+
+                          Enter Worcester.
+  
+  Hot. Speak of Mortimer?
+    Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul
+    Want mercy if I do not join with him!
+    Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
+    And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
+    But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer
+    As high in the air as this unthankful king,
+    As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke.
+  North. Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.
+  Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone?
+  Hot. He will (forsooth) have all my prisoners;
+    And when I urg'd the ransom once again
+    Of my wive's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
+    And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
+    Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
+  Wor. I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim'd
+    By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?
+  North. He was; I heard the proclamation.
+    And then it was when the unhappy King
+    (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth  
+    Upon his Irish expedition;
+    From whence he intercepted did return
+    To be depos'd, and shortly murdered.
+  Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth
+    Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of.
+  Hot. But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then
+    Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
+    Heir to the crown?
+  North. He did; myself did hear it.
+  Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
+    That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve.
+    But shall it be that you, that set the crown
+    Upon the head of this forgetful man,
+    And for his sake wear the detested blot
+    Of murtherous subornation- shall it be
+    That you a world of curses undergo,
+    Being the agents or base second means,
+    The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
+    O, pardon me that I descend so low
+    To show the line and the predicament  
+    Wherein you range under this subtile king!
+    Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,
+    Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
+    That men of your nobility and power
+    Did gage them both in an unjust behalf
+    (As both of you, God pardon it! have done)
+    To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
+    And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
+    And shall it in more shame be further spoken
+    That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
+    By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
+    No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem
+    Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves
+    Into the good thoughts of the world again;
+    Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
+    Of this proud king, who studies day and night
+    To answer all the debt he owes to you
+    Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
+    Therefore I say-
+  Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more;  
+    And now, I will unclasp a secret book,
+    And to your quick-conceiving discontents
+    I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
+    As full of peril and adventurous spirit
+    As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud
+    On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
+  Hot. If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim!
+    Send danger from the east unto the west,
+    So honour cross it from the north to south,
+    And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs
+    To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
+  North. Imagination of some great exploit
+    Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
+  Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap
+    To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon,
+    Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
+    Where fadom line could never touch the ground,
+    And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,
+    So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
+    Without corrival all her dignities;  
+    But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!
+  Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here,
+    But not the form of what he should attend.
+    Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
+  Hot. I cry you mercy.
+  Wor. Those same noble Scots
+    That are your prisoners-
+  Hot. I'll keep them all.
+    By God, he shall not have a Scot of them!
+    No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not.
+    I'll keep them, by this hand!
+  Wor. You start away.
+    And lend no ear unto my purposes.
+    Those prisoners you shall keep.
+  Hot. Nay, I will! That is flat!
+    He said he would not ransom Mortimer,
+    Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,
+    But I will find him when he lies asleep,
+    And in his ear I'll holloa 'Mortimer.'
+    Nay;  
+    I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
+    Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him
+    To keep his anger still in motion.
+  Wor. Hear you, cousin, a word.
+  Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy
+    Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke;
+    And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales-
+    But that I think his father loves him not
+    And would be glad he met with some mischance,
+    I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale.
+  Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you
+    When you are better temper'd to attend.
+  North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
+    Art thou to break into this woman's mood,
+    Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!
+  Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,
+    Nettled, and stung with pismires when I hear
+    Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
+    In Richard's time- what do you call the place-
+    A plague upon it! it is in GIoucestershire-  
+    'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept-
+    His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee
+    Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke-
+    'S blood!
+    When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh-
+  North. At Berkeley Castle.
+  Hot. You say true.
+    Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
+    This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
+    Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,'
+    And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin'-
+    O, the devil take such cozeners!- God forgive me!
+    Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
+  Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again.
+    We will stay your leisure.
+  Hot. I have done, i' faith.
+  Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
+    Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
+    And make the Douglas' son your only mean
+    For powers In Scotland; which, for divers reasons  
+    Which I shall send you written, be assur'd
+    Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord,
+    Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
+    Shall secretly into the bosom creep
+    Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd,
+    The Archbishop.
+  Hot. Of York, is it not?
+  Wor. True; who bears hard
+    His brother's death at Bristow, the Lord Scroop.
+    I speak not this in estimation,
+    As what I think might be, but what I know
+    Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,
+    And only stays but to behold the face
+    Of that occasion that shall bring it on.
+  Hot. I smell it. Upon my life, it will do well.
+  North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st slip.
+  Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.
+    And then the power of Scotland and of York
+    To join with Mortimer, ha?
+  Wor. And so they shall.  
+  Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
+  Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,
+    To save our heads by raising of a head;
+    For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
+    The King will always think him in our debt,
+    And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,
+    Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
+    And see already how he doth begin
+    To make us strangers to his looks of love.
+  Hot. He does, he does! We'll be reveng'd on him.
+  Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this
+    Than I by letters shall direct your course.
+    When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,
+    I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,
+    Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once,
+    As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
+    To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
+    Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
+  North. Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust.
+  Hot. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short  
+    Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!    Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. Scene I.
+Rochester. An inn yard.
+
+Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.
+
+  1. Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd.
+    Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not
+    pack'd.- What, ostler!
+  Ost. [within] Anon, anon.
+  1. Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the
+    point. Poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.
+
+                        Enter another Carrier.
+
+  2. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the
+    next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside
+    down since Robin Ostler died.
+  1. Car. Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose. It
+    was the death of him.
+  2. Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London road
+    for fleas. I am stung like a tench.
+  1. Car. Like a tench I By the mass, there is ne'er a king christen  
+    could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.
+  2. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we leak in
+    your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.
+  1. Car. What, ostler! come away and be hang'd! come away!
+  2. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be
+    delivered as far as Charing Cross.
+  1. Car. God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.
+    What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy
+    head? Canst not hear? An 'twere not as good deed as drink to
+    break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hang'd!
+    Hast no faith in thee?
+
+                           Enter Gadshill.
+
+  Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
+  1. Car. I think it be two o'clock.
+  Gads. I prithee lend me this lantern to see my gelding in the
+    stable.
+  1. Car. Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that,
+    i' faith.  
+  Gads. I pray thee lend me thine.
+  2. Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth he? Marry,
+    I'll see thee hang'd first!
+  Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?
+  2. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.
+    Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen. They will
+    along with company, for they have great charge.
+                                              Exeunt [Carriers].
+  Gads. What, ho! chamberlain!
+
+                            Enter Chamberlain.
+
+  Cham. At hand, quoth pickpurse.
+  Gads. That's even as fair as- 'at hand, quoth the chamberlain'; for
+    thou variest no more from picking of purses than giving direction
+    doth from labouring: thou layest the plot how.
+  Cham. Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told
+    you yesternight. There's a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath
+    brought three hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him tell it
+    to one of his company last night at supper- a kind of auditor;  
+    one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are
+    up already and call for eggs and butter. They will away
+    presently.
+  Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas' clerks, I'll
+    give thee this neck.
+  Cham. No, I'll none of it. I pray thee keep that for the hangman;
+    for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of
+    falsehood may.
+  Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll make
+    a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me,
+    and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut! there are other
+    Troyans that thou dream'st not of, the which for sport sake are
+    content to do the profession some grace; that would (if matters
+    should be look'd into) for their own credit sake make all whole.
+    I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny
+    strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms; but
+    with nobility, and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers,
+    such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and
+    speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet,
+    zounds, I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the  
+    commonwealth, or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her, for
+    they ride up and down on her and make her their boots.
+  Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out water
+    in foul way?
+  Gads. She will, she will! Justice hath liquor'd her. We steal as in
+    a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fernseed, we walk
+    invisible.
+  Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night
+    than to fernseed for your walking invisible.
+  Gads. Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as
+    I and a true man.
+  Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
+  Gads. Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler
+    bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+The highway near Gadshill.
+
+Enter Prince and Poins.
+
+  Poins. Come, shelter, shelter! I have remov'd Falstaff's horse, and
+    he frets like a gumm'd velvet.
+  Prince. Stand close.                        [They step aside.]
+
+                             Enter Falstaff.
+
+  Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins!
+  Prince. I comes forward I Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! What a
+    brawling dost thou keep!
+  Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?
+  Prince. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill. I'll go seek him.
+                                                  [Steps aside.]
+  Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company. The rascal hath
+    removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel but
+    four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind.
+    Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
+    scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company  
+    hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitch'd
+    with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me
+    medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd. It could not be
+    else. I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! A plague upon you both!
+    Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An
+    'twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man and to leave
+    these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a
+    tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles
+    afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well
+    enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to
+    another! (They whistle.) Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my
+    horse, you rogues! give me my horse and be hang'd!
+  Prince. [comes forward] Peace, ye fat-guts! Lie down, lay thine ear
+    close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of
+    travellers.
+  Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? 'Sblood,
+    I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin
+    in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?
+  Prince. Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.
+  Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king's  
+    son.
+  Prince. Out, ye rogue! Shall I be your ostler?
+  Fal. Go hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be
+    ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you
+    all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison.
+    When a jest is so forward- and afoot too- I hate it.
+
+             Enter Gadshill, [Bardolph and Peto with him].
+
+  Gads. Stand!
+  Fal. So I do, against my will.
+  Poins. [comes fortward] O, 'tis our setter. I know his voice.
+    Bardolph, what news?
+  Bar. Case ye, case ye! On with your vizards! There's money of the
+    King's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the King's exchequer.
+  Fal. You lie, ye rogue! 'Tis going to the King's tavern.
+  Gads. There's enough to make us all.
+  Fal. To be hang'd.
+  Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned
+    Poins and I will walk lower. If they scape from your encounter,  
+    then they light on us.
+  Peto. How many be there of them?
+  Gads. Some eight or ten.
+  Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us?
+  Prince. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?
+  Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no
+    coward, Hal.
+  Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof.
+  Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge. When thou
+    need'st him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell and stand fast.
+  Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd.
+  Prince. [aside to Poins] Ned, where are our disguises?
+  Poins. [aside to Prince] Here, hard by. Stand close.
+                                      [Exeunt Prince and Poins.]
+  Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I. Every man to
+    his business.
+
+                         Enter the Travellers.
+
+  Traveller. Come, neighbour.  
+    The boy shall lead our horses down the hill;
+    We'll walk afoot awhile and ease our legs.
+  Thieves. Stand!
+  Traveller. Jesus bless us!
+  Fal. Strike! down with them! cut the villains' throats! Ah,
+    whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth. Down
+    with them! fleece them!
+  Traveller. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!
+  Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs;
+    I would your store were here! On, bacons on! What, ye knaves!
+    young men must live. You are grandjurors, are ye? We'll jure ye,
+    faith!
+                            Here they rob and bind them. Exeunt.
+
+            Enter the Prince and Poins [in buckram suits].
+
+  Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I
+    rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument
+    for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.
+  Poins. Stand close! I hear them coming.  
+                                             [They stand aside.]
+
+                       Enter the Thieves again.
+
+  Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day.
+    An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no
+    equity stirring. There's no more valour in that Poins than in a
+    wild duck.
+
+        [As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
+        them. THey all run away, and Falstaff, after a blow or
+        two, runs awasy too, leaving the booty behind them.]
+
+  Prince. Your money!
+  Poins. Villains!
+
+  Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse.
+    The thieves are scattered, and possess'd with fear
+    So strongly that they dare not meet each other.
+    Each takes his fellow for an officer.  
+    Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death
+    And lards the lean earth as he walks along.
+    Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
+  Poins. How the rogue roar'd!                           Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Warkworth Castle.
+
+Enter Hotspur solus, reading a letter.
+
+  Hot. 'But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to
+    be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.' He could be
+    contented- why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears
+    our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he
+    loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you undertake
+    is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a
+    cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of
+    this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The purpose
+    you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain,
+    the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the
+    counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so?
+    I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you
+    lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good
+    plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good
+    plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,
+    very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my
+    Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the  
+    action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him
+    with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and
+    myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen
+    Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all
+    their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month,
+    and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan
+    rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very
+    sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay open
+    all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets
+    for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action!
+    Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set
+    forward to-night.
+
+                         Enter his Lady.
+
+    How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.
+  Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
+    For what offence have I this fortnight been
+    A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,
+    Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee  
+    Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
+    Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
+    And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
+    Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks
+    And given my treasures and my rights of thee
+    To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy?
+    In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
+    And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
+    Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
+    Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd
+    Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tent,
+    Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
+    Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
+    Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
+    And all the currents of a heady fight.
+    Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
+    And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
+    That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
+    Like bubbles ill a late-disturbed stream,
+    And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,  
+    Such as we see when men restrain their breath
+    On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
+    Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
+    And I must know it, else he loves me not.
+  Hot. What, ho!
+
+                    [Enter a Servant.]
+
+    Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
+  Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
+  Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
+  Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
+  Hot. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
+  Serv. It is, my lord.
+  Hot. That roan shall be my throne.
+    Well, I will back him straight. O esperance!
+    Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
+                                                 [Exit Servant.]
+  Lady. But hear you, my lord.
+  Hot. What say'st thou, my lady?  
+  Lady. What is it carries you away?
+  Hot. Why, my horse, my love- my horse!
+  Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!
+    A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
+    As you are toss'd with. In faith,
+    I'll know your business, Harry; that I will!
+    I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
+    About his title and hath sent for you
+    To line his enterprise; but if you go-
+  Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
+  Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
+    Directly unto this question that I ask.
+    I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
+    An if thou wilt not tell my all things true.
+  Hot. Away.
+    Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not;
+    I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
+    To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.
+    We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,
+    And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!  
+    What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?
+  Lady. Do you not love me? do you not indeed?
+    Well, do not then; for since you love me not,
+    I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
+    Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
+  Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
+    And when I am a-horseback, I will swear
+    I love thee infinitely. But hark you. Kate:
+    I must not have you henceforth question me
+    Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
+    Whither I must, I must; and to conclude,
+    This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
+    I know you wise; but yet no farther wise
+    Than Harry Percy's wife; constant you are,
+    But yet a woman; and for secrecy,
+    No lady closer, for I well believe
+    Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
+    And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
+  Lady. How? so far?
+  Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:  
+    Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
+    To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
+    Will this content you, Kate,?
+  Lady. It must of force.                                Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.
+
+Enter Prince and Poins.
+
+  Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy hand
+    to laugh a little.
+  Poins. Where hast been, Hal?
+    Prince,. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or
+    fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-string of
+    humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers and
+    can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and
+    Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that, though
+    I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell
+    me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a
+    lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they call me!), and
+    when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads
+    Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when
+    you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem!' and bid you play it
+    off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an
+    hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during
+    my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou
+    wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- to sweeten which  
+    name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapp'd even
+    now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other
+    English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and 'You
+    are welcome,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score
+    a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so- but, Ned, to drive
+    away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in some
+    by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end be gave me
+    the sugar; and do thou never leave calling 'Francis!' that his
+    tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon!' Step aside, and I'll show
+    thee a precedent.
+  Poins. Francis!
+  Prince. Thou art perfect.
+  Poins. Francis!                                  [Exit Poins.]
+
+                    Enter [Francis, a] Drawer.
+
+  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
+  Prince. Come hither, Francis.
+  Fran. My lord?
+  Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?  
+  Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-
+  Poins. [within] Francis!
+  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
+  Prince. Five year! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of
+    Pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the
+    coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels and
+    run from it?
+  Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England I
+    could find in my heart-
+  Poins. [within] Francis!
+  Fran. Anon, sir.
+  Prince. How old art thou, Francis?
+  Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be-
+  Poins. [within] Francis!
+  Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
+  Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest me-
+    'twas a pennyworth, wast not?
+  Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two!
+  Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou
+    wilt, and, thou shalt have it.  
+  Poins. [within] Francis!
+  Fran. Anon, anon.
+  Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,
+    Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But
+    Francis-
+  Fran. My lord?
+  Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button,
+    not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
+    smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch-
+  Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
+  Prince. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for look
+    you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary,
+    sir, it cannot come to so much.
+  Fran. What, sir?
+  Poins. [within] Francis!
+  Prince. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?
+              Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed,
+                                    not knowing which way to go.
+
+                         Enter Vintner.  
+
+  Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look
+    to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John, with
+    half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in?
+  Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
+                                                  [Exit Vintner.]
+    Poins!
+  Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir.
+
+                          Enter Poins.
+
+  Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the
+    door. Shall we be merry?
+  Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning
+    match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come, what's
+    the issue?
+  Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours
+    since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this
+    present this twelve o'clock at midnight.
+  
+                         [Enter Francis.]
+
+    What's o'clock, Francis?
+  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.                                 [Exit.]
+  Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a
+    parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and
+    downstairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet
+    of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some
+    six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and
+    says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O my
+    sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou  kill'd to-day?'
+    'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he, and answers 'Some
+    fourteen,' an hour after, 'a trifle, a trifle.' I prithee call in
+    Falstaff. I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play Dame
+    Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call
+    in tallow.
+
+           Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto;
+                   Francis follows with wine].
+  
+  Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
+  Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry and
+    amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I'll
+    sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of
+    all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue
+    extant?
+                                                    He drinketh.
+  Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
+    Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun!
+    If thou didst, then behold that compound.
+  Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing but
+    roguery to be found in villanous man. Yet a coward is worse than
+    a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous coward! Go thy ways,
+    old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be not
+    forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring.
+    There lives not three good men unhang'd in England; and one of
+    them is fat, and grows old. God help the while! A bad world, I
+    say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A
+    plague of all cowards I say still!
+  Prince. How now, woolsack? What mutter you?  
+  Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a
+    dagger of lath and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock
+    of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince
+    of Wales?
+  Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?
+  Fal. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there?
+  Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
+    Lord, I'll stab thee.
+  Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee
+    coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as
+    thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care
+    not who sees Your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A
+    plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me. Give me
+    a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk to-day.
+  Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drunk'st
+    last.
+  Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all cowards
+    still say I.
+  Prince. What's the matter?
+  Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a  
+    thousand pound this day morning.
+  Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it?
+  Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four of
+    us!
+  Prince. What, a hundred, man?
+  Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them
+    two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight times
+    thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut
+    through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce signum!
+    I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A
+    plague of all cowards! Let them speak, If they speak more or less
+    than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
+  Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it?
+  Gads. We four set upon some dozen-
+  Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.
+  Gads. And bound them.
+  Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
+  Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew
+    else- an Ebrew Jew.
+  Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon us-  
+  Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
+  Prince. What, fought you with them all?
+  Fal. All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not with
+    fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish! If there were not two or
+    three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd
+    creature.
+  Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them.
+  Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them. Two
+    I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee
+    what, Hal- if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
+    Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my point.
+    Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.
+  Prince. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.
+  Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four.
+  Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
+  Fal. These four came all afront and mainly thrust at me. I made me
+    no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus.
+  Prince. Seven? Why, there were but four even now.
+  Fal. In buckram?
+  Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.  
+  Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
+  Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have more
+    anon.
+  Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?
+  Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
+  Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in buckram
+    that I told thee of-
+  Prince. So, two more already.
+  Fal. Their points being broken-
+  Poins. Down fell their hose.
+  Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in,
+    foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.
+  Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!
+  Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in
+    Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so
+    dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.
+  Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them- gross as
+    a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
+    knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
+  Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?  
+  Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green when
+    it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your
+    reason. What sayest thou to this?
+  Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
+  Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or
+    all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion.
+    Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as
+    blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
+  Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
+    coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill
+    of flesh-
+  Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
+    neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath to
+    utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
+    bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
+  Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when thou
+    hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.
+  Poins. Mark, Jack.
+  Prince. We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and were
+    masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put you  
+    down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word, outfac'd
+    you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here
+    in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as
+    nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and still
+    run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. What a slave art thou
+    to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in
+    fight! What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou now
+    find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?
+  Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?
+  Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear
+    you, my masters. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should
+    I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as
+    Hercules; but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true
+    prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on
+    instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my
+    life- I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by
+    the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to
+    the doors. Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys,
+    hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you!
+    What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?  
+  Prince. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.
+  Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!
+
+                             Enter Hostess.
+
+  Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince!
+  Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?
+  Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
+    would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.
+  Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him
+    back again to my mother.
+  Fal. What manner of man is he?
+  Host. An old man.
+  Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him
+    his answer?
+  Prince. Prithee do, Jack.
+  Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.
+Exit.
+  Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you, Peto; so
+    did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon instinct,  
+    you will not touch the true prince; no- fie!
+  Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
+  Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so
+    hack'd?
+  Peto. Why, he hack'd it with his dagger, and said he would swear
+    truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in
+    fight, and persuaded us to do the like.
+  Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them
+    bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear it
+    was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year
+    before- I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.
+  Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago
+    and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush'd
+    extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou
+    ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?
+  Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these
+    exhalations?
+  Prince. I do.
+  Bard. What think you they portend?
+  Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.  
+  Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
+  Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.
+
+                         Enter Falstaff.
+
+    Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet
+    creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest
+    thine own knee?
+  Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an
+    eagle's talent in the waist; I could have crept into any
+    alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a
+    man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad. Here was
+    Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the
+    morning. That same mad fellow of the North, Percy, and he of
+    Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold,
+    and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh
+    hook- what a plague call you him?
+  Poins. O, Glendower.
+  Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old
+    Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that  
+    runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular-
+  Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a
+    sparrow flying.
+  Fal. You have hit it.
+  Prince. So did he never the sparrow.
+  Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.
+  Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for
+    running!
+  Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a foot.
+  Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
+  Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one
+    Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n away
+    to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news; you
+    may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
+  Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and this
+    civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy
+    hobnails, by the hundreds.
+  Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall have
+    good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible
+    afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out  
+    three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit
+    Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid?
+    Doth not thy blood thrill at it?
+  Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.
+  Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to
+    thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer.
+  Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the
+    particulars of my life.
+  Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this dagger my
+    sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.
+  Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden sceptre
+    for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful
+    bald crown.
+  Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt
+    thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red,
+    that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion,
+    and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.
+  Prince. Well, here is my leg.
+  Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
+  Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!  
+  Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
+  Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
+  Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
+    For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
+  Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as
+    ever I see!
+  Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- Harry, I do
+    not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou
+    art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is trodden
+    on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the
+    sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy mother's
+    word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of
+    thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth
+    warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point: why,
+    being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of
+    heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to be
+    ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? A
+    question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast
+    often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name
+    of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile;  
+    so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak
+    to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion;
+    not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a virtuous
+    man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not  his
+    name.
+  Prince. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?
+  Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful
+    look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think,
+    his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and
+    now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should be
+    lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his
+    looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit
+    by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in
+    that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now,
+    thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?
+  Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll
+    play my father.
+  Fal. Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically,
+    both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a
+    rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.  
+  Prince. Well, here I am set.
+  Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
+  Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you?
+  Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
+  Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
+  Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for a
+    young prince, i' faith.
+  Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on me.
+    Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil
+    haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is
+    thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours,
+    that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of
+    dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of
+    guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly,
+    that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that
+    vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink
+    it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it?
+    wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany?
+    wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in
+    nothing?  
+  Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your
+    Grace?
+  Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff,
+    that old white-bearded Satan.
+  Fal. My lord, the man I know.
+  Prince. I know thou dost.
+  Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to say
+    more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his white
+    hairs do witness it; but that he is (saving your reverence) a
+    whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault,
+    God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many
+    an old host that I know is damn'd. If to be fat be to be hated,
+    then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord.
+    Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack
+    Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack
+    Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old Jack
+    Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy
+    Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!
+  Prince. I do, I will.                      [A knocking heard.]
+                        [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.]  
+
+                     Enter Bardolph, running.
+
+  Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch
+    is at the door.
+  Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in the
+    behalf of that Falstaff.
+
+                       Enter the Hostess.
+
+  Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord!
+  Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick!
+    What's the matter?
+  Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come
+    to search the house. Shall I let them in?
+  Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a
+    counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so.
+  Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct.
+  Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if not,
+    let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a  
+    plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled
+    with a halter as another.
+  Prince. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above.
+    Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
+  Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore
+    I'll hide me.                                          Exit.
+  Prince. Call in the sheriff.
+                            [Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.]
+
+                    Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.
+
+    Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?
+  Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
+    Hath followed certain men unto this house.
+  Prince. What men?
+  Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord-
+    A gross fat man.
+  Carrier. As fat as butter.
+  Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here,
+    For I myself at this time have employ'd him.  
+    And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
+    That I will by to-morrow dinner time
+    Send him to answer thee, or any man,
+    For anything he shall be charg'd withal;
+    And so let me entreat you leave the house.
+  Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
+    Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
+  Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
+    He shall be answerable; and so farewell.
+  Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
+  Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not?
+  Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
+                                            Exit [with Carrier].
+  Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call him
+    forth.
+  Peto. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a
+    horse.
+  Prince. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
+            He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers.
+    What hast thou found?  
+  Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.
+  Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them.
+
+  Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . .  ii s. ii d.
+                 Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . .      iiii d.
+                 Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii d.
+                 Item, Anchovies and sack after supper.  ii s. vi d.
+                 Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . .          ob.'
+
+  Prince. O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this
+    intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close; we'll
+    read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll to
+    the court in the morning . We must all to the wars. and thy place
+    shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of
+    foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score. The
+    money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes
+    in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto.
+  Peto. Good morrow, good my lord.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. Scene I.
+Bangor. The Archdeacon's house.
+
+Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower.
+
+  Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure,
+    And our induction full of prosperous hope.
+  Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
+    Will you sit down?
+    And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it!
+    I have forgot the map.
+  Glend. No, here it is.
+    Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
+    For by that name as oft as Lancaster
+    Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with
+    A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.
+  Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears
+    Owen Glendower spoke of.
+  Glend. I cannot blame him. At my nativity
+    The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes
+    Of burning cressets, and at my birth
+    The frame and huge foundation of the earth  
+    Shak'd like a coward.
+  Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your
+    mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been
+    born.
+  Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was born.
+  Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind,
+    If you suppose as fearing you it shook.
+  Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
+  Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
+    And not in fear of your nativity.
+    Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
+    In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
+    Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
+    By the imprisoning of unruly wind
+    Within her womb, which, for enlargement striving,
+    Shakes the old beldame earth and topples down
+    Steeples and mossgrown towers. At your birth
+    Our grandam earth, having this distemp'rature,
+    In passion shook.
+  Glend. Cousin, of many men  
+    I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
+    To tell you once again that at my birth
+    The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
+    The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
+    Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
+    These signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
+    And all the courses of my life do show
+    I am not in the roll of common men.
+    Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
+    That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,
+    Which calls me pupil or hath read to me?
+    And bring him out that is but woman's son
+    Can trace me in the tedious ways of art
+    And hold me pace in deep experiments.
+  Hot. I think there's no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to dinner.
+  Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.
+  Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
+  Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man;
+    But will they come when you do call for them?
+  Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil.  
+  Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil-
+    By telling truth. Tell truth and shame the devil.
+    If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
+    And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
+    O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!
+  Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.
+  Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
+    Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye
+    And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him
+    Bootless home and weather-beaten back.
+  Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too?
+    How scapes he agues, in the devil's name
+  Glend. Come, here's the map. Shall we divide our right
+    According to our threefold order ta'en?
+  Mort. The Archdeacon hath divided it
+    Into three limits very equally.
+    England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
+    By south and east is to my part assign'd;
+    All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
+    And all the fertile land within that bound,  
+    To Owen Glendower; and, dear coz, to you
+    The remnant northward lying off from Trent.
+    And our indentures tripartite are drawn;
+    Which being sealed interchangeably
+    (A business that this night may execute),
+    To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I
+    And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
+    To meet your father and the Scottish bower,
+    As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
+    My father Glendower is not ready yet,
+    Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days.
+    [To Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together
+    Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
+  Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords;
+    And in my conduct shall your ladies come,
+    From whom you now must steal and take no leave,
+    For there will be a world of water shed
+    Upon the parting of your wives and you.
+  Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
+    In quantity equals not one of yours.  
+    See how this river comes me cranking in
+    And cuts me from the best of all my land
+    A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
+    I'll have the current ill this place damm'd up,
+    And here the smug and sliver Trent shall run
+    In a new channel fair and evenly.
+    It shall not wind with such a deep indent
+    To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
+  Glend. Not wind? It shall, it must! You see it doth.
+  Mort. Yea, but
+    Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up
+    With like advantage on the other side,
+    Gelding the opposed continent as much
+    As on the other side it takes from you.
+  Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here
+    And on this north side win this cape of land;
+    And then he runs straight and even.
+  Hot. I'll have it so. A little charge will do it.
+  Glend. I will not have it alt'red.
+  Hot. Will not you?  
+  Glend. No, nor you shall not.
+  Hot. Who shall say me nay?
+  Glend. No, that will I.
+  Hot. Let me not understand you then; speak it in Welsh.
+  Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
+    For I was train'd up in the English court,
+    Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
+    Many an English ditty lovely well,
+    And gave the tongue a helpful ornament-
+    A virtue that was never seen in you.
+  Hot. Marry,
+    And I am glad of it with all my heart!
+    I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
+    Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
+    I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd
+    Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree,
+    And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
+    Nothing so much as mincing poetry.
+    'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag,
+  Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.  
+  Hot. I do not care. I'll give thrice so much land
+    To any well-deserving friend;
+    But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
+    I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair
+    Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone?
+  Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away by night.
+    I'll haste the writer, and withal
+    Break with your wives of your departure hence.
+    I am afraid my daughter will run mad,
+    So much she doteth on her Mortimer.                    Exit.
+  Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!
+  Hot. I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers me
+    With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,
+    Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,
+    And of a dragon and a finless fish,
+    A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven,
+    A couching lion and a ramping cat,
+    And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
+    As puts me from my faith. I tell you what-
+    He held me last night at least nine hours  
+    In reckoning up the several devils' names
+    That were his lackeys. I cried 'hum,' and 'Well, go to!'
+    But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious
+    As a tired horse, a railing wife;
+    Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live
+    With cheese and garlic in a windmill far
+    Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
+    In any summer house in Christendom).
+  Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,
+    Exceedingly well read, and profited
+    In strange concealments, valiant as a lion,
+    And wondrous affable, and as bountiful
+    As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
+    He holds your temper in a high respect
+    And curbs himself even of his natural scope
+    When you come 'cross his humour. Faith, he does.
+    I warrant you that man is not alive
+    Might so have tempted him as you have done
+    Without the taste of danger and reproof.
+    But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.  
+  Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame,
+    And since your coming hither have done enough
+    To put him quite besides his patience.
+    You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault.
+    Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood-
+    And that's the dearest grace it renders you-
+    Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
+    Defect of manners, want of government,
+    Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain;
+    The least of which haunting a nobleman
+    Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain
+    Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
+    Beguiling them of commendation.
+  Hot. Well, I am school'd. Good manners be your speed!
+    Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
+
+            Enter Glendower with the Ladies.
+
+  Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me-
+    My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.  
+  Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you;
+    She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
+  Mort. Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
+    Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
+               Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers
+                                                him in the same.
+  Glend. She is desperate here. A peevish self-will'd harlotry,
+    One that no persuasion can do good upon.
+                                       The Lady speaks in Welsh.
+  Mort. I understand thy looks. That pretty Welsh
+    Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens
+    I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
+    In such a Barley should I answer thee.
+                                        The Lady again in Welsh.
+    I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
+    And that's a feeling disputation.
+    But I will never be a truant, love,
+    Till I have learnt thy language: for thy tongue
+    Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
+    Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bow'r,  
+    With ravishing division, to her lute.
+  Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
+                                 The Lady speaks again in Welsh.
+  Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this!
+  Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
+    And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
+    And she will sing the song that pleaseth you
+    And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
+    Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
+    Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep
+    As is the difference betwixt day and night
+    The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
+    Begins his golden progress in the East.
+  Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing.
+    By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
+  Glend. Do so,
+    And those musicians that shall play to you
+    Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,
+    And straight they shall be here. Sit, and attend.
+  Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down. Come, quick,  
+    quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.
+  Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.
+                                                The music plays.
+  Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
+    And 'tis no marvel, be is so humorous.
+    By'r Lady, he is a good musician.
+  Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are
+    altogether govern'd by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the
+    lady sing in Welsh.
+  Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.
+  Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken?
+  Hot. No.
+  Lady P. Then be still.
+  Hot. Neither! 'Tis a woman's fault.
+  Lady P. Now God help thee!
+  Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.
+  Lady P. What's that?
+  Hot. Peace! she sings.
+                               Here the Lady sings a Welsh song.
+    Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.  
+  Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.
+  Hot. Not yours, in good sooth? Heart! you swear like a
+    comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth!' and 'as true as I
+    live!' and 'as God shall mend me!' and 'as sure as day!'
+    And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths
+    As if thou ne'er walk'st further than Finsbury.
+    Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
+    A good mouth-filling oath; and leave 'in sooth'
+    And such protest of pepper gingerbread
+    To velvet guards and Sunday citizens. Come, sing.
+  Lady P. I will not sing.
+  Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor or be redbreast-teacher. An
+    the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so
+    come in when ye will.                                  Exit.
+  Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer. You are as slow
+    As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.
+    By this our book is drawn; we'll but seal,
+    And then to horse immediately.
+  Mort. With all my heart.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+London. The Palace.
+
+Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.
+
+  King. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales and I
+    Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,
+    For we shall presently have need of you.
+                                                   Exeunt Lords.
+    I know not whether God will have it so,
+    For some displeasing service I have done,
+    That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
+    He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
+    But thou dost in thy passages of life
+    Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
+    For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
+    To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
+    Could such inordinate and low desires,
+    Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
+    Such barren pleasures, rude society,
+    As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,
+    Accompany the greatness of thy blood  
+    And hold their level with thy princely heart?
+  Prince. So please your Majesty, I would I could
+    Quit all offences with as clear excuse
+    As well as I am doubtless I can purge
+    Myself of many I am charged withal.
+    Yet such extenuation let me beg
+    As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,
+    Which oft the ear of greatness needs must bear
+    By, smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers,
+    I may, for some things true wherein my youth
+    Hath faulty wand'red and irregular,
+    And pardon on lily true submission.
+  King. God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry,
+    At thy affections, which do hold a wing,
+    Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
+    Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,
+    Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
+    And art almost an alien to the hearts
+    Of all the court and princes of my blood.
+    The hope and expectation of thy time  
+    Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man
+    Prophetically do forethink thy fall.
+    Had I so lavish of my presence been,
+    So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
+    So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
+    Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
+    Had still kept loyal to possession
+    And left me in reputeless banishment,
+    A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
+    By being seldom seen, I could not stir
+    But, like a comet, I Was wond'red at;
+    That men would tell their children, 'This is he!'
+    Others would say, 'Where? Which is Bolingbroke?'
+    And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
+    And dress'd myself in such humility
+    That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
+    Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths
+    Even in the presence of the crowned King.
+    Thus did I keep my person fresh and new,
+    My presence, like a robe pontifical,  
+    Ne'er seen but wond'red at; and so my state,
+    Seldom but sumptuous, show'd like a feast
+    And won by rareness such solemnity.
+    The skipping King, he ambled up and down
+    With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
+    Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state;
+    Mingled his royalty with cap'ring fools;
+    Had his great name profaned with their scorns
+    And gave his countenance, against his name,
+    To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
+    Of every beardless vain comparative;
+    Grew a companion to the common streets,
+    Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;
+    That, being dally swallowed by men's eyes,
+    They surfeited with honey and began
+    To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
+    More than a little is by much too much.
+    So, when he had occasion to be seen,
+    He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
+    Heard, not regarded- seen, but with such eyes  
+    As, sick and blunted with community,
+    Afford no extraordinary gaze,
+    Such as is bent on unlike majesty
+    When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;
+    But rather drows'd and hung their eyelids down,
+    Slept in his face, and rend'red such aspect
+    As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
+    Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.
+    And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;
+    For thou hast lost thy princely privilege
+    With vile participation. Not an eye
+    But is aweary of thy common sight,
+    Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
+    Which now doth that I would not have it do-
+    Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
+  Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord,
+    Be more myself.
+  King. For all the world,
+    As thou art to this hour, was Richard then
+    When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh;  
+    And even as I was then is Percy now.
+    Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,
+    He hath more worthy interest to the state
+    Than thou, the shadow of succession;
+    For of no right, nor colour like to right,
+    He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
+    Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,
+    And, Being no more in debt to years than thou,
+    Leads ancient lords and reverend Bishops on
+    To bloody battles and to bruising arms.
+    What never-dying honour hath he got
+    Against renowmed Douglas! whose high deeds,
+    Whose hot incursions and great name in arms
+    Holds from all soldiers chief majority
+    And military title capital
+    Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.
+    Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes,
+    This infant warrior, in his enterprises
+    Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once,
+    Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,  
+    To fill the mouth of deep defiance up
+    And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
+    And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
+    The Archbishop's Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer
+    Capitulate against us and are up.
+    But wherefore do I tell these news to thee
+    Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
+    Which art my nearest and dearest enemy'
+    Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
+    Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
+    To fight against me under Percy's pay,
+    To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,
+    To show how much thou art degenerate.
+  Prince. Do not think so. You shall not find it so.
+    And God forgive them that so much have sway'd
+    Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me!
+    I will redeem all this on Percy's head
+    And, in the closing of some glorious day,
+    Be bold to tell you that I am your son,
+    When I will wear a garment all of blood,  
+    And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
+    Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it.
+    And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
+    That this same child of honour and renown,
+    This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
+    And your unthought of Harry chance to meet.
+    For every honour sitting on his helm,
+    Would they were multitudes, and on my head
+    My shames redoubled! For the time will come
+    That I shall make this Northern youth exchange
+    His glorious deeds for my indignities.
+    Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
+    To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
+    And I will call hall to so strict account
+    That he shall render every glory up,
+    Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
+    Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
+    This in the name of God I promise here;
+    The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
+    I do beseech your Majesty may salve  
+    The long-grown wounds of my intemperance.
+    If not, the end of life cancels all bands,
+    And I will die a hundred thousand deaths
+    Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
+  King. A hundred thousand rebels die in this!
+    Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.
+
+                        Enter Blunt.
+
+    How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed.
+  Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.
+    Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word
+    That Douglas and the English rebels met
+    The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury.
+    A mighty and a fearful head they are,
+    If promises be kept oil every hand,
+    As ever off'red foul play in a state.
+  King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
+    With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
+    For this advertisement is five days old.  
+    On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;
+    On Thursday we ourselves will march. Our meeting
+    Is Bridgenorth; and, Harry, you shall march
+    Through Gloucestershire; by which account,
+    Our business valued, some twelve days hence
+    Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
+    Our hands are full of business. Let's away.
+    Advantage feeds him fat while men delay.            Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.
+
+Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
+
+  Fal. Bardolph, am I not fall'n away vilely since this last action?
+    Do I not bate? Do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like
+    an old lady's loose gown! I am withered like an old apple John.
+    Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking.
+    I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no
+    strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a
+    church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse. The
+    inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the
+    spoil of me.
+  Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful you cannot live long.
+  Fal. Why, there is it! Come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I
+    was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be, virtuous
+    enough: swore little, dic'd not above seven times a week, went to
+    a bawdy house not above once in a quarter- of an hour, paid money
+    that I borrowed- three or four times, lived well, and in good
+    compass; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.
+  Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of  
+    all compass- out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.
+  Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our
+    admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop- but 'tis in the
+    nose of thee. Thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp.
+  Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.
+  Fal. No, I'll be sworn. I make as good use of it as many a man doth
+    of a death's-head or a memento mori. I never see thy face but I
+    think upon hellfire and Dives that lived in purple; for there he
+    is in his robes, burning, burning. if thou wert any way given to
+    virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be 'By this
+    fire, that's God's angel.' But thou art altogether given over,
+    and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter
+    darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my
+    horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus or a
+    ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a
+    perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved
+    me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in
+    the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the sack that thou hast
+    drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest
+    chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours  
+    with fire any time this two-and-thirty years. God reward me for
+    it!
+  Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!
+  Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.
+
+                          Enter Hostess.
+
+    How now, Dame Partlet the hen? Have you enquir'd yet who pick'd
+    my pocket?
+  Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I
+    keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have enquired, so
+    has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant. The
+    tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.
+  Fal. Ye lie, hostess. Bardolph was shav'd and lost many a hair, and
+    I'll be sworn my pocket was pick'd. Go to, you are a woman, go!
+  Host. Who, I? No; I defy thee! God's light, I was never call'd so
+    in mine own house before!
+  Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.
+  Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir
+    John. You owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to  
+    beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.
+  Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas! I have given them away to bakers'
+    wives; they have made bolters of them.
+  Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell.
+    You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and
+    by-drinkings, and money lent you, four-and-twenty pound.
+  Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay.
+  Host. He? Alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.
+  Fal. How? Poor? Look upon his face. What call you rich? Let them
+    coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks. I'll not pay a denier.
+    What, will you make a younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease
+    in mine inn but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have lost a
+    seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.
+  Host. O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft,
+    that that ring was copper!
+  Fal. How? the Prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup. 'Sblood, an he were
+    here, I would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so.
+
+      Enter the Prince [and Poins], marching; and Falstaff meets
+          them, playing upon his truncheon like a fife.  
+
+    How now, lad? Is the wind in that door, i' faith? Must we all
+    march?
+  Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
+  Host. My lord, I pray you hear me.
+  Prince. What say'st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband?
+    I love him well; he is an honest man.
+  Host. Good my lord, hear me.
+  Fal. Prithee let her alone and list to me.
+  Prince. What say'st thou, Jack?
+  Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras and had my
+    pocket pick'd. This house is turn'd bawdy house; they pick
+    pockets.
+  Prince. What didst thou lose, Jack?
+  Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? Three or four bonds of forty pound
+    apiece and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.
+  Prince. A trifle, some eightpenny matter.
+  Host. So I told him, my lord, and I said I heard your Grace say so;
+    and, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd
+    man as he is, and said he would cudgel you.  
+  Prince. What! he did not?
+  Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.
+  Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, nor no
+    more truth in thee than in a drawn fox; and for woman-hood, Maid
+    Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you
+    thing, go!
+  Host. Say, what thing? what thing?
+  Fal. What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on.
+  Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it!
+    I am an honest man's wife, and, setting thy knight-hood aside,
+    thou art a knave to call me so.
+  Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say
+    otherwise.
+  Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?
+  Fal. What beast? Why, an otter.
+  Prince. An otter, Sir John? Why an otter?
+  Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to
+    have her.
+  Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any man knows
+    where to have me, thou knave, thou!  
+  Prince. Thou say'st true, hostess, and he slanders thee most
+    grossly.
+  Host. So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you ought
+    him a thousand pound.
+  Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
+  Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? A million! Thy love is worth a million;
+    thou owest me thy love.
+  Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack and said he would cudgel
+    you.
+  Fal. Did I, Bardolph?
+  Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
+  Fal. Yea. if he said my ring was copper.
+  Prince. I say, 'tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now?
+  Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but as
+    thou art Prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion's
+    whelp.
+  Prince. And why not as the lion?
+  Fal. The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou think
+    I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God my
+    girdle break.  
+  Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees!
+    But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in
+    this bosom of thine. It is all fill'd up with guts and midriff.
+    Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou
+    whoreson, impudent, emboss'd rascal, if there were anything in
+    thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses,
+    and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make thee long-winded-
+    if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but these, I
+    am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket
+    up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?
+  Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of innocency
+    Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of
+    villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and
+    therefore more frailty. You confess then, you pick'd my pocket?
+  Prince. It appears so by the story.
+  Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast. Love thy
+    husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt
+    find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified.
+    -Still?- Nay, prithee be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the
+    news at court. For the robbery, lad- how is that answered?  
+  Prince. O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee.
+    The money is paid back again.
+  Fal. O, I do not like that paying back! 'Tis a double labour.
+  Prince. I am good friends with my father, and may do anything.
+  Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it
+    with unwash'd hands too.
+  Bard. Do, my lord.
+  Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.
+  Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can
+    steal well? O for a fine thief of the age of two-and-twenty or
+    thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for
+    these rebels. They offend none but the virtuous. I laud them, I
+    praise them.
+  Prince. Bardolph!
+  Bard. My lord?
+  Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster,
+    To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.
+                                                [Exit Bardolph.]
+    Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I
+    Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.  
+                                                   [Exit Poins.]
+    Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall
+    At two o'clock in the afternoon.
+    There shalt thou know thy charge. and there receive
+    Money and order for their furniture.
+    The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
+    And either they or we must lower lie.                [Exit.]
+  Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come.
+    O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!
+Exit.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. Scene I.
+The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.
+
+Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.
+
+  Hot. Well said, my noble Scot. If speaking truth
+    In this fine age were not thought flattery,
+    Such attribution should the Douglas have
+    As not a soldier of this season's stamp
+    Should go so general current through the world.
+    By God, I cannot flatter, I defy
+    The tongues of soothers! but a braver place
+    In my heart's love hath no man than yourself.
+    Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
+  Doug. Thou art the king of honour.
+    No man so potent breathes upon the ground
+    But I will beard him.
+
+                     Enter one with letters.
+
+  Hot. Do so, and 'tis well.-
+    What letters hast thou there?- I can but thank you.  
+  Messenger. These letters come from your father.
+  Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himself?
+  Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.
+  Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick
+    In such a justling time? Who leads his power?
+    Under whose government come they along?
+  Mess. His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord.
+  Wor. I prithee tell me, doth he keep his bed?
+  Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth,
+    And at the time of my departure thence
+    He was much fear'd by his physicians.
+  Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole
+    Ere he by sickness had been visited.
+    His health was never better worth than now.
+  Hot. Sick now? droop now? This sickness doth infect
+    The very lifeblood of our enterprise.
+    'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.
+    He writes me here that inward sickness-
+    And that his friends by deputation could not
+    So soon be drawn; no did he think it meet  
+    To lay so dangerous and dear a trust
+    On any soul remov'd but on his own.
+    Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
+    That with our small conjunction we should on,
+    To see how fortune is dispos'd to us;
+    For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,
+    Because the King is certainly possess'd
+    Of all our purposes. What say you to it?
+  Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.
+  Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off.
+    And yet, in faith, it is not! His present want
+    Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good
+    To set the exact wealth of all our states
+    All at one cast? to set so rich a man
+    On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?
+    It were not good; for therein should we read
+    The very bottom and the soul of hope,
+    The very list, the very utmost bound
+    Of all our fortunes.
+  Doug. Faith, and so we should;  
+    Where now remains a sweet reversion.
+    We may boldly spend upon the hope of what
+    Is to come in.
+    A comfort of retirement lives in this.
+  Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto,
+    If that the devil and mischance look big
+    Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.
+  Wor. But yet I would your father had been here.
+    The quality and hair of our attempt
+    Brooks no division. It will be thought
+    By some that know not why he is away,
+    That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike
+    Of our proceedings kept the Earl from hence.
+    And think how such an apprehension
+    May turn the tide of fearful faction
+    And breed a kind of question in our cause.
+    For well you know we of the off'ring side
+    Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement,
+    And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence
+    The eye of reason may pry in upon us.  
+    This absence of your father's draws a curtain
+    That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
+    Before not dreamt of.
+  Hot. You strain too far.
+    I rather of his absence make this use:
+    It lends a lustre and more great opinion,
+    A larger dare to our great enterprise,
+    Than if the Earl were here; for men must think,
+    If we, without his help, can make a head
+    To push against a kingdom, with his help
+    We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.
+    Yet all goes well; yet all our joints are whole.
+  Doug. As heart can think. There is not such a word
+    Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.
+
+                 Enter Sir Richard Vernon.
+
+  Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul.
+  Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.
+    The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,  
+    Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.
+  Hot. No harm. What more?
+  Ver. And further, I have learn'd
+    The King himself in person is set forth,
+    Or hitherwards intended speedily,
+    With strong and mighty preparation.
+  Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
+    The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,
+    And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside
+    And bid it pass?
+  Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms;
+    All plum'd like estridges that with the wind
+    Bated like eagles having lately bath'd;
+    Glittering in golden coats like images;
+    As full of spirit as the month of May
+    And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;
+    Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
+    I saw young Harry with his beaver on
+    His cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
+    Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,  
+    And vaulted with such ease into his seat
+    As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds
+    To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus
+    And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
+  Hot. No more, no more! Worse than the sun in March,
+    This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come.
+    They come like sacrifices in their trim,
+    And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war
+    All hot and bleeding Will we offer them.
+    The mailed Mars Shall on his altar sit
+    Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire
+    To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,
+    And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse,
+    Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt
+    Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
+    Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,
+    Meet, and ne'er part till one drop down a corse.
+    that Glendower were come!
+  Ver. There is more news.
+    I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,  
+    He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.
+  Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet.
+  Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.
+  Hot. What may the King's whole battle reach unto?
+  Ver. To thirty thousand.
+  Hot. Forty let it be.
+    My father and Glendower being both away,
+    The powers of us may serve so great a day.
+    Come, let us take a muster speedily.
+    Doomsday is near. Die all, die merrily.
+  Doug. Talk not of dying. I am out of fear
+    Of death or death's hand for this one half-year.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+A public road near Coventry.
+
+Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
+
+  Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of
+    sack. Our soldiers shall march through. We'll to Sutton Co'fil'
+    to-night.
+  Bard. Will you give me money, Captain?
+  Fal. Lay out, lay out.
+  Bald. This bottle makes an angel.
+  Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty,
+    take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto
+    meet me at town's end.
+  Bard. I Will, Captain. Farewell.                         Exit.
+  Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a sous'd gurnet. I
+    have misused the King's press damnably. I have got in exchange of
+    a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I
+    press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire me
+    out contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the
+    banes- such a commodity of warm slaves as had as lieve hear the
+    devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver worse than  
+    a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I press'd me none but such
+    toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than
+    pins' heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my
+    whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants,
+    gentlemen of companies- slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the
+    painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores; and
+    such as indeed were never soldiers, but discarded unjust
+    serving-men, younger sons to Younger brothers, revolted tapsters,
+    and ostlers trade-fall'n; the cankers of a calm world and a long
+    peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old fac'd
+    ancient; and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that have
+    bought out their services that you would think that I had a
+    hundred and fifty tattered Prodigals lately come from
+    swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me
+    on the way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and
+    press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I'll
+    not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the
+    villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on;
+    for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a
+    shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is two  
+    napkins tack'd together and thrown over the shoulders like a
+    herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth,
+    stol'n from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose innkeeper
+    of Daventry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on
+    every hedge.
+
+              Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland.
+
+  Prince. How now, blown Jack? How now, quilt?
+  Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? What a devil dost thou in
+    Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy. I
+    thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.
+  West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and
+    you too; but my powers are there already. The King, I can tell
+    you, looks for us all. We must away all, to-night.
+  Fal. Tut, never fear me. I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.
+  Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath already
+    made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that
+    come after?
+  Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.  
+  Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals.
+  Fal. Tut, tut! good enough to toss; food for powder, food for
+    powder. They'll fill a pit as well as better. Tush, man, mortal
+    men, mortal men.
+  West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare-
+    too beggarly.
+  Fal. Faith, for their poverty, I know, not where they had that; and
+    for their bareness, I am surd they never learn'd that of me.
+  Prince. No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the
+    ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy 's already in the
+    field.
+Exit.
+  Fal. What, is the King encamp'd?
+  West. He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.
+                                                         [Exit.]
+  Fal. Well,
+    To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast
+    Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.                  Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.
+
+Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, Vernon.
+
+  Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.
+  Wor. It may not be.
+  Doug. You give him then advantage.
+  Ver. Not a whit.
+  Hot. Why say you so? Looks he no for supply?
+  Ver. So do we.
+  Hot. His is certain, ours 's doubtful.
+  Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night.
+  Ver. Do not, my lord.
+  Doug. You do not counsel well.
+    You speak it out of fear and cold heart.
+  Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas. By my life-
+    And I dare well maintain it with my life-
+    If well-respected honour bid me on
+    I hold as little counsel with weak fear
+    As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives.
+    Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle  
+    Which of us fears.
+  Doug. Yea, or to-night.
+  Ver. Content.
+  Hot. To-night, say I.
+    Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much,
+    Being men of such great leading as you are,
+    That you foresee not what impediments
+    Drag back our expedition. Certain horse
+    Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up.
+    Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day;
+    And now their pride and mettle is asleep,
+    Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,
+    That not a horse is half the half of himself.
+  Hot. So are the horses of the enemy,
+    In general journey-bated and brought low.
+    The better part of ours are full of rest.
+  Wor. The number of the King exceedeth ours.
+    For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.
+
+              The trumpet sounds a parley.  
+
+                 Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
+
+  Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,
+    If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.
+  Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt, and would to God
+    You were of our determination!
+    Some of us love you well; and even those some
+    Envy your great deservings and good name,
+    Because you are not of our quality,
+    But stand against us like an enemy.
+  Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so,
+    So long as out of limit and true rule
+    You stand against anointed majesty!
+    But to my charge. The King hath sent to know
+    The nature of your griefs; and whereupon
+    You conjure from the breast of civil peace
+    Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land
+    Audacious cruelty. If that the King
+    Have any way your good deserts forgot,  
+    Which he confesseth to be manifold,
+    He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed
+    You shall have your desires with interest,
+    And pardon absolute for yourself and these
+    Herein misled by your suggestion.
+  Hot. The King is kind; and well we know the King
+    Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
+    My father and my uncle and myself
+    Did give him that same royalty he wears;
+    And when he was not six-and-twenty strong,
+    Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
+    A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,
+    My father gave him welcome to the shore;
+    And when he heard him swear and vow to God
+    He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,
+    To sue his livery and beg his peace,
+    With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,
+    My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
+    Swore him assistance, and performed it too.
+    Now, when the lords and barons of the realm  
+    Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,
+    The more and less came in with cap and knee;
+    Met him on boroughs, cities, villages,
+    Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,
+    Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
+    Give him their heirs as pages, followed him
+    Even at the heels in golden multitudes.
+    He presently, as greatness knows itself,
+    Steps me a little higher than his vow
+    Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
+    Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;
+    And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
+    Some certain edicts and some strait decrees
+    That lie too heavy on the commonwealth;
+    Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
+    Over his country's wrongs; and by this face,
+    This seeming brow of justice, did he win
+    The hearts of all that he did angle for;
+    Proceeded further- cut me off the heads
+    Of all the favourites that the absent King  
+    In deputation left behind him here
+    When he was personal in the Irish war.
+    But. Tut! I came not to hear this.
+  Hot. Then to the point.
+    In short time after lie depos'd the King;
+    Soon after that depriv'd him of his life;
+    And in the neck of that task'd the whole state;
+    To make that worse, suff'red his kinsman March
+    (Who is, if every owner were well placid,
+    Indeed his king) to be engag'd in Wales,
+    There without ransom to lie forfeited;
+    Disgrac'd me in my happy victories,
+    Sought to entrap me by intelligence;
+    Rated mine uncle from the Council board;
+    In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
+    Broke an oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong;
+    And in conclusion drove us to seek out
+    This head of safety, and withal to pry
+    Into his title, the which we find
+    Too indirect for long continuance.  
+  Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?
+  Hot. Not so, Sir Walter. We'll withdraw awhile.
+    Go to the King; and let there be impawn'd
+    Some surety for a safe return again,
+    And In the morning early shall mine uncle
+    Bring him our purposes; and so farewell.
+  Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love.
+  Hot. And may be so we shall.
+  Blunt. Pray God you do.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+York. The Archbishop's Palace.
+
+Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.
+
+  Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief
+    With winged haste to the Lord Marshal;
+    This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest
+    To whom they are directed. If you knew
+    How much they do import, you would make haste.
+  Sir M. My good lord,
+    I guess their tenour.
+  Arch. Like enough you do.
+    To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day
+    Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
+    Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,
+    As I am truly given to understand,
+    The King with mighty and quick-raised power
+    Meets with Lord Harry; and I fear, Sir Michael,
+    What with the sickness of Northumberland,
+    Whose power was in the first proportion,
+    And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,  
+    Who with them was a rated sinew too
+    And comes not in, overrul'd by prophecies-
+    I fear the power of Percy is too weak
+    To wage an instant trial with the King.
+  Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear;
+    There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer.
+  Arch. No, Mortimer is not there.
+  Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,
+    And there is my Lord of Worcester, and a head
+    Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.
+  Arch. And so there is; but yet the King hath drawn
+    The special head of all the land together-
+    The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
+    The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt,
+    And many moe corrivals and dear men
+    Of estimation and command in arms.
+  Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd.
+  Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear;
+    And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed.
+    For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King  
+    Dismiss his power, he means to visit us,
+    For he hath heard of our confederacy,
+    And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him.
+    Therefore make haste. I must go write again
+    To other friends; and so farewell, Sir Michael.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. Scene I.
+The King's camp near Shrewsbury.
+
+Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt,
+Falstaff.
+
+  King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer
+    Above yon busky hill! The day looks pale
+    At his distemp'rature.
+  Prince. The southern wind
+    Doth play the trumpet to his purposes
+    And by his hollow whistling in the leaves
+    Foretells a tempest and a blust'ring day.
+  King. Theft with the losers let it sympathize,
+    For nothing can seem foul to those that win.
+
+     The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester [and Vernon].
+
+    How, now, my Lord of Worcester? 'Tis not well
+    That you and I should meet upon such terms
+    As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our trust
+    And made us doff our easy robes of peace  
+    To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.
+    This is not well, my lord; this is not well.
+    What say you to it? Will you again unknit
+    This churlish knot of all-abhorred war,
+    And move in that obedient orb again
+    Where you did give a fair and natural light,
+    And be no more an exhal'd meteor,
+    A prodigy of fear, and a portent
+    Of broached mischief to the unborn times?
+  Wor. Hear me, my liege.
+    For mine own part, I could be well content
+    To entertain the lag-end of my life
+    With quiet hours; for I do protest
+    I have not sought the day of this dislike.
+  King. You have not sought it! How comes it then,
+  Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
+  Prince. Peace, chewet, peace!
+  Wor. It pleas'd your Majesty to turn your looks
+    Of favour from myself and all our house;
+    And yet I must remember you, my lord,  
+    We were the first and dearest of your friends.
+    For you my staff of office did I break
+    In Richard's time, and posted day and night
+    To meet you on the way and kiss your hand
+    When yet you were in place and in account
+    Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
+    It was myself, my brother, and his son
+    That brought you home and boldly did outdare
+    The dangers of the time. You swore to us,
+    And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,
+    That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state,
+    Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
+    The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster.
+    To this we swore our aid. But in short space
+    It it rain'd down fortune show'ring on your head,
+    And such a flood of greatness fell on you-
+    What with our help, what with the absent King,
+    What with the injuries of a wanton time,
+    The seeming sufferances that you had borne,
+    And the contrarious winds that held the King  
+    So long in his unlucky Irish wars
+    That all in England did repute him dead-
+    And from this swarm of fair advantages
+    You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
+    To gripe the general sway into your hand;
+    Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster;
+    And, being fed by us, you us'd us so
+    As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
+    Useth the sparrow- did oppress our nest;
+    Grew, by our feeding to so great a bulk
+    That even our love thirst not come near your sight
+    For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing
+    We were enforc'd for safety sake to fly
+    Out of your sight and raise this present head;
+    Whereby we stand opposed by such means
+    As you yourself have forg'd against yourself
+    By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
+    And violation of all faith and troth
+    Sworn to tis in your younger enterprise.
+  King. These things, indeed, you have articulate,  
+    Proclaim'd at market crosses, read in churches,
+    To face the garment of rebellion
+    With some fine colour that may please the eye
+    Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,
+    Which gape and rub the elbow at the news
+    Of hurlyburly innovation.
+    And never yet did insurrection want
+    Such water colours to impaint his cause,
+    Nor moody beggars, starving for a time
+    Of pell-mell havoc and confusion.
+  Prince. In both our armies there is many a soul
+    Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,
+    If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew
+    The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world
+    In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes,
+    This present enterprise set off his head,
+    I do not think a braver gentleman,
+    More active-valiant or more valiant-young,
+    More daring or more bold, is now alive
+    To grace this latter age with noble deeds.  
+    For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
+    I have a truant been to chivalry;
+    And so I hear he doth account me too.
+    Yet this before my father's Majesty-
+    I am content that he shall take the odds
+    Of his great name and estimation,
+    And will to save the blood on either side,
+    Try fortune with him in a single fight.
+  King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,
+    Albeit considerations infinite
+    Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no!
+    We love our people well; even those we love
+    That are misled upon your cousin's part;
+    And, will they take the offer of our grace,
+    Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man
+    Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his.
+    So tell your cousin, and bring me word
+    What he will do. But if he will not yield,
+    Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
+    And they shall do their office. So be gone.  
+    We will not now be troubled with reply.
+    We offer fair; take it advisedly.
+                                    Exit Worcester [with Vernon]
+  Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life.
+    The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
+    Are confident against the world in arms.
+  King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
+    For, on their answer, will we set on them,
+    And God befriend us as our cause is just!
+                                Exeunt. Manent Prince, Falstaff.
+  Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so!
+    'Tis a point of friendship.
+  Prince. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that friendship.
+    Say thy prayers, and farewell.
+  Fal. I would 'twere bedtime, Hal, and all well.
+  Prince. Why, thou owest God a death.
+Exit.
+  Fal. 'Tis not due yet. I would be loath to pay him before his day.
+    What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well,
+    'tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick  
+    me off when I come on? How then? Can honor set to a leg? No. Or
+    an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no
+    skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that
+    word honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died a
+    Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be bear it? No. 'Tis
+    insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the
+    living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll
+    none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon- and so ends my catechism.
+Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+The rebel camp.
+
+Enter Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon.
+
+  Wor. O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
+    The liberal and kind offer of the King.
+  Ver. 'Twere best he did.
+  Wor. Then are we all undone.
+    It is not possible, it cannot be
+    The King should keep his word in loving us.
+    He will suspect us still and find a time
+    To punish this offence in other faults.
+    Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes;
+    For treason is but trusted like the fox
+    Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and lock'd up,
+    Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
+    Look how we can, or sad or merrily,
+    Interpretation will misquote our looks,
+    And we shall feed like oxen at a stall,
+    The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.
+    My nephew's trespass may be well forgot;  
+    It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood,
+    And an adopted name of privilege-
+    A hare-brained Hotspur govern'd by a spleen.
+    All his offences live upon my head
+    And on his father's. We did train him on;
+    And, his corruption being taken from us,
+    We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.
+    Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know,
+    In any case, the offer of the King.
+
+               Enter Hotspur [and Douglas].
+
+  Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.
+    Here comes your cousin.
+  Hot. My uncle is return'd.
+    Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.
+    Uncle, what news?
+  Wor. The King will bid you battle presently.
+  Doug. Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland.
+  Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.  
+  Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly.
+Exit.
+  Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King.
+  Hot. Did you beg any, God forbid!
+  Wor. I told him gently of our grievances,
+    Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,
+    By now forswearing that he is forsworn.
+    He calls us rebels, traitors, aid will scourge
+    With haughty arms this hateful name in us.
+
+                       Enter Douglas.
+
+  Doug. Arm, gentlemen! to arms! for I have thrown
+    A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth,
+    And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it;
+    Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.
+  Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the King
+    And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.
+  Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads,
+    And that no man might draw short breath to-day  
+    But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me,
+    How show'd his tasking? Seem'd it in contempt?
+    No, by my soul. I never in my life
+    Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly,
+    Unless a brother should a brother dare
+    To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
+    He gave you all the duties of a man;
+    Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue;
+    Spoke your deservings like a chronicle;
+    Making you ever better than his praise
+    By still dispraising praise valued with you;
+    And, which became him like a prince indeed,
+    He made a blushing cital of himself,
+    And chid his truant youth with such a grace
+    As if lie mast'red there a double spirit
+    Of teaching and of learning instantly.
+    There did he pause; but let me tell the world,
+    If he outlive the envy of this day,
+    England did never owe so sweet a hope,
+    So much misconstrued in his wantonness.  
+  Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured
+    Upon his follies. Never did I hear
+    Of any prince so wild a libertine.
+    But be he as he will, yet once ere night
+    I will embrace him with a soldier's arm,
+    That he shall shrink under my courtesy.
+    Arm, arm with speed! and, fellows, soldiers, friends,
+    Better consider what you have to do
+    Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,
+    Can lift your blood up with persuasion.
+
+                       Enter a Messenger.
+
+  Mess. My lord, here are letters for you.
+  Hot. I cannot read them now.-
+    O gentlemen, the time of life is short!
+    To spend that shortness basely were too long
+    If life did ride upon a dial's point,
+    Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
+    An if we live, we live to tread on kings;  
+    If die, brave death, when princes die with us!
+    Now for our consciences, the arms are fair,
+    When the intent of bearing them is just.
+
+                  Enter another Messenger.
+
+  Mess. My lord, prepare. The King comes on apace.
+  Hot. I thank him that he cuts me from my tale,
+    For I profess not talking. Only this-
+    Let each man do his best; and here draw I
+    A sword whose temper I intend to stain
+    With the best blood that I can meet withal
+    In the adventure of this perilous day.
+    Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on.
+    Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
+    And by that music let us all embrace;
+    For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
+    A second time do such a courtesy.
+                          Here they embrace. The trumpets sound.
+                                                       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Plain between the camps.
+
+The King enters with his Power.  Alarum to the battle.  Then enter Douglas
+and Sir Walter Blunt.
+
+  Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus
+    Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek
+    Upon my head?
+  Doug. Know then my name is Douglas,
+    And I do haunt thee in the battle thus
+    Because some tell me that thou art a king.
+  Blunt. They tell thee true.
+  Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought
+    Thy likeness; for instead of thee, King Harry,
+    This sword hath ended him. So shall it thee,
+    Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.
+  Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;
+    And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
+    Lord Stafford's death.
+
+    They fight. Douglas kills Blunt. Then enter Hotspur.  
+
+  Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
+    I never had triumph'd upon a Scot.
+  Doug. All's done, all's won. Here breathless lies the King.
+  Hot. Where?
+  Doug. Here.
+  Hot. This, Douglas? No. I know this face full well.
+    A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;
+    Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.
+  Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes!
+    A borrowed title hast thou bought too dear:
+    Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?
+  Hot. The King hath many marching in his coats.
+  Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
+    I'll murder all his wardrop, piece by piece,
+    Until I meet the King.
+  Hot. Up and away!
+    Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+  
+                 Alarum. Enter Falstaff solus.
+
+  Fal. Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot
+    here. Here's no scoring but upon the pate. Soft! who are you?
+    Sir Walter Blunt. There's honour for you! Here's no vanity! I am
+    as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too. God keep lead out of me!
+    I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my
+    rag-of-muffins where they are pepper'd. There's not three of my
+    hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to
+    beg during life. But who comes here?
+
+                         Enter the Prince.
+
+  Prince. What, stand'st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword.
+    Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
+    Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
+    Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd. I prithee
+    Rend me thy sword.
+  Fal. O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory
+    never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid  
+    Percy; I have made him sure.
+  Prince. He is indeed, and living to kill thee.
+    I prithee lend me thy sword.
+  Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my
+    sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.
+  Prince. Give it me. What, is it in the case?
+  Fal. Ay, Hal. 'Tis hot, 'tis hot. There's that will sack a city.
+
+    The Prince draws it out and finds it to he a bottle of sack.
+
+    What, is it a time to jest and dally now?
+                              He throws the bottle at him. Exit.
+  Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my
+    way, so; if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a
+    carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter
+    hath. Give me life; which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes
+    unlook'd for, and there's an end.                      Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+Another part of the field.
+
+Alarum. Excursions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster,
+Earl of Westmoreland
+
+  King. I prithee,
+    Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleedest too much.
+    Lord John of Lancaster, go you unto him.
+  John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.
+  Prince. I do beseech your Majesty make up,
+    Lest Your retirement do amaze your friends.
+  King. I will do so.
+    My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.
+  West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your tent.
+  Prince. Lead me, my lord, I do not need your help;
+    And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive
+    The Prince of Wales from such a field as this,
+    Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on,
+    And rebels' arms triumph in massacres!
+  John. We breathe too long. Come, cousin Westmoreland,
+    Our duty this way lies. For God's sake, come.  
+                          [Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland.]
+  Prince. By God, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster!
+    I did not think thee lord of such a spirit.
+    Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John;
+    But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
+  King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point
+    With lustier maintenance than I did look for
+    Of such an ungrown warrior.
+  Prince. O, this boy
+    Lends mettle to us all!                                Exit.
+
+                         Enter Douglas.
+
+  Doug. Another king? They grow like Hydra's heads.
+    I am the Douglas, fatal to all those
+    That wear those colours on them. What art thou
+    That counterfeit'st the person of a king?
+  King. The King himself, who, Douglas, grieves at heart
+    So many of his shadows thou hast met,
+    And not the very King. I have two boys  
+    Seek Percy and thyself about the field;
+    But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
+    I will assay thee. So defend thyself.
+  Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit;
+    And yet, in faith, thou bearest thee like a king.
+    But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be,
+    And thus I win thee.
+
+   They fight. The King being in danger, enter Prince of Wales.
+
+  Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like
+    Never to hold it up again! The spirits
+    Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms.
+    It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,
+    Who never promiseth but he means to pay.
+                                     They fight. Douglas flieth.
+    Cheerly, my lord. How fares your Grace?
+    Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent,
+    And so hath Clifton. I'll to Clifton straight.
+  King. Stay and breathe awhile.  
+    Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,
+    And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life,
+    In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.
+  Prince. O God! they did me too much injury
+    That ever said I heark'ned for your death.
+    If it were so, I might have let alone
+    The insulting hand of Douglas over you,
+    Which would have been as speedy in your end
+    As all the poisonous potions in the world,
+    And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son.
+  King. Make up to Clifton; I'll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.
+Exit.
+
+                      Enter Hotspur.
+
+  Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
+  Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.
+  Hot. My name is Harry Percy.
+  Prince. Why, then I see
+    A very valiant rebel of the name.  
+    I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,
+    To share with me in glory any more.
+    Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere,
+    Nor can one England brook a double reign
+    Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales.
+  Hot. Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come
+    To end the one of us and would to God
+    Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!
+  Prince. I'll make it greater ere I part from thee,
+    And all the budding honours on thy crest
+    I'll crop to make a garland for my head.
+  Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities.
+                                                     They fight.
+
+                      Enter Falstaff.
+
+  Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy's play
+    here, I can tell you.
+
+   Enter Douglas. He fighteth with Falstaff, who falls down as if  
+      he were dead. [Exit Douglas.] The Prince killeth Percy.
+
+  Hot. O Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth!
+    I better brook the loss of brittle life
+    Than those proud titles thou hast won of me.
+    They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh.
+    But thoughts the slave, of life, and life time's fool,
+    And time, that takes survey of all the world,
+    Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy,
+    But that the earthy and cold hand of death
+    Lies on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust,
+    And food for-                                        [Dies.]
+  Prince. For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart!
+    Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk!
+    When that this body did contain a spirit,
+    A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
+    But now two paces of the vilest earth
+    Is room enough. This earth that bears thee dead
+    Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
+    If thou wert sensible of courtesy,  
+    I should not make so dear a show of zeal.
+    But let my favours hide thy mangled face;
+    And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself
+    For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
+    Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!
+    Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
+    But not rememb'red in thy epitaph!
+                               He spieth Falstaff on the ground.
+    What, old acquaintance? Could not all this flesh
+    Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!
+    I could have better spar'd a better man.
+    O, I should have a heavy miss of thee
+    If I were much in love with vanity!
+    Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,
+    Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.
+    Embowell'd will I see thee by-and-by;
+    Till then in blood by noble Percy lie.                 Exit.
+
+                     Falstaff riseth up.
+  
+  Fal. Embowell'd? If thou embowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to
+    powder me and eat me too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to
+    counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot
+    too. Counterfeit? I lie; I am no counterfeit. To die is to be a
+    counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not
+    the life of a man; but to counterfeit dying when a man thereby
+    liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image
+    of life indeed. The better part of valour is discretion; in the
+    which better part I have saved my life. Zounds, I am afraid of
+    this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead. How if he should
+    counterfeit too, and rise? By my faith, I am afraid he would
+    prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure; yea,
+    and I'll swear I kill'd him. Why may not he rise as well as I?
+    Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore,
+    sirrah [stabs him], with a new wound in your thigh, come you
+    along with me.
+
+   He takes up Hotspur on his hack. [Enter Prince, and John of
+                            Lancaster.
+  
+  Prince. Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou flesh'd
+    Thy maiden sword.
+  John. But, soft! whom have we here?
+    Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?
+  Prince. I did; I saw him dead,
+    Breathless and bleeding on the ground. Art thou alive,
+    Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight?
+    I prithee speak. We will not trust our eyes
+    Without our ears. Thou art not what thou seem'st.
+  Fal. No, that's certain! I am not a double man; but if I be not
+    Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There 's Percy. If your father
+    will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy
+    himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you.
+  Prince. Why, Percy I kill'd myself, and saw thee dead!
+  Fal. Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I
+    grant you I was down, and out of breath, and so was he; but we
+    rose both at an instant and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury
+    clock. If I may be believ'd, so; if not, let them that should
+    reward valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take it
+    upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh. If the man  
+    were alive and would deny it, zounds! I would make him eat a
+    piece of my sword.
+  John. This is the strangest tale that ever I beard.
+  Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother John.
+    Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back.
+    For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,
+    I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
+                                           A retreat is sounded.
+    The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours.
+    Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field,
+    To see what friends are living, who are dead.
+                          Exeunt [Prince Henry and Prince John].
+  Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God
+    reward him! If I do grow great, I'll grow less; for I'll purge,
+    and leave sack, and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do.
+                                    Exit [bearing off the body].
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Another part of the field.
+
+The trumpets sound. [Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
+Earl of Westmoreland, with Worcester and Vernon prisoners.
+
+  King. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.
+    Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace,
+    Pardon, and terms of love to all of you?
+    And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary?
+    Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman's trust?
+    Three knights upon our party slain to-day,
+    A noble earl, and many a creature else
+    Had been alive this hour,
+    If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne
+    Betwixt our armies true intelligence.
+  Wor. What I have done my safety urg'd me to;
+    And I embrace this fortune patiently,
+    Since not to be avoided it fails on me.
+  King. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too;
+    Other offenders we will pause upon.  
+                         Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, [guarded].
+    How goes the field?
+  Prince. The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw
+    The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him,
+    The Noble Percy slain and all his men
+    Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest;
+    And falling from a hill,he was so bruis'd
+    That the pursuers took him. At my tent
+    The Douglas is, and I beseech Your Grace
+    I may dispose of him.
+  King. With all my heart.
+  Prince. Then brother John of Lancaster, to you
+    This honourable bounty shall belong.
+    Go to the Douglas and deliver him
+    Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free.
+    His valour shown upon our crests today
+    Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,
+    Even in the bosom of our adversaries.
+  John. I thank your Grace for this high courtesy,
+    Which I shall give away immediately.  
+  King. Then this remains, that we divide our power.
+    You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland,
+    Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed
+    To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop,
+    Who, as we hear, are busily in arms.
+    Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales
+    To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March.
+    Rebellion in this laud shall lose his sway,
+    Meeting the check of such another day;
+    And since this business so fair is done,
+    Let us not leave till all our own be won.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1598
+
+
+SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  RUMOUR, the Presenter
+  KING HENRY THE FOURTH
+
+  HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards HENRY
+  PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER
+  THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE
+    Sons of Henry IV
+
+  EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND
+  SCROOP, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK
+  LORD MOWBRAY
+  LORD HASTINGS
+  LORD BARDOLPH
+  SIR JOHN COLVILLE
+  TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland
+    Opposites against King Henry IV
+
+  EARL OF WARWICK
+  EARL OF WESTMORELAND  
+  EARL OF SURREY
+  EARL OF KENT
+  GOWER
+  HARCOURT
+  BLUNT
+    Of the King's party
+
+  LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
+  SERVANT, to Lord Chief Justice
+
+  SIR JOHN FALSTAFF
+  EDWARD POINS
+  BARDOLPH
+  PISTOL
+  PETO
+    Irregular humourists
+
+  PAGE, to Falstaff
+
+  ROBERT SHALLOW and SILENCE, country Justices  
+  DAVY, servant to Shallow
+
+  FANG and SNARE, Sheriff's officers
+
+  RALPH MOULDY
+  SIMON SHADOW
+  THOMAS WART
+  FRANCIS FEEBLE
+  PETER BULLCALF
+    Country soldiers
+
+  FRANCIS, a drawer
+
+  LADY NORTHUMBERLAND
+  LADY PERCY, Percy's widow
+  HOSTESS QUICKLY, of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap
+  DOLL TEARSHEET
+
+  LORDS, Attendants, Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, Servants,
+    Speaker of the Epilogue  
+
+                       SCENE: England
+
+INDUCTION
+                         INDUCTION.
+           Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle
+
+            Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues
+
+  RUMOUR. Open your ears; for which of you will stop
+    The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
+    I, from the orient to the drooping west,
+    Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
+    The acts commenced on this ball of earth.
+    Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
+    The which in every language I pronounce,
+    Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
+    I speak of peace while covert emnity,
+    Under the smile of safety, wounds the world;
+    And who but Rumour, who but only I,
+    Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence,
+    Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
+    Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
+    And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
+    Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
+    And of so easy and so plain a stop  
+    That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
+    The still-discordant wav'ring multitude,
+    Can play upon it. But what need I thus
+    My well-known body to anatomize
+    Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
+    I run before King Harry's victory,
+    Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,
+    Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
+    Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
+    Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
+    To speak so true at first? My office is
+    To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
+    Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
+    And that the King before the Douglas' rage
+    Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
+    This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
+    Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
+    And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
+    Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
+    Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on,  
+    And not a man of them brings other news
+    Than they have learnt of me. From Rumour's tongues
+    They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle
+
+Enter LORD BARDOLPH
+
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Who keeps the gate here, ho?
+
+                   The PORTER opens the gate
+
+    Where is the Earl?
+  PORTER. What shall I say you are?
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Tell thou the Earl
+    That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
+  PORTER. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard.
+    Please it your honour knock but at the gate,
+    And he himself will answer.
+
+                      Enter NORTHUMBERLAND
+
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Here comes the Earl.                Exit PORTER
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now
+    Should be the father of some stratagem.  
+    The times are wild; contention, like a horse
+    Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
+    And bears down all before him.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Noble Earl,
+    I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Good, an God will!
+  LORD BARDOLPH. As good as heart can wish.
+    The King is almost wounded to the death;
+    And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
+    Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
+    Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John,
+    And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;
+    And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
+    Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day,
+    So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,
+    Came not till now to dignify the times,
+    Since Cxsar's fortunes!
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. How is this deriv'd?
+    Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury?
+  LORD BARDOLPH. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence;  
+    A gentleman well bred and of good name,
+    That freely rend'red me these news for true.
+
+                         Enter TRAVERS
+
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
+    On Tuesday last to listen after news.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
+    And he is furnish'd with no certainties
+    More than he haply may retail from me.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
+  TRAVERS. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
+    With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
+    Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
+    A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
+    That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
+    He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
+    I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.
+    He told me that rebellion had bad luck,
+    And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.  
+    With that he gave his able horse the head
+    And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
+    Against the panting sides of his poor jade
+    Up to the rowel-head; and starting so,
+    He seem'd in running to devour the way,
+    Staying no longer question.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Ha! Again:
+    Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
+    Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion
+    Had met ill luck?
+  LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I'll tell you what:
+    If my young lord your son have not the day,
+    Upon mine honour, for a silken point
+    I'll give my barony. Never talk of it.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
+    Give then such instances of loss?
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Who- he?
+    He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n
+    The horse he rode on and, upon my life,
+    Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.  
+
+                        Enter Morton
+
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
+    Foretells the nature of a tragic volume.
+    So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
+    Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
+    Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
+  MORTON. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
+    Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
+    To fright our party.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. How doth my son and brother?
+    Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
+    Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
+    Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
+    So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone,
+    Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night
+    And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
+    But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
+    And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.  
+    This thou wouldst say: 'Your son did thus and thus;
+    Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas'-
+    Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds;
+    But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
+    Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
+    Ending with 'Brother, son, and all, are dead.'
+  MORTON. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
+    But for my lord your son-
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, he is dead.
+    See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
+    He that but fears the thing he would not know
+    Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
+    That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
+    Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
+    And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
+    And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
+  MORTON. You are too great to be by me gainsaid;
+    Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
+    I see a strange confession in thine eye;  
+    Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin
+    To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:
+    The tongue offends not that reports his death;
+    And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
+    Not he which says the dead is not alive.
+    Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
+    Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
+    Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
+    Rememb'red tolling a departing friend.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
+  MORTON. I am sorry I should force you to believe
+    That which I would to God I had not seen;
+    But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
+    Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd,
+    To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down
+    The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
+    From whence with life he never more sprung up.
+    In few, his death- whose spirit lent a fire
+    Even to the dullest peasant in his camp-
+    Being bruited once, took fire and heat away  
+    From the best-temper'd courage in his troops;
+    For from his metal was his party steeled;
+    Which once in him abated, an the rest
+    Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
+    And as the thing that's heavy in itself
+    Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
+    So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
+    Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
+    That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
+    Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
+    Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester
+    Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
+    The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
+    Had three times slain th' appearance of the King,
+    Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame
+    Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,
+    Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
+    Is that the King hath won, and hath sent out
+    A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
+    Under the conduct of young Lancaster  
+    And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
+    In poison there is physic; and these news,
+    Having been well, that would have made me sick,
+    Being sick, have in some measure made me well;
+    And as the wretch whose fever-weak'ned joints,
+    Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
+    Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
+    Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
+    Weak'ned with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
+    Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!
+    A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
+    Must glove this hand; and hence, thou sickly coif!
+    Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
+    Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
+    Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
+    The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring
+    To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
+    Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand
+    Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die!  
+    And let this world no longer be a stage
+    To feed contention in a ling'ring act;
+    But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
+    Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
+    On bloody courses, the rude scene may end
+    And darkness be the burier of the dead!
+  LORD BARDOLPH. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
+  MORTON. Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.
+    The lives of all your loving complices
+    Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
+    To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
+    You cast th' event of war, my noble lord,
+    And summ'd the account of chance before you said
+    'Let us make head.' It was your pre-surmise
+    That in the dole of blows your son might drop.
+    You knew he walk'd o'er perils on an edge,
+    More likely to fall in than to get o'er;
+    You were advis'd his flesh was capable
+    Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit
+    Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd;  
+    Yet did you say 'Go forth'; and none of this,
+    Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
+    The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n,
+    Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth
+    More than that being which was like to be?
+  LORD BARDOLPH. We all that are engaged to this loss
+    Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
+    That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one;
+    And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
+    Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
+    And since we are o'erset, venture again.
+    Come, we will put forth, body and goods.
+  MORTON. 'Tis more than time. And, my most noble lord,
+    I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth:
+    The gentle Archbishop of York is up
+    With well-appointed pow'rs. He is a man
+    Who with a double surety binds his followers.
+    My lord your son had only but the corpse,
+    But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
+    For that same word 'rebellion' did divide  
+    The action of their bodies from their souls;
+    And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
+    As men drink potions; that their weapons only
+    Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls
+    This word 'rebellion'- it had froze them up,
+    As fish are in a pond. But now the Bishop
+    Turns insurrection to religion.
+    Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
+    He's follow'd both with body and with mind;
+    And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
+    Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones;
+    Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;
+    Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,
+    Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
+    And more and less do flock to follow him.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
+    This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
+    Go in with me; and counsel every man
+    The aptest way for safety and revenge.
+    Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed-  
+    Never so few, and never yet more need.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+London. A street
+
+Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his sword and buckler
+
+  FALSTAFF. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?
+  PAGE. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but
+    for the party that owed it, he might have moe diseases than he
+    knew for.
+  FALSTAFF. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of
+    this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything
+    that intends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on
+    me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in
+    other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath
+    overwhelm'd all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into
+    my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I
+    have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be
+    worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd with
+    an agate till now; but I will inset you neither in gold nor
+    silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your
+    master, for a jewel- the juvenal, the Prince your master, whose  
+    chin is not yet fledge. I will sooner have a beard grow in the
+    palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet he
+    will not stick to say his face is a face-royal. God may finish it
+    when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet. He may keep it still at
+    a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it;
+    and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his
+    father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost
+    out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dommelton about
+    the satin for my short cloak and my slops?
+  PAGE. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than
+    Bardolph. He would not take his band and yours; he liked not the
+    security.
+  FALSTAFF. Let him be damn'd, like the Glutton; pray God his tongue
+    be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! A rascal-yea-forsooth knave, to
+    bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The
+    whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and
+    bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with
+    them in honest taking-up, then they must stand upon security. I
+    had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop
+    it with security. I look'd 'a should have sent me two and twenty  
+    yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security.
+    Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of
+    abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it; and
+    yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him.
+    Where's Bardolph?
+  PAGE. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship horse.
+  FALSTAFF. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in
+    Smithfield. An I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were
+    mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd.
+
+              Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT
+
+  PAGE. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the
+    Prince for striking him about Bardolph.
+  FALSTAFF. Wait close; I will not see him.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. What's he that goes there?
+  SERVANT. Falstaff, an't please your lordship.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. He that was in question for the robb'ry?
+  SERVANT. He, my lord; but he hath since done good service at
+    Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the  
+    Lord John of Lancaster.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. What, to York? Call him back again.
+  SERVANT. Sir John Falstaff!
+  FALSTAFF. Boy, tell him I am deaf.
+  PAGE. You must speak louder; my master is deaf.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything good.
+    Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him.
+  SERVANT. Sir John!
+  FALSTAFF. What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? Is
+    there not employment? Doth not the King lack subjects? Do not the
+    rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but
+    one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were
+    it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it.
+  SERVANT. You mistake me, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? Setting my
+    knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I
+    had said so.
+  SERVANT. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your
+    soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you you in your
+    throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man.  
+  FALSTAFF. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which
+    grows to me! If thou get'st any leave of me, hang me; if thou
+    tak'st leave, thou wert better be hang'd. You hunt counter.
+    Hence! Avaunt!
+  SERVANT. Sir, my lord would speak with you.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.
+  FALSTAFF. My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I
+    am glad to see your lordship abroad. I heard say your lordship
+    was sick; I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your
+    lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack
+    of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I most
+    humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverend care of your
+    health.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to
+    Shrewsbury.
+  FALSTAFF. An't please your lordship, I hear his Majesty is return'd
+    with some discomfort from Wales.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I talk not of his Majesty. You would not come when I
+    sent for you.
+  FALSTAFF. And I hear, moreover, his Highness is fall'n into this  
+    same whoreson apoplexy.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well God mend him! I pray you let me speak with you.
+  FALSTAFF. This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy, an't
+    please your lordship, a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson
+    tingling.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. What tell you me of it? Be it as it is.
+  FALSTAFF. It hath it original from much grief, from study, and
+    perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of his effects
+    in Galen; it is a kind of deafness.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I think you are fall'n into the disease, for you
+    hear not what I say to you.
+  FALSTAFF. Very well, my lord, very well. Rather an't please you, it
+    is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that
+    I am troubled withal.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. To punish you by the heels would amend the attention
+    of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician.
+  FALSTAFF. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient. Your
+    lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect
+    of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your
+    prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or  
+    indeed a scruple itself.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I sent for you, when there were matters against you
+    for your life, to come speak with me.
+  FALSTAFF. As I was then advis'd by my learned counsel in the laws
+    of this land-service, I did not come.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great
+    infamy.
+  FALSTAFF. He that buckles himself in my belt cannot live in less.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Your means are very slender, and your waste is
+    great.
+  FALSTAFF. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater
+    and my waist slenderer.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. You have misled the youthful Prince.
+  FALSTAFF. The young Prince hath misled me. I am the fellow with the
+    great belly, and he my dog.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, I am loath to gall a new-heal'd wound. Your
+    day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your
+    night's exploit on Gadshill. You may thank th' unquiet time for
+    your quiet o'erposting that action.
+  FALSTAFF. My lord-  
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a
+    sleeping wolf.
+  FALSTAFF. To wake a wolf is as bad as smell a fox.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt
+    out.
+  FALSTAFF. A wassail candle, my lord- all tallow; if I did say of
+    wax, my growth would approve the truth.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. There is not a white hair in your face but should
+    have his effect of gravity.
+  FALSTAFF. His effect of gravy, gravy,
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. You follow the young Prince up and down, like his
+    ill angel.
+  FALSTAFF. Not so, my lord. Your ill angel is light; but  hope he
+    that looks upon me will take me without weighing. And yet in some
+    respects, I grant, I cannot go- I cannot tell. Virtue is of so
+    little regard in these costermongers' times that true valour is
+    turn'd berod; pregnancy is made a tapster, and his quick wit
+    wasted in giving reckonings; all the other gifts appertinent to
+    man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a
+    gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us  
+    that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the
+    bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward of our
+    youth, must confess, are wags too.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth,
+    that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have
+    you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a
+    decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken,
+    your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every
+    part about you blasted with antiquity? And will you yet call
+    yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John!
+  FALSTAFF. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the
+    afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my
+    voice- I have lost it with hallooing and singing of anthems. To
+    approve my youth further, I will not. The truth is, I am only old
+    in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for
+    a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him. For
+    the box of the ear that the Prince gave you- he gave it like a
+    rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have check'd
+    him for it; and the young lion repents- marry, not in ashes and
+    sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack.  
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, God send the Prince a better companion!
+  FALSTAFF. God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my
+    hands of him.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the King hath sever'd you. I hear you are
+    going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the
+    Earl of Northumberland.
+  FALSTAFF. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you
+    pray, all you that kiss my Lady Peace at home, that our armies
+    join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts
+    out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily. If it be a
+    hot day, and I brandish anything but a bottle, I would I might
+    never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep
+    out his head but I am thrust upon it. Well, I cannot last ever;
+    but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they
+    have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I
+    am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name
+    were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to be
+    eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with
+    perpetual motion.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your  
+    expedition!
+  FALSTAFF. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me
+    forth?
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to
+    bear crosses. Fare you well. Commend me to my cousin
+    Westmoreland.
+                                Exeunt CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT
+  FALSTAFF. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no
+    more separate age and covetousness than 'a can part young limbs
+    and lechery; but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the
+    other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy!
+  PAGE. Sir?
+  FALSTAFF. What money is in my purse?
+  PAGE. Seven groats and two pence.
+  FALSTAFF. I can get no remedy against this consumption of the
+    purse; borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease
+    is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this
+    to the Prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old
+    Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I
+    perceiv'd the first white hair of my chin. About it; you know  
+    where to find me.  [Exit PAGE]  A pox of this gout! or, a gout of
+    this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great
+    toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour,
+    and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will
+    make use of anything. I will turn diseases to commodity.
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+York. The ARCHBISHOP'S palace
+
+Enter the ARCHBISHOP, THOMAS MOWBRAY the EARL MARSHAL, LORD HASTINGS,
+and LORD BARDOLPH
+
+  ARCHBISHOP. Thus have you heard our cause and known our means;
+    And, my most noble friends, I pray you all
+    Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes-
+    And first, Lord Marshal, what say you to it?
+  MOWBRAY. I well allow the occasion of our amis;
+    But gladly would be better satisfied
+    How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
+    To look with forehead bold and big enough
+    Upon the power and puissance of the King.
+  HASTINGS. Our present musters grow upon the file
+    To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
+    And our supplies live largely in the hope
+    Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
+    With an incensed fire of injuries.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:
+    Whether our present five and twenty thousand  
+    May hold up head without Northumberland?
+  HASTINGS. With him, we may.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Yea, marry, there's the point;
+    But if without him we be thought too feeble,
+    My judgment is we should not step too far
+    Till we had his assistance by the hand;
+    For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
+    Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
+    Of aids incertain, should not be admitted.
+  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed
+    It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope,
+    Eating the air and promise of supply,
+    Flatt'ring himself in project of a power
+    Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts;
+    And so, with great imagination
+    Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
+    And, winking, leapt into destruction.
+  HASTINGS. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
+    To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.  
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Yes, if this present quality of war-
+    Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot-
+    Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
+    We see th' appearing buds; which to prove fruit
+    Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair
+    That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
+    We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
+    And when we see the figure of the house,
+    Then we must rate the cost of the erection;
+    Which if we find outweighs ability,
+    What do we then but draw anew the model
+    In fewer offices, or at least desist
+    To build at all? Much more, in this great work-
+    Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down
+    And set another up- should we survey
+    The plot of situation and the model,
+    Consent upon a sure foundation,
+    Question surveyors, know our own estate
+    How able such a work to undergo-
+    To weigh against his opposite; or else  
+    We fortify in paper and in figures,
+    Using the names of men instead of men;
+    Like one that draws the model of a house
+    Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
+    Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
+    A naked subject to the weeping clouds
+    And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
+  HASTINGS. Grant that our hopes- yet likely of fair birth-
+    Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
+    The utmost man of expectation,
+    I think we are so a body strong enough,
+    Even as we are, to equal with the King.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. What, is the King but five and twenty thousand?
+  HASTINGS. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph;
+    For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
+    Are in three heads: one power against the French,
+    And one against Glendower; perforce a third
+    Must take up us. So is the unfirm King
+    In three divided; and his coffers sound
+    With hollow poverty and emptiness.  
+  ARCHBISHOP. That he should draw his several strengths together
+    And come against us in full puissance
+    Need not be dreaded.
+  HASTINGS. If he should do so,
+    He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
+    Baying at his heels. Never fear that.
+  LORD BARDOLPH. Who is it like should lead his forces hither?
+  HASTINGS. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;
+    Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth;
+    But who is substituted against the French
+    I have no certain notice.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Let us on,
+    And publish the occasion of our arms.
+    The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;
+    Their over-greedy love hath surfeited.
+    An habitation giddy and unsure
+    Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
+    O thou fond many, with what loud applause
+    Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke
+    Before he was what thou wouldst have him be!  
+    And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,
+    Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him
+    That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
+    So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
+    Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
+    And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,
+    And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times?
+    They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die
+    Are now become enamour'd on his grave.
+    Thou that threw'st dust upon his goodly head,
+    When through proud London he came sighing on
+    After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke,
+    Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again,
+    And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accurs'd!
+    Past and to come seems best; things present, worst.
+  MOWBRAY. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?
+  HASTINGS. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+London. A street
+
+Enter HOSTESS with two officers, FANG and SNARE
+
+  HOSTESS. Master Fang, have you ent'red the action?
+  FANG. It is ent'red.
+  HOSTESS. Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? Will 'a stand
+    to't?
+  FANG. Sirrah, where's Snare?
+  HOSTESS. O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.
+  SNARE. Here, here.
+  FANG. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.
+  HOSTESS. Yea, good Master Snare; I have ent'red him and all.
+  SNARE. It may chance cost some of our lives, for he will stab.
+  HOSTESS. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb'd me in mine own
+    house, and that most beastly. In good faith, 'a cares not what
+    mischief he does, if his weapon be out; he will foin like any
+    devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child.
+  FANG. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.
+  HOSTESS. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow.
+  FANG. An I but fist him once; an 'a come but within my vice!  
+  HOSTESS. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an
+    infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure.
+    Good Master Snare, let him not scape. 'A comes continuantly to
+    Pie-corner- saving your manhoods- to buy a saddle; and he is
+    indited to dinner to the Lubber's Head in Lumbert Street, to
+    Master Smooth's the silkman. I pray you, since my exion is
+    ent'red, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be
+    brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor
+    lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne; and
+    have been fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, from this
+    day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no
+    honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and
+    a beast, to bear every knave's wrong.
+
+            Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH
+
+    Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph,
+    with him. Do your offices, do your offices, Master Fang and
+    Master Snare; do me, do me, do me your offices.
+  FALSTAFF. How now! whose mare's dead? What's the matter?  
+  FANG. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.
+  FALSTAFF. Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph. Cut me off the villian's
+    head. Throw the quean in the channel.
+  HOSTESS. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel.
+    Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah,
+    thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the
+    King's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a
+    man-queller and a woman-queller.
+  FALSTAFF. Keep them off, Bardolph.
+  FANG. A rescue! a rescue!
+  HOSTESS. Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wot, wot thou!
+    thou wot, wot ta? Do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed!
+  PAGE. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian!
+    I'll tickle your catastrophe.
+
+              Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and his men
+
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. What is the matter? Keep the peace here, ho!
+  HOSTESS. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. How now, Sir John! what, are you brawling here?  
+    Doth this become your place, your time, and business?
+    You should have been well on your way to York.
+    Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang'st thou upon him?
+  HOSTESS. O My most worshipful lord, an't please your Grace, I am a
+    poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. For what sum?
+  HOSTESS. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all- all I
+    have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my
+    substance into that fat belly of his. But I will have some of it
+    out again, or I will ride thee a nights like a mare.
+  FALSTAFF. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any
+    vantage of ground to get up.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. How comes this, Sir John? Fie! What man of good
+    temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not
+    ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by
+    her own?
+  FALSTAFF. What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
+  HOSTESS. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money
+    too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in
+    my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon  
+    Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the Prince broke thy head for
+    liking his father to singing-man of Windsor- thou didst swear to
+    me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my
+    lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the
+    butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? Coming
+    in to borrow a mess of vinegar, telling us she had a good dish of
+    prawns, whereby thou didst desire to eat some, whereby I told
+    thee they were ill for green wound? And didst thou not, when she
+    was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with
+    such poor people, saying that ere long they should call me madam?
+    And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch the thirty
+    shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath. Deny it, if thou
+    canst.
+  FALSTAFF. My lord, this is a poor mad soul, and she says up and
+    down the town that her eldest son is like you. She hath been in
+    good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But
+    for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress
+    against them.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your
+    manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a  
+    confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more
+    than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level
+    consideration. You have, as it appears to me, practis'd upon the
+    easy yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses
+    both in purse and in person.
+  HOSTESS. Yea, in truth, my lord.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and
+    unpay the villainy you have done with her; the one you may do
+    with sterling money, and the other with current repentance.
+  FALSTAFF. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You
+    call honourable boldness impudent sauciness; if a man will make
+    curtsy and say nothing, he is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble
+    duty rememb'red, I will not be your suitor. I say to you I do
+    desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty
+    employment in the King's affairs.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. You speak as having power to do wrong; but answer in
+    th' effect of your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman.
+  FALSTAFF. Come hither, hostess.
+
+                               Enter GOWER  
+
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, Master Gower, what news?
+  GOWER. The King, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales
+    Are near at hand. The rest the paper tells. [Gives a letter]
+  FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman!
+  HOSTESS. Faith, you said so before.
+  FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman! Come, no more words of it.
+  HOSTESS. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn
+    both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers.
+  FALSTAFF. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for thy
+    walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or
+    the German hunting, in water-work, is worth a thousand of these
+    bed-hangers and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound,
+    if thou canst. Come, and 'twere not for thy humours, there's not
+    a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the
+    action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not
+    know me? Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this.
+  HOSTESS. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles;
+    i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la!
+  FALSTAFF. Let it alone; I'll make other shift. You'll be a fool  
+    still.
+  HOSTESS. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown.
+    I hope you'll come to supper. you'll pay me all together?
+  FALSTAFF. Will I live?  [To BARDOLPH]  Go, with her, with her; hook
+    on, hook on.
+  HOSTESS. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper?
+  FALSTAFF. No more words; let's have her.
+                          Exeunt HOSTESS, BARDOLPH, and OFFICERS
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I have heard better news.
+  FALSTAFF. What's the news, my lord?
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Where lay the King to-night?
+  GOWER. At Basingstoke, my lord.
+  FALSTAFF. I hope, my lord, all's well. What is the news, my lord?
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Come all his forces back?
+  GOWER. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
+    Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster,
+    Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.
+  FALSTAFF. Comes the King back from Wales, my noble lord?
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. You shall have letters of me presently.
+    Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.  
+  FALSTAFF. My lord!
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. What's the matter?
+  FALSTAFF. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner?
+  GOWER. I must wait upon my good lord here, I thank you, good Sir
+    John.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to
+    take soldiers up in counties as you go.
+  FALSTAFF. Will you sup with me, Master Gower?
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir
+    John?
+  FALSTAFF. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that
+    taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for
+    tap, and so part fair.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, the Lord lighten thee! Thou art a great fool.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+London. Another street
+
+Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS
+
+  PRINCE. Before God, I am exceeding weary.
+  POINS. Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have
+    attach'd one of so high blood.
+  PRINCE. Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of
+    my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to
+    desire small beer?
+  POINS. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to
+    remember so weak a composition.
+  PRINCE. Belike then my appetite was not-princely got; for, by my
+    troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But
+    indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with my
+    greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name, or
+    to know thy face to-morrow, or to take note how many pair of silk
+    stockings thou hast- viz., these, and those that were thy
+    peach-colour'd ones- or to bear the inventory of thy shirts- as,
+    one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the
+    tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of  
+    linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast
+    not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries
+    have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And God knows whether
+    those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his
+    kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the fault;
+    whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily
+    strengthened.
+  POINS. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you
+    should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would
+    do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?
+  PRINCE. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
+  POINS. Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.
+  PRINCE. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.
+  POINS. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will
+    tell.
+  PRINCE. Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad, now
+    my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee- as to one it
+    pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend- I could be
+    sad and sad indeed too.
+  POINS. Very hardly upon such a subject.  
+  PRINCE. By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book
+    as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end
+    try the man. But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that my
+    father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art hath
+    in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.
+  POINS. The reason?
+  PRINCE. What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep?
+  POINS. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
+  PRINCE. It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed
+    fellow to think as every man thinks. Never a man's thought in the
+    world keeps the road-way better than thine. Every man would think
+    me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful
+    thought to think so?
+  POINS. Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to
+    Falstaff.
+  PRINCE. And to thee.
+  POINS. By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with mine
+    own ears. The worst that they can say of me is that I am a second
+    brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two
+    things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes  
+    Bardolph.
+
+                         Enter BARDOLPH and PAGE
+
+  PRINCE. And the boy that I gave Falstaff. 'A had him from me
+    Christian; and look if the fat villain have not transform'd him
+    ape.
+  BARDOLPH. God save your Grace!
+  PRINCE. And yours, most noble Bardolph!
+  POINS. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be
+    blushing? Wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms
+    are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's
+    maidenhead?
+  PAGE. 'A calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I
+    could discern no part of his face from the window. At last I
+    spied his eyes; and methought he had made two holes in the
+    alewife's new petticoat, and so peep'd through.
+  PRINCE. Has not the boy profited?
+  BARDOLPH. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!
+  PAGE. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away!  
+  PRINCE. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?
+  PAGE. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamt she was delivered of a
+    firebrand; and therefore I call him her dream.
+  PRINCE. A crown's worth of good interpretation. There 'tis, boy.
+                                                [Giving a crown]
+  POINS. O that this blossom could be kept from cankers!
+    Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.
+  BARDOLPH. An you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallows
+    shall have wrong.
+  PRINCE. And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
+  BARDOLPH. Well, my lord. He heard of your Grace's coming to town.
+    There's a letter for you.
+  POINS. Deliver'd with good respect. And how doth the martlemas,
+    your master?
+  BARDOLPH. In bodily health, sir.
+  POINS. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves
+    not him. Though that be sick, it dies not.
+  PRINCE. I do allow this well to be as familiar with me as my dog;
+    and he holds his place, for look you how he writes.
+  POINS.  [Reads]  'John Falstaff, knight'- Every man must know that  
+    as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those that
+    are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger but they
+    say 'There's some of the King's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?'
+    says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as
+    ready as a borrower's cap: 'I am the King's poor cousin, sir.'
+  PRINCE. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from
+    Japhet. But the letter:  [Reads]  'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to
+    the son of the King nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales,
+    greeting.'
+  POINS. Why, this is a certificate.
+  PRINCE. Peace!  [Reads]  'I will imitate the honourable Romans in
+    brevity.'-
+  POINS. He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded.
+  PRINCE.  [Reads]  'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I
+    leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy
+    favours so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell.
+    Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.
+      Thine, by yea and no- which is as much as to say as
+        thou usest him- JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars,
+        JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with  
+        all Europe.'
+  POINS. My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it.
+  PRINCE. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use
+    me thus, Ned? Must I marry your sister?
+  POINS. God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so.
+  PRINCE. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits
+    of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in
+    London?
+  BARDOLPH. Yea, my lord.
+  PRINCE. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank?
+  BARDOLPH. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.
+  PRINCE. What company?
+  PAGE. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
+  PRINCE. Sup any women with him?
+  PAGE. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll
+    Tearsheet.
+  PRINCE. What pagan may that be?
+  PAGE. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.
+  PRINCE. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull.
+    Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?  
+  POINS. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.
+  PRINCE. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that
+    I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.
+  BARDOLPH. I have no tongue, sir.
+  PAGE. And for mine, sir, I will govern it.
+  PRINCE. Fare you well; go.            Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE
+    This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.
+  POINS. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Albans and
+    London.
+  PRINCE. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his
+    true colours, and not ourselves be seen?
+  POINS. Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at
+    his table as drawers.
+  PRINCE. From a god to a bull? A heavy descension! It was Jove's
+    case. From a prince to a prentice? A low transformation! That
+    shall be mine; for in everything the purpose must weigh with the
+    folly. Follow me, Ned.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Warkworth. Before the castle
+
+Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY
+
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
+    Give even way unto my rough affairs;
+    Put not you on the visage of the times
+    And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.
+  LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. I have given over, I will speak no more.
+    Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;
+    And but my going nothing can redeem it.
+  LADY PERCY. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
+    The time was, father, that you broke your word,
+    When you were more endear'd to it than now;
+    When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
+    Threw many a northward look to see his father
+    Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
+    Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
+    There were two honours lost, yours and your son's.  
+    For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!
+    For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
+    In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light
+    Did all the chivalry of England move
+    To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass
+    Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
+    He had no legs that practis'd not his gait;
+    And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
+    Became the accents of the valiant;
+    For those who could speak low and tardily
+    Would turn their own perfection to abuse
+    To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,
+    In diet, in affections of delight,
+    In military rules, humours of blood,
+    He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
+    That fashion'd others. And him- O wondrous him!
+    O miracle of men!- him did you leave-
+    Second to none, unseconded by you-
+    To look upon the hideous god of war
+    In disadvantage, to abide a field  
+    Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
+    Did seem defensible. So you left him.
+    Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
+    To hold your honour more precise and nice
+    With others than with him! Let them alone.
+    The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong.
+    Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
+    To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
+    Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew your heart,
+    Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me
+    With new lamenting ancient oversights.
+    But I must go and meet with danger there,
+    Or it will seek me in another place,
+    And find me worse provided.
+  LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. O, fly to Scotland
+    Till that the nobles and the armed commons
+    Have of their puissance made a little taste.
+  LADY PERCY. If they get ground and vantage of the King,
+    Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,  
+    To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
+    First let them try themselves. So did your son;
+    He was so suff'red; so came I a widow;
+    And never shall have length of life enough
+    To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
+    That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
+    For recordation to my noble husband.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind
+    As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
+    That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
+    Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop,
+    But many thousand reasons hold me back.
+    I will resolve for Scotland. There am I,
+    Till time and vantage crave my company.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+London. The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap
+
+Enter FRANCIS and another DRAWER
+
+  FRANCIS. What the devil hast thou brought there-apple-johns? Thou
+    knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.
+  SECOND DRAWER. Mass, thou say'st true. The Prince once set a dish
+    of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir
+    Johns; and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave
+    of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It ang'red him
+    to the heart; but he hath forgot that.
+  FRANCIS. Why, then, cover and set them down; and see if thou canst
+    find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some
+    music.
+
+                        Enter third DRAWER
+
+  THIRD DRAWER. Dispatch! The room where they supp'd is too hot;
+    they'll come in straight.
+  FRANCIS. Sirrah, here will be the Prince and Master Poins anon; and
+    they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must  
+    not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.
+  THIRD DRAWER. By the mass, here will be old uds; it will be an
+    excellent stratagem.
+  SECOND DRAWER. I'll see if I can find out Sneak.
+                                 Exeunt second and third DRAWERS
+
+                Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEARSHEET
+
+  HOSTESS. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent
+    good temperality. Your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart
+    would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any
+    rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much
+    canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes
+    the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now?
+  DOLL. Better than I was- hem.
+  HOSTESS. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold.
+    Lo, here comes Sir John.
+
+                          Enter FALSTAFF
+  
+  FALSTAFF.  [Singing]  'When Arthur first in court'- Empty the
+    jordan.  [Exit FRANCIS]- [Singing]  'And was a worthy king'- How
+    now, Mistress Doll!
+  HOSTESS. Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.
+  FALSTAFF. So is all her sect; and they be once in a calm, they are
+    sick.
+  DOLL. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal! Is that all the comfort you
+    give me?
+  FALSTAFF. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.
+  DOLL. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them
+    not.
+  FALSTAFF. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make
+    the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant
+    that, my poor virtue, grant that.
+  DOLL. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.
+  FALSTAFF. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches.' For to serve bravely
+    is to come halting off; you know, to come off the breach with his
+    pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the
+    charg'd chambers bravely-
+  DOLL. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!  
+  HOSTESS. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet
+    but you fall to some discord. You are both, i' good truth, as
+    rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's
+    confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be
+    you. You are the weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier
+    vessel.
+  DOLL. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogs-head?
+    There's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you
+    have not seen a hulk better stuff'd in the hold. Come, I'll be
+    friends with thee, Jack. Thou art going to the wars; and whether
+    I shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody cares.
+
+                            Re-enter FRANCIS
+
+  FRANCIS. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below and would speak with you.
+  DOLL. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither; it is
+    the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.
+  HOSTESS. If he swagger, let him not come here. No, by my faith! I
+    must live among my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers. I am in good
+    name and fame with the very best. Shut the door. There comes no  
+    swaggerers here; I have not liv'd all this while to have
+    swaggering now. Shut the door, I pray you.
+  FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear, hostess?
+  HOSTESS. Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes no
+    swaggerers here.
+  FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear? It is mine ancient.
+  HOSTESS. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me; and your ancient
+    swagg'rer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the
+    debuty, t' other day; and, as he said to me- 'twas no longer ago
+    than Wednesday last, i' good faith!- 'Neighbour Quickly,' says
+    he- Master Dumbe, our minister, was by then- 'Neighbour Quickly,'
+    says he 'receive those that are civil, for' said he 'you are in
+    an ill name.' Now 'a said so, I can tell whereupon. 'For' says he
+    'you are an honest woman and well thought on, therefore take heed
+    what guests you receive. Receive' says he 'no swaggering
+    companions.' There comes none here. You would bless you to hear
+    what he said. No, I'll no swagg'rers.
+  FALSTAFF. He's no swagg'rer, hostess; a tame cheater, i' faith; you
+    may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. He'll not swagger
+    with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of  
+    resistance. Call him up, drawer.
+                                                    Exit FRANCIS
+  HOSTESS. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house,
+    nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth. I am
+    the worse when one says 'swagger.' Feel, masters, how I shake;
+    look you, I warrant you.
+  DOLL. So you do, hostess.
+  HOSTESS. Do I? Yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen leaf. I
+    cannot abide swagg'rers.
+
+                   Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and PAGE
+
+  PISTOL. God save you, Sir John!
+  FALSTAFF. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with
+    a cup of sack; do you discharge upon mine hostess.
+  PISTOL. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.
+  FALSTAFF. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall not hardly offend
+    her.
+  HOSTESS. Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets. I'll drink no
+    more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.  
+  PISTOL. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.
+  DOLL. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor,
+    base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy
+    rogue, away! I am meat for your master.
+  PISTOL. I know you, Mistress Dorothy.
+  DOLL. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this
+    wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the
+    saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you
+    basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir?
+    God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much!
+  PISTOL. God let me not live but I will murder your ruff for this.
+  FALSTAFF. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here.
+    Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.
+  HOSTESS. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.
+  DOLL. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not ashamed
+    to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
+    truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
+    have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For tearing
+    a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
+    rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A  
+    captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as odious
+    as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before it
+    was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't.
+  BARDOLPH. Pray thee go down, good ancient.
+  FALSTAFF. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.
+  PISTOL. Not I! I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could tear
+    her; I'll be reveng'd of her.
+  PAGE. Pray thee go down.
+  PISTOL. I'll see her damn'd first; to Pluto's damn'd lake, by this
+    hand, to th' infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also.
+    Hold hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have
+    we not Hiren here?
+  HOSTESS. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i' faith; I
+    beseek you now, aggravate your choler.
+  PISTOL. These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses,
+    And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
+    Which cannot go but thirty mile a day,
+    Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
+    And Troiant Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with
+    King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.  
+    Shall we fall foul for toys?
+  HOSTESS. By my troth, Captain, these are very bitter words.
+  BARDOLPH. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a brawl anon.
+  PISTOL. Die men like dogs! Give crowns like pins! Have we not Hiren
+    here?
+  HOSTESS. O' my word, Captain, there's none such here. What the
+    good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake, be
+    quiet.
+  PISTOL. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
+    Come, give's some sack.
+    'Si fortune me tormente sperato me contento.'
+    Fear we broadsides? No, let the fiend give fire.
+    Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
+                                         [Laying down his sword]
+    Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothings?
+  FALSTAFF. Pistol, I would be quiet.
+  PISTOL. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the seven
+    stars.
+  DOLL. For God's sake thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such a
+    fustian rascal.  
+  PISTOL. Thrust him down stairs! Know we not Galloway nags?
+  FALSTAFF. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling.
+    Nay, an 'a do nothing but speak nothing, 'a shall be nothing
+    here.
+  BARDOLPH. Come, get you down stairs.
+  PISTOL. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue?
+                                        [Snatching up his sword]
+    Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
+    Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
+    Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!
+  HOSTESS. Here's goodly stuff toward!
+  FALSTAFF. Give me my rapier, boy.
+  DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
+  FALSTAFF. Get you down stairs.
+                                [Drawing and driving PISTOL out]
+  HOSTESS. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house afore
+    I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now.
+    Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.
+                                      Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH
+  DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you  
+    whoreson little valiant villain, you!
+  HOSTESS. Are you not hurt i' th' groin? Methought 'a made a shrewd
+    thrust at your belly.
+
+                        Re-enter BARDOLPH
+
+  FALSTAFF. Have you turn'd him out a doors?
+  BARDOLPH. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk. You have hurt him, sir, i'
+    th' shoulder.
+  FALSTAFF. A rascal! to brave me!
+  DOLL. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou
+    sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face. Come on, you whoreson
+    chops. Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as
+    Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better
+    than the Nine Worthies. Ah, villain!
+  FALSTAFF. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.
+  DOLL. Do, an thou dar'st for thy heart. An thou dost, I'll canvass
+    thee between a pair of sheets.
+
+                          Enter musicians  
+
+  PAGE. The music is come, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Don. A rascal
+    bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quick-silver.
+  DOLL. I' faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church. Thou
+    whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave
+    fighting a days and foining a nights, and begin to patch up thine
+    old body for heaven?
+
+       Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS disguised as drawers
+
+  FALSTAFF. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death's-head; do
+    not bid me remember mine end.
+  DOLL. Sirrah, what humour's the Prince of?
+  FALSTAFF. A good shallow young fellow. 'A would have made a good
+    pantler; 'a would ha' chipp'd bread well.
+  DOLL. They say Poins has a good wit.
+  FALSTAFF. He a good wit! hang him, baboon! His wit's as thick as
+    Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him than is in a
+    mallet.  
+  DOLL. Why does the Prince love him so, then?
+  FALSTAFF. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 'a plays at
+    quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles'
+    ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and
+    jumps upon join'd-stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears
+    his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the Leg, and breeds
+    no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other gambol
+    faculties 'a has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the
+    which the Prince admits him. For the Prince himself is such
+    another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their
+    avoirdupois.
+  PRINCE. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?
+  POINS. Let's beat him before his whore.
+  PRINCE. Look whe'er the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd
+    like a parrot.
+  POINS. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive
+    performance?
+  FALSTAFF. Kiss me, Doll.
+  PRINCE. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says th'
+    almanac to that?  
+  POINS. And look whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping
+    to his master's old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper.
+  FALSTAFF. Thou dost give me flattering busses.
+  DOLL. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.
+  FALSTAFF. I am old, I am old.
+  DOLL. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of
+    them all.
+  FALSTAFF. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money a
+    Thursday. Shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come. 'A
+    grows late; we'll to bed. Thou't forget me when I am gone.
+  DOLL. By my troth, thou't set me a-weeping, an thou say'st so.
+    Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well,
+    hearken a' th' end.
+  FALSTAFF. Some sack, Francis.
+  PRINCE & POINS. Anon, anon, sir.                   [Advancing]
+  FALSTAFF. Ha! a bastard son of the King's? And art thou not Poins
+    his brother?
+  PRINCE. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou
+    lead!
+  FALSTAFF. A better than thou. I am a gentleman: thou art a drawer.  
+  PRINCE. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears.
+  HOSTESS. O, the Lord preserve thy Grace! By my troth, welcome to
+    London. Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine. O Jesu, are
+    you come from Wales?
+  FALSTAFF. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
+    flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.
+                                    [Leaning his band upon DOLL]
+  DOLL. How, you fat fool! I scorn you.
+  POINS. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn all
+    to a merriment, if you take not the heat.
+  PRINCE. YOU whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of
+    me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!
+  HOSTESS. God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is, by my
+    troth.
+  FALSTAFF. Didst thou hear me?
+  PRINCE. Yea; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by
+    Gadshill. You knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to
+    try my patience.
+  FALSTAFF. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within
+    hearing.  
+  PRINCE. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse, and
+    then I know how to handle you.
+  FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour; no abuse.
+  PRINCE. Not- to dispraise me, and call me pander, and
+    bread-chipper, and I know not what!
+  FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal.
+  POINS. No abuse!
+  FALSTAFF. No abuse, Ned, i' th' world; honest Ned, none. I
+    disprais'd him before the wicked- that the wicked might not fall
+    in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the part of a
+    careful friend and a true subject; and thy father is to give me
+    thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none; no, faith, boys,
+    none.
+  PRINCE. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth not
+    make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is
+    she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is thy
+    boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his
+    nose, of the wicked?
+  POINS. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
+  FALSTAFF. The fiend hath prick'd down Bardolph irrecoverable; and  
+    his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but
+    roast malt-worms. For the boy- there is a good angel about him;
+    but the devil outbids him too.
+  PRINCE. For the women?
+  FALSTAFF. For one of them- she's in hell already, and burns poor
+    souls. For th' other- I owe her money; and whether she be damn'd
+    for that, I know not.
+  HOSTESS. No, I warrant you.
+  FALSTAFF. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for that.
+    Marry, there is another indictment upon thee for suffering flesh
+    to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which I
+    think thou wilt howl.
+  HOSTESS. All vict'lers do so. What's a joint of mutton or two in a
+    whole Lent?
+  PRINCE. You, gentlewoman-
+  DOLL. What says your Grace?
+  FALSTAFF. His Grace says that which his flesh rebels against.
+                                               [Knocking within]
+  HOSTESS. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th' door there,
+    Francis.  
+
+                              Enter PETO
+
+  PRINCE. Peto, how now! What news?
+  PETO. The King your father is at Westminster;
+    And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
+    Come from the north; and as I came along
+    I met and overtook a dozen captains,
+    Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
+    And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
+  PRINCE. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame
+    So idly to profane the precious time,
+    When tempest of commotion, like the south,
+    Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
+    And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
+    Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.
+
+                        Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, PETO, and BARDOLPH
+
+  FALSTAFF. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we  
+    must hence, and leave it unpick'd.  [Knocking within]  More
+    knocking at the door!
+
+                      Re-enter BARDOLPH
+
+    How now! What's the matter?
+  BARDOLPH. You must away to court, sir, presently;
+    A dozen captains stay at door for you.
+  FALSTAFF.  [To the PAGE]. Pay the musicians, sirrah.- Farewell,
+    hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of
+    merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the man of
+    action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent
+    away post, I will see you again ere I go.
+  DOLL. I cannot speak. If my heart be not ready to burst!
+    Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.
+  FALSTAFF. Farewell, farewell.
+                                    Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH
+  HOSTESS. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these twenty-nine
+    years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man
+    -well fare thee well.  
+  BARDOLPH.  [ Within]  Mistress Tearsheet!
+  HOSTESS. What's the matter?
+  BARDOLPH.  [ Within]  Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.
+  HOSTESS. O, run Doll, run, run, good Come.  [To BARDOLPH]  She
+    comes blubber'd.- Yea, will you come, Doll?           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Westminster. The palace
+
+Enter the KING in his nightgown, with a page
+
+  KING. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
+    But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters
+    And well consider of them. Make good speed.        Exit page
+    How many thousands of my poorest subjects
+    Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
+    Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee,
+    That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,
+    And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
+    Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
+    Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
+    And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
+    Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
+    Under the canopies of costly state,
+    And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
+    O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
+    In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
+    A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?  
+    Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
+    Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
+    In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
+    And in the visitation of the winds,
+    Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
+    Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
+    With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds,
+    That with the hurly death itself awakes?
+    Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
+    To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
+    And in the calmest and most stillest night,
+    With all appliances and means to boot,
+    Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
+    Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
+
+                    Enter WARWICK and Surrey
+
+  WARWICK. Many good morrows to your Majesty!
+  KING. Is it good morrow, lords?
+  WARWICK. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.  
+  KING. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.
+    Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?
+  WARWICK. We have, my liege.
+  KING. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom
+    How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,
+    And with what danger, near the heart of it.
+  WARWICK. It is but as a body yet distempered;
+    Which to his former strength may be restored
+    With good advice and little medicine.
+    My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.
+  KING. O God! that one might read the book of fate,
+    And see the revolution of the times
+    Make mountains level, and the continent,
+    Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
+    Into the sea; and other times to see
+    The beachy girdle of the ocean
+    Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
+    And changes fill the cup of alteration
+    With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
+    The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,  
+    What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
+    Would shut the book and sit him down and die.
+    'Tis not ten years gone
+    Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,
+    Did feast together, and in two years after
+    Were they at wars. It is but eight years since
+    This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
+    Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs
+    And laid his love and life under my foot;
+    Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard
+    Gave him defiance. But which of you was by-
+    [To WARWICK]  You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember-
+    When Richard, with his eye brim full of tears,
+    Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,
+    Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy?
+    'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
+    My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne'-
+    Though then, God knows, I had no such intent
+    But that necessity so bow'd the state
+    That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss-  
+    'The time shall come'- thus did he follow it-
+    'The time will come that foul sin, gathering head,
+    Shall break into corruption' so went on,
+    Foretelling this same time's condition
+    And the division of our amity.
+  WARWICK. There is a history in all men's lives,
+    Figuring the natures of the times deceas'd;
+    The which observ'd, a man may prophesy,
+    With a near aim, of the main chance of things
+    As yet not come to life, who in their seeds
+    And weak beginning lie intreasured.
+    Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
+    And, by the necessary form of this,
+    King Richard might create a perfect guess
+    That great Northumberland, then false to him,
+    Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness;
+    Which should not find a ground to root upon
+    Unless on you.
+  KING. Are these things then necessities?
+    Then let us meet them like necessities;  
+    And that same word even now cries out on us.
+    They say the Bishop and Northumberland
+    Are fifty thousand strong.
+  WARWICK. It cannot be, my lord.
+    Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
+    The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
+    To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,
+    The powers that you already have sent forth
+    Shall bring this prize in very easily.
+    To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
+    A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
+    Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill;
+    And these unseasoned hours perforce must ad
+    Unto your sickness.
+  KING. I will take your counsel.
+    And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
+    We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Gloucestershire. Before Justice, SHALLOW'S house
+
+Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULLCALF,
+and servants behind
+
+  SHALLOW. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir; give me
+    your hand, sir. An early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth my
+    good cousin Silence?
+  SILENCE. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest
+    daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?
+  SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!
+  SHALLOW. By yea and no, sir. I dare say my cousin William is become
+    a good scholar; he is at Oxford still, is he not?
+  SILENCE. Indeed, sir, to my cost.
+  SHALLOW. 'A must, then, to the Inns o' Court shortly. I was once of
+    Clement's Inn; where I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet.
+  SILENCE. You were call'd 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin.
+  SHALLOW. By the mass, I was call'd anything; and I would have done
+    anything indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little
+    John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and Francis  
+    Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotsole man- you had not four such
+    swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again. And I may say to
+    you we knew where the bona-robas were, and had the best of them
+    all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, boy,
+    and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
+  SILENCE. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about
+    soldiers?
+  SHALLOW. The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break
+    Scoggin's head at the court gate, when 'a was a crack not thus
+    high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson
+    Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the mad
+    days that I have spent! and to see how many of my old
+    acquaintance are dead!
+  SILENCE. We shall all follow, cousin.
+  SHALLOW. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure. Death, as the
+    Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke
+    of bullocks at Stamford fair?
+  SILENCE. By my troth, I was not there.
+  SHALLOW. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet?
+  SILENCE. Dead, sir.  
+  SHALLOW. Jesu, Jesu, dead! drew a good bow; and dead! 'A shot a
+    fine shoot. John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on
+    his head. Dead! 'A would have clapp'd i' th' clout at twelve
+    score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen
+    and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see.
+    How a score of ewes now?
+  SILENCE. Thereafter as they be- a score of good ewes may be worth
+    ten pounds.
+  SHALLOW. And is old Double dead?
+
+                    Enter BARDOLPH, and one with him
+
+  SILENCE. Here come two of Sir John Falstaffs men, as I think.
+  SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen.
+  BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?
+  SHALLOW. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this county,
+    and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good
+    pleasure with me?
+  BARDOLPH. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir
+    John Falstaff- a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant  
+    leader.
+  SHALLOW. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword man.
+    How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife doth?
+  BARDOLPH. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than with a
+    wife.
+  SHALLOW. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said indeed
+    too. 'Better accommodated!' It is good; yea, indeed, is it. Good
+    phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable.
+    'Accommodated!' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good phrase.
+  BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. 'Phrase' call you it?
+    By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the word
+    with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding
+    good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man is, as
+    they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby 'a may be
+    thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing.
+
+                              Enter FALSTAFF
+
+  SHALLOW. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me
+    your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth,  
+    you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir
+    John.
+  FALSTAFF. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow.
+    Master Surecard, as I think?
+  SHALLOW. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with
+   me.
+  FALSTAFF. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of the
+    peace.
+  SILENCE. Your good worship is welcome.
+  FALSTAFF. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, have you provided me
+    here half a dozen sufficient men?
+  SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?
+  FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you.
+  SHALLOW. Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let
+    me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so,- so, so- yea,
+    marry, sir. Rafe Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do
+    so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?
+  MOULDY. Here, an't please you.
+  SHALLOW. What think you, Sir John? A good-limb'd fellow; young,
+    strong, and of good friends.  
+  FALSTAFF. Is thy name Mouldy?
+  MOULDY. Yea, an't please you.
+  FALSTAFF. 'Tis the more time thou wert us'd.
+  SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are
+    mouldy lack use. Very singular good! In faith, well said, Sir
+    John; very well said.
+  FALSTAFF. Prick him.
+  MOULDY. I was prick'd well enough before, an you could have let me
+    alone. My old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry
+    and her drudgery. You need not to have prick'd me; there are
+    other men fitter to go out than I.
+  FALSTAFF. Go to; peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is time
+    you were spent.
+  MOULDY. Spent!
+  SHALLOW. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; know you where you are?
+    For th' other, Sir John- let me see. Simon Shadow!
+  FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to be
+    a cold soldier.
+  SHALLOW. Where's Shadow?
+  SHADOW. Here, sir.  
+  FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou?
+  SHADOW. My mother's son, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Thy mother's son! Like enough; and thy father's shadow.
+    So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is often
+    so indeed; but much of the father's substance!
+  SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John?
+  FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him; for we have a
+    number of shadows fill up the muster-book.
+  SHALLOW. Thomas Wart!
+  FALSTAFF. Where's he?
+  WART. Here, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart?
+  WART. Yea, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart.
+  SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John?
+  FALSTAFF. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his
+    back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more.
+  SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir; you can do it. I commend
+    you well. Francis Feeble!
+  FEEBLE. Here, sir.  
+  FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble?
+  FEEBLE. A woman's tailor, sir.
+  SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir?
+  FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor, he'd ha'
+    prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle as
+    thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?
+  FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.
+  FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous
+    Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most
+    magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's tailor- well, Master
+    Shallow, deep, Master Shallow.
+  FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend
+    him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private
+    soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that
+    suffice, most forcible Feeble.
+  FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?
+  SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o' th' green!
+  FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.  
+  BULLCALF. Here, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till
+    he roar again.
+  BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain-
+  FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd?
+  BULLCALF. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.
+  FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou?
+  BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with
+    ringing in the King's affairs upon his coronation day, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have
+    away thy cold; and I will take such order that thy friends shall
+    ring for thee. Is here all?
+  SHALLOW. Here is two more call'd than your number. You must have
+    but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner.
+  FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry
+    dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the
+    windmill in Saint George's Field?
+  FALSTAFF. No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that.
+  SHALLOW. Ha, 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?  
+  FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. She never could away with me.
+  FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not abide
+    Master Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th' heart. She was then
+    a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well?
+  FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old;
+    certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork,
+    before I came to Clement's Inn.
+  SILENCE. That's fifty-five year ago.
+  SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this
+    knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?
+  FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir
+    John, we have. Our watchword was 'Hem, boys!' Come, let's to
+    dinner; come, let's to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have seen!
+    Come, come.
+                                Exeunt FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES
+  BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and  
+    here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very
+    truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go. And yet, for
+    mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am
+    unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my
+    friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much.
+  BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.
+  MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame's sake,
+    stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when I
+    am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall have
+    forty, sir.
+  BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.
+  FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God
+    a death. I'll ne'er bear a base mind. An't be my destiny, so;
+    an't be not, so. No man's too good to serve 's Prince; and, let
+    it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the
+    next.
+  BARDOLPH. Well said; th'art a good fellow.
+  FEEBLE. Faith, I'll bear no base mind.
+
+                    Re-enter FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES  
+
+  FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have?
+  SHALLOW. Four of which you please.
+  BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free Mouldy
+    and Bullcalf.
+  FALSTAFF. Go to; well.
+  SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have?
+  FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me.
+  SHALLOW. Marry, then- Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.
+  FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till
+    you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow you come
+    unto it. I will none of you.
+  SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are your
+    likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd with the best.
+  FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man?
+    Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big
+    assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here's
+    Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. 'A shall charge you
+    and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer, come
+    off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's bucket.  
+    And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow- give me this man. He
+    presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim
+    level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat- how swiftly
+    will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me the
+    spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into
+    Wart's hand, Bardolph.
+  BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse- thus, thus, thus.
+  FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So- very well. Go to; very
+    good; exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old,
+    chopt, bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; th'art a good scab.
+    Hold, there's a tester for thee.
+  SHALLOW. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it right. I
+    remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement's Inn- I was
+    then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's show- there was a little quiver
+    fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus; and 'a would
+    about and about, and come you in and come you in. 'Rah, tah,
+    tah!' would 'a say; 'Bounce!' would 'a say; and away again would
+    'a go, and again would 'a come. I shall ne'er see such a fellow.
+  FALSTAFF. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep you!
+    Master Silence, I will not use many words with you: Fare you  
+    well! Gentlemen both, I thank you. I must a dozen mile to-night.
+    Bardolph, give the soldiers coats.
+  SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you; God prosper your affairs;
+    God send us peace! At your return, visit our house; let our old
+    acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the
+    court.
+  FALSTAFF. Fore God, would you would.
+  SHALLOW. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.
+  FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen.  [Exeunt JUSTICES]  On,
+    Bardolph; lead the men away.  [Exeunt all but FALSTAFF]  As I
+    return, I will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom of
+    justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this
+    vice of lying! This same starv'd justice hath done nothing but
+    prate to me of the wildness of his youth and the feats he hath
+    done about Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid
+    to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at
+    Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring.
+    When 'a was naked, he was for all the world like a fork'd radish,
+    with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. 'A was so
+    forlorn that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible. 'A  
+    was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the
+    whores call'd him mandrake. 'A came ever in the rearward of the
+    fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch'd huswifes that
+    he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies or
+    his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger become a squire,
+    and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn
+    brother to him; and I'll be sworn 'a ne'er saw him but once in
+    the Tiltyard; and then he burst his head for crowding among the
+    marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his own
+    name; for you might have thrust him and all his apparel into an
+    eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a
+    court- and now has he land and beeves. Well, I'll be acquainted
+    with him if I return; and 't shall go hard but I'll make him a
+    philosopher's two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for
+    the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I may snap
+    at him. Let time shape, and there an end.               Exit
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree
+
+Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others
+
+  ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call'd
+  HASTINGS. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your Grace.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth
+    To know the numbers of our enemies.
+  HASTINGS. We have sent forth already.
+  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis well done.
+    My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
+    I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
+    New-dated letters from Northumberland;
+    Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus:
+    Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
+    As might hold sortance with his quality,
+    The which he could not levy; whereupon
+    He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes,
+    To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers
+    That your attempts may overlive the hazard  
+    And fearful meeting of their opposite.
+  MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
+    And dash themselves to pieces.
+
+                          Enter A MESSENGER
+
+  HASTINGS. Now, what news?
+  MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
+    In goodly form comes on the enemy;
+    And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
+    Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.
+  MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out.
+    Let us sway on and face them in the field.
+
+                        Enter WESTMORELAND
+
+  ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here?
+  MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.
+  WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general,
+    The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.  
+  ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace,
+    What doth concern your coming.
+  WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord,
+    Unto your Grace do I in chief address
+    The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
+    Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
+    Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,
+    And countenanc'd by boys and beggary-
+    I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd
+    In his true, native, and most proper shape,
+    You, reverend father, and these noble lords,
+    Had not been here to dress the ugly form
+    Of base and bloody insurrection
+    With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,
+    Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd,
+    Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,
+    Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,
+    Whose white investments figure innocence,
+    The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace-
+    Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself  
+    Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
+    Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war;
+    Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
+    Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine
+    To a loud trumpet and a point of war?
+  ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.
+    Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd
+    And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
+    Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
+    And we must bleed for it; of which disease
+    Our late King, Richard, being infected, died.
+    But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
+    I take not on me here as a physician;
+    Nor do I as an enemy to peace
+    Troop in the throngs of military men;
+    But rather show awhile like fearful war
+    To diet rank minds sick of happiness,
+    And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop
+    Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
+    I have in equal balance justly weigh'd  
+    What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
+    And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
+    We see which way the stream of time doth run
+    And are enforc'd from our most quiet there
+    By the rough torrent of occasion;
+    And have the summary of all our griefs,
+    When time shall serve, to show in articles;
+    Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
+    And might by no suit gain our audience:
+    When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs,
+    We are denied access unto his person,
+    Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
+    The dangers of the days but newly gone,
+    Whose memory is written on the earth
+    With yet appearing blood, and the examples
+    Of every minute's instance, present now,
+    Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms;
+    Not to break peace, or any branch of it,
+    But to establish here a peace indeed,
+    Concurring both in name and quality.  
+  WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied;
+    Wherein have you been galled by the King;
+    What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you
+    That you should seal this lawless bloody book
+    Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine,
+    And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?
+  ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth,
+    To brother horn an household cruelty,
+    I make my quarrel in particular.
+  WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress;
+    Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
+  MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all
+    That feel the bruises of the days before,
+    And suffer the condition of these times
+    To lay a heavy and unequal hand
+    Upon our honours?
+  WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray,
+    Construe the times to their necessities,
+    And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
+    And not the King, that doth you injuries.  
+    Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
+    Either from the King or in the present time,
+    That you should have an inch of any ground
+    To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd
+    To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories,
+    Your noble and right well-rememb'red father's?
+  MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost
+    That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me?
+    The King that lov'd him, as the state stood then,
+    Was force perforce compell'd to banish him,
+    And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,
+    Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
+    Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
+    Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
+    Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
+    And the loud trumpet blowing them together-
+    Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd
+    My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
+    O, when the King did throw his warder down-
+    His own life hung upon the staff he threw-  
+    Then threw he down himself, and all their lives
+    That by indictment and by dint of sword
+    Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
+  WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
+    The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
+    In England the most valiant gentleman.
+    Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil'd?
+    But if your father had been victor there,
+    He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
+    For all the country, in a general voice,
+    Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
+    Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
+    And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King.
+    But this is mere digression from my purpose.
+    Here come I from our princely general
+    To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace
+    That he will give you audience; and wherein
+    It shall appear that your demands are just,
+    You shall enjoy them, everything set off
+    That might so much as think you enemies.  
+  MOWBRAY. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
+    And it proceeds from policy, not love.
+  WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so.
+    This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;
+    For, lo! within a ken our army lies-
+    Upon mine honour, all too confident
+    To give admittance to a thought of fear.
+    Our battle is more full of names than yours,
+    Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
+    Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
+    Then reason will our hearts should be as good.
+    Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd.
+  MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.
+  WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence:
+    A rotten case abides no handling.
+  HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission,
+    In very ample virtue of his father,
+    To hear and absolutely to determine
+    Of what conditions we shall stand upon?
+  WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general's name.  
+    I muse you make so slight a question.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule,
+    For this contains our general grievances.
+    Each several article herein redress'd,
+    All members of our cause, both here and hence,
+    That are insinewed to this action,
+    Acquitted by a true substantial form,
+    And present execution of our wills
+    To us and to our purposes confin'd-
+    We come within our awful banks again,
+    And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
+  WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
+    In sight of both our battles we may meet;
+    And either end in peace- which God so frame!-
+    Or to the place of diff'rence call the swords
+    Which must decide it.
+  ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so.          Exit WESTMORELAND
+  MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me
+    That no conditions of our peace can stand.
+  HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace  
+    Upon such large terms and so absolute
+    As our conditions shall consist upon,
+    Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
+  MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such
+    That every slight and false-derived cause,
+    Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
+    Shall to the King taste of this action;
+    That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
+    We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
+    That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
+    And good from bad find no partition.
+  ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary
+    Of dainty and such picking grievances;
+    For he hath found to end one doubt by death
+    Revives two greater in the heirs of life;
+    And therefore will he wipe his tables clean,
+    And keep no tell-tale to his memory
+    That may repeat and history his los
+    To new remembrance. For full well he knows
+    He cannot so precisely weed this land  
+    As his misdoubts present occasion:
+    His foes are so enrooted with his friends
+    That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
+    He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.
+    So that this land, like an offensive wife
+    That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
+    As he is striking, holds his infant up,
+    And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
+    That was uprear'd to execution.
+  HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods
+    On late offenders, that he now doth lack
+    The very instruments of chastisement;
+    So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
+    May offer, but not hold.
+  ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true;
+    And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal,
+    If we do now make our atonement well,
+    Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
+    Grow stronger for the breaking.
+  MOWBRAY. Be it so.  
+    Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland.
+
+                       Re-enter WESTMORELAND
+
+  WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship
+    To meet his Grace just distance 'tween our armies?
+  MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Another part of the forest
+
+Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the ARCHBISHOP,
+HASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of LANCASTER,
+WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others
+
+  PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray.
+    Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;
+    And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
+    My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
+    When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
+    Encircled you to hear with reverence
+    Your exposition on the holy text
+    Than now to see you here an iron man,
+    Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
+    Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
+    That man that sits within a monarch's heart
+    And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
+    Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
+    Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach
+    In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,  
+    It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
+    How deep you were within the books of God?
+    To us the speaker in His parliament,
+    To us th' imagin'd voice of God himself,
+    The very opener and intelligencer
+    Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven,
+    And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
+    But you misuse the reverence of your place,
+    Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n
+    As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
+    In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up,
+    Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
+    The subjects of His substitute, my father,
+    And both against the peace of heaven and him
+    Have here up-swarm'd them.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster,
+    I am not here against your father's peace;
+    But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland,
+    The time misord'red doth, in common sense,
+    Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form  
+    To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
+    The parcels and particulars of our grief,
+    The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court,
+    Whereon this hydra son of war is born;
+    Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep
+    With grant of our most just and right desires;
+    And true obedience, of this madness cur'd,
+    Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.
+  MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
+    To the last man.
+  HASTINGS. And though we here fall down,
+    We have supplies to second our attempt.
+    If they miscarry, theirs shall second them;
+    And so success of mischief shall be born,
+    And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up
+    Whiles England shall have generation.
+  PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow,
+    To sound the bottom of the after-times.
+  WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly
+    How far forth you do like their articles.  
+  PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well;
+    And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
+    My father's purposes have been mistook;
+    And some about him have too lavishly
+    Wrested his meaning and authority.
+    My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
+    Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
+    Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
+    As we will ours; and here, between the armies,
+    Let's drink together friendly and embrace,
+    That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
+    Of our restored love and amity.
+  ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses.
+  PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word;
+    And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.
+  HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army
+    This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part.
+    I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain.
+                                                    Exit Officer
+  ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland.  
+  WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains
+    I have bestow'd to breed this present peace,
+    You would drink freely; but my love to ye
+    Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
+  ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you.
+  WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it.
+    Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
+  MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season,
+    For I am on the sudden something ill.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry;
+    But heaviness foreruns the good event.
+  WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
+    Serves to say thus, 'Some good thing comes to-morrow.'
+  ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
+  MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
+                                                 [Shouts within]
+  PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend'red. Hark, how they shout!
+  MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory.
+  ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
+    For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,  
+    And neither party loser.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord,
+    And let our army be discharged too.
+                                               Exit WESTMORELAND
+    And, good my lord, so please you let our trains
+    March by us, that we may peruse the men
+    We should have cop'd withal.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings,
+    And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by.
+                                                   Exit HASTINGS
+  PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.
+
+                      Re-enter WESTMORELAND
+
+    Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?
+  WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
+    Will not go off until they hear you speak.
+  PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties.
+
+                        Re-enter HASTINGS  
+
+  HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers'd already.
+    Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses
+    East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up,
+    Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.
+  WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which
+    I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason;
+    And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray,
+    Of capital treason I attach you both.
+  MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable?
+  WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so?
+  ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith?
+  PRINCE JOHN. I pawn'd thee none:
+    I promis'd you redress of these same grievances
+    Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
+    I will perform with a most Christian care.
+    But for you, rebels- look to taste the due
+    Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
+    Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
+    Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.  
+    Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt'red stray.
+    God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.
+    Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
+    Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Another part of the forest
+
+Alarum; excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE, meeting
+
+  FALSTAFF. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of
+    what place, I pray?
+  COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the Dale.
+  FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your
+    degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your
+    name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place- a place
+    deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale.
+  COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff?
+  FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do you yield,
+    sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the drops
+    of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse up
+    fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.
+  COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought
+    yield me.
+  FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine;
+    and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name.  
+    An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most
+    active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.
+    Here comes our general.
+
+            Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND,
+                            BLUNT, and others
+
+  PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now.
+    Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.
+                                               Exit WESTMORELAND
+    Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
+    When everything is ended, then you come.
+    These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
+    One time or other break some gallows' back.
+  FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never
+    knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you
+    think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor and
+    old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with
+    the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine
+    score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have, in  
+    my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the
+    Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of that?
+    He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd
+    fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame.
+  PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.
+  FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I
+    beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this day's
+    deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad
+    else, with mine own picture on the top on't, Colville kissing my
+    foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all
+    show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame,
+    o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the
+    element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the word
+    of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too heavy to mount.
+  FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too thick to shine.
+  FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good,
+    and call it what you will.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville?  
+  COLVILLE. It is, my lord.
+  PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville.
+  FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him.
+  COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are
+    That led me hither. Had they been rul'd by me,
+    You should have won them dearer than you have.
+  FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a
+    kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for
+    thee.
+
+                       Re-enter WESTMORELAND
+
+  PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit?
+  WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates,
+    To York, to present execution.
+    Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.
+                                         Exeunt BLUNT and others
+    And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords.
+    I hear the King my father is sore sick.  
+    Our news shall go before us to his Majesty,
+    Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him
+    And we with sober speed will follow you.
+  FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through
+    Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord,
+    pray, in your good report.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition,
+    Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
+                                         Exeunt all but FALSTAFF
+  FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your
+    dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not
+    love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh- but that's no marvel;
+    he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys come
+    to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and
+    making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male
+    green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They
+    are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be too,
+    but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold
+    operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all
+    the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it  
+    apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and
+    delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue,
+    which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of
+    your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which before,
+    cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the
+    badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it,
+    and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It
+    illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the
+    rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital
+    commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their
+    captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this retinue,
+    doth any deed of courage- and this valour comes of sherris. So
+    that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets
+    it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil
+    till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes
+    it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did
+    naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and
+    bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent
+    endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris,
+    that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons,  
+    the first humane principle I would teach them should be to
+    forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.
+
+                           Enter BARDOLPH
+
+    How now, Bardolph!
+  BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone.
+  FALSTAFF. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and there will
+    I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already
+    temp'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal
+    with him. Come away.                                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber
+
+Enter the KING, PRINCE THOMAS OF CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER,
+WARWICK, and others
+
+  KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end
+    To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
+    We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
+    And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
+    Our navy is address'd, our power connected,
+    Our substitutes in absence well invested,
+    And everything lies level to our wish.
+    Only we want a little personal strength;
+    And pause us till these rebels, now afoot,
+    Come underneath the yoke of government.
+  WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty
+    Shall soon enjoy.
+  KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,
+    Where is the Prince your brother?
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.
+  KING. And how accompanied?  
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. I do not know, my lord.
+  KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. No, my good lord, he is in presence here.
+  CLARENCE. What would my lord and father?
+  KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
+    How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
+    He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.
+    Thou hast a better place in his affection
+    Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy,
+    And noble offices thou mayst effect
+    Of mediation, after I am dead,
+    Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
+    Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,
+    Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
+    By seeming cold or careless of his will;
+    For he is gracious if he be observ'd.
+    He hath a tear for pity and a hand
+    Open as day for melting charity;
+    Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint;
+    As humorous as winter, and as sudden  
+    As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
+    His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd.
+    Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
+    When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth;
+    But, being moody, give him line and scope
+    Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
+    Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
+    And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
+    A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
+    That the united vessel of their blood,
+    Mingled with venom of suggestion-
+    As, force perforce, the age will pour it in-
+    Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
+    As aconitum or rash gunpowder.
+  CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love.
+  KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
+  CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.
+  KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that?
+  CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers.
+  KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;  
+    And he, the noble image of my youth,
+    Is overspread with them; therefore my grief
+    Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
+    The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape,
+    In forms imaginary, th'unguided days
+    And rotten times that you shall look upon
+    When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
+    For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
+    When rage and hot blood are his counsellors
+    When means and lavish manners meet together,
+    O, with what wings shall his affections fly
+    Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay!
+  WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.
+    The Prince but studies his companions
+    Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language,
+    'Tis needful that the most immodest word
+    Be look'd upon and learnt; which once attain'd,
+    Your Highness knows, comes to no further use
+    But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
+    The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,  
+    Cast off his followers; and their memory
+    Shall as a pattern or a measure live
+    By which his Grace must mete the lives of other,
+    Turning past evils to advantages.
+  KING. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb
+    In the dead carrion.
+
+                      Enter WESTMORELAND
+
+    Who's here? Westmoreland?
+  WESTMORELAND. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness
+    Added to that that am to deliver!
+    Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace's hand.
+    Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,
+    Are brought to the correction of your law.
+    There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd,
+    But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere.
+    The manner how this action hath been borne
+    Here at more leisure may your Highness read,
+    With every course in his particular.  
+  KING. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
+    Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
+    The lifting up of day.
+
+                        Enter HARCOURT
+
+    Look here's more news.
+  HARCOURT. From enemies heaven keep your Majesty;
+    And, when they stand against you, may they fall
+    As those that I am come to tell you of!
+    The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph,
+    With a great power of English and of Scots,
+    Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown.
+    The manner and true order of the fight
+    This packet, please it you, contains at large.
+  KING. And wherefore should these good news make me sick?
+    Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
+    But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
+    She either gives a stomach and no food-
+    Such are the poor, in health- or else a feast,  
+    And takes away the stomach- such are the rich
+    That have abundance and enjoy it not.
+    I should rejoice now at this happy news;
+    And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.
+    O me! come near me now I am much ill.
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. Comfort, your Majesty!
+  CLARENCE. O my royal father!
+  WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.
+  WARWICK. Be patient, Princes; you do know these fits
+    Are with his Highness very ordinary.
+    Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well.
+  CLARENCE. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs.
+    Th' incessant care and labour of his mind
+    Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in
+    So thin that life looks through, and will break out.
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. The people fear me; for they do observe
+    Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature.
+    The seasons change their manners, as the year
+    Had found some months asleep, and leapt them over.
+  CLARENCE. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between;  
+    And the old folk, Time's doting chronicles,
+    Say it did so a little time before
+    That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.
+  WARWICK. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers.
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. This apoplexy will certain be his end.
+  KING. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence
+    Into some other chamber. Softly, pray.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Westminster. Another chamber
+
+The KING lying on a bed; CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK,
+and others in attendance
+
+  KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
+    Unless some dull and favourable hand
+    Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
+  WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room.
+  KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
+  CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
+  WARWICK. Less noise! less noise!
+
+                        Enter PRINCE HENRY
+
+  PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
+  CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
+  PRINCE. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad!
+    How doth the King?
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. Exceeding ill.
+  PRINCE. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.  
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. He alt'red much upon the hearing it.
+  PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic.
+  WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low;
+    The King your father is dispos'd to sleep.
+  CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room.
+  WARWICK. Will't please your Grace to go along with us?
+  PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the King.
+                                       Exeunt all but the PRINCE
+    Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
+    Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
+    O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
+    That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
+    To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now!
+    Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
+    As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
+    Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
+    When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
+    Like a rich armour worn in heat of day
+    That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath
+    There lies a downy feather which stirs not.  
+    Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
+    Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father!
+    This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep
+    That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd
+    So many English kings. Thy due from me
+    Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood
+    Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
+    Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
+    My due from thee is this imperial crown,
+    Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
+    Derives itself to me.  [Putting on the crown]  Lo where it sits-
+    Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength
+    Into one giant arm, it shall not force
+    This lineal honour from me. This from thee
+    Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me.                Exit
+  KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
+
+           Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE
+
+  CLARENCE. Doth the King call?  
+  WARWICK. What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace?
+  KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?
+  CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege,
+    Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
+  KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him.
+    He is not here.
+  WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way.
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd.
+  KING. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow?
+  WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
+  KING. The Prince hath ta'en it hence. Go, seek him out.
+    Is he so hasty that he doth suppose
+    My sleep my death?
+    Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither.
+                                                    Exit WARWICK
+    This part of his conjoins with my disease
+    And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are!
+    How quickly nature falls into revolt
+    When gold becomes her object!
+    For this the foolish over-careful fathers  
+    Have broke their sleep with thoughts,
+    Their brains with care, their bones with industry;
+    For this they have engrossed and pil'd up
+    The cank'red heaps of strange-achieved gold;
+    For this they have been thoughtful to invest
+    Their sons with arts and martial exercises;
+    When, like the bee, tolling from every flower
+    The virtuous sweets,
+    Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey pack'd,
+    We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees,
+    Are murd'red for our pains. This bitter taste
+    Yields his engrossments to the ending father.
+
+                         Re-enter WARWICK
+
+    Now where is he that will not stay so long
+    Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me?
+  WARWICK. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room,
+    Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
+    With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow,  
+    That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood,
+    Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife
+    With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
+  KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown?
+
+                        Re-enter PRINCE HENRY
+
+    Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
+    Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
+                          Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE
+  PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again.
+  KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
+    I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
+    Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
+    That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
+    Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
+    Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
+    Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity
+    Is held from falling with so weak a wind
+    That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.  
+    Thou hast stol'n that which, after some few hours,
+    Were thine without offense; and at my death
+    Thou hast seal'd up my expectation.
+    Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not,
+    And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it.
+    Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
+    Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
+    To stab at half an hour of my life.
+    What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
+    Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;
+    And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
+    That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
+    Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
+    Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head;
+    Only compound me with forgotten dust;
+    Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
+    Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
+    For now a time is come to mock at form-
+    Harry the Fifth is crown'd. Up, vanity:
+    Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence.  
+    And to the English court assemble now,
+    From every region, apes of idleness.
+    Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.
+    Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
+    Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
+    The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
+    Be happy, he will trouble you no more.
+    England shall double gild his treble guilt;
+    England shall give him office, honour, might;
+    For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
+    The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
+    Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
+    O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
+    When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
+    What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
+    O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.
+    Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
+  PRINCE. O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears,
+    The moist impediments unto my speech,
+    I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke  
+    Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
+    The course of it so far. There is your crown,
+    And he that wears the crown immortally
+    Long guard it yours!  [Kneeling]  If I affect it more
+    Than as your honour and as your renown,
+    Let me no more from this obedience rise,
+    Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
+    Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending!
+    God witness with me, when I here came in
+    And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
+    How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
+    O, let me in my present wildness die,
+    And never live to show th' incredulous world
+    The noble change that I have purposed!
+    Coming to look on you, thinking you dead-
+    And dead almost, my liege, to think you were-
+    I spake unto this crown as having sense,
+    And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee depending
+    Hath fed upon the body of my father;
+    Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold.  
+    Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
+    Preserving life in med'cine potable;
+    But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd,
+    Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege,
+    Accusing it, I put it on my head,
+    To try with it- as with an enemy
+    That had before my face murd'red my father-
+    The quarrel of a true inheritor.
+    But if it did infect my blood with joy,
+    Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;
+    If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
+    Did with the least affection of a welcome
+    Give entertainment to the might of it,
+    Let God for ever keep it from my head,
+    And make me as the poorest vassal is,
+    That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
+  KING. O my son,
+    God put it in thy mind to take it hence,
+    That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
+    Pleading so wisely in excuse of it!  
+    Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed,
+    And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
+    That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,
+    By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
+    I met this crown; and I myself know well
+    How troublesome it sat upon my head:
+    To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
+    Better opinion, better confirmation;
+    For all the soil of the achievement goes
+    With me into the earth. It seem'd in me
+    But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand;
+    And I had many living to upbraid
+    My gain of it by their assistances;
+    Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
+    Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears
+    Thou seest with peril I have answered;
+    For all my reign hath been but as a scene
+    Acting that argument. And now my death
+    Changes the mood; for what in me was purchas'd
+    Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;  
+    So thou the garland wear'st successively.
+    Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
+    Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
+    And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
+    Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
+    By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
+    And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
+    To be again displac'd; which to avoid,
+    I cut them off; and had a purpose now
+    To lead out many to the Holy Land,
+    Lest rest and lying still might make them look
+    Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
+    Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
+    With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out,
+    May waste the memory of the former days.
+    More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
+    That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
+    How I came by the crown, O God, forgive;
+    And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
+  PRINCE. My gracious liege,  
+    You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
+    Then plain and right must my possession be;
+    Which I with more than with a common pain
+    'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
+
+       Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, LORDS, and others
+
+  KING. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father!
+  KING. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John;
+    But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
+    From this bare wither'd trunk. Upon thy sight
+    My worldly business makes a period.
+    Where is my Lord of Warwick?
+  PRINCE. My Lord of Warwick!
+  KING. Doth any name particular belong
+    Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
+  WARWICK. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.
+  KING. Laud be to God! Even there my life must end.
+    It hath been prophesied to me many years,  
+    I should not die but in Jerusalem;
+    Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land.
+    But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie;
+    In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S house
+
+Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE
+
+  SHALLOW. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night.
+    What, Davy, I say!
+  FALSTAFF. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excus'd; excuses
+    shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall
+    not be excus'd. Why, Davy!
+
+                            Enter DAVY
+
+  DAVY. Here, sir.
+  SHALLOW. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see,
+    Davy; let me see- yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither.
+    Sir John, you shall not be excus'd.
+  DAVY. Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and,
+    again, sir- shall we sow the headland with wheat?
+  SHALLOW. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook- are there no
+    young pigeons?  
+  DAVY. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing and
+    plough-irons.
+  SHALLOW. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, you shall not be
+    excused.
+  DAVY. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had; and,
+    sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages about the sack he
+    lost the other day at Hinckley fair?
+  SHALLOW. 'A shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of
+    short-legg'd hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny
+    kickshaws, tell William cook.
+  DAVY. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?
+  SHALLOW. Yea, Davy; I will use him well. A friend i' th' court is
+    better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they
+    are arrant knaves and will backbite.
+  DAVY. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they have
+    marvellous foul linen.
+  SHALLOW. Well conceited, Davy- about thy business, Davy.
+  DAVY. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Woncot
+    against Clement Perkes o' th' hill.
+  SHALLOW. There, is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor. That  
+    Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge.
+  DAVY. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet God
+    forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his
+    friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for
+    himself, when a knave is not. I have serv'd your worship truly,
+    sir, this eight years; an I cannot once or twice in a quarter
+    bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very little
+    credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir;
+    therefore, I beseech you, let him be countenanc'd.
+  SHALLOW. Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about,
+  DAVY.  [Exit DAVY]  Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off
+    with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph.
+  BARDOLPH. I am glad to see your worship.
+  SHALLOW. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master Bardolph.
+    [To the PAGE]  And welcome, my tall fellow. Come, Sir John.
+  FALSTAFF. I'll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow.
+    [Exit SHALLOW]  Bardolph, look to our horses.  [Exeunt BARDOLPH
+    and PAGE]  If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four
+    dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as Master Shallow. It is a
+    wonderful thing to see the semblable coherence of his men's  
+    spirits and his. They, by observing of him, do bear themselves
+    like foolish justices: he, by conversing with them, is turned
+    into a justice-like serving-man. Their spirits are so married in
+    conjunction with the participation of society that they flock
+    together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had a suit to
+    Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation of
+    being near their master; if to his men, I would curry with Master
+    Shallow that no man could better command his servants. It is
+    certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught,
+    as men take diseases, one of another; therefore let men take heed
+    of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow
+    to keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out of six
+    fashions, which is four terms, or two actions; and 'a shall laugh
+    without intervallums. O, it is much that a lie with a slight
+    oath, and a jest with a sad brow will do with a fellow that never
+    had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh till
+    his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up!
+  SHALLOW.  [Within]  Sir John!
+  FALSTAFF. I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow.
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Westminster. The palace
+
+Enter, severally, WARWICK, and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
+
+  WARWICK. How now, my Lord Chief Justice; whither away?
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. How doth the King?
+  WARWICK. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I hope, not dead.
+  WARWICK. He's walk'd the way of nature;
+    And to our purposes he lives no more.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I would his Majesty had call'd me with him.
+    The service that I truly did his life
+    Hath left me open to all injuries.
+  WARWICK. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I know he doth not, and do arm myself
+    To welcome the condition of the time,
+    Which cannot look more hideously upon me
+    Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.
+
+              Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,  
+                     WESTMORELAND, and others
+
+  WARWICK. Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry.
+    O that the living Harry had the temper
+    Of he, the worst of these three gentlemen!
+    How many nobles then should hold their places
+    That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. O God, I fear all will be overturn'd.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow.
+  GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE. Good morrow, cousin.
+  PRINCE JOHN. We meet like men that had forgot to speak.
+  WARWICK. We do remember; but our argument
+    Is all too heavy to admit much talk.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy!
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!
+  PRINCE HUMPHREY. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed;
+    And I dare swear you borrow not that face
+    Of seeming sorrow- it is sure your own.
+  PRINCE JOHN. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find,
+    You stand in coldest expectation.  
+    I am the sorrier; would 'twere otherwise.
+  CLARENCE. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair;
+    Which swims against your stream of quality.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour,
+    Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul;
+    And never shall you see that I will beg
+    A ragged and forestall'd remission.
+    If truth and upright innocency fail me,
+    I'll to the King my master that is dead,
+    And tell him who hath sent me after him.
+  WARWICK. Here comes the Prince.
+
+            Enter KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended
+
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Good morrow, and God save your Majesty!
+  KING. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,
+    Sits not so easy on me as you think.
+    Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear.
+    This is the English, not the Turkish court;
+    Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,  
+    But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,
+    For, by my faith, it very well becomes you.
+    Sorrow so royally in you appears
+    That I will deeply put the fashion on,
+    And wear it in my heart. Why, then, be sad;
+    But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
+    Than a joint burden laid upon us all.
+    For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd,
+    I'll be your father and your brother too;
+    Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares.
+    Yet weep that Harry's dead, and so will I;
+    But Harry lives that shall convert those tears
+    By number into hours of happiness.
+  BROTHERS. We hope no otherwise from your Majesty.
+  KING. You all look strangely on me; and you most.
+    You are, I think, assur'd I love you not.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
+    Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
+  KING. No?
+    How might a prince of my great hopes forget  
+    So great indignities you laid upon me?
+    What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison,
+    Th' immediate heir of England! Was this easy?
+    May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten?
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I then did use the person of your father;
+    The image of his power lay then in me;
+    And in th' administration of his law,
+    Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,
+    Your Highness pleased to forget my place,
+    The majesty and power of law and justice,
+    The image of the King whom I presented,
+    And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
+    Whereon, as an offender to your father,
+    I gave bold way to my authority
+    And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
+    Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
+    To have a son set your decrees at nought,
+    To pluck down justice from your awful bench,
+    To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword
+    That guards the peace and safety of your person;  
+    Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image,
+    And mock your workings in a second body.
+    Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
+    Be now the father, and propose a son;
+    Hear your own dignity so much profan'd,
+    See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,
+    Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd;
+    And then imagine me taking your part
+    And, in your power, soft silencing your son.
+    After this cold considerance, sentence me;
+    And, as you are a king, speak in your state
+    What I have done that misbecame my place,
+    My person, or my liege's sovereignty.
+  KING. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well;
+    Therefore still bear the balance and the sword;
+    And I do wish your honours may increase
+    Till you do live to see a son of mine
+    Offend you, and obey you, as I did.
+    So shall I live to speak my father's words:
+    'Happy am I that have a man so bold  
+    That dares do justice on my proper son;
+    And not less happy, having such a son
+    That would deliver up his greatness so
+    Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me;
+    For which I do commit into your hand
+    Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to bear;
+    With this remembrance- that you use the same
+    With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit
+    As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand.
+    You shall be as a father to my youth;
+    My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear;
+    And I will stoop and humble my intents
+    To your well-practis'd wise directions.
+    And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you,
+    My father is gone wild into his grave,
+    For in his tomb lie my affections;
+    And with his spirits sadly I survive,
+    To mock the expectation of the world,
+    To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out
+    Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down  
+    After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
+    Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now.
+    Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea,
+    Where it shall mingle with the state of floods,
+    And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
+    Now call we our high court of parliament;
+    And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel,
+    That the great body of our state may go
+    In equal rank with the best govern'd nation;
+    That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
+    As things acquainted and familiar to us;
+    In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
+    Our coronation done, we will accite,
+    As I before rememb'red, all our state;
+    And- God consigning to my good intents-
+    No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say,
+    God shorten Harry's happy life one day.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S orchard
+
+Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the PAGE, and DAVY
+
+  SHALLOW. Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we
+    will eat a last year's pippin of mine own graffing, with a dish
+    of caraways, and so forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to bed.
+  FALSTAFF. Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and rich.
+  SHALLOW. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John
+    -marry, good air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy; well said, Davy.
+  FALSTAFF. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your
+    serving-man and your husband.
+  SHALLOW. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir
+    John. By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A good
+    varlet. Now sit down, now sit down; come, cousin.
+  SILENCE. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a- we shall               [Singing]
+
+              Do nothing but eat and make good cheer,
+              And praise God for the merry year;
+              When flesh is cheap and females dear,  
+              And lusty lads roam here and there,
+                  So merrily,
+                And ever among so merrily.
+
+  FALSTAFF. There's a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I'll give you
+    a health for that anon.
+  SHALLOW. Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy.
+  DAVY. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon; most sweet sir, sit.
+    Master Page, good Master Page, sit. Proface! What you want in
+    meat, we'll have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's all.
+ Exit
+  SHALLOW. Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, my little soldier there,
+    be merry.
+  SILENCE.  [Singing]
+
+         Be merry, be merry, my wife has all;
+         For women are shrews, both short and tall;
+         'Tis merry in hall when beards wag an;
+           And welcome merry Shrove-tide.
+         Be merry, be merry.  
+
+  FALSTAFF. I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this
+    mettle.
+  SILENCE. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now.
+
+                          Re-enter DAVY
+
+  DAVY.  [To BARDOLPH]  There's a dish of leather-coats for you.
+  SHALLOW. Davy!
+  DAVY. Your worship! I'll be with you straight.  [To BARDOLPH]
+    A cup of wine, sir?
+  SILENCE.  [Singing]
+
+         A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,
+         And drink unto the leman mine;
+           And a merry heart lives long-a.
+
+  FALSTAFF. Well said, Master Silence.
+  SILENCE. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' th' night.
+  FALSTAFF. Health and long life to you, Master Silence!  
+  SILENCE.  [Singing]
+
+         Fill the cup, and let it come,
+         I'll pledge you a mile to th' bottom.
+
+  SHALLOW. Honest Bardolph, welcome; if thou want'st anything and
+    wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief
+    and welcome indeed too. I'll drink to Master Bardolph, and to all
+    the cabileros about London.
+  DAVY. I hope to see London once ere I die.
+  BARDOLPH. An I might see you there, Davy!
+  SHALLOW. By the mass, you'R crack a quart together- ha! will you
+    not, Master Bardolph?
+  BARDOLPH. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.
+  SHALLOW. By God's liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by
+    thee, I can assure thee that. 'A will not out, 'a; 'tis true
+    bred.
+  BARDOLPH. And I'll stick by him, sir.
+  SHALLOW. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing; be merry.
+    [One knocks at door]  Look who's at door there, ho! Who knocks?  
+                                                       Exit DAVY
+  FALSTAFF.  [To SILENCE, who has drunk a bumper]  Why, now you have
+    done me right.
+  SILENCE.  [Singing]
+
+         Do me right,
+         And dub me knight.
+           Samingo.
+
+    Is't not so?
+  FALSTAFF. 'Tis so.
+  SILENCE. Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat.
+
+                        Re-enter DAVY
+
+  DAVY. An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come from the
+    court with news.
+  FALSTAFF. From the court? Let him come in.
+
+                        Enter PISTOL  
+
+    How now, Pistol?
+  PISTOL. Sir John, God save you!
+  FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol?
+  PISTOL. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight,
+    thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm.
+  SILENCE. By'r lady, I think 'a be, but goodman Puff of Barson.
+  PISTOL. Puff!
+    Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!
+    Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,
+    And helter-skelter have I rode to thee;
+    And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,
+    And golden times, and happy news of price.
+  FALSTAFF. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.
+  PISTOL. A foutra for the world and worldlings base!
+    I speak of Africa and golden joys.
+  FALSTAFF. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
+    Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.
+  SILENCE.  [Singing]  And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John.
+  PISTOL. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?  
+    And shall good news be baffled?
+    Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.
+  SHALLOW. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.
+  PISTOL. Why, then, lament therefore.
+  SHALLOW. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from the
+    court, I take it there's but two ways- either to utter them or
+    conceal them. I am, sir, under the King, in some authority.
+  PISTOL. Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die.
+  SHALLOW. Under King Harry.
+  PISTOL. Harry the Fourth- or Fifth?
+  SHALLOW. Harry the Fourth.
+  PISTOL. A foutra for thine office!
+    Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King;
+    Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth.
+    When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like
+    The bragging Spaniard.
+  FALSTAFF. What, is the old king dead?
+  PISTOL. As nail in door. The things I speak are just.
+  FALSTAFF. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow,
+    choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I  
+    will double-charge thee with dignities.
+  BARDOLPH. O joyful day!
+    I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.
+  PISTOL. What, I do bring good news?
+  FALSTAFF. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord
+    Shallow, be what thou wilt- I am Fortune's steward. Get on thy
+    boots; we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph!
+    [Exit BARDOLPH]  Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal
+    devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow!
+    I know the young King is sick for me. Let us take any man's
+    horses: the laws of England are at my commandment. Blessed are
+    they that have been my friends; and woe to my Lord Chief Justice!
+  PISTOL. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!
+    'Where is the life that late I led?' say they.
+    Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+London. A street
+
+Enter BEADLES, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET
+
+  HOSTESS. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might die,
+    that I might have thee hang'd. Thou hast drawn my shoulder out of
+    joint.
+  FIRST BEADLE. The constables have delivered her over to me; and she
+    shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been
+    a man or two lately kill'd about her.
+  DOLL. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee what,
+    thou damn'd tripe-visag'd rascal, an the child I now go with do
+    miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou
+    paper-fac'd villain.
+  HOSTESS. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make this a
+    bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb
+    miscarry!
+  FIRST BEADLE. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again;
+    you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for
+    the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you.  
+  DOLL. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you
+    as soundly swing'd for this- you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy
+    famish'd correctioner, if you be not swing'd, I'll forswear
+    half-kirtles.
+  FIRST BEADLE. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.
+  HOSTESS. O God, that right should thus overcome might!
+    Well, of sufferance comes ease.
+  DOLL. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.
+  HOSTESS. Ay, come, you starv'd bloodhound.
+  DOLL. Goodman death, goodman bones!
+  HOSTESS. Thou atomy, thou!
+  DOLL. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal!
+  FIRST BEADLE. Very well.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Westminster. Near the Abbey
+
+Enter GROOMS, strewing rushes
+
+  FIRST GROOM. More rushes, more rushes!
+  SECOND GROOM. The trumpets have sounded twice.
+  THIRD GROOM. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they come from the
+    coronation. Dispatch, dispatch.                       Exeunt
+
+        Trumpets sound, and the KING and his train pass
+       over the stage. After them enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW,
+                  PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and page
+
+  FALSTAFF. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will make the
+    King do you grace. I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by; and do
+    but mark the countenance that he will give me.
+  PISTOL. God bless thy lungs, good knight!
+  FALSTAFF. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me.  [To SHALLOW]  O, if
+    I had had to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the
+    thousand pound I borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter; this poor
+    show doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see him.  
+  SHALLOW. It doth so.
+  FALSTAFF. It shows my earnestness of affection-
+  SHALLOW. It doth so.
+  FALSTAFF. My devotion-
+  SHALLOW. It doth, it doth, it doth.
+  FALSTAFF. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to deliberate,
+    not to remember, not to have patience to shift me-
+  SHALLOW. It is best, certain.
+  FALSTAFF. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with
+    desire to see him; thinking of nothing else, putting all affairs
+    else in oblivion, as if there were nothing else to be done but to
+    see him.
+  PISTOL. 'Tis 'semper idem' for 'obsque hoc nihil est.' 'Tis all in
+    every part.
+  SHALLOW. 'Tis so, indeed.
+  PISTOL. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver
+    And make thee rage.
+    Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
+    Is in base durance and contagious prison;
+    Hal'd thither  
+    By most mechanical and dirty hand.
+    Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's snake,
+    For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth.
+  FALSTAFF. I will deliver her.
+                         [Shouts,within, and the trumpets sound]
+  PISTOL. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.
+
+        Enter the KING and his train, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
+                               among them
+
+  FALSTAFF. God save thy Grace, King Hal; my royal Hal!
+  PISTOL. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame!
+  FALSTAFF. God save thee, my sweet boy!
+  KING. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Have you your wits? Know you what 'tis you speak?
+  FALSTAFF. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!
+  KING. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.
+    How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
+    I have long dreamt of such a kind of man,
+    So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane;  
+    But being awak'd, I do despise my dream.
+    Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
+    Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
+    For thee thrice wider than for other men-
+    Reply not to me with a fool-born jest;
+    Presume not that I am the thing I was,
+    For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
+    That I have turn'd away my former self;
+    So will I those that kept me company.
+    When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
+    Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
+    The tutor and the feeder of my riots.
+    Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,
+    As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
+    Not to come near our person by ten mile.
+    For competence of life I will allow you,
+    That lack of means enforce you not to evils;
+    And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
+    We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
+    Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,  
+    To see perform'd the tenour of our word.
+    Set on.                        Exeunt the KING and his train
+  FALSTAFF. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds.
+  SHALLOW. Yea, marry, Sir John; which I beseech you to let me have
+    home with me.
+  FALSTAFF. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you grieve at
+    this; I shall be sent for in private to him. Look you, he must
+    seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancements; I will be the
+    man yet that shall make you great.
+  SHALLOW. I cannot perceive how, unless you give me your doublet,
+    and stuff me out with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let me
+    have five hundred of my thousand.
+  FALSTAFF. Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that you heard
+    was but a colour.
+  SHALLOW. A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.
+  FALSTAFF. Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, Lieutenant
+    Pistol; come, Bardolph. I shall be sent for soon at night.
+
+            Re-enter PRINCE JOHN, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE,
+                            with officers  
+
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet;
+    Take all his company along with him.
+  FALSTAFF. My lord, my lord-
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. I cannot now speak. I will hear you soon.
+    Take them away.
+  PISTOL. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta.
+           Exeunt all but PRINCE JOHN and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE
+  PRINCE JOHN. I like this fair proceeding of the King's.
+    He hath intent his wonted followers
+    Shall all be very well provided for;
+    But all are banish'd till their conversations
+    Appear more wise and modest to the world.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. And so they are.
+  PRINCE JOHN. The King hath call'd his parliament, my lord.
+  CHIEF JUSTICE. He hath.
+  PRINCE JOHN. I will lay odds that, ere this year expire,
+    We bear our civil swords and native fire
+    As far as France. I heard a bird so sing,
+    Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the King.  
+    Come, will you hence?                                 Exeunt
+
+EPILOGUE
+                           EPILOGUE.
+
+  First my fear, then my curtsy, last my speech. My fear, is your
+displeasure; my curtsy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons.
+If you look for a good speech now, you undo me; for what I have to say
+is of mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say will, I doubt,
+prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the venture.
+Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in the end
+of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to promise you
+a better. I meant, indeed, to pay you with this; which if like an
+ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle
+creditors, lose. Here I promis'd you I would be, and here I commit
+my body to your mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you some, and,
+as most debtors do, promise you infinitely; and so I kneel down before
+you- but, indeed, to pray for the Queen.
+  If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to
+use my legs? And yet that were but light payment-to dance out of
+your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible
+satisfaction, and so would I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven
+me. If the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with
+the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an assembly.
+  One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloy'd with fat
+meat, our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in
+it, and make you merry with fair Katherine of France; where, for
+anything I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already 'a be
+killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr and this
+is not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will bid
+you good night.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1599
+
+THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  CHORUS
+  KING HENRY THE FIFTH
+  DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, brother to the King
+  DUKE OF BEDFORD,       "     "  "    "
+  DUKE OF EXETER, Uncle to the King
+  DUKE OF YORK, cousin to the King
+  EARL OF SALISBURY
+  EARL OF WESTMORELAND
+  EARL OF WARWICK
+  ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
+  BISHOP OF ELY
+
+  EARL OF CAMBRIDGE, conspirator against the King
+  LORD SCROOP,            "         "     "    "
+  SIR THOMAS GREY,        "         "     "    "
+  SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, officer in the King's army
+  GOWER,                  "      "  "    "     "
+  FLUELLEN,               "      "  "    "     "
+  MACMORRIS,              "      "  "    "     "
+  JAMY,                   "      "  "    "     "  
+
+  BATES,    soldier in the King's army
+  COURT,       "    "   "    "     "
+  WILLIAMS,    "    "   "    "     "
+  NYM,         "    "   "    "     "
+  BARDOLPH,    "    "   "    "     "
+  PISTOL,      "    "   "    "     "
+
+  BOY                               A HERALD
+
+  CHARLES THE SIXTH, King of France
+  LEWIS, the Dauphin                DUKE OF BURGUNDY
+  DUKE OF ORLEANS                   DUKE OF BRITAINE
+  DUKE OF BOURBON                   THE CONSTABLE OF FRANCE
+  RAMBURES, French Lord
+  GRANDPRE,    "    "
+  GOVERNOR OF HARFLEUR              MONTJOY, a French herald
+  AMBASSADORS to the King of England
+
+  ISABEL, Queen of France  
+  KATHERINE, daughter to Charles and Isabel
+  ALICE, a lady attending her
+  HOSTESS of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap; formerly Mrs. Quickly, now
+    married to Pistol
+
+  Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, Attendants
+
+
+                              SCENE:
+                        England and France
+
+PROLOGUE
+                            PROLOGUE.
+
+                          Enter CHORUS
+
+ CHORUS. O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
+   The brightest heaven of invention,
+   A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,
+   And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
+   Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
+   Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
+   Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire,
+   Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,
+   The flat unraised spirits that hath dar'd
+   On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
+   So great an object. Can this cockpit hold
+   The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram
+   Within this wooden O the very casques
+   That did affright the air at Agincourt?
+   O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
+   Attest in little place a million;
+   And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
+   On your imaginary forces work.
+   Suppose within the girdle of these walls  
+   Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies,
+   Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
+   The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder.
+   Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts:
+   Into a thousand parts divide one man,
+   And make imaginary puissance;
+   Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
+   Printing their proud hoofs i' th' receiving earth;
+   For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
+   Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times,
+   Turning th' accomplishment of many years
+   Into an hour-glass; for the which supply,
+   Admit me Chorus to this history;
+   Who prologue-like, your humble patience pray
+   Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.               Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace
+
+Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY and the BISHOP OF ELY
+
+ CANTERBURY. My lord, I'll tell you: that self bill is urg'd
+   Which in th' eleventh year of the last king's reign
+   Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd
+   But that the scambling and unquiet time
+   Did push it out of farther question.
+ ELY. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?
+ CANTERBURY. It must be thought on. If it pass against us,
+   We lose the better half of our possession;
+   For all the temporal lands which men devout
+   By testament have given to the church
+   Would they strip from us; being valu'd thus-
+   As much as would maintain, to the King's honour,
+   Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,
+   Six thousand and two hundred good esquires;
+   And, to relief of lazars and weak age,
+   Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil,
+   A hundred alms-houses right well supplied;
+   And to the coffers of the King, beside,
+   A thousand pounds by th' year: thus runs the bill.
+ ELY. This would drink deep.
+ CANTERBURY. 'T would drink the cup and all.
+ ELY. But what prevention?
+ CANTERBURY. The King is full of grace and fair regard.
+ ELY. And a true lover of the holy Church.
+ CANTERBURY. The courses of his youth promis'd it not.
+   The breath no sooner left his father's body  
+   But that his wildness, mortified in him,
+   Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment,
+   Consideration like an angel came
+   And whipp'd th' offending Adam out of him,
+   Leaving his body as a paradise
+   T'envelop and contain celestial spirits.
+   Never was such a sudden scholar made;
+   Never came reformation in a flood,
+   With such a heady currance, scouring faults;
+   Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulnes
+   So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,
+   As in this king.
+ ELY. We are blessed in the change.
+ CANTERBURY. Hear him but reason in divinity,
+   And, all-admiring, with an inward wish
+   You would desire the King were made a prelate;
+   Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
+   You would say it hath been all in all his study;
+   List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
+   A fearful battle rend'red you in music.
+   Turn him to any cause of policy,
+   The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,  
+   Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,
+   The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
+   And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears
+   To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences;
+   So that the art and practic part of life
+   Must be the mistress to this theoric;
+   Which is a wonder how his Grace should glean it,
+   Since his addiction was to courses vain,
+   His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow,
+   His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports;
+   And never noted in him any study,
+   Any retirement, any sequestration
+   From open haunts and popularity.
+ ELY. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle,
+   And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
+   Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality;
+   And so the Prince obscur'd his contemplation
+   Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt,
+   Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,
+   Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty.
+ CANTERBURY. It must be so; for miracles are ceas'd;
+   And therefore we must needs admit the means  
+   How things are perfected.
+ ELY. But, my good lord,
+   How now for mitigation of this bill
+   Urg'd by the Commons? Doth his Majesty
+   Incline to it, or no?
+ CANTERBURY. He seems indifferent
+   Or rather swaying more upon our part
+   Than cherishing th' exhibiters against us;
+   For I have made an offer to his Majesty-
+   Upon our spiritual convocation
+   And in regard of causes now in hand,
+   Which I have open'd to his Grace at large,
+   As touching France- to give a greater sum
+   Than ever at one time the clergy yet
+   Did to his predecessors part withal.
+ ELY. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord?
+ CANTERBURY. With good acceptance of his Majesty;
+   Save that there was not time enough to hear,
+   As I perceiv'd his Grace would fain have done,
+   The severals and unhidden passages
+   Of his true tides to some certain dukedoms,
+   And generally to the crown and seat of France,
+   Deriv'd from Edward, his great-grandfather.
+ ELY. What was th' impediment that broke this off?
+ CANTERBURY. The French ambassador upon that instant
+   Crav'd audience; and the hour, I think, is come  
+   To give him hearing: is it four o'clock?
+ ELY. It is.
+ CANTERBURY. Then go we in, to know his embassy;
+   Which I could with a ready guess declare,
+   Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.
+ ELY. I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+London. The Presence Chamber in the KING'S palace
+
+Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND,
+and attendants
+
+  KING HENRY. Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?
+  EXETER. Not here in presence.
+  KING HENRY. Send for him, good uncle.
+  WESTMORELAND. Shall we call in th' ambassador, my liege?
+  KING HENRY. Not yet, my cousin; we would be resolv'd,
+    Before we hear him, of some things of weight
+    That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.
+
+              Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY and
+                       the BISHOP OF ELY
+
+  CANTERBURY. God and his angels guard your sacred throne,
+    And make you long become it!
+  KING HENRY. Sure, we thank you.
+    My learned lord, we pray you to proceed,
+    And justly and religiously unfold  
+    Why the law Salique, that they have in France,
+    Or should or should not bar us in our claim;
+    And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,
+    That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,
+    Or nicely charge your understanding soul
+    With opening titles miscreate whose right
+    Suits not in native colours with the truth;
+    For God doth know how many, now in health,
+    Shall drop their blood in approbation
+    Of what your reverence shall incite us to.
+    Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,
+    How you awake our sleeping sword of war-
+    We charge you, in the name of God, take heed;
+    For never two such kingdoms did contend
+    Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops
+    Are every one a woe, a sore complaint,
+    'Gainst him whose wrongs gives edge unto the swords
+    That makes such waste in brief mortality.
+    Under this conjuration speak, my lord;
+    For we will hear, note, and believe in heart,  
+    That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd
+    As pure as sin with baptism.
+  CANTERBURY. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,
+    That owe yourselves, your lives, and services,
+    To this imperial throne. There is no bar
+    To make against your Highness' claim to France
+    But this, which they produce from Pharamond:
+    'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant'-
+    'No woman shall succeed in Salique land';
+    Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze
+    To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
+    The founder of this law and female bar.
+    Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
+    That the land Salique is in Germany,
+    Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;
+    Where Charles the Great, having subdu'd the Saxons,
+    There left behind and settled certain French;
+    Who, holding in disdain the German women
+    For some dishonest manners of their life,
+    Establish'd then this law: to wit, no female  
+    Should be inheritrix in Salique land;
+    Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
+    Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen.
+    Then doth it well appear the Salique law
+    Was not devised for the realm of France;
+    Nor did the French possess the Salique land
+    Until four hundred one and twenty years
+    After defunction of King Pharamond,
+    Idly suppos'd the founder of this law;
+    Who died within the year of our redemption
+    Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great
+    Subdu'd the Saxons, and did seat the French
+    Beyond the river Sala, in the year
+    Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,
+    King Pepin, which deposed Childeric,
+    Did, as heir general, being descended
+    Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair,
+    Make claim and title to the crown of France.
+    Hugh Capet also, who usurp'd the crown
+    Of Charles the Duke of Lorraine, sole heir male  
+    Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great,
+    To find his title with some shows of truth-
+    Though in pure truth it was corrupt and naught-
+    Convey'd himself as th' heir to th' Lady Lingare,
+    Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son
+    To Lewis the Emperor, and Lewis the son
+    Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth,
+    Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
+    Could not keep quiet in his conscience,
+    Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied
+    That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother,
+    Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare,
+    Daughter to Charles the foresaid Duke of Lorraine;
+    By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great
+    Was re-united to the Crown of France.
+    So that, as clear as is the summer's sun,
+    King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim,
+    King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear
+    To hold in right and tide of the female;
+    So do the kings of France unto this day,  
+    Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law
+    To bar your Highness claiming from the female;
+    And rather choose to hide them in a net
+    Than amply to imbar their crooked tides
+    Usurp'd from you and your progenitors.
+  KING HENRY. May I with right and conscience make this claim?
+  CANTERBURY. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!
+    For in the book of Numbers is it writ,
+    When the man dies, let the inheritance
+    Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord,
+    Stand for your own, unwind your bloody flag,
+    Look back into your mighty ancestors.
+    Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb,
+    From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,
+    And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince,
+    Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy,
+    Making defeat on the fun power of France,
+    Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
+    Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp
+    Forage in blood of French nobility.  
+    O noble English, that could entertain
+    With half their forces the full pride of France,
+    And let another half stand laughing by,
+    All out of work and cold for action!
+  ELY. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,
+    And with your puissant arm renew their feats.
+    You are their heir; you sit upon their throne;
+    The blood and courage that renowned them
+    Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege
+    Is in the very May-morn of his youth,
+    Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises.
+  EXETER. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth
+    Do all expect that you should rouse yourself,
+    As did the former lions of your blood.
+  WESTMORELAND. They know your Grace hath cause and means and might-
+    So hath your Highness; never King of England
+    Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects,
+    Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England
+    And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France.
+  CANTERBURY. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege,  
+    With blood and sword and fire to win your right!
+    In aid whereof we of the spiritualty
+    Will raise your Highness such a mighty sum
+    As never did the clergy at one time
+    Bring in to any of your ancestors.
+  KING HENRY. We must not only arm t' invade the French,
+    But lay down our proportions to defend
+    Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
+    With all advantages.
+  CANTERBURY. They of those marches, gracious sovereign,
+    Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
+    Our inland from the pilfering borderers.
+  KING HENRY. We do not mean the coursing snatchers only,
+    But fear the main intendment of the Scot,
+    Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us;
+    For you shall read that my great-grandfather
+    Never went with his forces into France
+    But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom
+    Came pouring, like the tide into a breach,
+    With ample and brim fulness of his force,  
+    Galling the gleaned land with hot assays,
+    Girdling with grievous siege castles and towns;
+    That England, being empty of defence,
+    Hath shook and trembled at th' ill neighbourhood.
+  CANTERBURY. She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege;
+    For hear her but exampled by herself:
+    When all her chivalry hath been in France,
+    And she a mourning widow of her nobles,
+    She hath herself not only well defended
+    But taken and impounded as a stray
+    The King of Scots; whom she did send to France,
+    To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings,
+    And make her chronicle as rich with praise
+    As is the ooze and bottom of the sea
+    With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries.
+  WESTMORELAND. But there's a saying, very old and true:
+
+          'If that you will France win,
+          Then with Scotland first begin.'
+  
+    For once the eagle England being in prey,
+    To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot
+    Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs,
+    Playing the mouse in absence of the cat,
+    To tear and havoc more than she can eat.
+  EXETER. It follows, then, the cat must stay at home;
+    Yet that is but a crush'd necessity,
+    Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries
+    And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.
+    While that the armed hand doth fight abroad,
+    Th' advised head defends itself at home;
+    For government, though high, and low, and lower,
+    Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,
+    Congreeing in a full and natural close,
+    Like music.
+  CANTERBURY. Therefore doth heaven divide
+    The state of man in divers functions,
+    Setting endeavour in continual motion;
+    To which is fixed as an aim or but
+    Obedience; for so work the honey bees,  
+    Creatures that by a rule in nature teach
+    The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
+    They have a king, and officers of sorts,
+    Where some like magistrates correct at home;
+    Others like merchants venture trade abroad;
+    Others like soldiers, armed in their stings,
+    Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds,
+    Which pillage they with merry march bring home
+    To the tent-royal of their emperor;
+    Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
+    The singing masons building roofs of gold,
+    The civil citizens kneading up the honey,
+    The poor mechanic porters crowding in
+    Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate,
+    The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum,
+    Delivering o'er to executors pale
+    The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,
+    That many things, having full reference
+    To one consent, may work contrariously;
+    As many arrows loosed several ways  
+    Come to one mark, as many ways meet in one town,
+    As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea,
+    As many lines close in the dial's centre;
+    So many a thousand actions, once afoot,
+    End in one purpose, and be all well home
+    Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege.
+    Divide your happy England into four;
+    Whereof take you one quarter into France,
+    And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
+    If we, with thrice such powers left at home,
+    Cannot defend our own doors from the dog,
+    Let us be worried, and our nation lose
+    The name of hardiness and policy.
+  KING HENRY. Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.
+                                          Exeunt some attendants
+    Now are we well resolv'd; and, by God's help
+    And yours, the noble sinews of our power,
+    France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe,
+    Or break it all to pieces; or there we'll sit,
+    Ruling in large and ample empery  
+    O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms,
+    Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,
+    Tombless, with no remembrance over them.
+    Either our history shall with full mouth
+    Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave,
+    Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,
+    Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph.
+
+                  Enter AMBASSADORS of France
+
+    Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure
+    Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear
+    Your greeting is from him, not from the King.
+  AMBASSADOR. May't please your Majesty to give us leave
+    Freely to render what we have in charge;
+    Or shall we sparingly show you far of
+    The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy?
+  KING HENRY. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king,
+    Unto whose grace our passion is as subject
+    As are our wretches fett'red in our prisons;  
+    Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness
+    Tell us the Dauphin's mind.
+  AMBASSADOR. Thus then, in few.
+    Your Highness, lately sending into France,
+    Did claim some certain dukedoms in the right
+    Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third.
+    In answer of which claim, the Prince our master
+    Says that you savour too much of your youth,
+    And bids you be advis'd there's nought in France
+    That can be with a nimble galliard won;
+    You cannot revel into dukedoms there.
+    He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
+    This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this,
+    Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim
+    Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.
+  KING HENRY. What treasure, uncle?
+  EXETER. Tennis-balls, my liege.
+  KING HENRY. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
+    His present and your pains we thank you for.
+    When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,  
+    We will in France, by God's grace, play a set
+    Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.
+    Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler
+    That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
+    With chaces. And we understand him well,
+    How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
+    Not measuring what use we made of them.
+    We never valu'd this poor seat of England;
+    And therefore, living hence, did give ourself
+    To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common
+    That men are merriest when they are from home.
+    But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,
+    Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness,
+    When I do rouse me in my throne of France;
+    For that I have laid by my majesty
+    And plodded like a man for working-days;
+    But I will rise there with so full a glory
+    That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
+    Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
+    And tell the pleasant Prince this mock of his  
+    Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones, and his soul
+    Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
+    That shall fly with them; for many a thousand widows
+    Shall this his mock mock of their dear husbands;
+    Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;
+    And some are yet ungotten and unborn
+    That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.
+    But this lies all within the will of God,
+    To whom I do appeal; and in whose name,
+    Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on,
+    To venge me as I may and to put forth
+    My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
+    So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin
+    His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
+    When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.
+    Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well.
+                                              Exeunt AMBASSADORS
+  EXETER. This was a merry message.
+  KING HENRY. We hope to make the sender blush at it.
+    Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour  
+    That may give furth'rance to our expedition;
+    For we have now no thought in us but France,
+    Save those to God, that run before our business.
+    Therefore let our proportions for these wars
+    Be soon collected, and all things thought upon
+    That may with reasonable swiftness ad
+    More feathers to our wings; for, God before,
+    We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door.
+    Therefore let every man now task his thought
+    That this fair action may on foot be brought.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. PROLOGUE.
+
+Flourish. Enter CHORUS
+
+  CHORUS. Now all the youth of England are on fire,
+    And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
+    Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
+    Reigns solely in the breast of every man;
+    They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
+    Following the mirror of all Christian kings
+    With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
+    For now sits Expectation in the air,
+    And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
+    With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,
+    Promis'd to Harry and his followers.
+    The French, advis'd by good intelligence
+    Of this most dreadful preparation,
+    Shake in their fear and with pale policy
+    Seek to divert the English purposes.
+    O England! model to thy inward greatness,
+    Like little body with a mighty heart,
+    What mightst thou do that honour would thee do,  
+    Were all thy children kind and natural!
+    But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out
+    A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
+    With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men-
+    One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,
+    Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,
+    Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,
+    Have, for the gilt of France- O guilt indeed!-
+    Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France;
+    And by their hands this grace of kings must die-
+    If hell and treason hold their promises,
+    Ere he take ship for France- and in Southampton.
+    Linger your patience on, and we'll digest
+    Th' abuse of distance, force a play.
+    The sum is paid, the traitors are agreed,
+    The King is set from London, and the scene
+    Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton;
+    There is the play-house now, there must you sit,
+    And thence to France shall we convey you safe
+    And bring you back, charming the narrow seas  
+    To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,
+    We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
+    But, till the King come forth, and not till then,
+    Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.                 Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE I.
+London. Before the Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap
+
+Enter CORPORAL NYM and LIEUTENANT BARDOLPH
+
+  BARDOLPH. Well met, Corporal Nym.
+  NYM. Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.
+  BARDOLPH. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?
+  NYM. For my part, I care not; I say little, but when time shall
+    serve, there shall be smiles- but that shall be as it may. I dare
+    not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron. It is a simple
+    one; but what though? It will toast cheese, and it will endure
+    cold as another man's sword will; and there's an end.
+  BARDOLPH. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we'll
+    be all three sworn brothers to France. Let't be so, good Corporal
+    Nym.
+  NYM. Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it;
+    and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may. That is my
+    rest, that is the rendezvous of it.
+  BARDOLPH. It is certain, Corporal, that he is married to Nell
+    Quickly; and certainly she did you wrong, for you were
+    troth-plight to her.  
+  NYM. I cannot tell; things must be as they may. Men may sleep, and
+    they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say
+    knives have edges. It must be as it may; though patience be a
+    tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I
+    cannot tell.
+
+                     Enter PISTOL and HOSTESS
+
+  BARDOLPH. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good Corporal, be
+    patient here.
+  NYM. How now, mine host Pistol!
+  PISTOL. Base tike, call'st thou me host?
+    Now by this hand, I swear I scorn the term;
+    Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
+  HOSTESS. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a
+    dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of
+    their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house
+    straight. [Nym draws] O well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn! Now
+    we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.
+  BARDOLPH. Good Lieutenant, good Corporal, offer nothing here.
+  NYM. Pish!  
+  PISTOL. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of
+    Iceland!
+  HOSTESS. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.
+  NYM. Will you shog off? I would have you solus.
+  PISTOL. 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!
+    The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face;
+    The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
+    And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy;
+    And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!
+    I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;
+    For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,
+    And flashing fire will follow.
+  NYM. I am not Barbason: you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to
+    knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I
+    will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms; if you
+    would walk off I would prick your guts a little, in good terms,
+    as I may, and thaes the humour of it.
+  PISTOL. O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
+    The grave doth gape and doting death is near;
+    Therefore exhale.                             [PISTOL draws]  
+  BARDOLPH. Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the first
+    stroke I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.
+                                                         [Draws]
+  PISTOL. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
+                           [PISTOL and Nym sheathe their swords]
+    Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give;
+    Thy spirits are most tall.
+  NYM. I will cut thy throat one time or other, in fair terms; that
+    is the humour of it.
+  PISTOL. 'Couple a gorge!'
+    That is the word. I thee defy again.
+    O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?
+    No; to the spital go,
+    And from the powd'ring tub of infamy
+    Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
+    Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.
+    I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
+    For the only she; and- pauca, there's enough.
+    Go to.
+  
+                        Enter the Boy
+
+  BOY. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master; and your
+    hostess- he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put
+    thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan.
+    Faith, he's very ill.
+  BARDOLPH. Away, you rogue.
+  HOSTESS. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these
+    days: the King has kill'd his heart. Good husband, come home
+    presently.                            Exeunt HOSTESS and BOY
+  BARDOLPH. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France
+    together; why the devil should we keep knives to cut one
+    another's throats?
+  PISTOL. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
+  NYM. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?
+  PISTOL. Base is the slave that pays.
+  NYM. That now I will have; that's the humour of it.
+  PISTOL. As manhood shall compound: push home.
+                                           [PISTOL and Nym draw]
+  BARDOLPH. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust I'll kill  
+    him; by this sword, I will.
+  PISTOL. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.
+                                            [Sheathes his sword]
+  BARDOLPH. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends; an
+    thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Prithee put up.
+  NYM. I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?
+  PISTOL. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
+    And liquor likewise will I give to thee,
+    And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.
+    I'll live by Nym and Nym shall live by me.
+    Is not this just? For I shall sutler be
+    Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
+    Give me thy hand.
+  NYM. [Sheathing his sword] I shall have my noble?
+  PISTOL. In cash most justly paid.
+  NYM. [Shaking hands] Well, then, that's the humour of't.
+
+                       Re-enter HOSTESS
+
+  HOSTESS. As ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John.  
+    Ah, poor heart! he is so shak'd of a burning quotidian tertian
+    that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.
+  NYM. The King hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even
+    of it.
+  PISTOL. Nym, thou hast spoke the right;
+    His heart is fracted and corroborate.
+  NYM. The King is a good king, but it must be as it may; he passes
+    some humours and careers.
+  PISTOL. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Southampton. A council-chamber
+
+Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND
+
+  BEDFORD. Fore God, his Grace is bold, to trust these traitors.
+  EXETER. They shall be apprehended by and by.
+  WESTMORELAND. How smooth and even they do bear themselves,
+    As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,
+    Crowned with faith and constant loyalty!
+  BEDFORD. The King hath note of all that they intend,
+    By interception which they dream not of.
+  EXETER. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,
+    Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours-
+    That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
+    His sovereign's life to death and treachery!
+
+               Trumpets sound. Enter the KING, SCROOP,
+                  CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and attendants
+
+  KING HENRY. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.
+    My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,  
+    And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts.
+    Think you not that the pow'rs we bear with us
+    Will cut their passage through the force of France,
+    Doing the execution and the act
+    For which we have in head assembled them?
+  SCROOP. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
+  KING HENRY. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded
+    We carry not a heart with us from hence
+    That grows not in a fair consent with ours;
+    Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish
+    Success and conquest to attend on us.
+  CAMBRIDGE. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd
+    Than is your Majesty. There's not, I think, a subject
+    That sits in heart-grief and uneasines
+    Under the sweet shade of your government.
+  GREY. True: those that were your father's enemies
+    Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve you
+    With hearts create of duty and of zeal.
+  KING HENRY. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness,
+    And shall forget the office of our hand  
+    Sooner than quittance of desert and merit
+    According to the weight and worthiness.
+  SCROOP. So service shall with steeled sinews toil,
+    And labour shall refresh itself with hope,
+    To do your Grace incessant services.
+  KING HENRY. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,
+    Enlarge the man committed yesterday
+    That rail'd against our person. We consider
+    It was excess of wine that set him on;
+    And on his more advice we pardon him.
+  SCROOP. That's mercy, but too much security.
+    Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example
+    Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
+  KING HENRY. O, let us yet be merciful!
+  CAMBRIDGE. So may your Highness, and yet punish too.
+  GREY. Sir,
+    You show great mercy if you give him life,
+    After the taste of much correction.
+  KING HENRY. Alas, your too much love and care of me
+    Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch!  
+    If little faults proceeding on distemper
+    Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye
+    When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested,
+    Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man,
+    Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care
+    And tender preservation of our person,
+    Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes:
+    Who are the late commissioners?
+  CAMBRIDGE. I one, my lord.
+    Your Highness bade me ask for it to-day.
+  SCROOP. So did you me, my liege.
+  GREY. And I, my royal sovereign.
+  KING HENRY. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;
+    There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, Sir Knight,
+    Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours.
+    Read them, and know I know your worthiness.
+    My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,
+    We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentlemen?
+    What see you in those papers, that you lose
+    So much complexion? Look ye how they change!  
+    Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there
+    That have so cowarded and chas'd your blood
+    Out of appearance?
+  CAMBRIDGE. I do confess my fault,
+    And do submit me to your Highness' mercy.
+  GREY, SCROOP. To which we all appeal.
+  KING HENRY. The mercy that was quick in us but late
+   By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd.
+    You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;
+    For your own reasons turn into your bosoms
+    As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.
+    See you, my princes and my noble peers,
+    These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here-
+    You know how apt our love was to accord
+    To furnish him with an appertinents
+    Belonging to his honour; and this man
+    Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd,
+    And sworn unto the practices of France
+    To kill us here in Hampton; to the which
+    This knight, no less for bounty bound to us  
+    Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O,
+    What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop, thou cruel,
+    Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature?
+    Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,
+    That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,
+    That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold,
+    Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use-
+    May it be possible that foreign hire
+    Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
+    That might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange
+    That, though the truth of it stands off as gross
+    As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.
+    Treason and murder ever kept together,
+    As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
+    Working so grossly in a natural cause
+    That admiration did not whoop at them;
+    But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in
+    Wonder to wait on treason and on murder;
+    And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
+    That wrought upon thee so preposterously  
+    Hath got the voice in hell for excellence;
+    And other devils that suggest by treasons
+    Do botch and bungle up damnation
+    With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetch'd
+    From glist'ring semblances of piety;
+    But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up,
+    Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,
+    Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
+    If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus
+    Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
+    He might return to vasty Tartar back,
+    And tell the legions 'I can never win
+    A soul so easy as that Englishman's.'
+    O, how hast thou with jealousy infected
+    The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?
+    Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned?
+    Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family?
+    Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious?
+    Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,
+    Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,  
+    Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
+    Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement,
+    Not working with the eye without the ear,
+    And but in purged judgment trusting neither?
+    Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem;
+    And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot
+    To mark the full-fraught man and best indued
+    With some suspicion. I will weep for thee;
+    For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
+    Another fall of man. Their faults are open.
+    Arrest them to the answer of the law;
+    And God acquit them of their practices!
+  EXETER. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl
+      of Cambridge.
+    I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop
+      of Masham.
+    I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey,
+      knight, of Northumberland.
+  SCROOP. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd,
+    And I repent my fault more than my death;  
+    Which I beseech your Highness to forgive,
+    Although my body pay the price of it.
+  CAMBRIDGE. For me, the gold of France did not seduce,
+    Although I did admit it as a motive
+    The sooner to effect what I intended;
+    But God be thanked for prevention,
+    Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,
+    Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
+  GREY. Never did faithful subject more rejoice
+    At the discovery of most dangerous treason
+    Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself,
+    Prevented from a damned enterprise.
+    My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.
+  KING HENRY. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.
+    You have conspir'd against our royal person,
+    Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers
+    Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death;
+    Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,
+    His princes and his peers to servitude,
+    His subjects to oppression and contempt,  
+    And his whole kingdom into desolation.
+    Touching our person seek we no revenge;
+    But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,
+    Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws
+    We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,
+    Poor miserable wretches, to your death;
+    The taste whereof God of his mercy give
+    You patience to endure, and true repentance
+    Of all your dear offences. Bear them hence.
+                     Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP, and GREY, guarded
+    Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof
+    Shall be to you as us like glorious.
+    We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
+    Since God so graciously hath brought to light
+    This dangerous treason, lurking in our way
+    To hinder our beginnings; we doubt not now
+    But every rub is smoothed on our way.
+    Then, forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver
+    Our puissance into the hand of God,
+    Putting it straight in expedition.  
+    Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance;
+    No king of England, if not king of France!
+                                                Flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Eastcheap. Before the Boar's Head tavern
+
+Enter PISTOL, HOSTESS, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy
+
+  HOSTESS. Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to
+     Staines.
+  PISTOL. No; for my manly heart doth earn.
+    Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
+    Boy, bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff he is dead,
+    And we must earn therefore.
+  BARDOLPH. Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in
+    heaven or in hell!
+  HOSTESS. Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if
+    ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went
+    away an it had been any christom child; 'a parted ev'n just
+    between twelve and one, ev'n at the turning o' th' tide; for
+    after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers,
+    and smile upon his fingers' end, I knew there was but one way;
+    for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbl'd of green
+    fields. 'How now, Sir John!' quoth I 'What, man, be o' good
+    cheer.' So 'a cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now  
+    I, to comfort him, bid him 'a should not think of God; I hop'd
+    there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet.
+    So 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet; I put my hand into
+    the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I
+    felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold
+    as any stone.
+  NYM. They say he cried out of sack.
+  HOSTESS. Ay, that 'a did.
+  BARDOLPH. And of women.
+  HOSTESS. Nay, that 'a did not.
+  BOY. Yes, that 'a did, and said they were devils incarnate.
+  HOSTESS. 'A could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never
+    liked.
+  BOY. 'A said once the devil would have him about women.
+  HOSTESS. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was
+    rheumatic, and talk'd of the Whore of Babylon.
+  BOY. Do you not remember 'a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose,
+    and 'a said it was a black soul burning in hell?
+  BARDOLPH. Well, the fuel is gone that maintain'd that fire: that's
+    all the riches I got in his service.  
+  NYM. Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.
+  PISTOL. Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.
+    Look to my chattles and my moveables;
+    Let senses rule. The word is 'Pitch and Pay.'
+    Trust none;
+    For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
+    And Holdfast is the only dog, my duck.
+    Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.
+    Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,
+    Let us to France, like horse-leeches, my boys,
+    To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck.
+  BOY. And that's but unwholesome food, they say.
+  PISTOL. Touch her soft mouth and march.
+  BARDOLPH. Farewell, hostess.                     [Kissing her]
+  NYM. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu.
+  PISTOL. Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command.
+  HOSTESS. Farewell; adieu.                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+France. The KING'S palace
+
+Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES OF BERRI
+and BRITAINE, the CONSTABLE, and others
+
+  FRENCH KING. Thus comes the English with full power upon us;
+    And more than carefully it us concerns
+    To answer royally in our defences.
+    Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Britaine,
+    Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,
+    And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch,
+    To line and new repair our towns of war
+    With men of courage and with means defendant;
+    For England his approaches makes as fierce
+    As waters to the sucking of a gulf.
+    It fits us, then, to be as provident
+    As fear may teach us, out of late examples
+    Left by the fatal and neglected English
+    Upon our fields.
+  DAUPHIN. My most redoubted father,
+    It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe;  
+    For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,
+    Though war nor no known quarrel were in question,
+    But that defences, musters, preparations,
+    Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected,
+    As were a war in expectation.
+    Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth
+    To view the sick and feeble parts of France;
+    And let us do it with no show of fear-
+    No, with no more than if we heard that England
+    Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance;
+    For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd,
+    Her sceptre so fantastically borne
+    By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,
+    That fear attends her not.
+  CONSTABLE. O peace, Prince Dauphin!
+    You are too much mistaken in this king.
+    Question your Grace the late ambassadors
+    With what great state he heard their embassy,
+    How well supplied with noble counsellors,
+    How modest in exception, and withal  
+    How terrible in constant resolution,
+    And you shall find his vanities forespent
+    Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
+    Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
+    As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
+    That shall first spring and be most delicate.
+  DAUPHIN. Well, 'tis not so, my Lord High Constable;
+    But though we think it so, it is no matter.
+    In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh
+    The enemy more mighty than he seems;
+    So the proportions of defence are fill'd;
+    Which of a weak and niggardly projection
+    Doth like a miser spoil his coat with scanting
+    A little cloth.
+  FRENCH KING. Think we King Harry strong;
+    And, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.
+    The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us;
+    And he is bred out of that bloody strain
+    That haunted us in our familiar paths.
+    Witness our too much memorable shame  
+    When Cressy battle fatally was struck,
+    And all our princes capdv'd by the hand
+    Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;
+    Whiles that his mountain sire- on mountain standing,
+    Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun-
+    Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him,
+    Mangle the work of nature, and deface
+    The patterns that by God and by French fathers
+    Had twenty years been made. This is a stern
+    Of that victorious stock; and let us fear
+    The native mightiness and fate of him.
+
+                      Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Ambassadors from Harry King of England
+    Do crave admittance to your Majesty.
+  FRENCH KING. We'll give them present audience. Go and bring them.
+                              Exeunt MESSENGER and certain LORDS
+    You see this chase is hotly followed, friends.
+  DAUPHIN. Turn head and stop pursuit; for coward dogs  
+    Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten
+    Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,
+    Take up the English short, and let them know
+    Of what a monarchy you are the head.
+    Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
+    As self-neglecting.
+
+               Re-enter LORDS, with EXETER and train
+
+  FRENCH KING. From our brother of England?
+  EXETER. From him, and thus he greets your Majesty:
+    He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,
+    That you divest yourself, and lay apart
+    The borrowed glories that by gift of heaven,
+    By law of nature and of nations, 'longs
+    To him and to his heirs- namely, the crown,
+    And all wide-stretched honours that pertain,
+    By custom and the ordinance of times,
+    Unto the crown of France. That you may know
+    'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,  
+    Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
+    Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd,
+    He sends you this most memorable line,       [Gives a paper]
+    In every branch truly demonstrative;
+    Willing you overlook this pedigree.
+    And when you find him evenly deriv'd
+    From his most fam'd of famous ancestors,
+    Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
+    Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
+    From him, the native and true challenger.
+  FRENCH KING. Or else what follows?
+  EXETER. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
+    Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it.
+    Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
+    In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,
+    That if requiring fail, he will compel;
+    And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
+    Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy
+    On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
+    Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head  
+    Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries,
+    The dead men's blood, the privy maidens' groans,
+    For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,
+    That shall be swallowed in this controversy.
+    This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message;
+    Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
+    To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
+  FRENCH KING. For us, we will consider of this further;
+    To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
+    Back to our brother of England.
+  DAUPHIN. For the Dauphin:
+    I stand here for him. What to him from England?
+  EXETER. Scorn and defiance, slight regard, contempt,
+    And anything that may not misbecome
+    The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
+    Thus says my king: an if your father's Highness
+    Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
+    Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty,
+    He'll call you to so hot an answer of it
+    That caves and womby vaultages of France  
+    Shall chide your trespass and return your mock
+    In second accent of his ordinance.
+  DAUPHIN. Say, if my father render fair return,
+    It is against my will; for I desire
+    Nothing but odds with England. To that end,
+    As matching to his youth and vanity,
+    I did present him with the Paris balls.
+  EXETER. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,
+    Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe;
+    And be assur'd you'll find a difference,
+    As we his subjects have in wonder found,
+    Between the promise of his greener days
+    And these he masters now. Now he weighs time
+    Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read
+    In your own losses, if he stay in France.
+  FRENCH KING. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.
+  EXETER. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king
+    Come here himself to question our delay;
+    For he is footed in this land already.
+  FRENCH KING. You shall be soon dispatch'd with fair conditions.  
+    A night is but small breath and little pause
+    To answer matters of this consequence.      Flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT III. PROLOGUE.
+
+Flourish. Enter CHORUS
+
+  CHORUS. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies,
+    In motion of no less celerity
+    Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
+    The well-appointed King at Hampton pier
+    Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
+    With silken streamers the young Phorbus fanning.
+    Play with your fancies; and in them behold
+    Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
+    Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
+    To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails,
+    Borne with th' invisible and creeping wind,
+    Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea,
+    Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think
+    You stand upon the rivage and behold
+    A city on th' inconstant billows dancing;
+    For so appears this fleet majestical,
+    Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!
+    Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy  
+    And leave your England as dead midnight still,
+    Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women,
+    Either past or not arriv'd to pith and puissance;
+    For who is he whose chin is but enrich'd
+    With one appearing hair that will not follow
+    These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
+    Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;
+    Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
+    With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
+    Suppose th' ambassador from the French comes back;
+    Tells Harry that the King doth offer him
+    Katherine his daughter, and with her to dowry
+    Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
+    The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner
+    With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
+                                   [Alarum, and chambers go off]
+    And down goes an before them. Still be kind,
+    And eke out our performance with your mind.             Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE I.
+France. Before Harfleur
+
+Alarum. Enter the KING, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER,
+and soldiers with scaling-ladders
+
+  KING. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
+    Or close the wall up with our English dead.
+    In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
+    As modest stillness and humility;
+    But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
+    Then imitate the action of the tiger:
+    Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
+    Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
+    Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
+    Let it pry through the portage of the head
+    Like the brass cannon: let the brow o'erwhelm it
+    As fearfully as doth a galled rock
+    O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
+    Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
+    Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide;
+    Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit  
+    To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
+    Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof-
+    Fathers that like so many Alexanders
+    Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
+    And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.
+    Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
+    That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
+    Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
+    And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,
+    Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
+    The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
+    That you are worth your breeding- which I doubt not;
+    For there is none of you so mean and base
+    That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
+    I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
+    Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
+    Follow your spirit; and upon this charge
+    Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
+                           [Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Before Harfleur
+
+Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and BOY
+
+  BARDOLPH. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!
+  NYM. Pray thee, Corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot, and for
+    mine own part I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too
+    hot; that is the very plain-song of it.
+  PISTOL. The plain-song is most just; for humours do abound:
+
+        Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die;
+                    And sword and shield
+                    In bloody field
+                 Doth win immortal fame.
+
+  BOY. Would I were in an alehouse in London! I wouid give all my
+    fame for a pot of ale and safety.
+  PISTOL. And I:
+
+               If wishes would prevail with me,
+               My purpose should not fail with me,
+                   But thither would I hie.  
+
+  BOY.             As duly, but not as truly,
+                   As bird doth sing on bough.
+
+                         Enter FLUELLEN
+
+  FLUELLEN. Up to the breach, you dogs!
+    Avaunt, you cullions!                 [Driving them forward]
+  PISTOL. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.
+    Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage;
+    Abate thy rage, great duke.
+    Good bawcock, bate thy rage. Use lenity, sweet chuck.
+  NYM. These be good humours. Your honour wins bad humours.
+                                              Exeunt all but BOY
+  BOY. As young as I am, I have observ'd these three swashers. I am
+    boy to them all three; but all they three, though they would
+    serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do
+    not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-liver'd and
+    red-fac'd; by the means whereof 'a faces it out, but fights not.
+    For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the  
+    means whereof 'a breaks words and keeps whole weapons. For Nym,
+    he hath heard that men of few words are the best men, and
+    therefore he scorns to say his prayers lest 'a should be thought
+    a coward; but his few bad words are match'd with as few good
+    deeds; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own, and that
+    was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything,
+    and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve
+    leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are
+    sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a
+    fire-shovel; I knew by that piece of service the men would carry
+    coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their
+    gloves or their handkerchers; which makes much against my
+    manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine;
+    for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them and
+    seek some better service; their villainy goes against my weak
+    stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.               Exit
+
+                 Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following
+
+  GOWER. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the  
+    Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.
+  FLUELLEN. To the mines! Tell you the Duke it is not so good to come
+    to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the
+    disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient.
+    For, look you, th' athversary- you may discuss unto the Duke,
+    look you- is digt himself four yard under the countermines; by
+    Cheshu, I think 'a will plow up all, if there is not better
+    directions.
+  GOWER. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is
+    given, is altogether directed by an Irishman- a very vallant
+    gentleman, i' faith.
+  FLUELLEN. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not?
+  GOWER. I think it be.
+  FLUELLEN. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify
+    as much in his beard; he has no more directions in the true
+    disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than
+    is a puppy-dog.
+
+                 Enter MACMORRIS and CAPTAIN JAMY
+  
+  GOWER. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with
+    him.
+  FLUELLEN. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is
+    certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient
+    wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu,
+    he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the
+    world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.
+  JAMY. I say gud day, Captain Fluellen.
+  FLUELLEN. God-den to your worship, good Captain James.
+  GOWER. How now, Captain Macmorris! Have you quit the mines? Have
+    the pioneers given o'er?
+  MACMORRIS. By Chrish, la, tish ill done! The work ish give over,
+    the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my
+    father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over; I would
+    have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O,
+    tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done!
+  FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe
+    me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or
+    concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way
+    of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to  
+    satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of
+    my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline,
+    that is the point.
+  JAMY. It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath; and I sall
+    quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I,
+    marry.
+  MACMORRIS. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day
+    is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the King, and the
+    Dukes; it is no time to discourse. The town is beseech'd, and the
+    trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk and, be Chrish, do
+    nothing. 'Tis shame for us all, so God sa' me, 'tis shame to
+    stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and there is throats to be
+    cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish
+    sa' me, la.
+  JAMY. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to
+    slomber, ay'll de gud service, or I'll lig i' th' grund for it;
+    ay, or go to death. And I'll pay't as valorously as I may, that
+    sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad
+    full fain heard some question 'tween you tway.
+  FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your  
+    correction, there is not many of your nation-
+  MACMORRIS. Of my nation? What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a
+    bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks
+    of my nation?
+  FLUELLEN. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant,
+    Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me
+    with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look
+    you; being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of
+    war and in the derivation of my birth, and in other
+    particularities.
+  MACMORRIS. I do not know you so good a man as myself; so
+    Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.
+  GOWER. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.
+  JAMY. Ah! that's a foul fault.              [A parley sounded]
+  GOWER. The town sounds a parley.
+  FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity
+    to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know
+    the disciplines of war; and there is an end.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Before the gates of Harfleur
+
+Enter the GOVERNOR and some citizens on the walls.  Enter the KING
+and all his train before the gates
+
+  KING HENRY. How yet resolves the Governor of the town?
+    This is the latest parle we will admit;
+    Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves
+    Or, like to men proud of destruction,
+    Defy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier,
+    A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
+    If I begin the batt'ry once again,
+    I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
+    Till in her ashes she lie buried.
+    The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
+    And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
+    In liberty of bloody hand shall range
+    With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
+    Your fresh fair virgins and your flow'ring infants.
+    What is it then to me if impious war,
+    Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,
+    Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats  
+    Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
+    What is't to me when you yourselves are cause,
+    If your pure maidens fall into the hand
+    Of hot and forcing violation?
+    What rein can hold licentious wickednes
+    When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
+    We may as bootless spend our vain command
+    Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil,
+    As send precepts to the Leviathan
+    To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
+    Take pity of your town and of your people
+    Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
+    Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
+    O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
+    Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy.
+    If not- why, in a moment look to see
+    The blind and bloody with foul hand
+    Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
+    Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
+    And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls;  
+    Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
+    Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
+    Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
+    At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
+    What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid?
+    Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?
+  GOVERNOR. Our expectation hath this day an end:
+    The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated,
+    Returns us that his powers are yet not ready
+    To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great King,
+    We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.
+    Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours;
+    For we no longer are defensible.
+  KING HENRY. Open your gates. [Exit GOVERNOR] Come, uncle Exeter,
+    Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain,
+    And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French;
+    Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,
+    The winter coming on, and sickness growing
+    Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais.
+    To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest;  
+    To-morrow for the march are we addrest.
+               [Flourish. The KING and his train enter the town]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Rouen. The FRENCH KING'S palace
+
+Enter KATHERINE and ALICE
+
+  KATHERINE. Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le
+    langage.
+  ALICE. Un peu, madame.
+  KATHERINE. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que j'apprenne a
+    parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglais?
+  ALICE. La main? Elle est appelee de hand.
+  KATHERINE. De hand. Et les doigts?
+  ALICE. Les doigts? Ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me
+    souviendrai. Les doigts? Je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres;
+    oui, de fingres.
+  KATHERINE. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que
+    je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglais vitement.
+    Comment appelez-vous les ongles?
+  ALICE. Les ongles? Nous les appelons de nails.
+  KATHERINE. De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi si je parle bien: de hand,
+    de fingres, et de nails.
+  ALICE. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglais.  
+  KATHERINE. Dites-moi l'Anglais pour le bras.
+  ALICE. De arm, madame.
+  KATHERINE. Et le coude?
+  ALICE. D'elbow.
+  KATHERINE. D'elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mots que
+    vous m'avez appris des a present.
+  ALICE. Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.
+  KATHERINE. Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: d'hand, de fingre, de
+    nails, d'arma, de bilbow.
+  ALICE. D'elbow, madame.
+  KATHERINE. O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! D'elbow.
+    Comment appelez-vous le col?
+  ALICE. De nick, madame.
+  KATHERINE. De nick. Et le menton?
+  ALICE. De chin.
+  KATHERINE. De sin. Le col, de nick; le menton, de sin.
+  ALICE. Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots
+    aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.
+  KATHERINE. Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et
+    en peu de temps.  
+  ALICE. N'avez-vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne?
+  KATHERINE. Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: d'hand, de fingre,
+    de mails-
+  ALICE. De nails, madame.
+  KATHERINE. De nails, de arm, de ilbow.
+  ALICE. Sauf votre honneur, d'elbow.
+  KATHERINE. Ainsi dis-je; d'elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment
+    appelez-vous le pied et la robe?
+  ALICE. Le foot, madame; et le count.
+  KATHERINE. Le foot et le count. O Seigneur Dieu! ils sont mots de
+    son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les
+    dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant
+    les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le
+    count! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble:
+    d'hand, de fingre, de nails, d'arm, d'elbow, de nick, de sin, de
+    foot, le count.
+  ALICE. Excellent, madame!
+  KATHERINE. C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+The FRENCH KING'S palace
+
+Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, DUKE OF BRITAINE,
+the CONSTABLE OF FRANCE, and others
+
+  FRENCH KING. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme.
+  CONSTABLE. And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
+    Let us not live in France; let us quit an,
+    And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
+  DAUPHIN. O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,
+    The emptying of our fathers' luxury,
+    Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
+    Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,
+    And overlook their grafters?
+  BRITAINE. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
+    Mort Dieu, ma vie! if they march along
+    Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom
+    To buy a slobb'ry and a dirty farm
+    In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.
+  CONSTABLE. Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?
+    Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull;  
+    On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
+    Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
+    A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth,
+    Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
+    And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
+    Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land,
+    Let us not hang like roping icicles
+    Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people
+    Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields-
+    Poor we call them in their native lords!
+  DAUPHIN. By faith and honour,
+    Our madams mock at us and plainly say
+    Our mettle is bred out, and they will give
+    Their bodies to the lust of English youth
+    To new-store France with bastard warriors.
+  BRITAINE. They bid us to the English dancing-schools
+    And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos,
+    Saying our grace is only in our heels
+    And that we are most lofty runaways.
+  FRENCH KING. Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence;  
+    Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
+    Up, Princes, and, with spirit of honour edged
+    More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
+    Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
+    You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri,
+    Alengon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
+    Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
+    Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconbridge,
+    Foix, Lestrake, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
+    High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,
+    For your great seats now quit you of great shames.
+    Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
+    With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.
+    Rush on his host as doth the melted snow
+    Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat
+    The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon;
+    Go down upon him, you have power enough,
+    And in a captive chariot into Rouen
+    Bring him our prisoner.
+  CONSTABLE. This becomes the great.  
+    Sorry am I his numbers are so few,
+    His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march;
+    For I am sure, when he shall see our army,
+    He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear,
+    And for achievement offer us his ransom.
+  FRENCH KING. Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy,
+    And let him say to England that we send
+    To know what willing ransom he will give.
+    Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.
+  DAUPHIN. Not so, I do beseech your Majesty.
+  FRENCH KING. Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
+    Now forth, Lord Constable and Princes all,
+    And quickly bring us word of England's fall.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+The English camp in Picardy
+
+Enter CAPTAINS, English and Welsh, GOWER and FLUELLEN
+
+  GOWER. How now, Captain Fluellen! Come you from the bridge?
+  FLUELLEN. I assure you there is very excellent services committed
+    at the bridge.
+  GOWER. Is the Duke of Exeter safe?
+  FLUELLEN. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a
+    man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my
+    duty, and my live, and my living, and my uttermost power. He is
+    not- God be praised and blessed!- any hurt in the world, but
+    keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There
+    is an aunchient Lieutenant there at the bridge- I think in my
+    very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is
+    man of no estimation in the world; but I did see him do as
+    gallant service.
+  GOWER. What do you call him?
+  FLUELLEN. He is call'd Aunchient Pistol.
+  GOWER. I know him not.
+  
+                            Enter PISTOL
+
+  FLUELLEN. Here is the man.
+  PISTOL. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours.
+    The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.
+  FLUELLEN. Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his
+    hands.
+  PISTOL. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,
+    And of buxom valour, hath by cruel fate
+    And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel,
+    That goddess blind,
+    That stands upon the rolling restless stone-
+  FLUELLEN. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted
+    blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that
+    Fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to
+    signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning,
+    and inconstant, and mutability, and variation; and her foot, look
+    you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and
+    rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description
+    of it: Fortune is an excellent moral.  
+  PISTOL. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;
+    For he hath stol'n a pax, and hanged must 'a be-
+    A damned death!
+    Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free,
+    And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate.
+    But Exeter hath given the doom of death
+    For pax of little price.
+    Therefore, go speak- the Duke will hear thy voice;
+    And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut
+    With edge of penny cord and vile reproach.
+    Speak, Captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.
+  FLUELLEN. Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.
+  PISTOL. Why then, rejoice therefore.
+  FLUELLEN. Certainly, Aunchient, it is not a thing to rejoice at;
+    for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the Duke to
+    use his good pleasure, and put him to execution; for discipline
+    ought to be used.
+  PISTOL. Die and be damn'd! and figo for thy friendship!
+  FLUELLEN. It is well.
+  PISTOL. The fig of Spain!                                 Exit  
+  FLUELLEN. Very good.
+  GOWER. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I remember him
+    now- a bawd, a cutpurse.
+  FLUELLEN. I'll assure you, 'a utt'red as prave words at the pridge
+    as you shall see in a summer's day. But it is very well; what he
+    has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve.
+  GOWER. Why, 'tis a gull a fool a rogue, that now and then goes to
+    the wars to grace himself, at his return into London, under the
+    form of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in the great
+    commanders' names; and they will learn you by rote where services
+    were done- at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a
+    convoy; who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgrac'd, what
+    terms the enemy stood on; and this they con perfectly in the
+    phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned oaths; and what
+    a beard of the General's cut and a horrid suit of the camp will
+    do among foaming bottles and ale-wash'd wits is wonderful to be
+    thought on. But you must learn to know such slanders of the age,
+    or else you may be marvellously mistook.
+  FLUELLEN. I tell you what, Captain Gower, I do perceive he is not
+    the man that he would gladly make show to the world he is; if I  
+    find a hole in his coat I will tell him my mind. [Drum within]
+    Hark you, the King is coming; and I must speak with him from the
+    pridge.
+
+         Drum and colours. Enter the KING and his poor soldiers,
+                          and GLOUCESTER
+
+    God pless your Majesty!
+  KING HENRY. How now, Fluellen! Cam'st thou from the bridge?
+  FLUELLEN. Ay, so please your Majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very
+    gallantly maintain'd the pridge; the French is gone off, look
+    you, and there is gallant and most prave passages. Marry, th'
+    athversary was have possession of the pridge; but he is enforced
+    to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge; I can
+    tell your Majesty the Duke is a prave man.
+  KING HENRY. What men have you lost, Fluellen!
+  FLUELLEN. The perdition of th' athversary hath been very great,
+    reasonable great; marry, for my part, I think the Duke hath lost
+    never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a
+    church- one Bardolph, if your Majesty know the man; his face is  
+    all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames o' fire; and his
+    lips blows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes
+    plue and sometimes red; but his nose is executed and his fire's
+    out.
+  KING HENRY. We would have all such offenders so cut off. And we
+    give express charge that in our marches through the country there
+    be nothing compell'd from the villages, nothing taken but paid
+    for, none of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful
+    language; for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom the
+    gentler gamester is the soonest winner.
+
+                        Tucket. Enter MONTJOY
+
+  MONTJOY. You know me by my habit.
+  KING HENRY. Well then, I know thee; what shall I know of thee?
+  MONTJOY. My master's mind.
+  KING HENRY. Unfold it.
+  MONTJOY. Thus says my king. Say thou to Harry of England: Though we
+    seem'd dead we did but sleep; advantage is a better soldier than
+    rashness. Tell him we could have rebuk'd him at Harfleur, but  
+    that we thought not good to bruise an injury till it were full
+    ripe. Now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is imperial:
+    England shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and admire our
+    sufferance. Bid him therefore consider of his ransom, which must
+    proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost,
+    the disgrace we have digested; which, in weight to re-answer, his
+    pettiness would bow under. For our losses his exchequer is too
+    poor; for th' effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom
+    too faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own person kneeling
+    at our feet but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add
+    defiance; and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his
+    followers, whose condemnation is pronounc'd. So far my king and
+    master; so much my office.
+  KING HENRY. What is thy name? I know thy quality.
+  MONTJOY. Montjoy.
+  KING HENRY. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back,
+    And tell thy king I do not seek him now,
+    But could be willing to march on to Calais
+    Without impeachment; for, to say the sooth-
+    Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much  
+    Unto an enemy of craft and vantage-
+    My people are with sickness much enfeebled;
+    My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have
+    Almost no better than so many French;
+    Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,
+    I thought upon one pair of English legs
+    Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgive me, God,
+    That I do brag thus; this your air of France
+    Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent.
+    Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am;
+    My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk;
+    My army but a weak and sickly guard;
+    Yet, God before, tell him we will come on,
+    Though France himself and such another neighbour
+    Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy.
+    Go, bid thy master well advise himself.
+    If we may pass, we will; if we be hind'red,
+    We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
+    Discolour; and so, Montjoy, fare you well.
+    The sum of all our answer is but this:  
+    We would not seek a battle as we are;
+    Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it.
+    So tell your master.
+  MONTJOY. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your Highness.     Exit
+  GLOUCESTER. I hope they will not come upon us now.
+  KING HENRY. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.
+    March to the bridge, it now draws toward night;
+    Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,
+    And on to-morrow bid them march away.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+The French camp near Agincourt
+
+Enter the CONSTABLE OF FRANCE, the LORD RAMBURES, the DUKE OF ORLEANS,
+the DAUPHIN, with others
+
+  CONSTABLE. Tut! I have the best armour of the world.
+    Would it were day!
+  ORLEANS. You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his
+    due.
+  CONSTABLE. It is the best horse of Europe.
+  ORLEANS. Will it never be morning?
+  DAUPHIN. My Lord of Orleans and my Lord High Constable, you talk of
+    horse and armour?
+  ORLEANS. You are as well provided of both as any prince in the
+    world.
+  DAUPHIN. What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with
+    any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha! he bounds from the
+    earth as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the
+    Pegasus, chez les narines de feu! When I bestride him I soar, I
+    am a hawk. He trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it;
+    the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of  
+    Hermes.
+  ORLEANS. He's of the colour of the nutmeg.
+  DAUPHIN. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus:
+    he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water
+    never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his
+    rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you
+    may call beasts.
+  CONSTABLE. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent
+    horse.
+  DAUPHIN. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the
+    bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage.
+  ORLEANS. No more, cousin.
+  DAUPHIN. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of
+    the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my
+    palfrey. It is a theme as fluent as the sea: turn the sands into
+    eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 'tis a
+    subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's
+    sovereign to ride on; and for the world- familiar to us and
+    unknown- to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at
+    him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and began thus: 'Wonder  
+    of nature'-
+  ORLEANS. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress.
+  DAUPHIN. Then did they imitate that which I compos'd to my courser;
+    for my horse is my mistress.
+  ORLEANS. Your mistress bears well.
+  DAUPHIN. Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a
+    good and particular mistress.
+  CONSTABLE. Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly
+    shook your back.
+  DAUPHIN. So perhaps did yours.
+  CONSTABLE. Mine was not bridled.
+  DAUPHIN. O, then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode like a
+    kern of Ireland, your French hose off and in your strait
+    strossers.
+  CONSTABLE. You have good judgment in horsemanship.
+  DAUPHIN. Be warn'd by me, then: they that ride so, and ride not
+    warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my
+    mistress.
+  CONSTABLE. I had as lief have my mistress a jade.
+  DAUPHIN. I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair.  
+  CONSTABLE. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to
+    my mistress.
+  DAUPHIN. 'Le chien est retourne a son propre vomissement, et la
+    truie lavee au bourbier.' Thou mak'st use of anything.
+  CONSTABLE. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any such
+    proverb so little kin to the purpose.
+  RAMBURES. My Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent
+    to-night- are those stars or suns upon it?
+  CONSTABLE. Stars, my lord.
+  DAUPHIN. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.
+  CONSTABLE. And yet my sky shall not want.
+  DAUPHIN. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and 'twere
+    more honour some were away.
+  CONSTABLE. Ev'n as your horse bears your praises, who would trot as
+    well were some of your brags dismounted.
+  DAUPHIN. Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will it
+    never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be
+    paved with English faces.
+  CONSTABLE. I will not say so, for fear I should be fac'd out of my
+    way; but I would it were morning, for I would fain be about the  
+    ears of the English.
+  RAMBURES. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?
+  CONSTABLE. You must first go yourself to hazard ere you have them.
+  DAUPHIN. 'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself.               Exit
+  ORLEANS. The Dauphin longs for morning.
+  RAMBURES. He longs to eat the English.
+  CONSTABLE. I think he will eat all he kills.
+  ORLEANS. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince.
+  CONSTABLE. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath.
+  ORLEANS. He is simply the most active gentleman of France.
+  CONSTABLE. Doing is activity, and he will still be doing.
+  ORLEANS. He never did harm that I heard of.
+  CONSTABLE. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep that good name
+    still.
+  ORLEANS. I know him to be valiant.
+  CONSTABLE. I was told that by one that knows him better than you.
+  ORLEANS. What's he?
+  CONSTABLE. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he car'd not
+    who knew it.
+  ORLEANS. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.  
+  CONSTABLE. By my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but
+      his lackey.
+    'Tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate.
+  ORLEANS. Ill-wind never said well.
+  CONSTABLE. I will cap that proverb with 'There is flattery in
+    friendship.'
+  ORLEANS. And I will take up that with 'Give the devil his due.'
+  CONSTABLE. Well plac'd! There stands your friend for the devil;
+    have at the very eye of that proverb with 'A pox of the devil!'
+  ORLEANS. You are the better at proverbs by how much 'A fool's bolt
+    is soon shot.'
+  CONSTABLE. You have shot over.
+  ORLEANS. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot.
+
+                          Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. My Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen
+    hundred paces of your tents.
+  CONSTABLE. Who hath measur'd the ground?
+  MESSENGER. The Lord Grandpre.  
+  CONSTABLE. A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were day!
+    Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for the dawning as we
+    do.
+  ORLEANS. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of
+    England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers so far out of his
+    knowledge!
+  CONSTABLE. If the English had any apprehension, they would run
+    away.
+  ORLEANS. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual
+    armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces.
+  RAMBURES. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures;
+    their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
+  ORLEANS. Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian
+    bear, and have their heads crush'd like rotten apples! You may as
+    well say that's a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the
+    lip of a lion.
+  CONSTABLE. Just, just! and the men do sympathise with the mastiffs
+    in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their
+    wives; and then give them great meals of beef and iron and steel;
+    they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.  
+  ORLEANS. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.
+  CONSTABLE. Then shall we find to-morrow they have only stomachs to
+    eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we
+    about it?
+  ORLEANS. It is now two o'clock; but let me see- by ten
+    We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. PROLOGUE.
+
+Enter CHORUS
+
+  CHORUS. Now entertain conjecture of a time
+    When creeping murmur and the poring dark
+    Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
+    From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
+    The hum of either army stilly sounds,
+    That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
+    The secret whispers of each other's watch.
+    Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
+    Each battle sees the other's umber'd face;
+    Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
+    Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
+    The armourers accomplishing the knights,
+    With busy hammers closing rivets up,
+    Give dreadful note of preparation.
+    The country cocks do crow, the clocks do ton,
+    And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
+    Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
+    The confident and over-lusty French  
+    Do the low-rated English play at dice;
+    And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night
+    Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp
+    So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
+    Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
+    Sit patiently and inly ruminate
+    The morning's danger; and their gesture sad
+    Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats
+    Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
+    So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold
+    The royal captain of this ruin'd band
+    Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
+    Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'
+    For forth he goes and visits all his host;
+    Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,
+    And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
+    Upon his royal face there is no note
+    How dread an army hath enrounded him;
+    Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
+    Unto the weary and all-watched night;  
+    But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint
+    With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;
+    That every wretch, pining and pale before,
+    Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks;
+    A largess universal, like the sun,
+    His liberal eye doth give to every one,
+    Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all
+    Behold, as may unworthiness define,
+    A little touch of Harry in the night.
+    And so our scene must to the battle fly;
+    Where- O for pity!- we shall much disgrace
+    With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
+    Right ill-dispos'd in brawl ridiculous,
+    The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
+    Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE I.
+France. The English camp at Agincourt
+
+Enter the KING, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER
+
+  KING HENRY. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;
+    The greater therefore should our courage be.
+    Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!
+    There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
+    Would men observingly distil it out;
+    For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
+    Which is both healthful and good husbandry.
+    Besides, they are our outward consciences
+    And preachers to us all, admonishing
+    That we should dress us fairly for our end.
+    Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
+    And make a moral of the devil himself.
+
+                        Enter ERPINGHAM
+
+    Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
+    A good soft pillow for that good white head  
+    Were better than a churlish turf of France.
+  ERPINGHAM. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better,
+    Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'
+  KING HENRY. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains
+    Upon example; so the spirit is eased;
+    And when the mind is quick'ned, out of doubt
+    The organs, though defunct and dead before,
+    Break up their drowsy grave and newly move
+    With casted slough and fresh legerity.
+    Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,
+    Commend me to the princes in our camp;
+    Do my good morrow to them, and anon
+    Desire them all to my pavilion.
+  GLOUCESTER. We shall, my liege.
+  ERPINGHAM. Shall I attend your Grace?
+  KING HENRY. No, my good knight:
+    Go with my brothers to my lords of England;
+    I and my bosom must debate awhile,
+    And then I would no other company.
+  ERPINGHAM. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!  
+                                         Exeunt all but the KING
+  KING HENRY. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.
+
+                          Enter PISTOL
+
+  PISTOL. Qui va la?
+  KING HENRY. A friend.
+  PISTOL. Discuss unto me: art thou officer,
+    Or art thou base, common, and popular?
+  KING HENRY. I am a gentleman of a company.
+  PISTOL. Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
+  KING HENRY. Even so. What are you?
+  PISTOL. As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
+  KING HENRY. Then you are a better than the King.
+  PISTOL. The King's a bawcock and a heart of gold,
+    A lad of life, an imp of fame;
+    Of parents good, of fist most valiant.
+    I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string
+    I love the lovely bully. What is thy name?
+  KING HENRY. Harry le Roy.  
+  PISTOL. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou of Cornish crew?
+  KING HENRY. No, I am a Welshman.
+  PISTOL. Know'st thou Fluellen?
+  KING HENRY. Yes.
+  PISTOL. Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate
+    Upon Saint Davy's day.
+  KING HENRY. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest
+    he knock that about yours.
+  PISTOL. Art thou his friend?
+  KING HENRY. And his kinsman too.
+  PISTOL. The figo for thee, then!
+  KING HENRY. I thank you; God be with you!
+  PISTOL. My name is Pistol call'd.                         Exit
+  KING HENRY. It sorts well with your fierceness.
+
+                    Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER
+
+  GOWER. Captain Fluellen!
+  FLUELLEN. So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer. It is the
+    greatest admiration in the universal world, when the true and  
+    aunchient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you
+    would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great,
+    you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle-taddle nor
+    pibble-pabble in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall find the
+    ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it,
+    and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise.
+  GOWER. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.
+  FLUELLEN. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating
+    coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be
+    an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb? In your own
+    conscience, now?
+  GOWER. I will speak lower.
+  FLUELLEN. I pray you and beseech you that you will.
+                                       Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN
+  KING HENRY. Though it appear a little out of fashion,
+    There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
+
+          Enter three soldiers: JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT,
+                       and MICHAEL WILLIAMS
+  
+  COURT. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks
+    yonder?
+  BATES. I think it be; but we have no great cause to desire the
+    approach of day.
+  WILLIAMS. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we
+    shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?
+  KING HENRY. A friend.
+  WILLIAMS. Under what captain serve you?
+  KING HENRY. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
+  WILLIAMS. A good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray
+    you, what thinks he of our estate?
+  KING HENRY. Even as men wreck'd upon a sand, that look to be wash'd
+    off the next tide.
+  BATES. He hath not told his thought to the King?
+  KING HENRY. No; nor it is not meet he should. For though I speak it
+    to you, I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells
+    to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it doth to
+    me; all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies laid
+    by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his
+    affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop,  
+    they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when he sees reason of
+    fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish
+    as ours are; yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any
+    appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his
+    army.
+  BATES. He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as
+    cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the
+    neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so
+    we were quit here.
+  KING HENRY. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I
+    think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is.
+  BATES. Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be
+    ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.
+  KING HENRY. I dare say you love him not so ill to wish him here
+    alone, howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds;
+    methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the King's
+    company, his cause being just and his quarrel honourable.
+  WILLIAMS. That's more than we know.
+  BATES. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough if
+    we know we are the King's subjects. If his cause be wrong, our  
+    obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us.
+  WILLIAMS. But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a
+    heavy reckoning to make when all those legs and arms and heads,
+    chopp'd off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day
+    and cry all 'We died at such a place'- some swearing, some crying
+    for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, some
+    upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left. I
+    am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how
+    can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their
+    argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black
+    matter for the King that led them to it; who to disobey were
+    against all proportion of subjection.
+  KING HENRY. So, if a son that is by his father sent about
+    merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of
+    his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father
+    that sent him; or if a servant, under his master's command
+    transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in
+    many irreconcil'd iniquities, you may call the business of the
+    master the author of the servant's damnation. But this is not so:
+    the King is not bound to answer the particular endings of his  
+    soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant;
+    for they purpose not their death when they purpose their
+    services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so
+    spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out
+    with all unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on them the
+    guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling
+    virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the wars
+    their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace
+    with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law
+    and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men they
+    have no wings to fly from God: war is His beadle, war is His
+    vengeance; so that here men are punish'd for before-breach of the
+    King's laws in now the King's quarrel. Where they feared the
+    death they have borne life away; and where they would be safe
+    they perish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King
+    guilty of their damnation than he was before guilty of those
+    impieties for the which they are now visited. Every subject's
+    duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own.
+    Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man
+    in his bed- wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying so,  
+    death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly
+    lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that escapes
+    it were not sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He
+    let him outlive that day to see His greatness, and to teach
+    others how they should prepare.
+  WILLIAMS. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his
+    own head- the King is not to answer for it.
+  BATES. I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I determine
+    to fight lustily for him.
+  KING HENRY. I myself heard the King say he would not be ransom'd.
+  WILLIAMS. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our
+    throats are cut he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser.
+  KING HENRY. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.
+  WILLIAMS. You pay him then! That's a perilous shot out of an
+    elder-gun, that a poor and a private displeasure can do against a
+    monarch! You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with
+    fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust
+    his word after! Come, 'tis a foolish saying.
+  KING HENRY. Your reproof is something too round; I should be angry
+    with you, if the time were convenient.  
+  WILLIAMS. Let it be a quarrel between us if you live.
+  KING HENRY. I embrace it.
+  WILLIAMS. How shall I know thee again?
+  KING HENRY. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my
+    bonnet; then if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it, I will make it
+    my quarrel.
+  WILLIAMS. Here's my glove; give me another of thine.
+  KING HENRY. There.
+  WILLIAMS. This will I also wear in my cap; if ever thou come to me
+    and say, after to-morrow, 'This is my glove,' by this hand I will
+    take thee a box on the ear.
+  KING HENRY. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
+  WILLIAMS. Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.
+  KING HENRY. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King's
+    company.
+  WILLIAMS. Keep thy word. Fare thee well.
+  BATES. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have
+    French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.
+  KING HENRY. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one
+    they will beat us, for they bear them on their shoulders; but it  
+    is no English treason to cut French crowns, and to-morrow the
+    King himself will be a clipper.
+                                                 Exeunt soldiers
+    Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls,
+    Our debts, our careful wives,
+    Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
+    We must bear all. O hard condition,
+    Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
+    Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
+    But his own wringing! What infinite heart's ease
+    Must kings neglect that private men enjoy!
+    And what have kings that privates have not too,
+    Save ceremony- save general ceremony?
+    And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?
+    What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
+    Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
+    What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in?
+    O Ceremony, show me but thy worth!
+    What is thy soul of adoration?
+    Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,  
+    Creating awe and fear in other men?
+    Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
+    Than they in fearing.
+    What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
+    But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
+    And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
+    Thinks thou the fiery fever will go out
+    With titles blown from adulation?
+    Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
+    Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
+    Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
+    That play'st so subtly with a king's repose.
+    I am a king that find thee; and I know
+    'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
+    The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
+    The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
+    The farced tide running fore the king,
+    The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
+    That beats upon the high shore of this world-
+    No, not all these, thrice gorgeous ceremony,  
+    Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
+    Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave
+    Who, with a body fill'd and vacant mind,
+    Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
+    Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;
+    But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
+    Sweats in the eye of Pheebus, and all night
+    Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,
+    Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse;
+    And follows so the ever-running year
+    With profitable labour, to his grave.
+    And but for ceremony, such a wretch,
+    Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
+    Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
+    The slave, a member of the country's peace,
+    Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots
+    What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace
+    Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
+
+                       Enter ERPINGHAM  
+
+  ERPINGHAM. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
+    Seek through your camp to find you.
+  KING. Good old knight,
+    Collect them all together at my tent:
+    I'll be before thee.
+  ERPINGHAM. I shall do't, my lord.                         Exit
+  KING. O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts,
+    Possess them not with fear! Take from them now
+    The sense of reck'ning, if th' opposed numbers
+    Pluck their hearts from them! Not to-day, O Lord,
+    O, not to-day, think not upon the fault
+    My father made in compassing the crown!
+    I Richard's body have interred new,
+    And on it have bestowed more contrite tears
+    Than from it issued forced drops of blood;
+    Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
+    Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
+    Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
+    Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests  
+    Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
+    Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
+    Since that my penitence comes after all,
+    Imploring pardon.
+
+                         Enter GLOUCESTER
+
+  GLOUCESTER. My liege!
+  KING HENRY. My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay;
+    I know thy errand, I will go with thee;
+    The day, my friends, and all things, stay for me.     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The French camp
+
+Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others
+
+  ORLEANS. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!
+  DAUPHIN. Montez a cheval! My horse! Varlet, laquais! Ha!
+  ORLEANS. O brave spirit!
+  DAUPHIN. Via! Les eaux et la terre-
+  ORLEANS. Rien puis? L'air et le feu.
+  DAUPHIN. Ciel! cousin Orleans.
+
+                        Enter CONSTABLE
+
+    Now, my Lord Constable!
+  CONSTABLE. Hark how our steeds for present service neigh!
+  DAUPHIN. Mount them, and make incision in their hides,
+    That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
+    And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!
+  RAMBURES. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
+    How shall we then behold their natural tears?
+  
+                        Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. The English are embattl'd, you French peers.
+  CONSTABLE. To horse, you gallant Princes! straight to horse!
+    Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
+    And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
+    Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
+    There is not work enough for all our hands;
+    Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
+    To give each naked curtle-axe a stain
+    That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
+    And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,
+    The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
+    'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
+    That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants-
+    Who in unnecessary action swarm
+    About our squares of battle- were enow
+    To purge this field of, such a hilding foe;
+    Though we upon this mountain's basis by
+    Took stand for idle speculation-  
+    But that our honours must not. What's to say?
+    A very little little let us do,
+    And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
+    The tucket sonance and the note to mount;
+    For our approach shall so much dare the field
+    That England shall couch down in fear and yield.
+
+                        Enter GRANDPRE
+
+  GRANDPRE. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
+    Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,
+    Ill-favouredly become the morning field;
+    Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
+    And our air shakes them passing scornfully;
+    Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
+    And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
+    The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks
+    With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
+    Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,
+    The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,  
+    And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal'd bit
+    Lies foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless;
+    And their executors, the knavish crows,
+    Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
+    Description cannot suit itself in words
+    To demonstrate the life of such a battle
+    In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
+  CONSTABLE. They have said their prayers and they stay for death.
+  DAUPHIN. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,
+    And give their fasting horses provender,
+    And after fight with them?
+  CONSTABLE. I stay but for my guidon. To the field!
+    I will the banner from a trumpet take,
+    And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
+    The sun is high, and we outwear the day.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The English camp
+
+Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with all his host;
+SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Where is the King?
+  BEDFORD. The King himself is rode to view their battle.
+  WESTMORELAND. Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand.
+  EXETER. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
+  SALISBURY. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds.
+    God bye you, Princes all; I'll to my charge.
+    If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
+    Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,
+    My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
+    And my kind kinsman- warriors all, adieu!
+  BEDFORD. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!
+  EXETER. Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly to-day;
+    And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
+    For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.
+                                                  Exit SALISBURY
+  BEDFORD. He is as full of valour as of kindness;  
+    Princely in both.
+
+                            Enter the KING
+
+  WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
+    But one ten thousand of those men in England
+    That do no work to-day!
+  KING. What's he that wishes so?
+    My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
+    If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
+    To do our country loss; and if to live,
+    The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
+    God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
+    By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
+    Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
+    It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
+    Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
+    But if it be a sin to covet honour,
+    I am the most offending soul alive.
+    No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
+    God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour  
+    As one man more methinks would share from me
+    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
+    Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
+    That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
+    Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
+    And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
+    We would not die in that man's company
+    That fears his fellowship to die with us.
+    This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
+    He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
+    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
+    And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
+    He that shall live this day, and see old age,
+    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
+    And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
+    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
+    And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
+    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
+    But he'll remember, with advantages,
+    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,  
+    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
+    Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
+    Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
+    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
+    This story shall the good man teach his son;
+    And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
+    From this day to the ending of the world,
+    But we in it shall be remembered-
+    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
+    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
+    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
+    This day shall gentle his condition;
+    And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
+    Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
+    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
+    That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
+
+                      Re-enter SALISBURY
+
+  SALISBURY. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:  
+    The French are bravely in their battles set,
+    And will with all expedience charge on us.
+  KING HENRY. All things are ready, if our minds be so.
+  WESTMORELAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!
+  KING HENRY. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?
+  WESTMORELAND. God's will, my liege! would you and I alone,
+    Without more help, could fight this royal battle!
+  KING HENRY. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men;
+    Which likes me better than to wish us one.
+    You know your places. God be with you all!
+
+                     Tucket. Enter MONTJOY
+
+  MONTJOY. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
+    If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
+    Before thy most assured overthrow;
+    For certainly thou art so near the gulf
+    Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
+    The constable desires thee thou wilt mind
+    Thy followers of repentance, that their souls  
+    May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
+    From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies
+    Must lie and fester.
+  KING HENRY. Who hath sent thee now?
+  MONTJOY. The Constable of France.
+  KING HENRY. I pray thee bear my former answer back:
+    Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones.
+    Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?
+    The man that once did sell the lion's skin
+    While the beast liv'd was kill'd with hunting him.
+    A many of our bodies shall no doubt
+    Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
+    Shall witness live in brass of this day's work.
+    And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
+    Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
+    They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them
+    And draw their honours reeking up to heaven,
+    Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
+    The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
+    Mark then abounding valour in our English,  
+    That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing
+    Break out into a second course of mischief,
+    Killing in relapse of mortality.
+    Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable
+    We are but warriors for the working-day;
+    Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
+    With rainy marching in the painful field;
+    There's not a piece of feather in our host-
+    Good argument, I hope, we will not fly-
+    And time hath worn us into slovenry.
+    But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;
+    And my poor soldiers tell me yet ere night
+    They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
+    The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads
+    And turn them out of service. If they do this-
+    As, if God please, they shall- my ransom then
+    Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
+    Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald;
+    They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;
+    Which if they have, as I will leave 'em them,  
+    Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.
+  MONTJOY. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:
+    Thou never shalt hear herald any more.                  Exit
+  KING HENRY. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a ransom.
+
+                    Enter the DUKE OF YORK
+
+  YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
+    The leading of the vaward.
+  KING HENRY. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away;
+    And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+The field of battle
+
+Alarum.  Excursions.  Enter FRENCH SOLDIER, PISTOL, and BOY
+
+  PISTOL. Yield, cur!
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. Je pense que vous etes le gentilhomme de bonne
+    qualite.
+  PISTOL. Cality! Calen o custure me! Art thou a gentleman?
+    What is thy name? Discuss.
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. O Seigneur Dieu!
+  PISTOL. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman.
+    Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark:
+    O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,
+    Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me
+    Egregious ransom.
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. O, prenez misericorde; ayez pitie de moi!
+  PISTOL. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;
+    Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
+    In drops of crimson blood.
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. Est-il impossible d'echapper la force de ton bras?  
+  PISTOL. Brass, cur?
+    Thou damned and luxurious mountain-goat,
+    Offer'st me brass?
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. O, pardonnez-moi!
+  PISTOL. Say'st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?
+    Come hither, boy; ask me this slave in French
+    What is his name.
+  BOY. Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. Monsieur le Fer.
+  BOY. He says his name is Master Fer.
+  PISTOL. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him-
+   discuss the same in French unto him.
+  BOY. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.
+  PISTOL. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. Que dit-il, monsieur?
+  BOY. Il me commande a vous dire que vous faites vous pret; car ce
+    soldat ici est dispose tout a cette heure de couper votre gorge.
+  PISTOL. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy!
+    Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
+    Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.  
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. O, je vous supplie, pour l'amour de Dieu, me
+    pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison. Gardez ma vie, et
+    je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.
+  PISTOL. What are his words?
+  BOY. He prays you to save his life; he is a gentleman of a good
+    house, and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.
+  PISTOL. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I
+    The crowns will take.
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. Petit monsieur, que dit-il?
+  BOY. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun
+    prisonnier, neamnoins, pour les ecus que vous l'avez promis, il
+    est content a vous donner la liberte, le franchisement.
+  FRENCH SOLDIER. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et
+    je m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les mains d'un
+    chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue
+    seigneur d'Angleterre.
+  PISTOL. Expound unto me, boy.
+  BOY. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he
+    esteems himself happy that he hath fall'n into the hands of one-
+    as he thinks- the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy  
+    signieur of England.
+  PISTOL. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.
+    Follow me.                                              Exit
+  BOY. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine.       Exit FRENCH SOLDIER
+    I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but
+    the saying is true- the empty vessel makes the greatest sound.
+    Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring
+    devil i' th' old play, that every one may pare his nails with a
+    wooden dagger; and they are both hang'd; and so would this be, if
+    he durst steal anything adventurously. I must stay with the
+    lackeys, with the luggage of our camp. The French might have a
+    good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it
+    but boys.                                               Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Another part of the field of battle
+
+Enter CONSTABLE, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN, and RAMBURES
+
+  CONSTABLE. O diable!
+  ORLEANS. O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!
+  DAUPHIN. Mort Dieu, ma vie! all is confounded, all!
+    Reproach and everlasting shame
+    Sits mocking in our plumes.                 [A short alarum]
+    O mechante fortune! Do not run away.
+  CONSTABLE. Why, an our ranks are broke.
+  DAUPHIN. O perdurable shame! Let's stab ourselves.
+    Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
+  ORLEANS. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
+  BOURBON. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
+    Let us die in honour: once more back again;
+    And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
+    Let him go hence and, with his cap in hand
+    Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door
+    Whilst by a slave, no gender than my dog,  
+    His fairest daughter is contaminated.
+  CONSTABLE. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
+    Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
+  ORLEANS. We are enow yet living in the field
+    To smother up the English in our throngs,
+    If any order might be thought upon.
+  BOURBON. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng.
+    Let life be short, else shame will be too long.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Another part of the field
+
+Alarum. Enter the KING and his train, with prisoners; EXETER, and others
+
+  KING HENRY. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen;
+    But all's not done- yet keep the French the field.
+  EXETER. The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.
+  KING HENRY. Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour
+    I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting;
+    From helmet to the spur all blood he was.
+  EXETER. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie
+    Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
+    Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,
+    The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
+    Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over,
+    Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,
+    And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes
+    That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
+    He cries aloud 'Tarry, my cousin Suffolk.
+    My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;  
+    Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast;
+    As in this glorious and well-foughten field
+    We kept together in our chivalry.'
+    Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up;
+    He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,
+    And, with a feeble grip, says 'Dear my lord,
+    Commend my service to my sovereign.'
+    So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
+    He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
+    And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
+    A testament of noble-ending love.
+    The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
+    Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd;
+    But I had not so much of man in me,
+    And all my mother came into mine eyes
+    And gave me up to tears.
+  KING HENRY. I blame you not;
+    For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
+    With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.          [Alarum]
+    But hark! what new alarum is this same?  
+    The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men.
+    Then every soldier kill his prisoners;
+    Give the word through.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+Another part of the field
+
+Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER
+
+  FLUELLEN. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'Tis expressly against the
+    law of arms; 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as
+    can be offert; in your conscience, now, is it not?
+  GOWER. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly
+    rascals that ran from the battle ha' done this slaughter;
+    besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the
+    King's tent; wherefore the King most worthily hath caus'd every
+    soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant King!
+  FLUELLEN. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you
+    the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born?
+  GOWER. Alexander the Great.
+  FLUELLEN. Why, I pray you, is not 'pig' great? The pig, or great,
+    or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one
+    reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.
+  GOWER. I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon; his father
+    was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.
+  FLUELLEN. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell  
+    you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you
+    sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that
+    the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in
+    Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth; it is
+    call'd Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the
+    name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my
+    fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you
+    mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come
+    after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things.
+    Alexander- God knows, and you know- in his rages, and his furies,
+    and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his
+    displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little
+    intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look
+    you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.
+  GOWER. Our king is not like him in that: he never kill'd any of his
+    friends.
+  FLUELLEN. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out
+    of my mouth ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the
+    figures and comparisons of it; as Alexander kill'd his friend
+    Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups, so also Harry Monmouth,  
+    being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn'd away the
+    fat knight with the great belly doublet; he was full of jests,
+    and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name.
+  GOWER. Sir John Falstaff.
+  FLUELLEN. That is he. I'll tell you there is good men porn at
+    Monmouth.
+  GOWER. Here comes his Majesty.
+
+            Alarum. Enter the KING, WARWICK, GLOUCESTER,
+            EXETER, and others, with prisoners. Flourish
+
+  KING HENRY. I was not angry since I came to France
+    Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald,
+    Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill;
+    If they will fight with us, bid them come down
+    Or void the field; they do offend our sight.
+    If they'll do neither, we will come to them
+    And make them skirr away as swift as stones
+    Enforced from the old Assyrian slings;
+    Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,  
+    And not a man of them that we shall take
+    Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.
+
+                      Enter MONTJOY
+
+  EXETER. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
+  GLOUCESTER. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
+  KING HENRY. How now! What means this, herald? know'st thou not
+    That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
+    Com'st thou again for ransom?
+  MONTJOY. No, great King;
+    I come to thee for charitable licence,
+    That we may wander o'er this bloody field
+    To book our dead, and then to bury them;
+    To sort our nobles from our common men;
+    For many of our princes- woe the while!-
+    Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
+    So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
+    In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
+    Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage  
+    Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
+    Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King,
+    To view the field in safety, and dispose
+    Of their dead bodies!
+  KING HENRY. I tell thee truly, herald,
+    I know not if the day be ours or no;
+    For yet a many of your horsemen peer
+    And gallop o'er the field.
+  MONTJOY. The day is yours.
+  KING HENRY. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
+    What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
+  MONTJOY. They call it Agincourt.
+  KING HENRY. Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
+    Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
+  FLUELLEN. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your
+    Majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales,
+    as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here
+    in France.
+  KING HENRY. They did, Fluellen.
+  FLUELLEN. Your Majesty says very true; if your Majesties is  
+    rememb'red of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where
+    leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which your
+    Majesty know to this hour is an honourable badge of the service;
+    and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek
+    upon Saint Tavy's day.
+  KING HENRY. I wear it for a memorable honour;
+    For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
+  FLUELLEN. All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's Welsh
+    plood out of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and
+    preserve it as long as it pleases his Grace and his Majesty too!
+  KING HENRY. Thanks, good my countryman.
+  FLUELLEN. By Jeshu, I am your Majesty's countryman, care not who
+    know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I need not be
+    asham'd of your Majesty, praised be Got, so long as your Majesty
+    is an honest man.
+
+                       Enter WILLIAMS
+
+  KING HENRY. God keep me so! Our heralds go with him:
+    Bring me just notice of the numbers dead  
+    On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.
+                                     Exeunt heralds with MONTJOY
+  EXETER. Soldier, you must come to the King.
+  KING HENRY. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap?
+  WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I
+    should fight withal, if he be alive.
+  KING HENRY. An Englishman?
+  WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger'd with me
+    last night; who, if 'a live and ever dare to challenge this
+    glove, I have sworn to take him a box o' th' ear; or if I can see
+    my glove in his cap- which he swore, as he was a soldier, he
+    would wear if alive- I will strike it out soundly.
+  KING HENRY. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this
+    soldier keep his oath?
+  FLUELLEN. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your
+    Majesty, in my conscience.
+  KING HENRY. It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite
+    from the answer of his degree.
+  FLUELLEN. Though he be as good a gentleman as the Devil is, as
+    Lucifier and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace,  
+    that he keep his vow and his oath; if he be perjur'd, see you
+    now, his reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jacksauce as
+    ever his black shoe trod upon God's ground and his earth, in my
+    conscience, la.
+  KING HENRY. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the
+    fellow.
+  WILLIAMS. So I Will, my liege, as I live.
+  KING HENRY. Who serv'st thou under?
+  WILLIAMS. Under Captain Gower, my liege.
+  FLUELLEN. Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and
+    literatured in the wars.
+  KING HENRY. Call him hither to me, soldier.
+  WILLIAMS. I will, my liege.                               Exit
+  KING HENRY. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and stick
+    it in thy cap; when Alencon and myself were down together, I
+    pluck'd this glove from his helm. If any man challenge this, he
+    is a friend to Alencon and an enemy to our person; if thou
+    encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.
+  FLUELLEN. Your Grace does me as great honours as can be desir'd in
+    the hearts of his subjects. I would fain see the man that has but  
+    two legs that shall find himself aggrief'd at this glove, that is
+    all; but I would fain see it once, an please God of his grace
+    that I might see.
+  KING HENRY. Know'st thou Gower?
+  FLUELLEN. He is my dear friend, an please you.
+  KING HENRY. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.
+  FLUELLEN. I will fetch him.                               Exit
+  KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick and my brother Gloucester,
+    Follow Fluellen closely at the heels;
+    The glove which I have given him for a favour
+    May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear.
+    It is the soldier's: I, by bargain, should
+    Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick;
+    If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
+    By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,
+    Some sudden mischief may arise of it;
+    For I do know Fluellen valiant,
+    And touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder,
+    And quickly will return an injury;
+    Follow, and see there be no harm between them.  
+    Go you with me, uncle of Exeter.                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+Before KING HENRY'S PAVILION
+
+Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS
+
+  WILLIAMS. I warrant it is to knight you, Captain.
+
+                         Enter FLUELLEN
+
+  FLUELLEN. God's will and his pleasure, Captain, I beseech you now,
+    come apace to the King: there is more good toward you
+    peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of.
+  WILLIAMS. Sir, know you this glove?
+  FLUELLEN. Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove.
+  WILLIAMS. I know this; and thus I challenge it.  [Strikes him]
+  FLUELLEN. 'Sblood, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal
+    world, or in France, or in England!
+  GOWER. How now, sir! you villain!
+  WILLIAMS. Do you think I'll be forsworn?
+  FLUELLEN. Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his
+    payment into plows, I warrant you.
+  WILLIAMS. I am no traitor.  
+  FLUELLEN. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty's
+    name, apprehend him: he's a friend of the Duke Alencon's.
+
+                  Enter WARWICK and GLOUCESTER
+
+  WARWICK. How now! how now! what's the matter?
+  FLUELLEN. My Lord of Warwick, here is- praised be God for it!- a
+    most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall
+    desire in a summer's day. Here is his Majesty.
+
+                  Enter the KING and EXETER
+
+  KING HENRY. How now! what's the matter?
+  FLUELLEN. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look
+    your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out
+    of the helmet of Alencon.
+  WILLIAMS. My liege, this was my glove: here is the fellow of it;
+    and he that I gave it to in change promis'd to wear it in his
+    cap; I promis'd to strike him if he did; I met this man with my
+    glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.  
+  FLUELLEN. Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood,
+    what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is; I hope
+    your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will
+    avouchment, that this is the glove of Alencon that your Majesty
+    is give me; in your conscience, now.
+  KING HENRY. Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here is the fellow of
+      it.
+    'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike,
+    And thou hast given me most bitter terms.
+  FLUELLEN. An please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if
+    there is any martial law in the world.
+  KING HENRY. How canst thou make me satisfaction?
+  WILLIAMS. All offences, my lord, come from the heart; never came
+    any from mine that might offend your Majesty.
+  KING HENRY. It was ourself thou didst abuse.
+  WILLIAMS. Your Majesty came not like yourself: you appear'd to me
+    but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your
+    lowliness; and what your Highness suffer'd under that shape I
+    beseech you take it for your own fault, and not mine; for had you
+    been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech  
+    your Highness pardon me.
+  KING HENRY. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
+    And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;
+    And wear it for an honour in thy cap
+    Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns;
+    And, Captain, you must needs be friends with him.
+  FLUELLEN. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough
+    in his belly: hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you
+    to serve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and
+    quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better
+    for you.
+  WILLIAMS. I will none of your money.
+  FLUELLEN. It is with a good will; I can tell you it will serve you
+    to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful?
+    Your shoes is not so good. 'Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or
+    I will change it.
+
+                      Enter an ENGLISH HERALD
+
+  KING HENRY. Now, herald, are the dead numb'red?  
+  HERALD. Here is the number of the slaught'red French.
+                                                 [Gives a paper]
+  KING HENRY. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
+  EXETER. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;
+    John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt;
+    Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
+    Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
+  KING HENRY. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
+    That in the field lie slain; of princes in this number,
+    And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead
+    One hundred twenty-six; added to these,
+    Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
+    Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which
+    Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights.
+    So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
+    There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
+    The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,
+    And gentlemen of blood and quality.
+    The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
+    Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;  
+    Jaques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;
+    The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;
+    Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin;
+    John Duke of Alencon; Antony Duke of Brabant,
+    The brother to the Duke of Burgundy;
+    And Edward Duke of Bar. Of lusty earls,
+    Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix,
+    Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrake.
+    Here was a royal fellowship of death!
+    Where is the number of our English dead?
+                                 [HERALD presents another paper]
+    Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
+    Sir Richard Kikely, Davy Gam, Esquire;
+    None else of name; and of all other men
+    But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here!
+    And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
+    Ascribe we all. When, without stratagem,
+    But in plain shock and even play of battle,
+    Was ever known so great and little los
+    On one part and on th' other? Take it, God,  
+    For it is none but thine.
+  EXETER. 'Tis wonderful!
+  KING HENRY. Come, go we in procession to the village;
+    And be it death proclaimed through our host
+    To boast of this or take that praise from God
+    Which is his only.
+  FLUELLEN. Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how
+    many is kill'd?
+  KING HENRY. Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment,
+    That God fought for us.
+  FLUELLEN. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.
+  KING HENRY. Do we all holy rites:
+    Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum';
+    The dead with charity enclos'd in clay-
+    And then to Calais; and to England then;
+    Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. PROLOGUE.
+
+Enter CHORUS
+
+  CHORUS. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story
+    That I may prompt them; and of such as have,
+    I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse
+    Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
+    Which cannot in their huge and proper life
+    Be here presented. Now we bear the King
+    Toward Calais. Grant him there. There seen,
+    Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
+    Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
+    Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys,
+    Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea,
+    Which, like a mighty whiffler, fore the King
+    Seems to prepare his way. So let him land,
+    And solemnly see him set on to London.
+    So swift a pace hath thought that even now
+    You may imagine him upon Blackheath;
+    Where that his lords desire him to have borne
+    His bruised helmet and his bended sword  
+    Before him through the city. He forbids it,
+    Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
+    Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent,
+    Quite from himself to God. But now behold
+    In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
+    How London doth pour out her citizens!
+    The mayor and all his brethren in best sort-
+    Like to the senators of th' antique Rome,
+    With the plebeians swarming at their heels-
+    Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Caesar in;
+    As, by a lower but loving likelihood,
+    Were now the General of our gracious Empress-
+    As in good time he may- from Ireland coming,
+    Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,
+    How many would the peaceful city quit
+    To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,
+    Did they this Harry. Now in London place him-
+    As yet the lamentation of the French
+    Invites the King of England's stay at home;
+    The Emperor's coming in behalf of France  
+    To order peace between them; and omit
+    All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd,
+    Till Harry's back-return again to France.
+    There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
+    The interim, by rememb'ring you 'tis past.
+    Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance,
+    After your thoughts, straight back again to France.     Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE I.
+France.  The English camp
+
+Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER
+
+  GOWER. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day? Saint
+    Davy's day is past.
+  FLUELLEN. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all
+    things. I will tell you, ass my friend, Captain Gower: the
+    rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol- which
+    you and yourself and all the world know to be no petter than a
+    fellow, look you now, of no merits- he is come to me, and prings
+    me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek; it
+    was in a place where I could not breed no contendon with him; but
+    I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once
+    again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.
+
+                          Enter PISTOL
+
+  GOWER. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.
+  FLUELLEN. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks.
+    God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God  
+    pless you!
+  PISTOL. Ha! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Troyan,
+    To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
+    Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
+  FLUELLEN. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my
+    desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you,
+    this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your
+    affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not
+    agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.
+  PISTOL. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
+  FLUELLEN. There is one goat for you.  [Strikes him]  Will you be so
+    good, scald knave, as eat it?
+  PISTOL. Base Troyan, thou shalt die.
+  FLUELLEN. You say very true, scald knave- when God's will is. I
+    will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals;
+    come, there is sauce for it.  [Striking him again]  You call'd me
+    yesterday mountain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire of
+    low degree. I pray you fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can
+    eat a leek.
+  GOWER. Enough, Captain, you have astonish'd him.  
+  FLUELLEN. I say I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will
+    peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you, it is good for your
+    green wound and your ploody coxcomb.
+  PISTOL. Must I bite?
+  FLUELLEN. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of question
+    too, and ambiguides.
+  PISTOL. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge- I eat and eat,
+    I swear-
+  FLUELLEN. Eat, I pray you; will you have some more sauce to your
+    leek? There is not enough leek to swear by.
+  PISTOL. Quiet thy cudgel: thou dost see I eat.
+  FLUELLEN. Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you
+    throw none away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When
+    you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at
+    'em; that is all.
+  PISTOL. Good.
+  FLUELLEN. Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal
+    your pate.
+  PISTOL. Me a groat!
+  FLUELLEN. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I have  
+    another leek in my pocket which you shall eat.
+  PISTOL. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.
+  FLUELLEN. If I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels; you
+    shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God bye
+    you, and keep you, and heal your pate.
+ Exit
+  PISTOL. All hell shall stir for this.
+  GOWER. Go, go: you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock
+    at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and
+    worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not
+    avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking
+    and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought,
+    because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could
+    not therefore handle an English cudgel; you find it otherwise,
+    and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English
+    condition. Fare ye well.                                Exit
+  PISTOL. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
+    News have I that my Nell is dead i' th' spital
+    Of malady of France;
+    And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.  
+    Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
+    Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd I'll turn,
+    And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
+    To England will I steal, and there I'll steal;
+    And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars,
+    And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.                Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+France. The FRENCH KING'S palace
+
+Enter at one door, KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK,
+WESTMORELAND, and other LORDS; at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL,
+the PRINCESS KATHERINE, ALICE, and other LADIES; the DUKE OF BURGUNDY,
+and his train
+
+  KING HENRY. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!
+    Unto our brother France, and to our sister,
+    Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes
+    To our most fair and princely cousin Katherine.
+    And, as a branch and member of this royalty,
+    By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,
+    We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy.
+    And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!
+  FRENCH KING. Right joyous are we to behold your face,
+    Most worthy brother England; fairly met!
+    So are you, princes English, every one.
+  QUEEN ISABEL. So happy be the issue, brother England,
+    Of this good day and of this gracious meeting  
+    As we are now glad to behold your eyes-
+    Your eyes, which hitherto have home in them,
+    Against the French that met them in their bent,
+    The fatal balls of murdering basilisks;
+    The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
+    Have lost their quality; and that this day
+    Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.
+  KING HENRY. To cry amen to that, thus we appear.
+  QUEEN ISABEL. You English princes an, I do salute you.
+  BURGUNDY. My duty to you both, on equal love,
+    Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour'd
+    With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,
+    To bring your most imperial Majesties
+    Unto this bar and royal interview,
+    Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.
+    Since then my office hath so far prevail'd
+    That face to face and royal eye to eye
+    You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me
+    If I demand, before this royal view,
+    What rub or what impediment there is  
+    Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace,
+    Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births,
+    Should not in this best garden of the world,
+    Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
+    Alas, she hath from France too long been chas'd!
+    And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
+    Corrupting in it own fertility.
+    Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
+    Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd,
+    Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,
+    Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas
+    The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory,
+    Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts
+    That should deracinate such savagery;
+    The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
+    The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
+    Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
+    Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems
+    But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
+    Losing both beauty and utility.  
+    And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,
+    Defective in their natures, grow to wildness;
+    Even so our houses and ourselves and children
+    Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,
+    The sciences that should become our country;
+    But grow, like savages- as soldiers will,
+    That nothing do but meditate on blood-
+    To swearing and stern looks, diffus'd attire,
+    And everything that seems unnatural.
+    Which to reduce into our former favout
+    You are assembled; and my speech entreats
+    That I may know the let why gentle Peace
+    Should not expel these inconveniences
+    And bless us with her former qualities.
+  KING HENRY. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace
+    Whose want gives growth to th' imperfections
+    Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
+    With full accord to all our just demands;
+    Whose tenours and particular effects
+    You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands.  
+  BURGUNDY. The King hath heard them; to the which as yet
+    There is no answer made.
+  KING HENRY. Well then, the peace,
+    Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer.
+  FRENCH KING. I have but with a cursorary eye
+    O'erglanced the articles; pleaseth your Grace
+    To appoint some of your council presently
+    To sit with us once more, with better heed
+    To re-survey them, we will suddenly
+    Pass our accept and peremptory answer.
+  KING HENRY. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,
+    And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,
+    Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King;
+    And take with you free power to ratify,
+    Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
+    Shall see advantageable for our dignity,
+    Any thing in or out of our demands;
+    And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,
+    Go with the princes or stay here with us?
+  QUEEN ISABEL. Our gracious brother, I will go with them;  
+    Haply a woman's voice may do some good,
+    When articles too nicely urg'd be stood on.
+  KING HENRY. Yet leave our cousin Katherine here with us;
+    She is our capital demand, compris'd
+    Within the fore-rank of our articles.
+  QUEEN ISABEL. She hath good leave.
+                   Exeunt all but the KING, KATHERINE, and ALICE
+  KING HENRY. Fair Katherine, and most fair,
+    Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
+    Such as will enter at a lady's ear,
+    And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
+  KATHERINE. Your Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England.
+  KING HENRY. O fair Katherine, if you will love me soundly with your
+    French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with
+    your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?
+  KATHERINE. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is like me.
+  KING HENRY. An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.
+  KATHERINE. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges?
+  ALICE. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.
+  KING HENRY. I said so, dear Katherine, and I must not blush to  
+    affirm it.
+  KATHERINE. O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de
+    tromperies.
+  KING HENRY. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are
+    full of deceits?
+  ALICE. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits- dat is
+    de Princess.
+  KING HENRY. The Princess is the better English-woman. I' faith,
+    Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am glad thou
+    canst speak no better English; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst
+    find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my
+    farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but
+    directly to say 'I love you.' Then, if you urge me farther than
+    to say 'Do you in faith?' I wear out my suit. Give me your
+    answer; i' faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How say
+    you, lady?
+  KATHERINE. Sauf votre honneur, me understand well.
+  KING HENRY. Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for
+    your sake, Kate, why you undid me; for the one I have neither
+    words nor measure, and for the other I have no strength in  
+    measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a
+    lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour
+    on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I
+    should quickly leap into wife. Or if I might buffet for my love,
+    or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher,
+    and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I
+    cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my cloquence, nor I have no
+    cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use
+    till urg'd, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a
+    fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning,
+    that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there,
+    let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier. If thou
+    canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I
+    shall die is true- but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love
+    thee too. And while thou liv'st, dear Kate, take a fellow of
+    plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right,
+    because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these
+    fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into
+    ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again.
+    What! a speaker is but a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good  
+    leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will
+    turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald; a fair face will
+    wither; a full eye will wax hollow. But a good heart, Kate, is
+    the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon- for
+    it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly.
+    If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a
+    soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say'st thou, then,
+    to my love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
+  KATHERINE. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France?
+  KING HENRY. No, it is not possible you should love the enemy of
+    France, Kate, but in loving me you should love the friend of
+    France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a
+    village of it; I will have it all mine. And, Kate, when France is
+    mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine.
+  KATHERINE. I cannot tell vat is dat.
+  KING HENRY. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French, which I am sure
+    will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her
+    husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Je quand sur le
+    possession de France, et quand vous avez le possession de moi-
+    let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!- donc votre est  
+    France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to
+    conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French: I shall
+    never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.
+  KATHERINE. Sauf votre honneur, le Francais que vous parlez, il est
+    meilleur que l'Anglais lequel je parle.
+  KING HENRY. No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my
+    tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be granted to
+    be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much
+    English- Canst thou love me?
+  KATHERINE. I cannot tell.
+  KING HENRY. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.
+    Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into
+    your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I
+    know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you
+    love with your heart. But, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the
+    rather, gentle Princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever
+    thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells
+    me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore
+    needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, between
+    Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half  
+    English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the
+    beard? Shall we not? What say'st thou, my fair flower-de-luce?
+  KATHERINE. I do not know dat.
+  KING HENRY. No: 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promise; do but
+    now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of
+    such a boy; and for my English moiety take the word of a king and
+    a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon
+   tres cher et divin deesse?
+  KATHERINE. Your Majestee ave fausse French enough to deceive de
+    most sage damoiselle dat is en France.
+  KING HENRY. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true
+    English, I love thee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear thou
+    lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost,
+    notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage. Now
+    beshrew my father's ambition! He was thinking of civil wars when
+    he got me; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with
+    an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies I fright them.
+    But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear:
+    my comfort is, that old age, that in layer-up of beauty, can do
+    no more spoil upon my face; thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the  
+    worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and
+    better. And therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will you have
+    me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your
+    heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand and say
+    'Harry of England, I am thine.' Which word thou shalt no sooner
+    bless mine ear withal but I will tell thee aloud 'England is
+    thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet
+    is thine'; who, though I speak it before his face, if he be not
+    fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good
+    fellows. Come, your answer in broken music- for thy voice is
+    music and thy English broken; therefore, Queen of all, Katherine,
+    break thy mind to me in broken English, wilt thou have me?
+  KATHERINE. Dat is as it shall please de roi mon pere.
+  KING HENRY. Nay, it will please him well, Kate- it shall please
+    him, Kate.
+  KATHERINE. Den it sall also content me.
+  KING HENRY. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I can you my queen.
+  KATHERINE. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je ne
+    veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la main
+    d'une, notre seigneur, indigne serviteur; excusez-moi, je vous  
+    supplie, mon tres puissant seigneur.
+  KING HENRY. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
+  KATHERINE. Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant leur
+    noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France.
+  KING HENRY. Madame my interpreter, what says she?
+  ALICE. Dat it is not be de fashion pour le ladies of France- I
+    cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish.
+  KING HENRY. To kiss.
+  ALICE. Your Majestee entendre bettre que moi.
+  KING HENRY. It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss
+    before they are married, would she say?
+  ALICE. Oui, vraiment.
+  KING HENRY. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate,
+    you and I cannot be confin'd within the weak list of a country's
+    fashion; we are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that
+    follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults- as I will
+    do yours for upholding the nice fashion of your country in
+    denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently and yielding.  [Kissing
+    her]  You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more
+    eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the  
+    French council; and they should sooner persuade Henry of England
+    than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.
+
+             Enter the FRENCH POWER and the ENGLISH LORDS
+
+  BURGUNDY. God save your Majesty! My royal cousin,
+    Teach you our princess English?
+  KING HENRY. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I
+    love her; and that is good English.
+  BURGUNDY. Is she not apt?
+  KING HENRY. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not
+    smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of
+    flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in
+    her that he will appear in his true likeness.
+  BURGUNDY. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for
+    that. If you would conjure in her, you must make a circle; if
+    conjure up love in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked
+    and blind. Can you blame her, then, being a maid yet ros'd over
+    with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance of
+    a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a  
+    hard condition for a maid to consign to.
+  KING HENRY. Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and
+    enforces.
+  BURGUNDY. They are then excus'd, my lord, when they see not what
+    they do.
+  KING HENRY. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent
+    winking.
+  BURGUNDY. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach
+    her to know my meaning; for maids well summer'd and warm kept are
+    like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their
+    eyes; and then they will endure handling, which before would not
+    abide looking on.
+  KING HENRY. This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and
+    so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she
+    must be blind too.
+  BURGUNDY. As love is, my lord, before it loves.
+  KING HENRY. It is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my
+    blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city for one fair
+    French maid that stands in my way.
+  FRENCH KING. Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities  
+    turned into a maid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls
+    that war hath never ent'red.
+  KING HENRY. Shall Kate be my wife?
+  FRENCH KING. So please you.
+  KING HENRY. I am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait
+    on her; so the maid that stood in the way for my wish shall show
+    me the way to my will.
+  FRENCH KING. We have consented to all terms of reason.
+  KING HENRY. Is't so, my lords of England?
+  WESTMORELAND. The king hath granted every article:
+    His daughter first; and then in sequel, all,
+    According to their firm proposed natures.
+  EXETER. Only he hath not yet subscribed this:
+      Where your Majesty demands that the King of France, having any
+    occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your Highness
+    in this form and with this addition, in French, Notre tres cher
+    fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterre, Heritier de France; and thus in
+    Latin, Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus, Rex Angliae et
+    Haeres Franciae.
+  FRENCH KING. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied  
+    But our request shall make me let it pass.
+  KING HENRY. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance,
+    Let that one article rank with the rest;
+    And thereupon give me your daughter.
+  FRENCH KING. Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
+    Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms
+    Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
+    With envy of each other's happiness,
+    May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction
+    Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord
+    In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
+    His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.
+  LORDS. Amen!
+  KING HENRY. Now, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all,
+    That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.       [Floulish]
+  QUEEN ISABEL. God, the best maker of all marriages,
+    Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
+    As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
+    So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal
+    That never may ill office or fell jealousy,  
+    Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,
+    Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,
+    To make divorce of their incorporate league;
+    That English may as French, French Englishmen,
+    Receive each other. God speak this Amen!
+  ALL. Amen!
+  KING HENRY. Prepare we for our marriage; on which day,
+    My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath,
+    And all the peers', for surety of our leagues.
+    Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me,
+    And may our oaths well kept and prosp'rous be!
+                                                  Sennet. Exeunt
+
+EPILOGUE
+                           EPILOGUE.
+
+                          Enter CHORUS
+
+  CHORUS. Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen,
+    Our bending author hath pursu'd the story,
+    In little room confining mighty men,
+    Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
+    Small time, but, in that small, most greatly lived
+    This star of England. Fortune made his sword;
+    By which the world's best garden he achieved,
+    And of it left his son imperial lord.
+    Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd king
+    Of France and England, did this king succeed;
+    Whose state so many had the managing
+    That they lost France and made his England bleed;
+    Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake,
+    In your fair minds let this acceptance take.            Exit
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1592
+
+THE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  KING HENRY THE SIXTH
+  DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, uncle to the King, and Protector
+  DUKE OF BEDFORD, uncle to the King, and Regent of France
+  THOMAS BEAUFORT, DUKE OF EXETER, great-uncle to the king
+  HENRY BEAUFORT, great-uncle to the King, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER,
+     and afterwards CARDINAL
+  JOHN BEAUFORT, EARL OF SOMERSET, afterwards Duke
+  RICHARD PLANTAGENET, son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge,
+    afterwards DUKE OF YORK
+  EARL OF WARWICK
+  EARL OF SALISBURY
+  EARL OF SUFFOLK
+  LORD TALBOT, afterwards EARL OF SHREWSBURY
+  JOHN TALBOT, his son
+  EDMUND MORTIMER, EARL OF MARCH
+  SIR JOHN FASTOLFE
+  SIR WILLIAM LUCY
+  SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE
+  SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE
+  MAYOR of LONDON  
+  WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower
+  VERNON, of the White Rose or York faction
+  BASSET, of the Red Rose or Lancaster faction
+  A LAWYER
+  GAOLERS, to Mortimer
+  CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France
+  REIGNIER, DUKE OF ANJOU, and titular King of Naples
+  DUKE OF BURGUNDY
+  DUKE OF ALENCON
+  BASTARD OF ORLEANS
+  GOVERNOR OF PARIS
+  MASTER-GUNNER OF ORLEANS, and his SON
+  GENERAL OF THE FRENCH FORCES in Bordeaux
+  A FRENCH SERGEANT
+  A PORTER
+  AN OLD SHEPHERD, father to Joan la Pucelle
+  MARGARET, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to
+    King Henry
+  COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE
+  JOAN LA PUCELLE, Commonly called JOAN OF ARC  
+
+  Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers,
+  Messengers, English and French Attendants. Fiends appearing
+    to La Pucelle
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+England and France
+
+
+
+
+The First Part of King Henry the Sixth
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1.
+
+Westminster Abbey
+
+Dead March. Enter the funeral of KING HENRY THE FIFTH,
+attended on by the DUKE OF BEDFORD, Regent of France,
+the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, Protector, the DUKE OF EXETER,
+the EARL OF WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER
+
+  BEDFORD. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to
+    night! Comets, importing change of times and states,
+    Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky
+    And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
+    That have consented unto Henry's death!
+    King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
+    England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
+  GLOUCESTER. England ne'er had a king until his time.
+    Virtue he had, deserving to command;
+    His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams;  
+    His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
+    His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
+    More dazzled and drove back his enemies
+    Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
+    What should I say? His deeds exceed all speech:
+    He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.
+  EXETER. We mourn in black; why mourn we not in blood?
+    Henry is dead and never shall revive.
+    Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
+    And death's dishonourable victory
+    We with our stately presence glorify,
+    Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
+    What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
+    That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
+    Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
+    Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
+    By magic verses have contriv'd his end?
+  WINCHESTER. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings;
+    Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day
+    So dreadful will not be as was his sight.  
+    The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought;
+    The Church's prayers made him so prosperous.
+  GLOUCESTER. The Church! Where is it? Had not churchmen
+    pray'd,
+    His thread of life had not so soon decay'd.
+    None do you like but an effeminate prince,
+    Whom like a school-boy you may overawe.
+  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art
+    Protector
+    And lookest to command the Prince and realm.
+    Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe
+    More than God or religious churchmen may.
+  GLOUCESTER. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;
+    And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st,
+    Except it be to pray against thy foes.
+  BEDFORD. Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace;
+    Let's to the altar. Heralds, wait on us.
+    Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms,
+    Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.
+    Posterity, await for wretched years,  
+    When at their mothers' moist'ned eyes babes shall suck,
+    Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
+    And none but women left to wail the dead.
+  HENRY the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:
+    Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
+    Combat with adverse planets in the heavens.
+    A far more glorious star thy soul will make
+    Than Julius Caesar or bright
+
+                          Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. My honourable lords, health to you all!
+    Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
+    Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
+    Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
+    Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.
+  BEDFORD. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
+    Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
+    Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.
+  GLOUCESTER. Is Paris lost? Is Rouen yielded up?  
+    If Henry were recall'd to life again,
+    These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
+  EXETER. How were they lost? What treachery was us'd?
+  MESSENGER. No treachery, but want of men and money.
+    Amongst the soldiers this is muttered
+    That here you maintain several factions;
+    And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
+    You are disputing of your generals:
+    One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
+    Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
+    A third thinks, without expense at all,
+    By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
+    Awake, awake, English nobility!
+    Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot.
+    Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
+    Of England's coat one half is cut away.
+  EXETER. Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
+    These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.
+  BEDFORD. Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
+    Give me my steeled coat; I'll fight for France.  
+    Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
+    Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
+    To weep their intermissive miseries.
+
+                   Enter a second MESSENGER
+
+  SECOND MESSENGER. Lords, view these letters full of bad
+    mischance.
+    France is revolted from the English quite,
+    Except some petty towns of no import.
+    The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
+    The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
+    Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
+    The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.
+  EXETER. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
+    O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?
+  GLOUCESTER. We will not fly but to our enemies' throats.
+    Bedford, if thou be slack I'll fight it out.
+  BEDFORD. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
+    An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,  
+    Wherewith already France is overrun.
+
+                   Enter a third MESSENGER
+
+  THIRD MESSENGER. My gracious lords, to add to your
+    laments,
+    Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,
+    I must inform you of a dismal fight
+    Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.
+  WINCHESTER. What! Wherein Talbot overcame? Is't so?
+  THIRD MESSENGER. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was
+    o'erthrown.
+    The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
+    The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,
+    Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
+    Having full scarce six thousand in his troop,
+    By three and twenty thousand of the French
+    Was round encompassed and set upon.
+    No leisure had he to enrank his men;
+    He wanted pikes to set before his archers;  
+    Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges
+    They pitched in the ground confusedly
+    To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
+    More than three hours the fight continued;
+    Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,
+    Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
+    Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
+    Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he slew
+    The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms;
+    All the whole army stood agaz'd on him.
+    His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
+    'A Talbot! a Talbot!' cried out amain,
+    And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
+    Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up
+    If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward.
+    He, being in the vaward plac'd behind
+    With purpose to relieve and follow them-
+    Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke;
+    Hence grew the general wreck and massacre.
+    Enclosed were they with their enemies.  
+    A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
+    Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;
+    Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength,
+    Durst not presume to look once in the face.
+  BEDFORD. Is Talbot slain? Then I will slay myself,
+    For living idly here in pomp and ease,
+    Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
+    Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.
+  THIRD MESSENGER. O no, he lives, but is took prisoner,
+    And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford;
+    Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.
+  BEDFORD. His ransom there is none but I shall pay.
+    I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne;
+    His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
+    Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
+    Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
+    Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make
+    To keep our great Saint George's feast withal.
+    Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
+    Whose bloody deeds shall make an Europe quake.  
+  THIRD MESSENGER. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;
+    The English army is grown weak and faint;
+    The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply
+    And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
+    Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
+  EXETER. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
+    Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
+    Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
+  BEDFORD. I do remember it, and here take my leave
+    To go about my preparation.                             Exit
+  GLOUCESTER. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can
+    To view th' artillery and munition;
+    And then I will proclaim young Henry king.              Exit
+  EXETER. To Eltham will I, where the young King is,
+    Being ordain'd his special governor;
+    And for his safety there I'll best devise.              Exit
+  WINCHESTER.  [Aside]  Each hath his place and function to
+    attend:
+    I am left out; for me nothing remains.
+    But long I will not be Jack out of office.  
+    The King from Eltham I intend to steal,
+    And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                          SCENE 2.
+
+                  France. Before Orleans
+
+      Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES THE DAUPHIN, ALENCON,
+           and REIGNIER, marching with drum and soldiers
+
+  CHARLES. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
+    So in the earth, to this day is not known.
+    Late did he shine upon the English side;
+    Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.
+    What towns of any moment but we have?
+    At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;
+    Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
+    Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.
+  ALENCON. They want their porridge and their fat bull
+    beeves.
+    Either they must be dieted like mules
+    And have their provender tied to their mouths,
+    Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.
+  REIGNIER. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here?
+    Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear;  
+    Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury,
+    And he may well in fretting spend his gall
+    Nor men nor money hath he to make war.
+  CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them.
+    Now for the honour of the forlorn French!
+    Him I forgive my death that killeth me,
+    When he sees me go back one foot or flee.             Exeunt
+
+       Here alarum. They are beaten hack by the English, with
+         great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER
+
+  CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I!
+    Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled
+    But that they left me midst my enemies.
+  REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
+    He fighteth as one weary of his life.
+    The other lords, like lions wanting food,
+    Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.
+  ALENCON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records
+    England all Olivers and Rowlands bred  
+    During the time Edward the Third did reign.
+    More truly now may this be verified;
+    For none but Samsons and Goliases
+    It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
+    Lean raw-bon'd rascals! Who would e'er suppose
+    They had such courage and audacity?
+  CHARLES. Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd
+    slaves,
+    And hunger will enforce them to be more eager.
+    Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
+    The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.
+  REIGNIER. I think by some odd gimmers or device
+    Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on;
+    Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
+    By my consent, we'll even let them alone.
+  ALENCON. Be it so.
+
+                   Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS
+
+  BASTARD. Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.  
+  CHARLES. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.
+  BASTARD. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd.
+    Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
+    Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand.
+    A holy maid hither with me I bring,
+    Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
+    Ordained is to raise this tedious siege
+    And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
+    The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
+    Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:
+    What's past and what's to come she can descry.
+    Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
+    For they are certain and unfallible.
+  CHARLES. Go, call her in.                       [Exit BASTARD]
+    But first, to try her skill,
+    Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place;
+    Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern;
+    By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.
+
+                  Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS with  
+                          JOAN LA PUCELLE
+
+  REIGNIER. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?
+  PUCELLE. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
+    Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;
+    I know thee well, though never seen before.
+    Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me.
+    In private will I talk with thee apart.
+    Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.
+  REIGNIER. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.
+  PUCELLE. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
+    My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
+    Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas'd
+    To shine on my contemptible estate.
+    Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs
+    And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
+    God's Mother deigned to appear to me,
+    And in a vision full of majesty
+    Will'd me to leave my base vocation
+    And free my country from calamity  
+    Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success.
+    In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
+    And whereas I was black and swart before,
+    With those clear rays which she infus'd on me
+    That beauty am I bless'd with which you may see.
+    Ask me what question thou canst possible,
+    And I will answer unpremeditated.
+    My courage try by combat if thou dar'st,
+    And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
+    Resolve on this: thou shalt be fortunate
+    If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.
+  CHARLES. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms.
+    Only this proof I'll of thy valour make
+    In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;
+    And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
+    Otherwise I renounce all confidence.
+  PUCELLE. I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword,
+    Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side,
+    The which at Touraine, in Saint Katherine's churchyard,
+    Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.  
+  CHARLES. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.
+  PUCELLE. And while I live I'll ne'er fly from a man.
+                 [Here they fight and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes]
+  CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,
+    And fightest with the sword of Deborah.
+  PUCELLE. Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak.
+  CHARLES. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me.
+    Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
+    My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.
+    Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
+    Let me thy servant and not sovereign be.
+    'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.
+  PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love,
+    For my profession's sacred from above.
+    When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
+    Then will I think upon a recompense.
+  CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.
+  REIGNIER. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.
+  ALENCON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
+    Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.  
+  REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?
+  ALENCON. He may mean more than we poor men do know;
+    These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.
+  REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on?
+    Shall we give o'er Orleans, or no?
+  PUCELLE. Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants!
+    Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.
+  CHARLES. What she says I'll confirm; we'll fight it out.
+  PUCELLE. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
+    This night the siege assuredly I'll raise.
+    Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,
+    Since I have entered into these wars.
+    Glory is like a circle in the water,
+    Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
+    Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
+    With Henry's death the English circle ends;
+    Dispersed are the glories it included.
+    Now am I like that proud insulting ship
+    Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.
+  CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?  
+    Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
+    Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
+    Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters were like thee.
+    Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
+    How may I reverently worship thee enough?
+  ALENCON. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.
+  REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
+    Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd.
+  CHARLES. Presently we'll try. Come, let's away about it.
+    No prophet will I trust if she prove false.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                          SCENE 3.
+
+                London. Before the Tower gates
+
+       Enter the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, with his serving-men
+                       in blue coats
+
+  GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day;
+    Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
+    Where be these warders that they wait not here?
+    Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.
+  FIRST WARDER.  [Within]  Who's there that knocks so
+    imperiously?
+  FIRST SERVING-MAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.
+  SECOND WARDER.  [Within]  Whoe'er he be, you may not be
+    let in.
+  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord
+    Protector?
+  FIRST WARDER.  [Within]  The Lord protect him! so we
+    answer him.
+    We do no otherwise than we are will'd.
+  GLOUCESTER. Who willed you, or whose will stands but  
+    mine?
+    There's none Protector of the realm but I.
+    Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.
+    Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?
+                  [GLOUCESTER'S men rush at the Tower gates, and
+                         WOODVILLE the Lieutenant speaks within]
+  WOODVILLE.  [Within]  What noise is this? What traitors
+    have we here?
+  GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?
+    Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.
+  WOODVILLE.  [Within]  Have patience, noble Duke, I may
+    not open;
+    The Cardinal of Winchester forbids.
+    From him I have express commandment
+    That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.
+  GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him fore me?
+    Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate
+    Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook!
+    Thou art no friend to God or to the King.
+    Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.  
+  SERVING-MEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector,
+    Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.
+
+       Enter to the PROTECTOR at the Tower gates WINCHESTER
+                   and his men in tawny coats
+
+  WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphry! What means
+    this?
+  GLOUCESTER. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be
+    shut out?
+  WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor,
+    And not Protector of the King or realm.
+  GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,
+    Thou that contrived'st to murder our dead lord;
+    Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin.
+    I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
+    If thou proceed in this thy insolence.
+  WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot.
+    This be Damascus; be thou cursed Cain,
+    To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.  
+  GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back.
+    Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
+    I'll use to carry thee out of this place.
+  WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face.
+  GLOUCESTER. What! am I dar'd and bearded to my face?
+    Draw, men, for all this privileged place
+    Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard;
+    I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly;
+    Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat;
+    In spite of Pope or dignities of church,
+    Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.
+  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the
+    Pope.
+  GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose! I cry 'A rope, a rope!'
+    Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?
+    Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.
+    Out, tawny-coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite!
+
+         Here GLOUCESTER'S men beat out the CARDINAL'S
+        men; and enter in the hurly burly the MAYOR OF  
+                  LONDON and his OFFICERS
+
+  MAYOR. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,
+    Thus contumeliously should break the peace!
+  GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:
+    Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor King,
+    Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.
+  WINCHESTER. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens;
+    One that still motions war and never peace,
+    O'ercharging your free purses with large fines;
+    That seeks to overthrow religion,
+    Because he is Protector of the realm,
+    And would have armour here out of the Tower,
+    To crown himself King and suppress the Prince.
+  GLOUCESTER. I Will not answer thee with words, but blows.
+                                      [Here they skirmish again]
+  MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife
+    But to make open proclamation.
+    Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst,
+    Cry.  
+  OFFICER.  [Cries]  All manner of men assembled here in arms
+    this day against God's peace and the King's, we charge
+    and command you, in his Highness' name, to repair to
+    your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or
+    use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon
+    pain of death.
+  GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law;
+    But we shall meet and break our minds at large.
+  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we'll meet to thy cost, be sure;
+    Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.
+  MAYOR. I'll call for clubs if you will not away.
+    This Cardinal's more haughty than the devil.
+  GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou
+    mayst.
+  WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head,
+    For I intend to have it ere long.
+                    Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and WINCHESTER
+                                             with their servants
+  MAYOR. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.
+    Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!  
+    I myself fight not once in forty year.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                               SCENE 4.
+
+                        France. Before Orleans
+
+               Enter, on the walls, the MASTER-GUNNER
+                       OF ORLEANS and his BOY
+
+  MASTER-GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is
+    besieg'd,
+    And how the English have the suburbs won.
+  BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
+    Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.
+  MASTER-GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd
+    by me.
+    Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
+    Something I must do to procure me grace.
+    The Prince's espials have informed me
+    How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,
+    Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars
+    In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,
+    And thence discover how with most advantage
+    They may vex us with shot or with assault.  
+    To intercept this inconvenience,
+    A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd;
+    And even these three days have I watch'd
+    If I could see them. Now do thou watch,
+    For I can stay no longer.
+    If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
+    And thou shalt find me at the Governor's.               Exit
+  BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
+    I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.              Exit
+
+          Enter SALISBURY and TALBOT on the turrets, with
+            SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE,
+                            and others
+
+  SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
+    How wert thou handled being prisoner?
+    Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?
+    Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.
+  TALBOT. The Earl of Bedford had a prisoner
+    Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;  
+    For him was I exchang'd and ransomed.
+    But with a baser man of arms by far
+    Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me;
+    Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death
+    Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.
+    In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.
+    But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart
+    Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
+    If I now had him brought into my power.
+  SALISBURY. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.
+  TALBOT. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts,
+    In open market-place produc'd they me
+    To be a public spectacle to all;
+    Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
+    The scarecrow that affrights our children so.
+    Then broke I from the officers that led me,
+    And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground
+    To hurl at the beholders of my shame;
+    My grisly countenance made others fly;
+    None durst come near for fear of sudden death.  
+    In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
+    So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread
+    That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel
+    And spurn in pieces posts of adamant;
+    Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had
+    That walk'd about me every minute-while;
+    And if I did but stir out of my bed,
+    Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.
+
+                Enter the BOY with a linstock
+
+  SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
+    But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
+    Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
+    Here, through this grate, I count each one
+    And view the Frenchmen how they fortify.
+    Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.
+    Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale,
+    Let me have your express opinions
+    Where is best place to make our batt'ry next.  
+  GARGRAVE. I think at the North Gate; for there stand lords.
+  GLANSDALE. And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge.
+  TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,
+    Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.
+                     [Here they shoot and SALISBURY and GARGRAVE
+                                                      fall down]
+  SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!
+  GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!
+  TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?
+    Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak.
+    How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
+    One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!
+    Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
+    That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy!
+    In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
+    Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;
+    Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up,
+    His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
+    Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? Though thy speech doth fail,
+    One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace;  
+    The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
+    Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive
+    If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
+    Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.
+    Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
+    Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
+    Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort,
+    Thou shalt not die whiles
+    He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,
+    As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,
+    Remember to avenge me on the French.'
+    Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
+    Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn.
+    Wretched shall France be only in my name.
+                  [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]
+    What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens?
+    Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?
+
+                          Enter a MESSENGER
+  
+  MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd
+    head
+    The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,
+    A holy prophetess new risen up,
+    Is come with a great power to raise the siege.
+                  [Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans]
+  TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan.
+    It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd.
+    Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you.
+    Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,
+    Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels
+    And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
+    Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
+    And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.
+                                                  Alarum. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 5.
+
+                          Before Orleans
+
+         Here an alarum again, and TALBOT pursueth the
+      DAUPHIN and driveth him. Then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE
+       driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT
+
+  TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
+    Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;
+    A woman clad in armour chaseth them.
+
+                          Enter LA PUCELLE
+
+    Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee.
+    Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee;
+    Blood will I draw on thee-thou art a witch
+    And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.
+  PUCELLE. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.
+                                               [Here they fight]
+  TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
+    My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage.  
+    And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,
+    But I will chastise this high minded strumpet.
+                                              [They fight again]
+  PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come.
+    I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
+             [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]
+    O'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
+    Go, go, cheer up thy hungry starved men;
+    Help Salisbury to make his testament.
+    This day is ours, as many more shall be.                Exit
+  TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
+    I know not where I am nor what I do.
+    A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
+    Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists.
+    So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench
+    Are from their hives and houses driven away.
+    They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
+    Now like to whelps we crying run away.
+                                                [A short alarum]
+    Hark, countrymen! Either renew the fight  
+    Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
+    Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
+    Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,
+    Or horse or oxen from the leopard,
+    As you fly from your oft subdued slaves.
+                                 [Alarum. Here another skirmish]
+    It will not be-retire into your trenches.
+    You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
+    For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
+    Pucelle is ent'red into Orleans
+    In spite of us or aught that we could do.
+    O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
+    The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
+                                    Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 6.
+
+                              ORLEANS
+
+        Flourish. Enter on the walls, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,
+                REIGNIER, ALENCON, and soldiers
+
+  PUCELLE. Advance our waving colours on the walls;
+    Rescu'd is Orleans from the English.
+    Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.
+  CHARLES. Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter,
+    How shall I honour thee for this success?
+    Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens,
+    That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.
+    France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess.
+    Recover'd is the town of Orleans.
+    More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.
+  REIGNIER. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the
+    town?
+    Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires
+    And feast and banquet in the open streets
+    To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.  
+  ALENCON. All France will be replete with mirth and joy
+    When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.
+  CHARLES. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
+    For which I will divide my crown with her;
+    And all the priests and friars in my realm
+    Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
+    A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear
+    Than Rhodope's of Memphis ever was.
+    In memory of her, when she is dead,
+    Her ashes, in an urn more precious
+    Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius,
+    Transported shall be at high festivals
+    Before the kings and queens of France.
+    No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,
+    But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
+    Come in, and let us banquet royally
+    After this golden day of victory. Flourish.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1.
+
+Before Orleans
+
+Enter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS
+
+  SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant.
+    If any noise or soldier you perceive
+    Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
+    Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.
+  FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall.           [Exit SERGEANT]
+    Thus are poor servitors,
+    When others sleep upon their quiet beds,
+    Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.
+
+             Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and forces,
+          with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead
+                              march
+
+  TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
+    By whose approach the regions of Artois,
+    Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us,  
+    This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
+    Having all day carous'd and banqueted;
+    Embrace we then this opportunity,
+    As fitting best to quittance their deceit,
+    Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.
+  BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame,
+    Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
+    To join with witches and the help of hell!
+  BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company.
+    But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?
+  TALBOT. A maid, they say.
+  BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial!
+  BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,
+    If underneath the standard of the French
+    She carry armour as she hath begun.
+  TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
+    God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
+    Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
+  BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.
+  TALBOT. Not all together; better far, I guess,  
+    That we do make our entrance several ways;
+    That if it chance the one of us do fail
+    The other yet may rise against their force.
+  BEDFORD. Agreed; I'll to yond corner.
+  BURGUNDY. And I to this.
+  TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount or make his grave.
+    Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
+    Of English Henry, shall this night appear
+    How much in duty I am bound to both.
+             [The English scale the walls and cry 'Saint George!
+                                                     a Talbot!']
+    SENTINEL. Arm! arm! The enemy doth make assault.
+
+           The French leap o'er the walls in their shirts.
+           Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER,
+                     half ready and half unready
+
+  ALENCON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so?
+  BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.
+  REIGNIER. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,  
+    Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.
+  ALENCON. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms
+    Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
+    More venturous or desperate than this.
+  BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.
+  REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him
+  ALENCON. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped.
+
+                    Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE
+
+  BASTARD. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.
+  CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
+    Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
+    Make us partakers of a little gain
+    That now our loss might be ten times so much?
+  PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?
+    At all times will you have my power alike?
+    Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail
+    Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
+    Improvident soldiers! Had your watch been good  
+    This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.
+  CHARLES. Duke of Alencon, this was your default
+    That, being captain of the watch to-night,
+    Did look no better to that weighty charge.
+  ALENCON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept
+    As that whereof I had the government,
+    We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd.
+  BASTARD. Mine was secure.
+  REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord.
+  CHARLES. And, for myself, most part of all this night,
+    Within her quarter and mine own precinct
+    I was employ'd in passing to and fro
+    About relieving of the sentinels.
+    Then how or which way should they first break in?
+  PUCELLE. Question, my lords, no further of the case,
+    How or which way; 'tis sure they found some place
+    But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
+    And now there rests no other shift but this
+    To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
+    And lay new platforms to endamage them.  
+
+               Alarum. Enter an ENGLISH SOLDIER, crying
+            'A Talbot! A Talbot!' They fly, leaving their
+                           clothes behind
+
+  SOLDIER. I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
+    The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
+    For I have loaden me with many spoils,
+    Using no other weapon but his name.                     Exit
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 2.
+
+                      ORLEANS. Within the town
+
+            Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a CAPTAIN,
+                           and others
+
+  BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled
+    Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
+    Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.
+                                               [Retreat sounded]
+  TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury
+    And here advance it in the market-place,
+    The middle centre of this cursed town.
+    Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
+    For every drop of blood was drawn from him
+    There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.
+    And that hereafter ages may behold
+    What ruin happened in revenge of him,
+    Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
+    A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd;
+    Upon the which, that every one may read,  
+    Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans,
+    The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
+    And what a terror he had been to France.
+    But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
+    I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,
+    His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
+    Nor any of his false confederates.
+  BEDFORD. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,
+    Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
+    They did amongst the troops of armed men
+    Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.
+  BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern
+    For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,
+    Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull,
+    When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
+    Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves
+    That could not live asunder day or night.
+    After that things are set in order here,
+    We'll follow them with all the power we have.
+  
+                          Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train
+    Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
+    So much applauded through the realm of France?
+  TALBOT. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?
+  MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,
+    With modesty admiring thy renown,
+    By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
+    To visit her poor castle where she lies,
+    That she may boast she hath beheld the man
+    Whose glory fills the world with loud report.
+  BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars
+    Will turn into a peaceful comic sport,
+    When ladies crave to be encount'red with.
+    You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
+  TALBOT. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men
+    Could not prevail with all their oratory,
+    Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd;
+    And therefore tell her I return great thanks  
+    And in submission will attend on her.
+    Will not your honours bear me company?
+  BEDFORD. No, truly; 'tis more than manners will;
+    And I have heard it said unbidden guests
+    Are often welcomest when they are gone.
+  TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
+    I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
+    Come hither, Captain.  [Whispers]   You perceive my mind?
+  CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 3.
+
+                      AUVERGNE. The Castle
+
+               Enter the COUNTESS and her PORTER
+
+  COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
+    And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.
+  PORTER. Madam, I will.
+  COUNTESS. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right,
+    I shall as famous be by this exploit.
+    As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
+    Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
+    And his achievements of no less account.
+    Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears
+    To give their censure of these rare reports.
+
+    Enter MESSENGER and TALBOT.
+
+  MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd,
+    By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come.
+  COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?  
+  MESSENGER. Madam, it is.
+  COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France?
+    Is this Talbot, so much fear'd abroad
+    That with his name the mothers still their babes?
+    I see report is fabulous and false.
+    I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
+    A second Hector, for his grim aspect
+    And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
+    Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!
+    It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp
+    Should strike such terror to his enemies.
+  TALBOT. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
+    But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
+    I'll sort some other time to visit you.              [Going]
+  COUNTESS. What means he now? Go ask him whither he
+    goes.
+  MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves
+    To know the cause of your abrupt departure.
+  TALBOT. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
+    I go to certify her Talbot's here.  
+
+                      Re-enter PORTER With keys
+
+  COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.
+  TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom?
+  COUNTESS. To me, blood-thirsty lord
+    And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.
+    Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
+    For in my gallery thy picture hangs;
+    But now the substance shall endure the like
+    And I will chain these legs and arms of thine
+    That hast by tyranny these many years
+    Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
+    And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
+  TALBOT. Ha, ha, ha!
+  COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to
+    moan.
+  TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
+    To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow
+    Whereon to practise your severity.  
+  COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man?
+  TALBOT. I am indeed.
+  COUNTESS. Then have I substance too.
+  TALBOT. No, no, I am but shadow of myself.
+    You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
+    For what you see is but the smallest part
+    And least proportion of humanity.
+    I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
+    It is of such a spacious lofty pitch
+    Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't.
+  COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
+    He will be here, and yet he is not here.
+    How can these contrarieties agree?
+  TALBOT. That will I show you presently.
+
+                   Winds his horn; drums strike up;
+                  a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers
+
+    How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded
+    That Talbot is but shadow of himself?  
+    These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength,
+    With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,
+    Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,
+    And in a moment makes them desolate.
+  COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse.
+    I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,
+    And more than may be gathered by thy shape.
+    Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath,
+    For I am sorry that with reverence
+    I did not entertain thee as thou art.
+  TALBOT. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster
+    The mind of Talbot as you did mistake
+    The outward composition of his body.
+    What you have done hath not offended me.
+    Nor other satisfaction do I crave
+    But only, with your patience, that we may
+    Taste of your wine and see what cates you have,
+    For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
+  COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured
+    To feast so great a warrior in my house.              Exeunt  
+
+
+
+
+                            SCENE 4.
+
+                   London. The Temple garden
+
+         Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;
+           RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER
+
+  PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this
+    silence?
+    Dare no man answer in a case of truth?
+  SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud;
+    The garden here is more convenient.
+  PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;
+    Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error?
+  SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law
+    And never yet could frame my will to it;
+    And therefore frame the law unto my will.
+  SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.
+  WARWICK. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;
+    Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;
+    Between two blades, which bears the better temper;
+    Between two horses, which doth bear him best;  
+    Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye
+    I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment;
+    But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
+    Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
+  PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
+    The truth appears so naked on my side
+    That any purblind eye may find it out.
+  SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell'd,
+    So clear, so shining, and so evident,
+    That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.
+  PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,
+    In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts.
+    Let him that is a true-born gentleman
+    And stands upon the honour of his birth,
+    If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
+    From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
+  SOMERSET. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
+    But dare maintain the party of the truth,
+    Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
+  WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour  
+    Of base insinuating flattery,
+    I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
+  SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset,
+    And say withal I think he held the right.
+  VERNON. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more
+    Till you conclude that he upon whose side
+    The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree
+    Shall yield the other in the right opinion.
+  SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected;
+    If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.
+  PLANTAGENET. And I.
+  VERNON. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,
+    I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
+    Giving my verdict on the white rose side.
+  SOMERSET. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,
+    Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
+    And fall on my side so, against your will.
+  VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,
+    Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt
+    And keep me on the side where still I am.  
+  SOMERSET. Well, well, come on; who else?
+  LAWYER.  [To Somerset]  Unless my study and my books be
+    false,
+    The argument you held was wrong in you;
+    In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.
+  PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?
+  SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that
+    Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.
+  PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our
+    roses;
+    For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
+    The truth on our side.
+  SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet,
+    'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks
+    Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,
+    And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
+  PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
+  SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
+  PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
+    Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.  
+  SOMERSET. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,
+    That shall maintain what I have said is true,
+    Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.
+  PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
+    I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.
+  SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.
+  PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and
+    thee.
+  SUFFOLK. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.
+  SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole!
+    We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.
+  WARWICK. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;
+    His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
+    Third son to the third Edward, King of England.
+    Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?
+  PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place's privilege,
+    Or durst not for his craven heart say thus.
+  SOMERSET. By Him that made me, I'll maintain my words
+    On any plot of ground in Christendom.
+    Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,  
+    For treason executed in our late king's days?
+    And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted,
+    Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
+    His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
+    And till thou be restor'd thou art a yeoman.
+  PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted;
+    Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
+    And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
+    Were growing time once ripened to my will.
+    For your partaker Pole, and you yourself,
+    I'll note you in my book of memory
+    To scourge you for this apprehension.
+    Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd.
+  SOMERSET. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
+    And know us by these colours for thy foes
+    For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.
+  PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
+    As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
+    Will I for ever, and my faction, wear,
+    Until it wither with me to my grave,  
+    Or flourish to the height of my degree.
+  SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!
+    And so farewell until I meet thee next.                 Exit
+  SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious
+    Richard.                                                Exit
+  PLANTAGENET. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure
+    it!
+  WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house
+    Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament,
+    Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;
+    And if thou be not then created York,
+    I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
+    Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,
+    Against proud Somerset and William Pole,
+    Will I upon thy party wear this rose;
+    And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,
+    Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden,
+    Shall send between the Red Rose and the White
+    A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
+  PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you  
+    That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
+  VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same.
+  LAWYER. And so will I.
+  PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentle sir.
+    Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say
+    This quarrel will drink blood another day.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 5.
+
+                       The Tower of London
+
+         Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and GAOLERS
+
+  MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
+    Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
+    Even like a man new haled from the rack,
+    So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;
+    And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
+    Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
+    Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
+    These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
+    Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
+    Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief,
+    And pithless arms, like to a withered vine
+    That droops his sapless branches to the ground.
+    Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
+    Unable to support this lump of clay,
+    Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
+    As witting I no other comfort have.  
+    But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
+  FIRST KEEPER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.
+    We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;
+    And answer was return'd that he will come.
+  MORTIMER. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.
+    Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
+    Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
+    Before whose glory I was great in arms,
+    This loathsome sequestration have I had;
+    And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
+    Depriv'd of honour and inheritance.
+    But now the arbitrator of despairs,
+    Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
+    With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence.
+    I would his troubles likewise were expir'd,
+    That so he might recover what was lost.
+
+                     Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET
+
+  FIRST KEEPER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.  
+  MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?
+  PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,
+    Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.
+  MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck
+    And in his bosom spend my latter gasp.
+    O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
+    That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.
+    And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
+    Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd?
+  PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
+    And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
+    This day, in argument upon a case,
+    Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;
+    Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue
+    And did upbraid me with my father's death;
+    Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
+    Else with the like I had requited him.
+    Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
+    In honour of a true Plantagenet,
+    And for alliance sake, declare the cause  
+    My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
+  MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me
+    And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth
+    Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
+    Was cursed instrument of his decease.
+  PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was,
+    For I am ignorant and cannot guess.
+  MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit
+    And death approach not ere my tale be done.
+    Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,
+    Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son,
+    The first-begotten and the lawful heir
+    Of Edward king, the third of that descent;
+    During whose reign the Percies of the north,
+    Finding his usurpation most unjust,
+    Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne.
+    The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this
+    Was, for that-young Richard thus remov'd,
+    Leaving no heir begotten of his body-
+    I was the next by birth and parentage;  
+    For by my mother I derived am
+    From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son
+    To King Edward the Third; whereas he
+    From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
+    Being but fourth of that heroic line.
+    But mark: as in this haughty great attempt
+    They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
+    I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
+    Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
+    Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
+    Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd
+    From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
+    Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
+    Again, in pity of my hard distress,
+    Levied an army, weening to redeem
+    And have install'd me in the diadem;
+    But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
+    And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
+    In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.
+  PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last.  
+  MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,
+    And that my fainting words do warrant death.
+    Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather;
+    But yet be wary in thy studious care.
+  PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me.
+    But yet methinks my father's execution
+    Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.
+  MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic;
+    Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster
+    And like a mountain not to be remov'd.
+    But now thy uncle is removing hence,
+    As princes do their courts when they are cloy'd
+    With long continuance in a settled place.
+  PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years
+    Might but redeem the passage of your age!
+  MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer
+    doth
+    Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
+    Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
+    Only give order for my funeral.  
+    And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes,
+    And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!          [Dies]
+  PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
+    In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
+    And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.
+    Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
+    And what I do imagine, let that rest.
+    Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself
+    Will see his burial better than his life.
+                Exeunt GAOLERS, hearing out the body of MORTIMER
+    Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
+    Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort;
+    And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
+    Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,
+    I doubt not but with honour to redress;
+    And therefore haste I to the Parliament,
+    Either to be restored to my blood,
+    Or make my ill th' advantage of my good.                Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1.
+
+London. The Parliament House
+
+Flourish. Enter the KING, EXETER, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK;
+the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.
+GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it
+
+  WINCHESTER. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
+    With written pamphlets studiously devis'd?
+    Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse
+    Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
+    Do it without invention, suddenly;
+    I with sudden and extemporal speech
+    Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
+  GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my
+    patience,
+    Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
+    Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
+    The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,  
+    That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
+    Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.
+    No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
+    Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
+    As very infants prattle of thy pride.
+    Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
+    Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
+    Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
+    A man of thy profession and degree;
+    And for thy treachery, what's more manifest
+    In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
+    As well at London Bridge as at the Tower?
+    Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
+    The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
+    From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
+  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
+    To give me hearing what I shall reply.
+    If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,
+    As he will have me, how am I so poor?
+    Or how haps it I seek not to advance  
+    Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
+    And for dissension, who preferreth peace
+    More than I do, except I be provok'd?
+    No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
+    It is not that that incens'd hath incens'd the Duke:
+    It is because no one should sway but he;
+    No one but he should be about the King;
+    And that engenders thunder in his breast
+    And makes him roar these accusations forth.
+    But he shall know I am as good
+  GLOUCESTER. As good!
+    Thou bastard of my grandfather!
+  WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
+    But one imperious in another's throne?
+  GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest?
+  WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church?
+  GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
+    And useth it to patronage his theft.
+  WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester!
+  GLOUCESTER. Thou art reverend  
+    Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
+  WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this.
+  WARWICK. Roam thither then.
+  SOMERSET. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
+  WARWICK. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
+  SOMERSET. Methinks my lord should be religious,
+    And know the office that belongs to such.
+  WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
+    It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
+  SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.
+  WARWICK. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?
+    Is not his Grace Protector to the King?
+  PLANTAGENET.  [Aside]  Plantagenet, I see, must hold his
+    tongue,
+    Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;
+    Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'
+    Else would I have a fling at Winchester.
+  KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
+    The special watchmen of our English weal,
+    I would prevail, if prayers might prevail  
+    To join your hearts in love and amity.
+    O, what a scandal is it to our crown
+    That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
+    Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
+    Civil dissension is a viperous worm
+    That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
+                  [A noise within: 'Down with the tawny coats!']
+    What tumult's this?
+  WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant,
+    Begun through malice of the Bishop's men.
+                              [A noise again: 'Stones! Stones!']
+
+                Enter the MAYOR OF LONDON, attended
+
+  MAYOR. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
+    Pity the city of London, pity us!
+    The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,
+    Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
+    Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones
+    And, banding themselves in contrary parts,  
+    Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
+    That many have their giddy brains knock'd out.
+    Our windows are broke down in every street,
+    And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.
+
+        Enter in skirmish, the retainers of GLOUCESTER and
+               WINCHESTER, with bloody pates
+
+  KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
+    To hold your slaught'ring hands and keep the peace.
+    Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.
+  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we'll
+    fall to it with our teeth.
+  SECOND SERVING-MAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
+                                                [Skirmish again]
+  GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,
+    And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
+  THIRD SERVING-MAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a
+    man
+    Just and upright, and for your royal birth  
+    Inferior to none but to his Majesty;
+    And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
+    So kind a father of the commonweal,
+    To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
+    We and our wives and children all will fight
+    And have our bodies slaught'red by thy foes.
+  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
+    Shall pitch a field when we are dead.          [Begin again]
+  GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say!
+    And if you love me, as you say you do,
+    Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.
+  KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
+    Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
+    My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
+    Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
+    Or who should study to prefer a peace,
+    If holy churchmen take delight in broils?
+  WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester;
+    Except you mean with obstinate repulse
+    To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.  
+    You see what mischief, and what murder too,
+    Hath been enacted through your enmity;
+    Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
+  WINCHESTER. He shall submit, or I will never yield.
+  GLOUCESTER. Compassion on the King commands me stoop,
+    Or I would see his heart out ere the priest
+    Should ever get that privilege of me.
+  WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke
+    Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
+    As by his smoothed brows it doth appear;
+    Why look you still so stem and tragical?
+  GLOUCESTER. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
+  KING HENRY. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach
+    That malice was a great and grievous sin;
+    And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
+    But prove a chief offender in the same?
+  WARWICK. Sweet King! The Bishop hath a kindly gird.
+    For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent;
+    What, shall a child instruct you what to do?
+  WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;  
+    Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.
+  GLOUCESTER  [Aside]  Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow
+    heart.
+    See here, my friends and loving countrymen:
+    This token serveth for a flag of truce
+    Betwixt ourselves and all our followers.
+    So help me God, as I dissemble not!
+  WINCHESTER  [Aside]  So help me God, as I intend it not!
+  KING HENRY. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
+    How joyful am I made by this contract!
+    Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
+    But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
+  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Content: I'll to the surgeon's.
+  SECOND SERVING-MAN. And so will I.
+  THIRD SERVING-MAN. And I will see what physic the tavern
+    affords.                         Exeunt servants, MAYOR, &C.
+  WARWICK. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign;
+    Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
+    We do exhibit to your Majesty.
+  GLOUCESTER. Well urg'd, my Lord of Warwick; for, sweet  
+    prince,
+    An if your Grace mark every circumstance,
+    You have great reason to do Richard right;
+    Especially for those occasions
+    At Eltham Place I told your Majesty.
+  KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were of force;
+    Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
+    That Richard be restored to his blood.
+  WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood;
+    So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.
+  WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.
+  KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone
+    But all the whole inheritance I give
+    That doth belong unto the house of York,
+    From whence you spring by lineal descent.
+  PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience
+    And humble service till the point of death.
+  KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
+    And in reguerdon of that duty done
+    I girt thee with the valiant sword of York.  
+    Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
+    And rise created princely Duke of York.
+  PLANTAGENET. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!
+    And as my duty springs, so perish they
+    That grudge one thought against your Majesty!
+  ALL. Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York!
+  SOMERSET.  [Aside]  Perish, base Prince, ignoble Duke of
+    York!
+  GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty
+    To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:
+    The presence of a king engenders love
+    Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
+    As it disanimates his enemies.
+  KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry
+    goes;
+    For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
+  GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness.
+                         Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER
+  EXETER. Ay, we may march in England or in France,
+    Not seeing what is likely to ensue.  
+    This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
+    Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love
+    And will at last break out into a flame;
+    As fest'red members rot but by degree
+    Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
+    So will this base and envious discord breed.
+    And now I fear that fatal prophecy.
+    Which in the time of Henry nam'd the Fifth
+    Was in the mouth of every sucking babe:
+    That Henry born at Monmouth should win all,
+    And Henry born at Windsor should lose all.
+    Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
+    His days may finish ere that hapless time.              Exit
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 2.
+
+                      France. Before Rouen
+
+       Enter LA PUCELLE disguis'd, with four soldiers dressed
+            like countrymen, with sacks upon their backs
+
+  PUCELLE. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
+    Through which our policy must make a breach.
+    Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
+    Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men
+    That come to gather money for their corn.
+    If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
+    And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
+    I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
+    That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
+    And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
+    Therefore we'll knock.                              [Knocks]
+  WATCH.  [Within]  Qui est la?
+  PUCELLE. Paysans, pauvres gens de France
+    Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn.  
+  WATCH. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung.
+  PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the
+    ground.
+
+                               [LA PUCELLE, &c., enter the town]
+
+        Enter CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces
+
+  CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!
+    And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.
+  BASTARD. Here ent'red Pucelle and her practisants;
+    Now she is there, how will she specify
+    Here is the best and safest passage in?
+  ALENCON. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
+    Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is
+    No way to that, for weakness, which she ent'red.
+
+             Enter LA PUCELLE, on the top, thrusting out
+                         a torch burning
+  
+  PUCELLE. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
+    That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
+    But burning fatal to the Talbotites.                    Exit
+  BASTARD. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;
+    The burning torch in yonder turret stands.
+  CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
+    A prophet to the fall of all our foes!
+  ALENCON. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;
+    Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,
+    And then do execution on the watch. Alarum.           Exeunt
+
+              An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion
+
+  TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
+    If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
+  PUCELLE, that witch, that damned sorceress,
+    Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
+    That hardly we escap'd the pride of France.             Exit
+
+        An alarum; excursions. BEDFORD brought in sick in  
+          a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without;
+         within, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON,
+                 and REIGNIER, on the walls
+
+  PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread?
+    I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast
+    Before he'll buy again at such a rate.
+    'Twas full of darnel-do you like the taste?
+  BURGUNDY. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan.
+    I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own,
+    And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.
+  CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.
+  BEDFORD. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!
+  PUCELLE. What you do, good grey beard? Break a
+    lance,
+    And run a tilt at death within a chair?
+  TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite,
+    Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours,
+    Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
+    And twit with cowardice a man half dead?  
+    Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
+    Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
+  PUCELLE. Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
+    If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
+                 [The English party whisper together in council]
+    God speed the parliament! Who shall be the Speaker?
+  TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?
+  PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
+    To try if that our own be ours or no.
+  TALBOT. I speak not to that railing Hecate,
+    But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest.
+    Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?
+  ALENCON. Signior, no.
+  TALBOT. Signior, hang! Base muleteers of France!
+    Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,
+    And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.
+  PUCELLE. Away, captains! Let's get us from the walls;
+    For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
+    God b'uy, my lord; we came but to tell you
+    That we are here.                      Exeunt from the walls  
+  TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long,
+    Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!
+    Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
+    Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,
+    Either to get the town again or die;
+    And I, as sure as English Henry lives
+    And as his father here was conqueror,
+    As sure as in this late betrayed town
+    Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried
+    So sure I swear to get the town or die.
+  BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.
+  TALBOT. But ere we go, regard this dying prince,
+    The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,
+    We will bestow you in some better place,
+    Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.
+  BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me;
+    Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen,
+    And will be partner of your weal or woe.
+  BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.
+  BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read  
+    That stout Pendragon in his litter sick
+    Came to the field, and vanquished his foes.
+    Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
+    Because I ever found them as myself.
+  TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!
+    Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe!
+    And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
+    But gather we our forces out of hand
+    And set upon our boasting enemy.
+          Exeunt against the town all but BEDFORD and attendants
+
+           An alarum; excursions. Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE,
+                           and a CAPTAIN
+
+  CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?
+  FASTOLFE. Whither away? To save myself by flight:
+    We are like to have the overthrow again.
+  CAPTAIN. What! Will you and leave Lord Talbot?
+  FASTOLFE. Ay,
+    All the Talbots in the world, to save my life.          Exit  
+  CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!
+                                              Exit into the town
+
+         Retreat; excursions. LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,
+                      and CHARLES fly
+
+  BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
+    For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
+    What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
+    They that of late were daring with their scoffs
+    Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
+            [BEDFORD dies and is carried in by two in his chair]
+
+          An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest
+
+  TALBOT. Lost and recovered in a day again!
+    This is a double honour, Burgundy.
+    Yet heavens have glory for this victory!
+  BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
+    Enshrines thee in his heart, and there erects  
+    Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.
+  TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now?
+    I think her old familiar is asleep.
+    Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
+    What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief
+    That such a valiant company are fled.
+    Now will we take some order in the town,
+    Placing therein some expert officers;
+    And then depart to Paris to the King,
+    For there young Henry with his nobles lie.
+  BURGUNDY. What Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.
+  TALBOT. But yet, before we go, let's not forget
+    The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd,
+    But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen.
+    A braver soldier never couched lance,
+    A gentler heart did never sway in court;
+    But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
+    For that's the end of human misery.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 3.
+
+                      The plains near Rouen
+
+        Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALENCON, LA PUCELLE,
+                          and forces
+
+  PUCELLE. Dismay not, Princes, at this accident,
+    Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered.
+    Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
+    For things that are not to be remedied.
+    Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
+    And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
+    We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
+    If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd.
+  CHARLES. We have guided by thee hitherto,
+    And of thy cunning had no diffidence;
+    One sudden foil shall never breed distrust
+  BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies,
+    And we will make thee famous through the world.
+    ALENCON. We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
+    And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint.  
+    Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good.
+  PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
+    By fair persuasions, mix'd with sug'red words,
+    We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
+    To leave the Talbot and to follow us.
+  CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
+    France were no place for Henry's warriors;
+    Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
+    But be extirped from our provinces.
+  ALENCON. For ever should they be expuls'd from France,
+    And not have tide of an earldom here.
+  PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work
+    To bring this matter to the wished end.
+                                          [Drum sounds afar off]
+    Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive
+    Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
+
+          Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over
+                at a distance, TALBOT and his forces
+  
+    There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
+    And all the troops of English after him.
+
+            French march. Enter the DUKE OF BURGUNDY and
+                         his forces
+
+    Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his.
+    Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
+    Summon a parley; we will talk with him.
+                                       [Trumpets sound a parley]
+  CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!
+  BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
+  PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
+  BURGUNDY. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching
+    hence.
+  CHARLES. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.
+  PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
+    Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
+  BURGUNDY. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.
+  PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,  
+    And see the cities and the towns defac'd
+    By wasting ruin of the cruel foe;
+    As looks the mother on her lowly babe
+    When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
+    See, see the pining malady of France;
+    Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
+    Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast.
+    O, turn thy edged sword another way;
+    Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
+    One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom
+    Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore.
+    Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
+    And wash away thy country's stained spots.
+  BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
+    Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
+  PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
+    Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
+    Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation
+    That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
+    When Talbot hath set footing once in France,  
+    And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
+    Who then but English Henry will be lord,
+    And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
+    Call we to mind-and mark but this for proof:
+    Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
+    And was he not in England prisoner?
+    But when they heard he was thine enemy
+    They set him free without his ransom paid,
+    In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
+    See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
+    And join'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.
+    Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord;
+    Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.
+  BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
+    Have batt'red me like roaring cannon-shot
+    And made me almost yield upon my knees.
+    Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen
+    And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.
+    My forces and my power of men are yours;
+    So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.  
+  PUCELLE. Done like a Frenchman-  [Aside]  turn and turn
+    again.
+  CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us
+    fresh.
+  BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
+  ALENCON. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
+    And doth deserve a coronet of gold.
+  CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
+    And seek how we may prejudice the foe.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                          SCENE 4.
+
+                     Paris. The palace
+
+         Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK,
+             SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER,
+           VERNON, BASSET, and others. To them, with
+                     his soldiers, TALBOT
+
+  TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers,
+    Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
+    I have awhile given truce unto my wars
+    To do my duty to my sovereign;
+    In sign whereof, this arm that hath reclaim'd
+    To your obedience fifty fortresses,
+    Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
+    Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,
+    Lets fall his sword before your Highness' feet,
+    And with submissive loyalty of heart
+    Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
+    First to my God and next unto your Grace.           [Kneels]
+  KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,  
+    That hath so long been resident in France?
+  GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege.
+  KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!
+    When I was young, as yet I am not old,
+    I do remember how my father said
+    A stouter champion never handled sword.
+    Long since we were resolved of your truth,
+    Your faithful service, and your toil in war;
+    Yet never have you tasted our reward,
+    Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,
+    Because till now we never saw your face.
+    Therefore stand up; and for these good deserts
+    We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;
+    And in our coronation take your place.
+              Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET
+  VERNON. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,
+    Disgracing of these colours that I wear
+    In honour of my noble Lord of York
+    Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?
+  BASSET. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage  
+    The envious barking of your saucy tongue
+    Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.
+  VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.
+  BASSET. Why, what is he? As good a man as York!
+  VERNON. Hark ye: not so. In witness, take ye that.
+                                                   [Strikes him]
+  BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such
+    That whoso draws a sword 'tis present death,
+    Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
+    But I'll unto his Majesty and crave
+    I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
+    When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.
+  VERNON. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
+    And, after, meet you sooner than you would.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1.
+
+Park. The palace
+
+Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,
+TALBOT, EXETER, the GOVERNOR OF PARIS, and others
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Lord Bishop, set the crown upon his head.
+  WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth!
+  GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath
+                                               [GOVERNOR kneels]
+    That you elect no other king but him,
+    Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,
+    And none your foes but such as shall pretend
+    Malicious practices against his state.
+    This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!
+                                   Exeunt GOVERNOR and his train
+
+                    Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE
+
+  FASTOLFE. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,  
+    To haste unto your coronation,
+    A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
+    Writ to your Grace from th' Duke of Burgundy.
+  TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!
+    I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next
+    To tear the Garter from thy craven's leg,  [Plucking it off]
+    Which I have done, because unworthily
+    Thou wast installed in that high degree.
+    Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
+    This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
+    When but in all I was six thousand strong,
+    And that the French were almost ten to one,
+    Before we met or that a stroke was given,
+    Like to a trusty squire did run away;
+    In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
+    Myself and divers gentlemen beside
+    Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners.
+    Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss,
+    Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
+    This ornament of knighthood-yea or no.  
+  GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous
+    And ill beseeming any common man,
+    Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.
+  TALBOT. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
+    Knights of the Garter were of noble birth,
+    Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
+    Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
+    Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress,
+    But always resolute in most extremes.
+    He then that is not furnish'd in this sort
+    Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
+    Profaning this most honourable order,
+    And should, if I were worthy to be judge,
+    Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
+    That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.
+  KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy
+    doom.
+    Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight;
+    Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death.
+                                                   Exit FASTOLFE  
+    And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter
+    Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.
+  GLOUCESTER.  [Viewing the superscription]  What means his
+    Grace, that he hath chang'd his style?
+    No more but plain and bluntly 'To the King!'
+    Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?
+    Or doth this churlish superscription
+    Pretend some alteration in good-will?
+    What's here?  [Reads]  'I have, upon especial cause,
+    Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,
+    Together with the pitiful complaints
+    Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
+    Forsaken your pernicious faction,
+    And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'
+    O monstrous treachery! Can this be so
+    That in alliance, amity, and oaths,
+    There should be found such false dissembling guile?
+  KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?
+  GLOUCESTER. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.
+  KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain?  
+  GLOUCESTER. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.
+  KING HENRY. Why then Lord Talbot there shall talk with
+    him
+    And give him chastisement for this abuse.
+    How say you, my lord, are you not content?
+  TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes; but that I am prevented,
+    I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.
+  KING HENRY. Then gather strength and march unto him
+    straight;
+    Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason.
+    And what offence it is to flout his friends.
+  TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still
+    You may behold confusion of your foes.                  Exit
+
+                       Enter VERNON and BASSET
+
+  VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.
+  BASSET. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.
+  YORK. This is my servant: hear him, noble Prince.
+  SOMERSET. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.  
+  KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak.
+    Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim,
+    And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom?
+  VERNON. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.
+  BASSET. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.
+  KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both
+    complain? First let me know, and then I'll answer you.
+  BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France,
+    This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
+    Upbraided me about the rose I wear,
+    Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves
+    Did represent my master's blushing cheeks
+    When stubbornly he did repugn the truth
+    About a certain question in the law
+    Argu'd betwixt the Duke of York and him;
+    With other vile and ignominious terms
+    In confutation of which rude reproach
+    And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
+    I crave the benefit of law of arms.
+  VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord;  
+    For though he seem with forged quaint conceit
+    To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
+    Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him,
+    And he first took exceptions at this badge,
+    Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower
+    Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.
+  YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?
+  SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,
+    Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.
+  KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick
+    men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause
+    Such factious emulations shall arise!
+    Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
+    Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
+  YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight,
+    And then your Highness shall command a peace.
+  SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
+    Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
+  YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.
+  VERNON. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.  
+  BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.
+  GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife;
+    And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
+    Presumptuous vassals, are you not asham'd
+    With this immodest clamorous outrage
+    To trouble and disturb the King and us?
+    And you, my lords- methinks you do not well
+    To bear with their perverse objections,
+    Much less to take occasion from their mouths
+    To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves.
+    Let me persuade you take a better course.
+  EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my lords, be friends.
+  KING HENRY. Come hither, you that would be combatants:
+    Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,
+    Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.
+    And you, my lords, remember where we are:
+    In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation;
+    If they perceive dissension in our looks
+    And that within ourselves we disagree,
+    How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd  
+    To wilful disobedience, and rebel!
+    Beside, what infamy will there arise
+    When foreign princes shall be certified
+    That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
+    King Henry's peers and chief nobility
+    Destroy'd themselves and lost the realm of France!
+    O, think upon the conquest of my father,
+    My tender years; and let us not forgo
+    That for a trifle that was bought with blood!
+    Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
+    I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
+                                         [Putting on a red rose]
+    That any one should therefore be suspicious
+    I more incline to Somerset than York:
+    Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both.
+    As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
+    Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown'd.
+    But your discretions better can persuade
+    Than I am able to instruct or teach;
+    And, therefore, as we hither came in peace,  
+    So let us still continue peace and love.
+    Cousin of York, we institute your Grace
+    To be our Regent in these parts of France.
+    And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
+    Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
+    And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
+    Go cheerfully together and digest
+    Your angry choler on your enemies.
+    Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest,
+    After some respite will return to Calais;
+    From thence to England, where I hope ere long
+    To be presented by your victories
+    With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout.
+                         Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK,
+                                                  EXETER, VERNON
+  WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you, the King
+    Prettily, methought, did play the orator.
+  YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not,
+    In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
+  WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not;  
+    I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
+  YORK. An if I wist he did-but let it rest;
+    Other affairs must now be managed.
+                                           Exeunt all but EXETER
+  EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;
+    For had the passions of thy heart burst out,
+    I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
+    More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
+    Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.
+    But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
+    This jarring discord of nobility,
+    This shouldering of each other in the court,
+    This factious bandying of their favourites,
+    But that it doth presage some ill event.
+    'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;
+    But more when envy breeds unkind division:
+    There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.           Exit
+
+
+
+
+                               SCENE 2.
+
+                        France. Before Bordeaux
+
+                   Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum
+
+  TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter;
+    Summon their general unto the wall.
+
+             Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, aloft, the
+                 GENERAL OF THE FRENCH, and others
+
+    English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth,
+    Servant in arms to Harry King of England;
+    And thus he would open your city gates,
+    Be humble to us, call my sovereignvours
+    And do him homage as obedient subjects,
+    And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power;
+    But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
+    You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
+    Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
+    Who in a moment even with the earth  
+    Shall lay your stately and air braving towers,
+    If you forsake the offer of their love.
+  GENERAL OF THE FRENCH. Thou ominous and fearful owl of
+    death,
+    Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!
+    The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
+    On us thou canst not enter but by death;
+    For, I protest, we are well fortified,
+    And strong enough to issue out and fight.
+    If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
+    Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee.
+    On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd
+    To wall thee from the liberty of flight,
+    And no way canst thou turn thee for redress
+    But death doth front thee with apparent spoil
+    And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
+    Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament
+    To rive their dangerous artillery
+    Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
+    Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,  
+    Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!
+    This is the latest glory of thy praise
+    That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
+    For ere the glass that now begins to run
+    Finish the process of his sandy hour,
+    These eyes that see thee now well coloured
+    Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead.
+                                                 [Drum afar off]
+    Hark! hark! The Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
+    Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
+    And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.             Exit
+  TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy.
+    Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
+    O, negligent and heedless discipline!
+    How are we park'd and bounded in a pale
+    A little herd of England's timorous deer,
+    Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
+    If we be English deer, be then in blood;
+    Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch,
+    But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,  
+    Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
+    And make the cowards stand aloof at bay.
+    Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
+    And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
+    God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,
+    Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                          SCENE 3.
+
+                      Plains in Gascony
+
+        Enter YORK, with trumpet and many soldiers. A
+                   MESSENGER meets him
+
+  YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again
+    That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?
+  MESSENGER. They are return'd, my lord, and give it out
+    That he is march'd to Bordeaux with his power
+    To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along,
+    By your espials were discovered
+    Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
+    Which join'd with him and made their march for
+    Bordeaux.
+  YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset
+    That thus delays my promised supply
+    Of horsemen that were levied for this siege!
+    Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
+    And I am louted by a traitor villain
+    And cannot help the noble chevalier.  
+    God comfort him in this necessity!
+    If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.
+
+                      Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY
+
+  LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength,
+    Never so needful on the earth of France,
+    Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
+    Who now is girdled with a waist of iron
+    And hemm'd about with grim destruction.
+    To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! to Bordeaux, York!
+    Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.
+  YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
+    Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
+    So should we save a valiant gentleman
+    By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
+    Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep
+    That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep.
+  LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord!
+  YORK. He dies; we lose; I break my warlike word.  
+    We mourn: France smiles. We lose: they daily get-
+    All long of this vile traitor Somerset.
+  LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul,
+    And on his son, young John, who two hours since
+    I met in travel toward his warlike father.
+    This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
+    And now they meet where both their lives are done.
+  YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
+    To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
+    Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
+    That sund'red friends greet in the hour of death.
+    Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can
+    But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
+    Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away
+    Long all of Somerset and his delay.         Exit with forces
+  LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
+    Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
+    Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
+    The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,
+    That ever-living man of memory,  
+    Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross,
+    Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss.          Exit
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 4.
+
+                     Other plains of Gascony
+
+        Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of
+                     TALBOT'S with him
+
+  SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now.
+    This expedition was by York and Talbot
+    Too rashly plotted; all our general force
+    Might with a sally of the very town
+    Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot
+    Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour
+    By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure.
+    York set him on to fight and die in shame.
+    That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.
+  OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me
+    Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.
+
+                       Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY
+
+  SOMERSET. How now, Sir William! Whither were you sent?  
+  LUCY. Whither, my lord! From bought and sold Lord
+    Talbot,
+    Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
+    Cries out for noble York and Somerset
+    To beat assailing death from his weak legions;
+    And whiles the honourable captain there
+    Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs
+    And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,
+    You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
+    Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
+    Let not your private discord keep away
+    The levied succours that should lend him aid,
+    While he, renowned noble gentleman,
+    Yield up his life unto a world of odds.
+    Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
+    Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,
+    And Talbot perisheth by your default.
+  SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid.
+  LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims,
+    Swearing that you withhold his levied host,  
+    Collected for this expedition.
+  SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse.
+    I owe him little duty and less love,
+    And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
+  LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France,
+    Hath now entrapp'd the noble minded Talbot.
+    Never to England shall he bear his life,
+    But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife.
+  SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight;
+    Within six hours they will be at his aid.
+  LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en or slain,
+    For fly he could not if he would have fled;
+    And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
+  SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu!
+  LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.       Exeunt
+
+
+                               SCENE 5.
+
+                   The English camp near Bordeaux
+
+                    Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son
+
+  TALBOT. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee
+    To tutor thee in stratagems of war,
+    That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd
+    When sapless age and weak unable limbs
+    Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
+    But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!
+    Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
+    A terrible and unavoided danger;
+    Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse,
+    And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
+    By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone.
+  JOHN. Is my name Talbot, and am I your son?
+    And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
+    Dishonour not her honourable name,
+    To make a bastard and a slave of me!
+    The world will say he is not Talbot's blood  
+    That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.
+  TALBOT. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain.
+  JOHN. He that flies so will ne'er return again.
+  TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
+  JOHN. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly.
+    Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
+    My worth unknown, no loss is known in me;
+    Upon my death the French can little boast;
+    In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
+    Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
+    But mine it will, that no exploit have done;
+    You fled for vantage, every one will swear;
+    But if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.
+    There is no hope that ever I will stay
+    If the first hour I shrink and run away.
+    Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
+    Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.
+  TALBOT. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?
+  JOHN. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.
+  TALBOT. Upon my blessing I command thee go.  
+  JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
+  TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.
+  JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me.
+  TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.
+  JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?
+  TALBOT. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.
+  JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain.
+    If death be so apparent, then both fly.
+  TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die?
+    My age was never tainted with such shame.
+  JOHN. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
+    No more can I be severed from your side
+    Than can yourself yourself yourself in twain divide.
+    Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
+    For live I will not if my father die.
+  TALBOT. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
+    Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
+    Come, side by side together live and die;
+    And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                             SCENE 6.
+
+                         A field of battle
+
+         Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd
+                  about, and TALBOT rescues him
+
+  TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight.
+    The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word
+    And left us to the rage of France his sword.
+    Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath;
+    I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death.
+  JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!
+    The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done
+    Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
+    To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.
+  TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck
+    fire,
+    It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
+    Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
+    Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,
+    Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,  
+    And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
+    The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood
+    From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
+    Of thy first fight, I soon encountered
+    And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed
+    Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace
+    Bespoke him thus: 'Contaminated, base,
+    And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
+    Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine
+    Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.'
+    Here purposing the Bastard to destroy,
+    Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;
+    Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare?
+    Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
+    Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
+    Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:
+    The help of one stands me in little stead.
+    O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
+    To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
+    If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,  
+    To-morrow I shall die with mickle age.
+    By me they nothing gain an if I stay:
+    'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day.
+    In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
+    My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.
+    All these and more we hazard by thy stay;
+    All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away.
+  JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;
+    These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.
+    On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
+    To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,
+    Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
+    The coward horse that bears me fall and die!
+    And like me to the peasant boys of France,
+    To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!
+    Surely, by all the glory you have won,
+    An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son;
+    Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
+    If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.
+  TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp'rate sire of Crete,  
+    Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet.
+    If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
+    And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                               SCENE 7.
+
+                      Another part of the field
+
+       Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT
+
+  TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.
+    O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John?
+    Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
+    Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.
+    When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee,
+    His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
+    And like a hungry lion did commence
+    Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;
+    But when my angry guardant stood alone,
+    Tend'ring my ruin and assail'd of none,
+    Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart
+    Suddenly made him from my side to start
+    Into the clust'ring battle of the French;
+    And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
+    His overmounting spirit; and there died,
+    My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.  
+
+         Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT
+
+  SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
+  TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
+    Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
+    Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
+    Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,
+    In thy despite shall scape mortality.
+    O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death,
+    Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
+    Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no;
+    Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.
+    Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,
+    Had Death been French, then Death had died to-day.
+    Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms.
+    My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
+    Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
+    Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.        [Dies]
+  
+            Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD,
+                     LA PUCELLE, and forces
+
+  CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
+    We should have found a bloody day of this.
+  BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood,
+    Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!
+  PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said:
+    'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.'
+    But with a proud majestical high scorn
+    He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born
+    To be the pillage of a giglot wench.'
+    So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
+    He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
+  BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.
+    See where he lies inhearsed in the arms
+    Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!
+  BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,
+    Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.
+  CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled  
+    During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
+
+            Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH
+                         HERALD preceding
+
+  LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
+    To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.
+  CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent?
+  LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! 'Tis a mere French word:
+    We English warriors wot not what it means.
+    I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en,
+    And to survey the bodies of the dead.
+  CHARLES. For prisoners ask'st thou? Hell our prison is.
+    But tell me whom thou seek'st.
+  LUCY. But where's the great Alcides of the field,
+    Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
+    Created for his rare success in arms
+    Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,
+    Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
+    Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,  
+    Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,
+    The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge,
+    Knight of the noble order of Saint George,
+    Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece,
+    Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth
+    Of all his wars within the realm of France?
+  PUCELLE. Here's a silly-stately style indeed!
+    The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
+    Writes not so tedious a style as this.
+    Him that thou magnifi'st with all these tides,
+    Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.
+  LUCY. Is Talbot slain-the Frenchmen's only scourge,
+    Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
+    O, were mine eye-bans into bullets turn'd,
+    That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
+    O that I could but can these dead to life!
+    It were enough to fright the realm of France.
+    Were but his picture left amongst you here,
+    It would amaze the proudest of you all.
+    Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence  
+    And give them burial as beseems their worth.
+  PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
+    He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
+    For God's sake, let him have them; to keep them here,
+    They would but stink, and putrefy the air.
+  CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence.
+  LUCY. I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be
+    rear'd
+    A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
+  CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou
+    wilt.
+    And now to Paris in this conquering vein!
+    All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Sennet. Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER
+
+  KING HENRY. Have you perus'd the letters from the Pope,
+    The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac?
+  GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this:
+    They humbly sue unto your Excellence
+    To have a godly peace concluded of
+    Between the realms of England and of France.
+  KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion?
+  GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means
+    To stop effusion of our Christian blood
+    And stablish quietness on every side.
+  KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought
+    It was both impious and unnatural
+    That such immanity and bloody strife
+    Should reign among professors of one faith.
+  GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect
+    And surer bind this knot of amity,  
+    The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,
+    A man of great authority in France,
+    Proffers his only daughter to your Grace
+    In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.
+  KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young
+    And fitter is my study and my books
+    Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
+    Yet call th' ambassadors, and, as you please,
+    So let them have their answers every one.
+    I shall be well content with any choice
+    Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.
+
+                   Enter in Cardinal's habit
+        BEAUFORT, the PAPAL LEGATE, and two AMBASSADORS
+
+  EXETER. What! Is my Lord of Winchester install'd
+    And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?
+    Then I perceive that will be verified
+    Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy:
+    'If once he come to be a cardinal,  
+    He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'
+  KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits
+    Have been consider'd and debated on.
+    Your purpose is both good and reasonable,
+    And therefore are we certainly resolv'd
+    To draw conditions of a friendly peace,
+    Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean
+    Shall be transported presently to France.
+  GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master,
+    I have inform'd his Highness so at large,
+    As, liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
+    Her beauty, and the value of her dower,
+    He doth intend she shall be England's Queen.
+  KING HENRY.  [To AMBASSADOR]  In argument and proof of
+    which contract,
+    Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.
+    And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded
+    And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd,
+    Commit them to the fortune of the sea.
+  
+                        Exeunt all but WINCHESTER and the LEGATE
+  WINCHESTER. Stay, my Lord Legate; you shall first receive
+    The sum of money which I promised
+    Should be delivered to his Holiness
+    For clothing me in these grave ornaments.
+  LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.
+  WINCHESTER.  [Aside]  Now Winchester will not submit, I
+    trow,
+    Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
+    Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive
+    That neither in birth or for authority
+    The Bishop will be overborne by thee.
+    I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,
+    Or sack this country with a mutiny.                   Exeunt
+
+
+                              SCENE 2.
+
+                       France. Plains in Anjou
+
+              Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD,
+                   REIGNIER, LA PUCELLE, and forces
+
+  CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping
+    spirits:
+    'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt
+    And turn again unto the warlike French.
+  ALENCON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
+    And keep not back your powers in dalliance.
+  PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;
+    Else ruin combat with their palaces!
+
+                            Enter a SCOUT
+
+  SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general,
+    And happiness to his accomplices!
+  CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee speak.
+  SCOUT. The English army, that divided was  
+    Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one,
+    And means to give you battle presently.
+  CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;
+    But we will presently provide for them.
+  BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there.
+    Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.
+  PUCELLE. Of all base passions fear is most accurs'd.
+    Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,
+    Let Henry fret and all the world repine.
+  CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                            SCENE 3.
+
+                         Before Angiers
+
+              Alarum, excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE
+
+  PUCELLE. The Regent conquers and the Frenchmen fly.
+    Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;
+    And ye choice spirits that admonish me
+    And give me signs of future accidents;             [Thunder]
+    You speedy helpers that are substitutes
+    Under the lordly monarch of the north,
+    Appear and aid me in this enterprise!
+
+                          Enter FIENDS
+
+    This speedy and quick appearance argues proof
+    Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
+    Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull'd
+    Out of the powerful regions under earth,
+    Help me this once, that France may get the field.
+                                       [They walk and speak not]  
+    O, hold me not with silence over-long!
+    Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
+    I'll lop a member off and give it you
+    In earnest of a further benefit,
+    So you do condescend to help me now.
+                                         [They hang their heads]
+    No hope to have redress? My body shall
+    Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.
+                                        [They shake their heads]
+    Cannot my body nor blood sacrifice
+    Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
+    Then take my soul-my body, soul, and all,
+    Before that England give the French the foil.
+                                                   [They depart]
+    See! they forsake me. Now the time is come
+    That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest
+    And let her head fall into England's lap.
+    My ancient incantations are too weak,
+    And hell too strong for me to buckle with.
+    Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.            Exit  
+
+          Excursions. Enter French and English, fighting.
+         LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand; LA PUCELLE
+                    is taken. The French fly
+
+  YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast.
+    Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,
+    And try if they can gain your liberty.
+    A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
+    See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows
+    As if, with Circe, she would change my shape!
+  PUCELLE. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.
+  YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man:
+    No shape but his can please your dainty eye.
+  PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief fight on Charles and thee!
+    And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd
+    By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!
+  YORK. Fell banning hag; enchantress, hold thy tongue.
+  PUCELLE. I prithee give me leave to curse awhile.
+  YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.  
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+          Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK, with MARGARET in his hand
+
+  SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.
+                                                  [Gazes on her]
+    O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!
+    For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;
+    I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,
+    And lay them gently on thy tender side.
+    Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee.
+  MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,
+    The King of Naples-whosoe'er thou art.
+  SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
+    Be not offended, nature's miracle,
+    Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me.
+    So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
+    Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.
+    Yet, if this servile usage once offend,
+    Go and be free again as Suffolk's friend.     [She is going]  
+    O, stay!  [Aside]  I have no power to let her pass;
+    My hand would free her, but my heart says no.
+    As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
+    Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
+    So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
+    Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak.
+    I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.
+    Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;
+    Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner?
+    Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
+    Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such
+    Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.
+  MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so,
+    What ransom must I pay before I pass?
+    For I perceive I am thy prisoner.
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  How canst thou tell she will deny thy
+    suit,
+    Before thou make a trial of her love?
+  MARGARET. Why speak'st thou not? What ransom must I
+    pay?  
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;
+    She is a woman, therefore to be won.
+  MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom-yea or no?
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  Fond man, remember that thou hast a
+    wife;
+    Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?
+  MARGARET. I were best leave him, for he will not hear.
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling
+    card.
+  MARGARET. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  And yet a dispensation may be had.
+  MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me.
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?
+    Why, for my King! Tush, that's a wooden thing!
+  MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter.
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,
+    And peace established between these realms.
+    But there remains a scruple in that too;
+    For though her father be the King of Naples,
+    Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,  
+    And our nobility will scorn the match.
+  MARGARET. Hear ye, Captain-are you not at leisure?
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside]  It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much.
+    Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.
+    Madam, I have a secret to reveal.
+  MARGARET.  [Aside]  What though I be enthrall'd? He seems
+    a knight,
+    And will not any way dishonour me.
+  SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.
+  MARGARET.  [Aside]  Perhaps I shall be rescu'd by the French;
+    And then I need not crave his courtesy.
+  SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause
+  MARGARET.  [Aside]  Tush! women have been captivate ere
+    now.
+  SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so?
+  MARGARET. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo.
+  SUFFOLK. Say, gentle Princess, would you not suppose
+    Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?
+  MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile
+    Than is a slave in base servility;  
+    For princes should be free.
+  SUFFOLK. And so shall you,
+    If happy England's royal king be free.
+  MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?
+  SUFFOLK. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen,
+    To put a golden sceptre in thy hand
+    And set a precious crown upon thy head,
+    If thou wilt condescend to be my-
+  MARGARET. What?
+  SUFFOLK. His love.
+  MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.
+  SUFFOLK. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
+    To woo so fair a dame to be his wife
+    And have no portion in the choice myself.
+    How say you, madam? Are ye so content?
+  MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content.
+  SUFFOLK. Then call our captains and our colours forth!
+    And, madam, at your father's castle walls
+    We'll crave a parley to confer with him.
+  
+           Sound a parley. Enter REIGNIER on the walls
+
+    See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!
+  REIGNIER. To whom?
+  SUFFOLK. To me.
+  REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy?
+    I am a soldier and unapt to weep
+    Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.
+  SUFFOLK. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord.
+    Consent, and for thy honour give consent,
+    Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king,
+    Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
+    And this her easy-held imprisonment
+    Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.
+  REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?
+  SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows
+    That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.
+  REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant I descend
+    To give thee answer of thy just demand.
+                                    Exit REIGNIER from the walls  
+  SUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming.
+
+                Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER below
+
+  REIGNIER. Welcome, brave Earl, into our territories;
+    Command in Anjou what your Honour pleases.
+  SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,
+    Fit to be made companion with a king.
+    What answer makes your Grace unto my suit?
+  REIGNIER. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth
+    To be the princely bride of such a lord,
+    Upon condition I may quietly
+    Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,
+    Free from oppression or the stroke of war,
+    My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.
+  SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her.
+    And those two counties I will undertake
+    Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy.
+  REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry's royal name,
+    As deputy unto that gracious king,  
+    Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith.
+  SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,
+    Because this is in traffic of a king.
+    [Aside]  And yet, methinks, I could be well content
+    To be mine own attorney in this case.
+    I'll over then to England with this news,
+    And make this marriage to be solemniz'd.
+    So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe
+    In golden palaces, as it becomes.
+  REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace
+    The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.
+  MARGARET. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and
+    prayers,
+    Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.          [She is going]
+  SUFFOLK. Farewell, sweet madam. But hark you, Margaret
+    No princely commendations to my king?
+  MARGARET. Such commendations as becomes a maid,
+    A virgin, and his servant, say to him.
+  SUFFOLK. Words sweetly plac'd and modestly directed.
+    But, madam, I must trouble you again  
+    No loving token to his Majesty?
+  MARGARET. Yes, my good lord: a pure unspotted heart,
+    Never yet taint with love, I send the King.
+  SUFFOLK. And this withal.                         [Kisses her]
+  MARGARET. That for thyself, I will not so presume
+    To send such peevish tokens to a king.
+                                    Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET
+  SUFFOLK. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;
+    Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth:
+    There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.
+    Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise.
+    Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,
+    And natural graces that extinguish art;
+    Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
+    That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet,
+    Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+                               SCENE 4.
+
+                  Camp of the DUKE OF YORK in Anjou
+
+                   Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others
+  YORK. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn.
+
+              Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a SHEPHERD
+
+  SHEPHERD. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!
+    Have I sought every country far and near,
+    And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
+    Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?
+    Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!
+  PUCELLE. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
+    I am descended of a gentler blood;
+    Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.
+  SHEPHERD. Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;
+    I did beget her, all the parish knows.
+    Her mother liveth yet, can testify
+    She was the first fruit of my bach'lorship.
+  WARWICK. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage?  
+  YORK. This argues what her kind of life hath been-
+    Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.
+  SHEPHERD. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!
+    God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;
+    And for thy sake have I shed many a tear.
+    Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.
+  PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man
+    Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.
+  SHEPHERD. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest
+    The morn that I was wedded to her mother.
+    Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
+    Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
+    Of thy nativity. I would the milk
+    Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast
+    Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake.
+    Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs afield,
+    I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee.
+    Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?
+    O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good.             Exit
+  YORK. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long,  
+    To fill the world with vicious qualities.
+  PUCELLE. First let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:
+    Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
+    But issued from the progeny of kings;
+    Virtuous and holy, chosen from above
+    By inspiration of celestial grace,
+    To work exceeding miracles on earth.
+    I never had to do with wicked spirits.
+    But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
+    Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
+    Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,
+    Because you want the grace that others have,
+    You judge it straight a thing impossible
+    To compass wonders but by help of devils.
+    No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been
+    A virgin from her tender infancy,
+    Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
+    Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd,
+    Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.
+  YORK. Ay, ay. Away with her to execution!  
+  WARWICK. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
+    Spare for no fagots, let there be enow.
+    Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
+    That so her torture may be shortened.
+  PUCELLE. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?
+    Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity
+    That warranteth by law to be thy privilege:
+    I am with child, ye bloody homicides;
+    Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
+    Although ye hale me to a violent death.
+  YORK. Now heaven forfend! The holy maid with child!
+  WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:
+    Is all your strict preciseness come to this?
+  YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling.
+    I did imagine what would be her refuge.
+  WARWICK. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;
+    Especially since Charles must father it.
+  PUCELLE. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his:
+    It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.
+  YORK. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel!  
+    It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.
+  PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you.
+    'Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I nam'd,
+    But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail'd.
+  WARWICK. A married man! That's most intolerable.
+  YORK. Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well
+    There were so many-whom she may accuse.
+  WARWICK. It's sign she hath been liberal and free.
+  YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.
+    Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee.
+    Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.
+  PUCELLE. Then lead me hence-with whom I leave my
+    curse:
+    May never glorious sun reflex his beams
+    Upon the country where you make abode;
+    But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
+    Environ you, till mischief and despair
+    Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!
+                                                   Exit, guarded
+  YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,  
+    Thou foul accursed minister of hell!
+
+               Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended
+
+  CARDINAL. Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence
+    With letters of commission from the King.
+    For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
+    Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils,
+    Have earnestly implor'd a general peace
+    Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
+    And here at hand the Dauphin and his train
+    Approacheth, to confer about some matter.
+  YORK. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?
+    After the slaughter of so many peers,
+    So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers,
+    That in this quarrel have been overthrown
+    And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,
+    Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
+    Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
+    By treason, falsehood, and by treachery,  
+    Our great progenitors had conquered?
+    O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
+    The utter loss of all the realm of France.
+  WARWICK. Be patient, York. If we conclude a peace,
+    It shall be with such strict and severe covenants
+    As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.
+
+        Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD, REIGNIER, and others
+
+  CHARLES. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed
+    That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
+    We come to be informed by yourselves
+    What the conditions of that league must be.
+  YORK. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
+    The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,
+    By sight of these our baleful enemies.
+  CARDINAL. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
+    That, in regard King Henry gives consent,
+    Of mere compassion and of lenity,
+    To ease your country of distressful war,  
+    An suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,
+    You shall become true liegemen to his crown;
+    And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
+    To pay him tribute and submit thyself,
+    Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him,
+    And still enjoy thy regal dignity.
+  ALENCON. Must he be then as shadow of himself?
+    Adorn his temples with a coronet
+    And yet, in substance and authority,
+    Retain but privilege of a private man?
+    This proffer is absurd and reasonless.
+  CHARLES. 'Tis known already that I am possess'd
+    With more than half the Gallian territories,
+    And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king.
+    Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,
+    Detract so much from that prerogative
+    As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?
+    No, Lord Ambassador; I'll rather keep
+    That which I have than, coveting for more,
+    Be cast from possibility of all.  
+  YORK. Insulting Charles! Hast thou by secret means
+    Us'd intercession to obtain a league,
+    And now the matter grows to compromise
+    Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison?
+    Either accept the title thou usurp'st,
+    Of benefit proceeding from our king
+    And not of any challenge of desert,
+    Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.
+  REIGNIER.  [To CHARLES]  My lord, you do not well in
+    obstinacy
+    To cavil in the course of this contract.
+    If once it be neglected, ten to one
+    We shall not find like opportunity.
+  ALENCON.  [To CHARLES]  To say the truth, it is your policy
+    To save your subjects from such massacre
+    And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen
+    By our proceeding in hostility;
+    And therefore take this compact of a truce,
+    Although you break it when your pleasure serves.
+  WARWICK. How say'st thou, Charles? Shall our condition  
+    stand?
+  CHARLES. It shall;
+    Only reserv'd, you claim no interest
+    In any of our towns of garrison.
+  YORK. Then swear allegiance to his Majesty:
+    As thou art knight, never to disobey
+    Nor be rebellious to the crown of England
+    Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.
+                    [CHARLES and the rest give tokens of fealty]
+    So, now dismiss your army when ye please;
+    Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still,
+    For here we entertain a solemn peace.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+                              SCENE 5.
+
+                         London. The palace
+
+            Enter SUFFOLK, in conference with the KING,
+                     GLOUCESTER and EXETER
+
+  KING HENRY. Your wondrous rare description, noble Earl,
+    Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me.
+    Her virtues, graced with external gifts,
+    Do breed love's settled passions in my heart;
+    And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts
+    Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,
+    So am I driven by breath of her renown
+    Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive
+    Where I may have fruition of her love.
+  SUFFOLK. Tush, my good lord! This superficial tale
+    Is but a preface of her worthy praise.
+    The chief perfections of that lovely dame,
+    Had I sufficient skill to utter them,
+    Would make a volume of enticing lines,
+    Able to ravish any dull conceit;  
+    And, which is more, she is not so divine,
+    So full-replete with choice of all delights,
+    But with as humble lowliness of mind
+    She is content to be at your command
+    Command, I mean, of virtuous intents,
+    To love and honour Henry as her lord.
+  KING HENRY. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.
+    Therefore, my Lord Protector, give consent
+    That Margaret may be England's royal Queen.
+  GLOUCESTER. So should I give consent to flatter sin.
+    You know, my lord, your Highness is betroth'd
+    Unto another lady of esteem.
+    How shall we then dispense with that contract,
+    And not deface your honour with reproach?
+  SUFFOLK. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;
+    Or one that at a triumph, having vow'd
+    To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
+    By reason of his adversary's odds:
+    A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,
+    And therefore may be broke without offence.  
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than
+    that?
+    Her father is no better than an earl,
+    Although in glorious titles he excel.
+  SUFFOLK. Yes, my lord, her father is a king,
+    The King of Naples and Jerusalem;
+    And of such great authority in France
+    As his alliance will confirm our peace,
+    And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.
+  GLOUCESTER. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do,
+    Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.
+  EXETER. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower;
+    Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.
+  SUFFOLK. A dow'r, my lords! Disgrace not so your king,
+    That he should be so abject, base, and poor,
+    To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.
+    Henry is able to enrich his queen,
+    And not to seek a queen to make him rich.
+    So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
+    As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.  
+    Marriage is a matter of more worth
+    Than to be dealt in by attorneyship;
+    Not whom we will, but whom his Grace affects,
+    Must be companion of his nuptial bed.
+    And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
+    It most of all these reasons bindeth us
+    In our opinions she should be preferr'd;
+    For what is wedlock forced but a hell,
+    An age of discord and continual strife?
+    Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,
+    And is a pattern of celestial peace.
+    Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,
+    But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
+    Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,
+    Approves her fit for none but for a king;
+    Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,
+    More than in women commonly is seen,
+    Will answer our hope in issue of a king;
+    For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
+    Is likely to beget more conquerors,  
+    If with a lady of so high resolve
+    As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love.
+    Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me
+    That Margaret shall be Queen, and none but she.
+  KING HENRY. Whether it be through force of your report,
+    My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that
+    My tender youth was never yet attaint
+    With any passion of inflaming love,
+    I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd,
+    I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,
+    Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,
+    As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
+    Take therefore shipping; post, my lord, to France;
+    Agree to any covenants; and procure
+    That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
+    To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd
+    King Henry's faithful and anointed queen.
+    For your expenses and sufficient charge,
+    Among the people gather up a tenth.
+    Be gone, I say; for till you do return  
+    I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.
+    And you, good uncle, banish all offence:
+    If you do censure me by what you were,
+    Not what you are, I know it will excuse
+    This sudden execution of my will.
+    And so conduct me where, from company,
+    I may revolve and ruminate my grief.                    Exit
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.
+                                    Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER
+  SUFFOLK. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes,
+    As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,
+    With hope to find the like event in love
+    But prosper better than the Troyan did.
+    Margaret shall now be Queen, and rule the King;
+    But I will rule both her, the King, and realm.          Exit
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1591
+
+THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  KING HENRY THE SIXTH
+  HUMPHREY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his uncle
+  CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, great-uncle to the King
+  RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK
+  EDWARD and RICHARD, his sons
+  DUKE OF SOMERSET
+  DUKE OF SUFFOLK
+  DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
+  LORD CLIFFORD
+  YOUNG CLIFFORD, his son
+  EARL OF SALISBURY
+  EARL OF WARWICK
+  LORD SCALES
+  LORD SAY
+  SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD
+  WILLIAM STAFFORD, his brother
+  SIR JOHN STANLEY
+  VAUX
+  MATTHEW GOFFE
+  A LIEUTENANT, a SHIPMASTER, a MASTER'S MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE  
+  TWO GENTLEMEN, prisoners with Suffolk
+  JOHN HUME and JOHN SOUTHWELL, two priests
+  ROGER BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer
+  A SPIRIT raised by him
+  THOMAS HORNER, an armourer
+  PETER, his man
+  CLERK OF CHATHAM
+  MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS
+  SAUNDER SIMPCOX, an impostor
+  ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish gentleman
+  JACK CADE, a rebel
+  GEORGE BEVIS, JOHN HOLLAND, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH THE WEAVER,
+    MICHAEL, &c., followers of Cade
+  TWO MURDERERS
+
+  MARGARET, Queen to King Henry
+  ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester
+  MARGERY JOURDAIN, a witch
+  WIFE to SIMPCOX
+  
+  Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Herald,
+    a Beadle, a Sheriff, Officers, Citizens, Prentices, Falconers,
+    Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+England
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+London. The palace
+
+Flourish of trumpets; then hautboys. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY
+OF GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL BEAUFORT, on the one side;
+the QUEEN, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other
+
+  SUFFOLK. As by your high imperial Majesty
+    I had in charge at my depart for France,
+    As procurator to your Excellence,
+    To marry Princess Margaret for your Grace;
+    So, in the famous ancient city Tours,
+    In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
+    The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne, and Alencon,
+    Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops,
+    I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd;
+    And humbly now upon my bended knee,
+    In sight of England and her lordly peers,
+    Deliver up my title in the Queen
+    To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
+    Of that great shadow I did represent:  
+    The happiest gift that ever marquis gave,
+    The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd.
+  KING HENRY. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:
+    I can express no kinder sign of love
+    Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,
+    Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
+    For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
+    A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
+    If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
+  QUEEN. Great King of England, and my gracious lord,
+    The mutual conference that my mind hath had,
+    By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,
+    In courtly company or at my beads,
+    With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,
+    Makes me the bolder to salute my king
+    With ruder terms, such as my wit affords
+    And over-joy of heart doth minister.
+  KING HENRY. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech,
+    Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
+    Makes me from wond'ring fall to weeping joys,  
+    Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
+    Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.
+  ALL. [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness!
+  QUEEN. We thank you all.                            [Flourish]
+  SUFFOLK. My Lord Protector, so it please your Grace,
+    Here are the articles of contracted peace
+    Between our sovereign and the French King Charles,
+    For eighteen months concluded by consent.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Reads] 'Imprimis: It is agreed between the French King
+    Charles and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador
+    for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the
+    Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia,
+    and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth
+    of May next ensuing.
+      Item: That the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be
+    released and delivered to the King her father'-
+                                           [Lets the paper fall]
+  KING HENRY. Uncle, how now!
+  GLOUCESTER. Pardon me, gracious lord;
+    Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart,  
+    And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.
+  KING HENRY. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on.
+  CARDINAL. [Reads] 'Item: It is further agreed between them that the
+    duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over
+    to the King her father, and she sent over of the King of
+    England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'
+  KING HENRY. They please us well. Lord Marquess, kneel down.
+    We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk,
+    And girt thee with the sword. Cousin of York,
+    We here discharge your Grace from being Regent
+    I' th' parts of France, till term of eighteen months
+    Be full expir'd. Thanks, uncle Winchester,
+    Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,
+    Salisbury, and Warwick;
+    We thank you all for this great favour done
+    In entertainment to my princely queen.
+    Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
+    To see her coronation be perform'd.
+                                 Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and SUFFOLK
+  GLOUCESTER. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,  
+    To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief
+    Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
+    What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
+    His valour, coin, and people, in the wars?
+    Did he so often lodge in open field,
+    In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
+    To conquer France, his true inheritance?
+    And did my brother Bedford toil his wits
+    To keep by policy what Henry got?
+    Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
+    Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
+    Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy?
+    Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
+    With all the learned Council of the realm,
+    Studied so long, sat in the Council House
+    Early and late, debating to and fro
+    How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe?
+    And had his Highness in his infancy
+    Crowned in Paris, in despite of foes?
+    And shall these labours and these honours die?  
+    Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
+    Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die?
+    O peers of England, shameful is this league!
+    Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
+    Blotting your names from books of memory,
+    Razing the characters of your renown,
+    Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
+    Undoing all, as all had never been!
+  CARDINAL. Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,
+    This peroration with such circumstance?
+    For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can;
+    But now it is impossible we should.
+    Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
+    Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine
+    Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
+    Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.
+  SALISBURY. Now, by the death of Him that died for all,
+    These counties were the keys of Normandy!
+    But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?  
+  WARWICK. For grief that they are past recovery;
+    For were there hope to conquer them again
+    My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
+    Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
+    Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer;
+    And are the cities that I got with wounds
+    Deliver'd up again with peaceful words?
+    Mort Dieu!
+  YORK. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,
+    That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
+    France should have torn and rent my very heart
+    Before I would have yielded to this league.
+    I never read but England's kings have had
+    Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives;
+    And our King Henry gives away his own
+    To match with her that brings no vantages.
+  GLOUCESTER. A proper jest, and never heard before,
+    That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth
+    For costs and charges in transporting her!
+    She should have stay'd in France, and starv'd in France,  
+    Before-
+  CARDINAL. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:
+    It was the pleasure of my lord the King.
+  GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
+    'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
+    But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.
+    Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face
+    I see thy fury; if I longer stay
+    We shall begin our ancient bickerings.
+    Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
+    I prophesied France will be lost ere long.              Exit
+  CARDINAL. So, there goes our Protector in a rage.
+    'Tis known to you he is mine enemy;
+    Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,
+    And no great friend, I fear me, to the King.
+    Consider, lords, he is the next of blood
+    And heir apparent to the English crown.
+    Had Henry got an empire by his marriage
+    And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,
+    There's reason he should be displeas'd at it.  
+    Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words
+    Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.
+    What though the common people favour him,
+    Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,'
+    Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice
+    'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!'
+    With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!'
+    I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
+    He will be found a dangerous Protector.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Why should he then protect our sovereign,
+    He being of age to govern of himself?
+    Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,
+    And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,
+    We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.
+  CARDINAL. This weighty business will not brook delay;
+    I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.                  Exit
+  SOMERSET. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride
+    And greatness of his place be grief to us,
+    Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal;
+    His insolence is more intolerable  
+    Than all the princes in the land beside;
+    If Gloucester be displac'd, he'll be Protector.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be Protector,
+    Despite Duke Humphrey or the Cardinal.
+                                  Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET
+  SALISBURY. Pride went before, ambition follows him.
+    While these do labour for their own preferment,
+    Behoves it us to labour for the realm.
+    I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester
+    Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
+    Oft have I seen the haughty Cardinal-
+    More like a soldier than a man o' th' church,
+    As stout and proud as he were lord of all-
+    Swear like a ruffian and demean himself
+    Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.
+    Warwick my son, the comfort of my age,
+    Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping,
+    Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
+    Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey.
+    And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,  
+    In bringing them to civil discipline,
+    Thy late exploits done in the heart of France
+    When thou wert Regent for our sovereign,
+    Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people:
+    Join we together for the public good,
+    In what we can, to bridle and suppress
+    The pride of Suffolk and the Cardinal,
+    With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;
+    And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds
+    While they do tend the profit of the land.
+  WARWICK. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land
+    And common profit of his country!
+  YORK. And so says York- [Aside] for he hath greatest cause.
+  SALISBURY. Then let's make haste away and look unto the main.
+  WARWICK. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost-
+    That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,
+    And would have kept so long as breath did last.
+    Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,
+    Which I will win from France, or else be slain.
+                                    Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY  
+  YORK. Anjou and Maine are given to the French;
+    Paris is lost; the state of Normandy
+    Stands on a tickle point now they are gone.
+    Suffolk concluded on the articles;
+    The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd
+    To changes two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
+    I cannot blame them all: what is't to them?
+    'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
+    Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,
+    And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,
+    Still revelling like lords till all be gone;
+    While as the silly owner of the goods
+    Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands
+    And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,
+    While all is shar'd and all is borne away,
+    Ready to starve and dare not touch his own.
+    So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,
+    While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.
+    Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland,
+    Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood  
+    As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt
+    Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.
+    Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!
+    Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
+    Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
+    A day will come when York shall claim his own;
+    And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts,
+    And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,
+    And when I spy advantage, claim the crown,
+    For that's the golden mark I seek to hit.
+    Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
+    Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,
+    Nor wear the diadem upon his head,
+    Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.
+    Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve;
+    Watch thou and wake, when others be asleep,
+    To pry into the secrets of the state;
+    Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love
+    With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,
+    And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars;  
+    Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
+    With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd,
+    And in my standard bear the arms of York,
+    To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
+    And force perforce I'll make him yield the crown,
+    Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down.       Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S house
+
+Enter DUKE and his wife ELEANOR
+
+  DUCHESS. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn
+    Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
+    Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,
+    As frowning at the favours of the world?
+    Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth,
+    Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
+    What see'st thou there? King Henry's diadem,
+    Enchas'd with all the honours of the world?
+    If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face
+    Until thy head be circled with the same.
+    Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
+    What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine;
+    And having both together heav'd it up,
+    We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,
+    And never more abase our sight so low
+    As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.
+  GLOUCESTER. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,  
+    Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts!
+    And may that thought, when I imagine ill
+    Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
+    Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
+    My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.
+  DUCHESS. What dream'd my lord? Tell me, and I'll requite it
+    With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.
+  GLOUCESTER. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,
+    Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,
+    But, as I think, it was by th' Cardinal;
+    And on the pieces of the broken wand
+    Were plac'd the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset
+    And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk.
+    This was my dream; what it doth bode God knows.
+  DUCHESS. Tut, this was nothing but an argument
+    That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove
+    Shall lose his head for his presumption.
+    But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet Duke:
+    Methought I sat in seat of majesty
+    In the cathedral church of Westminster,  
+    And in that chair where kings and queens were crown'd;
+    Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneel'd to me,
+    And on my head did set the diadem.
+  GLOUCESTER. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright.
+    Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor!
+    Art thou not second woman in the realm,
+    And the Protector's wife, belov'd of him?
+    Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command
+    Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
+    And wilt thou still be hammering treachery
+    To tumble down thy husband and thyself
+    From top of honour to disgrace's feet?
+    Away from me, and let me hear no more!
+  DUCHESS. What, what, my lord! Are you so choleric
+    With Eleanor for telling but her dream?
+    Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself
+    And not be check'd.
+  GLOUCESTER. Nay, be not angry; I am pleas'd again.
+
+                       Enter a MESSENGER  
+
+  MESSENGER. My Lord Protector, 'tis his Highness' pleasure
+    You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans,
+    Where as the King and Queen do mean to hawk.
+  GLOUCESTER. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?
+  DUCHESS. Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently.
+                                 Exeunt GLOUCESTER and MESSENGER
+    Follow I must; I cannot go before,
+    While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.
+    Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
+    I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks
+    And smooth my way upon their headless necks;
+    And, being a woman, I will not be slack
+    To play my part in Fortune's pageant.
+    Where are you there, Sir John? Nay, fear not, man,
+    We are alone; here's none but thee and I.
+
+                           Enter HUME
+
+  HUME. Jesus preserve your royal Majesty!  
+  DUCHESS. What say'st thou? Majesty! I am but Grace.
+  HUME. But, by the grace of God and Hume's advice,
+    Your Grace's title shall be multiplied.
+  DUCHESS. What say'st thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferr'd
+    With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch of Eie,
+    With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?
+    And will they undertake to do me good?
+  HUME. This they have promised, to show your Highness
+    A spirit rais'd from depth of underground
+    That shall make answer to such questions
+    As by your Grace shall be propounded him
+  DUCHESS. It is enough; I'll think upon the questions;
+    When from Saint Albans we do make return
+    We'll see these things effected to the full.
+    Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,
+    With thy confederates in this weighty cause.            Exit
+  HUME. Hume must make merry with the Duchess' gold;
+    Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume!
+    Seal up your lips and give no words but mum:
+    The business asketh silent secrecy.  
+    Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:
+    Gold cannot come amiss were she a devil.
+    Yet have I gold flies from another coast-
+    I dare not say from the rich Cardinal,
+    And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk;
+    Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain,
+    They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
+    Have hired me to undermine the Duchess,
+    And buzz these conjurations in her brain.
+    They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker';
+    Yet am I Suffolk and the Cardinal's broker.
+    Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
+    To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
+    Well, so its stands; and thus, I fear, at last
+    Hume's knavery will be the Duchess' wreck,
+    And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall
+    Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.            Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+London. The palace
+
+Enter three or four PETITIONERS, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one
+
+  FIRST PETITIONER. My masters, let's stand close; my Lord Protector
+    will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our
+    supplications in the quill.
+  SECOND PETITIONER. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good
+    man, Jesu bless him!
+
+                       Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN
+
+  FIRST PETITIONER. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the Queen with him.
+    I'll be the first, sure.
+  SECOND PETITIONER. Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk and
+    not my Lord Protector.
+  SUFFOLK. How now, fellow! Wouldst anything with me?
+  FIRST PETITIONER. I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my Lord
+    Protector.
+  QUEEN. [Reads] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to  
+    his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine?
+  FIRST PETITIONER. Mine is, an't please your Grace, against John
+    Goodman, my Lord Cardinal's man, for keeping my house and lands,
+    and wife and all, from me.
+  SUFFOLK. Thy wife too! That's some wrong indeed. What's yours?
+    What's here! [Reads] 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing
+    the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave!
+  SECOND PETITIONER. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our
+    whole township.
+  PETER. [Presenting his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner,
+    for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown.
+  QUEEN. What say'st thou? Did the Duke of York say he was rightful
+    heir to the crown?
+  PETER. That my master was? No, forsooth. My master said that he
+    was, and that the King was an usurper.
+  SUFFOLK. Who is there? [Enter servant] Take this fellow in, and
+    send for his master with a pursuivant presently. We'll hear more
+    of your matter before the King.
+                                         Exit servant with PETER
+  QUEEN. And as for you, that love to be protected  
+    Under the wings of our Protector's grace,
+    Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.
+                                       [Tears the supplications]
+    Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.
+  ALL. Come, let's be gone.                               Exeunt
+  QUEEN. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
+    Is this the fashions in the court of England?
+    Is this the government of Britain's isle,
+    And this the royalty of Albion's king?
+    What, shall King Henry be a pupil still,
+    Under the surly Gloucester's governance?
+    Am I a queen in title and in style,
+    And must be made a subject to a duke?
+    I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours
+    Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love
+    And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France,
+    I thought King Henry had resembled thee
+    In courage, courtship, and proportion;
+    But all his mind is bent to holiness,
+    To number Ave-Maries on his beads;  
+    His champions are the prophets and apostles;
+    His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ;
+    His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
+    Are brazen images of canonized saints.
+    I would the college of the Cardinals
+    Would choose him Pope, and carry him to Rome,
+    And set the triple crown upon his head;
+    That were a state fit for his holiness.
+  SUFFOLK. Madam, be patient. As I was cause
+    Your Highness came to England, so will I
+    In England work your Grace's full content.
+  QUEEN. Beside the haughty Protector, have we Beaufort
+    The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,
+    And grumbling York; and not the least of these
+    But can do more in England than the King.
+  SUFFOLK. And he of these that can do most of all
+    Cannot do more in England than the Nevils;
+    Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.
+  QUEEN. Not all these lords do vex me half so much
+    As that proud dame, the Lord Protector's wife.  
+    She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
+    More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife.
+    Strangers in court do take her for the Queen.
+    She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
+    And in her heart she scorns our poverty;
+    Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her?
+    Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,
+    She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day
+    The very train of her worst wearing gown
+    Was better worth than all my father's lands,
+    Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.
+  SUFFOLK. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her,
+    And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds
+    That she will light to listen to the lays,
+    And never mount to trouble you again.
+    So, let her rest. And, madam, list to me,
+    For I am bold to counsel you in this:
+    Although we fancy not the Cardinal,
+    Yet must we join with him and with the lords,
+    Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.  
+    As for the Duke of York, this late complaint
+    Will make but little for his benefit.
+    So one by one we'll weed them all at last,
+    And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.
+
+          Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY,
+     CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY,
+              WARWICK, and the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER
+
+  KING HENRY. For my part, noble lords, I care not which:
+    Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.
+  YORK. If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
+    Then let him be denay'd the regentship.
+  SOMERSET. If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
+    Let York be Regent; I will yield to him.
+  WARWICK. Whether your Grace be worthy, yea or no,
+    Dispute not that; York is the worthier.
+  CARDINAL. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.
+  WARWICK. The Cardinal's not my better in the field.
+  BUCKINGHAM. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.  
+  WARWICK. Warwick may live to be the best of all.
+  SALISBURY. Peace, son! And show some reason, Buckingham,
+    Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this.
+  QUEEN. Because the King, forsooth, will have it so.
+  GLOUCESTER. Madam, the King is old enough himself
+    To give his censure. These are no women's matters.
+  QUEEN. If he be old enough, what needs your Grace
+    To be Protector of his Excellence?
+  GLOUCESTER. Madam, I am Protector of the realm;
+    And at his pleasure will resign my place.
+  SUFFOLK. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence.
+    Since thou wert king- as who is king but thou?-
+    The commonwealth hath daily run to wrack,
+    The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas,
+    And all the peers and nobles of the realm
+    Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.
+  CARDINAL. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags
+    Are lank and lean with thy extortions.
+  SOMERSET. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire
+    Have cost a mass of public treasury.  
+  BUCKINGHAM. Thy cruelty in execution
+    Upon offenders hath exceeded law,
+    And left thee to the mercy of the law.
+  QUEEN. Thy sale of offices and towns in France,
+    If they were known, as the suspect is great,
+    Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.
+                  Exit GLOUCESTER. The QUEEN drops QUEEN her fan
+    Give me my fan. What, minion, can ye not?
+                        [She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear]
+    I cry your mercy, madam; was it you?
+  DUCHESS. Was't I? Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman.
+    Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
+    I could set my ten commandments in your face.
+  KING HENRY. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.
+  DUCHESS. Against her will, good King? Look to 't in time;
+    She'll hamper thee and dandle thee like a baby.
+    Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
+    She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unreveng'd.           Exit
+  BUCKINGHAM. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
+    And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds.  
+    She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,
+    She'll gallop far enough to her destruction.            Exit
+
+                      Re-enter GLOUCESTER
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Now, lords, my choler being overblown
+    With walking once about the quadrangle,
+    I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
+    As for your spiteful false objections,
+    Prove them, and I lie open to the law;
+    But God in mercy so deal with my soul
+    As I in duty love my king and country!
+    But to the matter that we have in hand:
+    I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
+    To be your Regent in the realm of France.
+  SUFFOLK. Before we make election, give me leave
+    To show some reason, of no little force,
+    That York is most unmeet of any man.
+  YORK. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:
+    First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;  
+    Next, if I be appointed for the place,
+    My Lord of Somerset will keep me here
+    Without discharge, money, or furniture,
+    Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands.
+    Last time I danc'd attendance on his will
+    Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost.
+  WARWICK. That can I witness; and a fouler fact
+    Did never traitor in the land commit.
+  SUFFOLK. Peace, headstrong Warwick!
+  WARWICK. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?
+
+        Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded
+
+  SUFFOLK. Because here is a man accus'd of treason:
+    Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!
+  YORK. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?
+  KING HENRY. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? Tell me, what are these?
+  SUFFOLK. Please it your Majesty, this is the man
+    That doth accuse his master of high treason;
+    His words were these: that Richard Duke of York  
+    Was rightful heir unto the English crown,
+    And that your Majesty was an usurper.
+  KING HENRY. Say, man, were these thy words?
+  HORNER. An't shall please your Majesty, I never said nor thought
+    any such matter. God is my witness, I am falsely accus'd by the
+    villain.
+  PETER. [Holding up his hands] By these ten bones, my lords, he did
+    speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my
+    Lord of York's armour.
+  YORK. Base dunghill villain and mechanical,
+    I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.
+    I do beseech your royal Majesty,
+    Let him have all the rigour of the law.
+  HORNER`. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My
+    accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault
+    the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with
+    me. I have good witness of this; therefore I beseech your
+    Majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's
+    accusation.
+  KING HENRY. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?  
+  GLOUCESTER. This doom, my lord, if I may judge:
+    Let Somerset be Regent o'er the French,
+    Because in York this breeds suspicion;
+    And let these have a day appointed them
+    For single combat in convenient place,
+    For he hath witness of his servant's malice.
+    This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom.
+  SOMERSET. I humbly thank your royal Majesty.
+  HORNER. And I accept the combat willingly.
+  PETER. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case!
+    The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon
+    me, I shall never be able to fight a blow! O Lord, my heart!
+  GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd.
+  KING HENRY. Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall
+    be the last of the next month.
+    Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.   Flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+London. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S garden
+
+Enter MARGERY JOURDAIN, the witch; the two priests, HUME and SOUTHWELL;
+and BOLINGBROKE
+
+  HUME. Come, my masters; the Duchess, I tell you, expects
+    performance of your promises.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Master Hume, we are therefore provided; will her
+    ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?
+  HUME. Ay, what else? Fear you not her courage.
+  BOLINGBROKE. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an
+    invincible spirit; but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that
+    you be by her aloft while we be busy below; and so I pray you go,
+    in God's name, and leave us. [Exit HUME] Mother Jourdain, be you
+    prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and
+    let us to our work.
+
+                 Enter DUCHESS aloft, followed by HUME
+
+  DUCHESS. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear, the
+    sooner the better.  
+  BOLINGBROKE. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
+    Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
+    The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
+    The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,
+    And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves-
+    That time best fits the work we have in hand.
+    Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise
+    We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.
+
+     [Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle;
+          BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads: 'Conjuro te,' &c.
+     It thunders and lightens terribly; then the SPIRIT riseth]
+
+  SPIRIT. Adsum.
+  MARGERY JOURDAIN. Asmath,
+    By the eternal God, whose name and power
+    Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;
+    For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence.
+  SPIRIT. Ask what thou wilt; that I had said and done.
+  BOLINGBROKE. [Reads] 'First of the king: what shall of him become?'  
+  SPIRIT. The Duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;
+    But him outlive, and die a violent death.
+             [As the SPIRIT speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer]
+  BOLINGBROKE. 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?'
+  SPIRIT. By water shall he die and take his end.
+  BOLINGBROKE. 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?'
+  SPIRIT. Let him shun castles:
+    Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
+    Than where castles mounted stand.
+    Have done, for more I hardly can endure.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Descend to darkness and the burning lake;
+    False fiend, avoid!       Thunder and lightning. Exit SPIRIT
+
+               Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUKE OF
+                 BUCKINGHAM with guard, and break in
+
+  YORK. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.
+    Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
+    What, madam, are you there? The King and commonweal
+    Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains;  
+    My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not,
+    See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.
+  DUCHESS. Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
+    Injurious Duke, that threatest where's no cause.
+  BUCKINGHAM. True, madam, none at all. What can you this?
+    Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close,
+    And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.
+    Stafford, take her to thee.
+    We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.
+    All, away!
+                Exeunt, above, DUCHESS and HUME, guarded; below,
+                       WITCH, SOUTHWELL and BOLINGBROKE, guarded
+  YORK. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch'd her well.
+    A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
+    Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
+    What have we here?                                   [Reads]
+    'The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;
+    But him outlive, and die a violent death.'
+    Why, this is just
+    'Aio te, Aeacida, Romanos vincere posse.'  
+    Well, to the rest:
+    'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?'
+    'By water shall he die and take his end.'
+    'What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?'
+    'Let him shun castles;
+    Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
+    Than where castles mounted stand.'
+    Come, come, my lords;
+    These oracles are hardly attain'd,
+    And hardly understood.
+    The King is now in progress towards Saint Albans,
+    With him the husband of this lovely lady;
+    Thither go these news as fast as horse can carry them-
+    A sorry breakfast for my Lord Protector.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,
+    To be the post, in hope of his reward.
+  YORK. At your pleasure, my good lord.
+    Who's within there, ho?
+
+                       Enter a serving-man  
+
+    Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
+    To sup with me to-morrow night. Away!                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Saint Albans
+
+Enter the KING, QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK,
+with Falconers halloing
+
+  QUEEN. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,
+    I saw not better sport these seven years' day;
+    Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high,
+    And ten to one old Joan had not gone out.
+  KING HENRY. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
+    And what a pitch she flew above the rest!
+    To see how God in all His creatures works!
+    Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
+  SUFFOLK. No marvel, an it like your Majesty,
+    My Lord Protector's hawks do tow'r so well;
+    They know their master loves to be aloft,
+    And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
+  GLOUCESTER. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
+    That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
+  CARDINAL. I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, my lord Cardinal, how think you by that?  
+    Were it not good your Grace could fly to heaven?
+  KING HENRY. The treasury of everlasting joy!
+  CARDINAL. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts
+    Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;
+    Pernicious Protector, dangerous peer,
+    That smooth'st it so with King and commonweal.
+  GLOUCESTER. What, Cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?
+    Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?
+    Churchmen so hot? Good uncle, hide such malice;
+    With such holiness can you do it?
+  SUFFOLK. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
+    So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.
+  GLOUCESTER. As who, my lord?
+  SUFFOLK. Why, as you, my lord,
+    An't like your lordly Lord's Protectorship.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.
+  QUEEN. And thy ambition, Gloucester.
+  KING HENRY. I prithee, peace,
+    Good Queen, and whet not on these furious peers;
+    For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.  
+  CARDINAL. Let me be blessed for the peace I make
+    Against this proud Protector with my sword!
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere
+    come to that!
+  CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou dar'st.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the
+      matter;
+    In thine own person answer thy abuse.
+  CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou dar'st not peep; an
+      if thou dar'st,
+    This evening on the east side of the grove.
+  KING HENRY. How now, my lords!
+  CARDINAL. Believe me, cousin Gloucester,
+    Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
+    We had had more sport. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Come with thy
+      two-hand sword.
+  GLOUCESTER. True, uncle.
+  CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advis'd? The east side of
+    the grove?
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you.  
+  KING HENRY. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!
+  GLOUCESTER. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.
+    [Aside to CARDINAL] Now, by God's Mother, priest,
+    I'll shave your crown for this,
+    Or all my fence shall fail.
+  CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum;
+    Protector, see to't well; protect yourself.
+  KING HENRY. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.
+    How irksome is this music to my heart!
+    When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
+    I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.
+
+         Enter a TOWNSMAN of Saint Albans, crying 'A miracle!'
+
+  GLOUCESTER. What means this noise?
+    Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?
+  TOWNSMAN. A miracle! A miracle!
+  SUFFOLK. Come to the King, and tell him what miracle.
+  TOWNSMAN. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albans shrine
+    Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight;  
+    A man that ne'er saw in his life before.
+  KING HENRY. Now God be prais'd that to believing souls
+    Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!
+
+           Enter the MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS and his brethren,
+               bearing Simpcox between two in a chair;
+                 his WIFE and a multitude following
+
+  CARDINAL. Here comes the townsmen on procession
+    To present your Highness with the man.
+  KING HENRY. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
+    Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.
+  GLOUCESTER. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the King;
+    His Highness' pleasure is to talk with him.
+  KING HENRY. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
+    That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
+    What, hast thou been long blind and now restor'd?
+  SIMPCOX. Born blind, an't please your Grace.
+  WIFE. Ay indeed was he.
+  SUFFOLK. What woman is this?  
+  WIFE. His wife, an't like your worship.
+  GLOUCESTER. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better
+    told.
+  KING HENRY. Where wert thou born?
+  SIMPCOX. At Berwick in the north, an't like your Grace.
+  KING HENRY. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee.
+    Let never day nor night unhallowed pass,
+    But still remember what the Lord hath done.
+  QUEEN. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance,
+    Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?
+  SIMPCOX. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
+    A hundred times and oft'ner, in my sleep,
+    By good Saint Alban, who said 'Simpcox, come,
+    Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.'
+  WIFE. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft
+    Myself have heard a voice to call him so.
+  CARDINAL. What, art thou lame?
+  SIMPCOX. Ay, God Almighty help me!
+  SUFFOLK. How cam'st thou so?
+  SIMPCOX. A fall off of a tree.  
+  WIFE. A plum tree, master.
+  GLOUCESTER. How long hast thou been blind?
+  SIMPCOX. O, born so, master!
+  GLOUCESTER. What, and wouldst climb a tree?
+  SIMPCOX. But that in all my life, when I was a youth.
+  WIFE. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.
+  GLOUCESTER. Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst venture so.
+  SIMPCOX. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons
+    And made me climb, With danger of my life.
+  GLOUCESTER. A subtle knave! But yet it shall not serve:
+    Let me see thine eyes; wink now; now open them;
+    In my opinion yet thou seest not well.
+  SIMPCOX. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban.
+  GLOUCESTER. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?
+  SIMPCOX. Red, master; red as blood.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?
+  SIMPCOX. Black, forsooth; coal-black as jet.
+  KING HENRY. Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?
+  SUFFOLK. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.
+  GLOUCESTER. But cloaks and gowns before this day a many.  
+  WIFE. Never before this day in all his life.
+  GLOUCESTER. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?
+  SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I know not.
+  GLOUCESTER. What's his name?
+  SIMPCOX. I know not.
+  GLOUCESTER. Nor his?
+  SIMPCOX. No, indeed, master.
+  GLOUCESTER. What's thine own name?
+  SIMPCOX. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.
+  GLOUCESTER. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lying'st knave in
+    Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well
+    have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we
+    do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly to
+    nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here
+    hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be
+    great that could restore this cripple to his legs again?
+  SIMPCOX. O master, that you could!
+  GLOUCESTER. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in
+    your town, and things call'd whips?
+  MAYOR. Yes, my lord, if it please your Grace.  
+  GLOUCESTER. Then send for one presently.
+  MAYOR. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.
+                                               Exit an attendant
+  GLOUCESTER. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A stool
+    brought] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping,
+    leap me over this stool and run away.
+  SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone!
+    You go about to torture me in vain.
+
+                         Enter a BEADLE with whips
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs.
+    Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.
+  BEADLE. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet
+    quickly.
+  SIMPCOX. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.
+
+           After the BEADLE hath hit him once, he leaps over
+           the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry
+                             'A miracle!'  
+
+  KING HENRY. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?
+  QUEEN. It made me laugh to see the villain run.
+  GLOUCESTER. Follow the knave, and take this drab away.
+  WIFE. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need!
+  GLOUCESTER. Let them be whipp'd through every market town till they
+    come to Berwick, from whence they came.
+                                 Exeunt MAYOR, BEADLE, WIFE, &c.
+  CARDINAL. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.
+  SUFFOLK. True; made the lame to leap and fly away.
+  GLOUCESTER. But you have done more miracles than I:
+    You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.
+
+                         Enter BUCKINGHAM
+
+  KING HENRY. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold:
+    A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,
+    Under the countenance and confederacy
+    Of Lady Eleanor, the Protector's wife,  
+    The ringleader and head of all this rout,
+    Have practis'd dangerously against your state,
+    Dealing with witches and with conjurers,
+    Whom we have apprehended in the fact,
+    Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,
+    Demanding of King Henry's life and death
+    And other of your Highness' Privy Council,
+    As more at large your Grace shall understand.
+  CARDINAL. And so, my Lord Protector, by this means
+    Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.
+    This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;
+    'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart.
+    Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;
+    And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to the
+    Or to the meanest groom.
+  KING HENRY. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,
+    Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!
+  QUEEN. Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest;
+    And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.  
+  GLOUCESTER. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal
+    How I have lov'd my King and commonweal;
+    And for my wife I know not how it stands.
+    Sorry I am to hear what I have heard.
+    Noble she is; but if she have forgot
+    Honour and virtue, and convers'd with such
+    As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
+    I banish her my bed and company
+    And give her as a prey to law and shame,
+    That hath dishonoured Gloucester's honest name.
+  KING HENRY. Well, for this night we will repose us here.
+    To-morrow toward London back again
+    To look into this business thoroughly
+    And call these foul offenders to their answers,
+    And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,
+    Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
+                                                Flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+London. The DUKE OF YORK'S garden
+
+Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK
+
+  YORK. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
+    Our simple supper ended, give me leave
+    In this close walk to satisfy myself
+    In craving your opinion of my tide,
+    Which is infallible, to England's crown.
+  SALISBURY. My lord, I long to hear it at full.
+  WARWICK. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good,
+    The Nevils are thy subjects to command.
+  YORK. Then thus:
+    Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons;
+    The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;
+    The second, William of Hatfield; and the third,
+    Lionel Duke of Clarence; next to whom
+    Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;
+    The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;
+    The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;
+    William of Windsor was the seventh and last.  
+    Edward the Black Prince died before his father
+    And left behind him Richard, his only son,
+    Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king
+    Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,
+    The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
+    Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
+    Seiz'd on the realm, depos'd the rightful king,
+    Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came.
+    And him to Pomfret, where, as all you know,
+    Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously.
+  WARWICK. Father, the Duke hath told the truth;
+    Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.
+  YORK. Which now they hold by force, and not by right;
+    For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead,
+    The issue of the next son should have reign'd.
+  SALISBURY. But William of Hatfield died without an heir.
+  YORK. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line
+    I claim the crown, had issue Philippe, a daughter,
+    Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March;
+    Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;  
+    Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.
+  SALISBURY. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
+    As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
+    And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
+    Who kept him in captivity till he died.
+    But, to the rest.
+  YORK. His eldest sister, Anne,
+    My mother, being heir unto the crown,
+    Married Richard Earl of Cambridge, who was
+    To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son, son.
+    By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir
+    To Roger Earl of March, who was the son
+    Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,
+    Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence;
+    So, if the issue of the elder son
+    Succeed before the younger, I am King.
+  WARWICK. What plain proceedings is more plain than this?
+    Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
+    The fourth son: York claims it from the third.
+    Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign.  
+    It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee
+    And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.
+    Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together,
+    And in this private plot be we the first
+    That shall salute our rightful sovereign
+    With honour of his birthright to the crown.
+  BOTH. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's King!
+  YORK. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king
+    Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be stain'd
+    With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
+    And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,
+    But with advice and silent secrecy.
+    Do you as I do in these dangerous days:
+    Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,
+    At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
+    At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,
+    Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock,
+    That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey;
+    'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that,
+    Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.  
+  SALISBURY. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.
+  WARWICK. My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick
+    Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.
+  YORK. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself,
+    Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick
+    The greatest man in England but the King.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+London. A hall of justice
+
+Sound trumpets. Enter the KING and State: the QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, YORK,
+SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY, with guard, to banish the DUCHESS. Enter, guarded,
+the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE
+
+  KING HENRY. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife:
+    In sight of God and us, your guilt is great;
+    Receive the sentence of the law for sins
+    Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death.
+    You four, from hence to prison back again;
+    From thence unto the place of execution:
+    The witch in Smithfield shall be burnt to ashes,
+    And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
+    You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
+    Despoiled of your honour in your life,
+    Shall, after three days' open penance done,
+    Live in your country here in banishment
+    With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man.  
+  DUCHESS. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.
+  GLOUCESTER. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee.
+    I cannot justify whom the law condemns.
+             Exeunt the DUCHESS and the other prisoners, guarded
+    Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
+    Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
+    Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
+    I beseech your Majesty give me leave to go;
+    Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.
+  KING HENRY. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester; ere thou go,
+    Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself
+    Protector be; and God shall be my hope,
+    My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet.
+    And go in peace, Humphrey, no less belov'd
+    Than when thou wert Protector to thy King.
+  QUEEN. I see no reason why a king of years
+    Should be to be protected like a child.
+    God and King Henry govern England's realm!
+    Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm.
+  GLOUCESTER. My staff! Here, noble Henry, is my staff.  
+    As willingly do I the same resign
+    As ere thy father Henry made it mine;
+    And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it
+    As others would ambitiously receive it.
+    Farewell, good King; when I am dead and gone,
+    May honourable peace attend thy throne!                 Exit
+  QUEEN. Why, now is Henry King, and Margaret Queen,
+    And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,
+    That bears so shrewd a maim: two pulls at once-
+    His lady banish'd and a limb lopp'd off.
+    This staff of honour raught, there let it stand
+    Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.
+  SUFFOLK. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;
+    Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.
+  YORK. Lords, let him go. Please it your Majesty,
+    This is the day appointed for the combat;
+    And ready are the appellant and defendant,
+    The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
+    So please your Highness to behold the fight.
+  QUEEN. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore  
+    Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.
+  KING HENRY. A God's name, see the lists and all things fit;
+    Here let them end it, and God defend the right!
+  YORK. I never saw a fellow worse bested,
+    Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
+    The servant of his armourer, my lords.
+
+        Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his
+         NEIGHBOURS, drinking to him so much that he is
+        drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and
+       his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the
+        other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sandbag,
+                  and PRENTICES drinking to him
+
+  FIRST NEIGHBOUR. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of
+    sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.
+  SECOND NEIGHBOUR. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.
+  THIRD NEIGHBOUR. And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour;
+    drink, and fear not your man.
+  HORNER. Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig  
+    for Peter!
+  FIRST PRENTICE. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid.
+  SECOND PRENTICE. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight
+    for credit of the prentices.
+  PETER. I thank you all. Drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I
+    think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an
+    if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my
+    hammer; and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord
+    bless me, I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master,
+    he hath learnt so much fence already.
+  SALISBURY. Come, leave your drinking and fall to blows.
+    Sirrah, what's thy name?
+  PETER. Peter, forsooth.
+  SALISBURY. Peter? What more?
+  PETER. Thump.
+  SALISBURY. Thump? Then see thou thump thy master well.
+  HORNER. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's
+    instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man; and
+    touching the Duke of York, I will take my death I never meant him
+    any ill, nor the King, nor the Queen; and therefore, Peter, have  
+    at thee with a down right blow!
+  YORK. Dispatch- this knave's tongue begins to double.
+    Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!
+                 [Alarum. They fight and PETER strikes him down]
+  HORNER. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.
+                                                          [Dies]
+  YORK. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in
+    thy master's way.
+  PETER. O God, have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O
+    Peter, thou hast prevail'd in right!
+  KING HENRY. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight,
+    For by his death we do perceive his guilt;
+    And God in justice hath reveal'd to us
+    The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
+    Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.
+    Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.
+                                        Sound a flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+London. A street
+
+Enter DUKE HUMPHREY and his men, in mourning cloaks
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud,
+    And after summer evermore succeeds
+    Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold;
+    So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
+    Sirs, what's o'clock?
+  SERVING-MAN. Ten, my lord.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ten is the hour that was appointed me
+    To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess.
+    Uneath may she endure the flinty streets
+    To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
+    Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
+    The abject people gazing on thy face,
+    With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,
+    That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels
+    When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
+    But, soft! I think she comes, and I'll prepare
+    My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.  
+
+          Enter the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER in a white sheet,
+            and a taper burning in her hand, with SIR JOHN
+               STANLEY, the SHERIFF, and OFFICERS
+
+  SERVING-MAN. So please your Grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.
+  GLOUCESTER. No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by.
+  DUCHESS. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
+    Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!
+    See how the giddy multitude do point
+    And nod their heads and throw their eyes on thee;
+    Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
+    And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame
+    And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!
+  GLOUCESTER. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.
+  DUCHESS. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
+    For whilst I think I am thy married wife
+    And thou a prince, Protector of this land,
+    Methinks I should not thus be led along,
+    Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,  
+    And follow'd with a rabble that rejoice
+    To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.
+    The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
+    And when I start, the envious people laugh
+    And bid me be advised how I tread.
+    Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
+    Trowest thou that e'er I'll look upon the world
+    Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?
+    No; dark shall be my light and night my day;
+    To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
+    Sometimes I'll say I am Duke Humphrey's wife,
+    And he a prince, and ruler of the land;
+    Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was,
+    As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
+    Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
+    To every idle rascal follower.
+    But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame,
+    Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death
+    Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will.
+    For Suffolk- he that can do all in all  
+    With her that hateth thee and hates us all-
+    And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
+    Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings,
+    And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee.
+    But fear not thou until thy foot be snar'd,
+    Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ah, Nell, forbear! Thou aimest all awry.
+    I must offend before I be attainted;
+    And had I twenty times so many foes,
+    And each of them had twenty times their power,
+    All these could not procure me any scathe
+    So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
+    Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?
+    Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away,
+    But I in danger for the breach of law.
+    Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell.
+    I pray thee sort thy heart to patience;
+    These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.
+
+                          Enter a HERALD  
+
+  HERALD. I summon your Grace to his Majesty's Parliament,
+    Holden at Bury the first of this next month.
+  GLOUCESTER. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
+    This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.    Exit HERALD
+    My Nell, I take my leave- and, master sheriff,
+    Let not her penance exceed the King's commission.
+  SHERIFF. An't please your Grace, here my commission stays;
+    And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
+    To take her with him to the Isle of Man.
+  GLOUCESTER. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?
+  STANLEY. So am I given in charge, may't please your Grace.
+  GLOUCESTER. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray
+    You use her well; the world may laugh again,
+    And I may live to do you kindness if
+    You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewell.
+  DUCHESS. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!
+  GLOUCESTER. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
+                                  Exeunt GLOUCESTER and servants
+  DUCHESS. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee!  
+    For none abides with me. My joy is death-
+    Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,
+    Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
+    Stanley, I prithee go, and take me hence;
+    I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
+    Only convey me where thou art commanded.
+  STANLEY. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man,
+    There to be us'd according to your state.
+  DUCHESS. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach-
+    And shall I then be us'd reproachfully?
+  STANLEY. Like to a duchess and Duke Humphrey's lady;
+    According to that state you shall be us'd.
+  DUCHESS. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
+    Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.
+  SHERIFF. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.
+  DUCHESS. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg'd.
+    Come, Stanley, shall we go?
+  STANLEY. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
+    And go we to attire you for our journey.
+  DUCHESS. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet.  
+    No, it will hang upon my richest robes
+    And show itself, attire me how I can.
+    Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+The Abbey at Bury St. Edmunds
+
+Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK,
+BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the Parliament
+
+  KING HENRY. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come.
+    'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
+    Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.
+  QUEEN. Can you not see, or will ye not observe
+    The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
+    With what a majesty he bears himself;
+    How insolent of late he is become,
+    How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?
+    We know the time since he was mild and affable,
+    And if we did but glance a far-off look
+    Immediately he was upon his knee,
+    That all the court admir'd him for submission.
+    But meet him now and be it in the morn,
+    When every one will give the time of day,
+    He knits his brow and shows an angry eye
+    And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,  
+    Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
+    Small curs are not regarded when they grin,
+    But great men tremble when the lion roars,
+    And Humphrey is no little man in England.
+    First note that he is near you in descent,
+    And should you fall he is the next will mount;
+    Me seemeth, then, it is no policy-
+    Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,
+    And his advantage following your decease-
+    That he should come about your royal person
+    Or be admitted to your Highness' Council.
+    By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts;
+    And when he please to make commotion,
+    'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.
+    Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
+    Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden
+    And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
+    The reverent care I bear unto my lord
+    Made me collect these dangers in the Duke.
+    If it be fond, can it a woman's fear;  
+    Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
+    I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the Duke.
+    My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
+    Reprove my allegation if you can,
+    Or else conclude my words effectual.
+  SUFFOLK. Well hath your Highness seen into this duke;
+    And had I first been put to speak my mind,
+    I think I should have told your Grace's tale.
+    The Duchess, by his subornation,
+    Upon my life, began her devilish practices;
+    Or if he were not privy to those faults,
+    Yet by reputing of his high descent-
+    As next the King he was successive heir-
+    And such high vaunts of his nobility,
+    Did instigate the bedlam brainsick Duchess
+    By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
+    Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,
+    And in his simple show he harbours treason.
+    The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.
+    No, no, my sovereign, Gloucester is a man  
+    Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.
+  CARDINAL. Did he not, contrary to form of law,
+    Devise strange deaths for small offences done?
+  YORK. And did he not, in his protectorship,
+    Levy great sums of money through the realm
+    For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
+    By means whereof the towns each day revolted.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown
+    Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey.
+  KING HENRY. My lords, at once: the care you have of us,
+    To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
+    Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience?
+    Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent
+    From meaning treason to our royal person
+    As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:
+    The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given
+    To dream on evil or to work my downfall.
+  QUEEN. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance?
+    Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrow'd,
+    For he's disposed as the hateful raven.  
+    Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him,
+    For he's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf.
+    Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?
+    Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
+    Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.
+
+                          Enter SOMERSET
+
+  SOMERSET. All health unto my gracious sovereign!
+  KING HENRY. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?
+  SOMERSET. That all your interest in those territories
+    Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.
+  KING HENRY. Cold news, Lord Somerset; but God's will be done!
+  YORK. [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France
+    As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
+    Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
+    And caterpillars eat my leaves away;
+    But I will remedy this gear ere long,
+    Or sell my title for a glorious grave.
+  
+                         Enter GLOUCESTER
+
+  GLOUCESTER. All happiness unto my lord the King!
+    Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.
+  SUFFOLK. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,
+    Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art.
+    I do arrest thee of high treason here.
+  GLOUCESTER. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush
+    Nor change my countenance for this arrest:
+    A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
+    The purest spring is not so free from mud
+    As I am clear from treason to my sovereign.
+    Who can accuse me? Wherein am I guilty?
+  YORK. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France
+    And, being Protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay;
+    By means whereof his Highness hath lost France.
+  GLOUCESTER. Is it but thought so? What are they that think it?
+    I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay
+    Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
+    So help me God, as I have watch'd the night-  
+    Ay, night by night- in studying good for England!
+    That doit that e'er I wrested from the King,
+    Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
+    Be brought against me at my trial-day!
+    No; many a pound of mine own proper store,
+    Because I would not tax the needy commons,
+    Have I dispursed to the garrisons,
+    And never ask'd for restitution.
+  CARDINAL. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.
+  GLOUCESTER. I say no more than truth, so help me God!
+  YORK. In your protectorship you did devise
+    Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of,
+    That England was defam'd by tyranny.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, 'tis well known that whiles I was Protector
+    Pity was all the fault that was in me;
+    For I should melt at an offender's tears,
+    And lowly words were ransom for their fault.
+    Unless it were a bloody murderer,
+    Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,
+    I never gave them condign punishment.  
+    Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
+    Above the felon or what trespass else.
+  SUFFOLK. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd;
+    But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
+    Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
+    I do arrest you in His Highness' name,
+    And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal
+    To keep until your further time of trial.
+  KING HENRY. My Lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope
+    That you will clear yourself from all suspense.
+    My conscience tells me you are innocent.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous!
+    Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition,
+    And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand;
+    Foul subornation is predominant,
+    And equity exil'd your Highness' land.
+    I know their complot is to have my life;
+    And if my death might make this island happy
+    And prove the period of their tyranny,
+    I would expend it with all willingness.  
+    But mine is made the prologue to their play;
+    For thousands more that yet suspect no peril
+    Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
+    Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
+    And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
+    Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue
+    The envious load that lies upon his heart;
+    And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
+    Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
+    By false accuse doth level at my life.
+    And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
+    Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,
+    And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up
+    My liefest liege to be mine enemy;
+    Ay, all of you have laid your heads together-
+    Myself had notice of your conventicles-
+    And all to make away my guiltless life.
+    I shall not want false witness to condemn me
+    Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt.
+    The ancient proverb will be well effected:  
+    'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.'
+  CARDINAL. My liege, his railing is intolerable.
+    If those that care to keep your royal person
+    From treason's secret knife and traitor's rage
+    Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at,
+    And the offender granted scope of speech,
+    'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace.
+  SUFFOLK. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here
+    With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,
+    As if she had suborned some to swear
+    False allegations to o'erthrow his state?
+  QUEEN. But I can give the loser leave to chide.
+  GLOUCESTER. Far truer spoke than meant: I lose indeed.
+    Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!
+    And well such losers may have leave to speak.
+  BUCKINGHAM. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day.
+    Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.
+  CARDINAL. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch
+    Before his legs be firm to bear his body!  
+    Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
+    And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
+    Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!
+    For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.        Exit, guarded
+  KING HENRY. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best
+    Do or undo, as if ourself were here.
+  QUEEN. What, will your Highness leave the Parliament?
+  KING HENRY. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
+    Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes;
+    My body round engirt with misery-
+    For what's more miserable than discontent?
+    Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see
+    The map of honour, truth, and loyalty!
+    And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
+    That e'er I prov'd thee false or fear'd thy faith.
+    What louring star now envies thy estate
+    That these great lords, and Margaret our Queen,
+    Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
+    Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;
+    And as the butcher takes away the calf,  
+    And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
+    Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,
+    Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence;
+    And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
+    Looking the way her harmless young one went,
+    And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,
+    Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case
+    With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes
+    Look after him, and cannot do him good,
+    So mighty are his vowed enemies.
+    His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan
+    Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.'           Exit
+  QUEEN. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams:
+    Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
+    Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester's show
+    Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
+    With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
+    Or as the snake, roll'd in a flow'ring bank,
+    With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child
+    That for the beauty thinks it excellent.  
+    Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I-
+    And yet herein I judge mine own wit good-
+    This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world
+    To rid us from the fear we have of him.
+  CARDINAL. That he should die is worthy policy;
+    But yet we want a colour for his death.
+    'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.
+  SUFFOLK. But, in my mind, that were no policy:
+    The King will labour still to save his life;
+    The commons haply rise to save his life;
+    And yet we have but trivial argument,
+    More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.
+  YORK. So that, by this, you would not have him die.
+  SUFFOLK. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!
+  YORK. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.
+    But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
+    Say as you think, and speak it from your souls:
+    Were't not all one an empty eagle were set
+    To guard the chicken from a hungry kite
+    As place Duke Humphrey for the King's Protector?  
+  QUEEN. So the poor chicken should be sure of death.
+  SUFFOLK. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness then
+    To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
+    Who being accus'd a crafty murderer,
+    His guilt should be but idly posted over,
+    Because his purpose is not executed.
+    No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
+    By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,
+    Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
+    As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege.
+    And do not stand on quillets how to slay him;
+    Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
+    Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
+    So he be dead; for that is good deceit
+    Which mates him first that first intends deceit.
+  QUEEN. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.
+  SUFFOLK. Not resolute, except so much were done,
+    For things are often spoke and seldom meant;
+    But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
+    Seeing the deed is meritorious,  
+    And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,
+    Say but the word, and I will be his priest.
+  CARDINAL. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,
+    Ere you can take due orders for a priest;
+    Say you consent and censure well the deed,
+    And I'll provide his executioner-
+    I tender so the safety of my liege.
+  SUFFOLK. Here is my hand the deed is worthy doing.
+  QUEEN. And so say I.
+  YORK. And I. And now we three have spoke it,
+    It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.
+
+                          Enter a POST
+
+  POST. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain
+    To signify that rebels there are up
+    And put the Englishmen unto the sword.
+    Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,
+    Before the wound do grow uncurable;
+    For, being green, there is great hope of help.  
+  CARDINAL. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!
+    What counsel give you in this weighty cause?
+  YORK. That Somerset be sent as Regent thither;
+    'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd,
+    Witness the fortune he hath had in France.
+  SOMERSET. If York, with all his far-fet policy,
+    Had been the Regent there instead of me,
+    He never would have stay'd in France so long.
+  YORK. No, not to lose it all as thou hast done.
+    I rather would have lost my life betimes
+    Than bring a burden of dishonour home
+    By staying there so long till all were lost.
+    Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:
+    Men's flesh preserv'd so whole do seldom win.
+  QUEEN. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
+    If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with;
+    No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still.
+    Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been Regent there,
+    Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.
+  YORK. What, worse than nought? Nay, then a shame take all!  
+  SOMERSET. And in the number, thee that wishest shame!
+  CARDINAL. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
+    Th' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms
+    And temper clay with blood of Englishmen;
+    To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
+    Collected choicely, from each county some,
+    And try your hap against the Irishmen?
+  YORK. I will, my lord, so please his Majesty.
+  SUFFOLK. Why, our authority is his consent,
+    And what we do establish he confirms;
+    Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.
+  YORK. I am content; provide me soldiers, lords,
+    Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.
+  SUFFOLK. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
+    But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.
+  CARDINAL. No more of him; for I will deal with him
+    That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
+    And so break off; the day is almost spent.
+    Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.
+  YORK. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days  
+    At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
+    For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.
+  SUFFOLK. I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.
+                                             Exeunt all but YORK
+  YORK. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts
+    And change misdoubt to resolution;
+    Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art
+    Resign to death- it is not worth th' enjoying.
+    Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man
+    And find no harbour in a royal heart.
+    Faster than spring-time show'rs comes thought on thought,
+    And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
+    My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
+    Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
+    Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done
+    To send me packing with an host of men.
+    I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
+    Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
+    'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me;
+    I take it kindly. Yet be well assur'd  
+    You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
+    Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
+    I will stir up in England some black storm
+    Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
+    And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
+    Until the golden circuit on my head,
+    Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
+    Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
+    And for a minister of my intent
+    I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman,
+    John Cade of Ashford,
+    To make commotion, as full well he can,
+    Under the tide of John Mortimer.
+    In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
+    Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
+    And fought so long tiff that his thighs with darts
+    Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;
+    And in the end being rescu'd, I have seen
+    Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
+    Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.  
+    Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
+    Hath he conversed with the enemy,
+    And undiscover'd come to me again
+    And given me notice of their villainies.
+    This devil here shall be my substitute;
+    For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
+    In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble.
+    By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
+    How they affect the house and claim of York.
+    Say he be taken, rack'd, and tortured;
+    I know no pain they can inflict upon him
+    Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms.
+    Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,
+    Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
+    And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
+    For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
+    And Henry put apart, the next for me.                   Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Bury St. Edmunds. A room of state
+
+Enter two or three MURDERERS running over the stage,
+from the murder of DUKE HUMPHREY
+
+  FIRST MURDERER. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know
+    We have dispatch'd the Duke, as he commanded.
+  SECOND MURDERER. O that it were to do! What have we done?
+    Didst ever hear a man so penitent?
+
+                           Enter SUFFOLK
+
+  FIRST MURDERER. Here comes my lord.
+  SUFFOLK. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?
+  FIRST MURDERER. Ay, my good lord, he's dead.
+  SUFFOLK. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
+    I will reward you for this venturous deed.
+    The King and all the peers are here at hand.
+    Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,
+    According as I gave directions?
+  FIRST MURDERER. 'Tis, my good lord.  
+  SUFFOLK. Away! be gone.                       Exeunt MURDERERS
+
+             Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN,
+                CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with attendants
+
+  KING HENRY. Go call our uncle to our presence straight;
+    Say we intend to try his Grace to-day,
+    If he be guilty, as 'tis published.
+  SUFFOLK. I'll call him presently, my noble lord.          Exit
+  KING HENRY. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
+    Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester
+    Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
+    He be approv'd in practice culpable.
+  QUEEN. God forbid any malice should prevail
+    That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
+    Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!
+  KING HENRY. I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.
+
+                           Re-enter SUFFOLK
+  
+    How now! Why look'st thou pale? Why tremblest thou?
+    Where is our uncle? What's the matter, Suffolk?
+  SUFFOLK. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.
+  QUEEN. Marry, God forfend!
+  CARDINAL. God's secret judgment! I did dream to-night
+    The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word.
+                                               [The KING swoons]
+  QUEEN. How fares my lord? Help, lords! The King is dead.
+  SOMERSET. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.
+  QUEEN. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!
+  SUFFOLK. He doth revive again; madam, be patient.
+  KING. O heavenly God!
+  QUEEN. How fares my gracious lord?
+  SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort!
+  KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
+    Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
+    Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs;
+    And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
+    By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
+    Can chase away the first conceived sound?  
+    Hide not thy poison with such sug'red words;
+    Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say,
+    Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
+    Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
+    Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
+    Sits in grim majesty to fright the world.
+    Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding;
+    Yet do not go away; come, basilisk,
+    And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
+    For in the shade of death I shall find joy-
+    In life but double death,'now Gloucester's dead.
+  QUEEN. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
+    Although the Duke was enemy to him,
+    Yet he most Christian-like laments his death;
+    And for myself- foe as he was to me-
+    Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
+    Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life,
+    I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
+    Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
+    And all to have the noble Duke alive.  
+    What know I how the world may deem of me?
+    For it is known we were but hollow friends:
+    It may be judg'd I made the Duke away;
+    So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
+    And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
+    This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy!
+    To be a queen and crown'd with infamy!
+  KING HENRY. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!
+  QUEEN. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
+    What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?
+    I am no loathsome leper- look on me.
+    What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf?
+    Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen.
+    Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb?
+    Why, then Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
+    Erect his statue and worship it,
+    And make my image but an alehouse sign.
+    Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea,
+    And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
+    Drove back again unto my native clime?  
+    What boded this but well-forewarning wind
+    Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,
+    Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'?
+    What did I then but curs'd the gentle gusts,
+    And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves;
+    And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
+    Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?
+    Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer,
+    But left that hateful office unto thee.
+    The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd to drown me,
+    Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore
+    With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness;
+    The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands
+    And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
+    Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
+    Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
+    As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
+    When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
+    I stood upon the hatches in the storm;
+    And when the dusky sky began to rob  
+    My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
+    I took a costly jewel from my neck-
+    A heart it was, bound in with diamonds-
+    And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv'd it;
+    And so I wish'd thy body might my heart.
+    And even with this I lost fair England's view,
+    And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart,
+    And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles
+    For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
+    How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue-
+    The agent of thy foul inconstancy-
+    To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did
+    When he to madding Dido would unfold
+    His father's acts commenc'd in burning Troy!
+    Am I not witch'd like her? Or thou not false like him?
+    Ay me, I can no more! Die, Margaret,
+    For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.
+
+               Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY,
+                          and many commons  
+
+  WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign,
+    That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murd'red
+    By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
+    The commons, like an angry hive of bees
+    That want their leader, scatter up and down
+    And care not who they sting in his revenge.
+    Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny
+    Until they hear the order of his death.
+  KING HENRY. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
+    But how he died God knows, not Henry.
+    Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
+    And comment then upon his sudden death.
+  WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,
+    With the rude multitude till I return.                  Exit
+                                   Exit SALISBURY with the commons
+  KING HENRY. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts-
+    My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul
+    Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
+    If my suspect be false, forgive me, God;  
+    For judgment only doth belong to Thee.
+    Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
+    With twenty thousand kisses and to drain
+    Upon his face an ocean of salt tears
+    To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk;
+    And with my fingers feel his hand un-feeling;
+    But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
+    And to survey his dead and earthy image,
+    What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
+
+               Bed put forth with the body. Enter WARWICK
+
+  WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.
+  KING HENRY. That is to see how deep my grave is made;
+    For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
+    For, seeing him, I see my life in death.
+  WARWICK. As surely as my soul intends to live
+    With that dread King that took our state upon Him
+    To free us from his Father's wrathful curse,
+    I do believe that violent hands were laid  
+    Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke.
+  SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
+    What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?
+  WARWICK. See how the blood is settled in his face.
+    Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
+    Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,
+    Being all descended to the labouring heart,
+    Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
+    Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy,
+    Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth
+    To blush and beautify the cheek again.
+    But see, his face is black and full of blood;
+    His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd,
+    Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
+    His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;
+    His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
+    And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd.
+    Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking;
+    His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
+    Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.  
+    It cannot be but he was murd'red here:
+    The least of all these signs were probable.
+  SUFFOLK. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death?
+    Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;
+    And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.
+  WARWICK. But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes;
+    And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep.
+    'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;
+    And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.
+  QUEEN. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
+    As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.
+  WARWICK. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh,
+    And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
+    But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
+    Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest
+    But may imagine how the bird was dead,
+    Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
+    Even so suspicious is this tragedy.
+  QUEEN. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife?
+    Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons?  
+  SUFFOLK. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;
+    But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
+    That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart
+    That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.
+    Say if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
+    That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.
+                           Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others
+  WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?
+  QUEEN. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,
+    Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
+    Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.
+  WARWICK. Madam, be still- with reverence may I say;
+    For every word you speak in his behalf
+    Is slander to your royal dignity.
+  SUFFOLK. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour,
+    If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
+    Thy mother took into her blameful bed
+    Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
+    Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art,
+    And never of the Nevils' noble race.  
+  WARWICK. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee,
+    And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
+    Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
+    And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
+    I would, false murd'rous coward, on thy knee
+    Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech
+    And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st,
+    That thou thyself was born in bastardy;
+    And, after all this fearful homage done,
+    Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,
+    Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men.
+  SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood,
+    If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.
+  WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence.
+    Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee,
+    And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost.
+                                      Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK
+  KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?
+    Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just;
+    And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,  
+    Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
+                                                [A noise within]
+  QUEEN. What noise is this?
+
+       Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn
+
+  KING. Why, how now, lords, your wrathful weapons drawn
+    Here in our presence! Dare you be so bold?
+    Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?
+  SUFFOLK. The trait'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury,
+    Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.
+
+                        Re-enter SALISBURY
+
+  SALISBURY. [To the Commons within] Sirs, stand apart, the King
+      shall know your mind.
+    Dread lord, the commons send you word by me
+    Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,
+    Or banished fair England's territories,
+    They will by violence tear him from your palace  
+    And torture him with grievous ling'ring death.
+    They say by him the good Duke Humphrey died;
+    They say in him they fear your Highness' death;
+    And mere instinct of love and loyalty,
+    Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
+    As being thought to contradict your liking,
+    Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
+    They say, in care of your most royal person,
+    That if your Highness should intend to sleep
+    And charge that no man should disturb your rest,
+    In pain of your dislike or pain of death,
+    Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,
+    Were there a serpent seen with forked tongue
+    That slily glided towards your Majesty,
+    It were but necessary you were wak'd,
+    Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
+    The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal.
+    And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
+    That they will guard you, whe'er you will or no,
+    From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;  
+    With whose envenomed and fatal sting
+    Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
+    They say, is shamefully bereft of life.
+  COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury!
+  SUFFOLK. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
+    Could send such message to their sovereign;
+    But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
+    To show how quaint an orator you are.
+    But all the honour Salisbury hath won
+    Is that he was the lord ambassador
+    Sent from a sort of tinkers to the King.
+  COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, or we will all break in!
+  KING HENRY. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me
+    I thank them for their tender loving care;
+    And had I not been cited so by them,
+    Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
+    For sure my thoughts do hourly prophesy
+    Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means.
+    And therefore by His Majesty I swear,
+    Whose far unworthy deputy I am,  
+    He shall not breathe infection in this air
+    But three days longer, on the pain of death.
+                                                  Exit SALISBURY
+  QUEEN. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!
+  KING HENRY. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!
+    No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him,
+    Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
+    Had I but said, I would have kept my word;
+    But when I swear, it is irrevocable.
+    If after three days' space thou here be'st found
+    On any ground that I am ruler of,
+    The world shall not be ransom for thy life.
+    Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
+    I have great matters to impart to thee.
+                                Exeunt all but QUEEN and SUFFOLK
+  QUEEN. Mischance and sorrow go along with you!
+    Heart's discontent and sour affliction
+    Be playfellows to keep you company!
+    There's two of you; the devil make a third,
+    And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!  
+  SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations,
+    And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.
+  QUEEN. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch,
+    Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?
+  SUFFOLK. A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them?
+    Would curses kill as doth the mandrake's groan,
+    I would invent as bitter searching terms,
+    As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
+    Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
+    With full as many signs of deadly hate,
+    As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave.
+    My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words,
+    Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint,
+    Mine hair be fix'd an end, as one distract;
+    Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban;
+    And even now my burden'd heart would break,
+    Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
+    Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
+    Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
+    Their chiefest prospect murd'ring basilisks!  
+    Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings!
+    Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,
+    And boding screech-owls make the consort full!
+    all the foul terrors in dark-seated hell-
+  QUEEN. Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyself;
+    And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
+    Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,
+    And turns the force of them upon thyself.
+  SUFFOLK. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?
+    Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
+    Well could I curse away a winter's night,
+    Though standing naked on a mountain top
+    Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
+    And think it but a minute spent in sport.
+  QUEEN. O, let me entreat thee cease! Give me thy hand,
+    That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
+    Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place
+    To wash away my woeful monuments.
+    O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
+    That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,  
+    Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee!
+    So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
+    'Tis but surmis'd whiles thou art standing by,
+    As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
+    I will repeal thee or, be well assur'd,
+    Adventure to be banished myself;
+    And banished I am, if but from thee.
+    Go, speak not to me; even now be gone.
+    O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd
+    Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
+    Loather a hundred times to part than die.
+    Yet now, farewell; and farewell life with thee!
+  SUFFOLK. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
+    Once by the King and three times thrice by thee,
+    'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;
+    A wilderness is populous enough,
+    So Suffolk had thy heavenly company;
+    For where thou art, there is the world itself,
+    With every several pleasure in the world;
+    And where thou art not, desolation.  
+    I can no more: Live thou to joy thy life;
+    Myself no joy in nought but that thou liv'st.
+
+                           Enter VAUX
+
+  QUEEN. Whither goes Vaux so fast? What news, I prithee?
+  VAUX. To signify unto his Majesty
+    That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;
+    For suddenly a grievous sickness took him
+    That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,
+    Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.
+    Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost
+    Were by his side; sometime he calls the King
+    And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
+    The secrets of his overcharged soul;
+    And I am sent to tell his Majesty
+    That even now he cries aloud for him.
+  QUEEN. Go tell this heavy message to the King.       Exit VAUX
+    Ay me! What is this world! What news are these!
+    But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,  
+    Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
+    Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
+    And with the southern clouds contend in tears-
+    Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?
+    Now get thee hence: the King, thou know'st, is coming;
+    If thou be found by me; thou art but dead.
+  SUFFOLK. If I depart from thee I cannot live;
+    And in thy sight to die, what were it else
+    But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
+    Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
+    As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
+    Dying with mother's dug between its lips;
+    Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad
+    And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
+    To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
+    So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,
+    Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
+    And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.
+    To die by thee were but to die in jest:
+    From thee to die were torture more than death.  
+    O, let me stay, befall what may befall!
+  QUEEN. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive,
+    It is applied to a deathful wound.
+    To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee;
+    For whereso'er thou art in this world's globe
+    I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.
+  SUFFOLK. I go.
+  QUEEN. And take my heart with thee.           [She kisses him]
+  SUFFOLK. A jewel, lock'd into the woefull'st cask
+    That ever did contain a thing of worth.
+    Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we:
+    This way fall I to death.
+  QUEEN. This way for me.                       Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+London. CARDINAL BEAUFORT'S bedchamber
+
+Enter the KING, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed
+
+  KING HENRY. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.
+  CARDINAL. If thou be'st Death I'll give thee England's treasure,
+    Enough to purchase such another island,
+    So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.
+  KING HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life
+    Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
+  WARWICK. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
+  CARDINAL. Bring me unto my trial when you will.
+    Died he not in his bed? Where should he die?
+    Can I make men live, whe'er they will or no?
+    O, torture me no more! I will confess.
+    Alive again? Then show me where he is;
+    I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.
+    He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
+    Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,
+    Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul!
+    Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary  
+    Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
+  KING HENRY. O Thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
+    Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
+    O, beat away the busy meddling fiend
+    That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
+    And from his bosom purge this black despair!
+  WARWICK. See how the pangs of death do make him grin
+  SALISBURY. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.
+  KING HENRY. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
+    Lord Card'nal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
+    Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
+    He dies, and makes no sign: O God, forgive him!
+  WARWICK. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
+  KING HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
+    Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;
+    And let us all to meditation.                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+The coast of Kent
+
+Alarum.  Fight at sea.  Ordnance goes off.  Enter a LIEUTENANT,
+a SHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors;
+SUFFOLK and other GENTLEMEN, as prisoners
+
+  LIEUTENANT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day
+    Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
+    And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
+    That drag the tragic melancholy night;
+    Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
+    Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws
+    Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
+    Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
+    For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
+    Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
+    Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore.
+    Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
+    And thou that art his mate make boot of this;
+    The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.  
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know?
+  MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
+  MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
+  LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
+    And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
+    Cut both the villains' throats- for die you shall;
+    The lives of those which we have lost in fight
+    Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum!
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight.
+  WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
+    [To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;
+    And so should these, if I might have my will.
+  LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
+  SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman:
+    Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
+  WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore.
+    How now! Why start'st thou? What, doth death affright?
+  SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
+    A cunning man did calculate my birth  
+    And told me that by water I should die;
+    Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
+    Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded.
+  WHITMORE. Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not:
+    Never yet did base dishonour blur our name
+    But with our sword we wip'd away the blot;
+    Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
+    Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,
+    And I proclaim'd a coward through the world.
+  SUFFOLK. Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince,
+    The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
+  WHITMORE. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags?
+  SUFFOLK. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke:
+    Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I?
+  LIEUTENANT. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
+  SUFFOLK. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
+    The honourable blood of Lancaster,
+    Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
+    Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup,
+    Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule,  
+    And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
+    How often hast thou waited at my cup,
+    Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,
+    When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
+    Remember it, and let it make thee crestfall'n,
+    Ay, and allay thus thy abortive pride,
+    How in our voiding-lobby hast thou stood
+    And duly waited for my coming forth.
+    This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
+    And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
+  WHITMORE. Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?
+  LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
+  SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.
+  LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat's side
+    Strike off his head.
+  SUFFOLK. Thou dar'st not, for thy own.
+  LIEUTENANT. Poole!
+  SUFFOLK. Poole?
+  LIEUTENANT. Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt
+    Troubles the silver spring where England drinks;  
+    Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
+    For swallowing the treasure of the realm.
+    Thy lips, that kiss'd the Queen, shall sweep the ground;
+    And thou that smil'dst at good Duke Humphrey's death
+    Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,
+    Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again;
+    And wedded be thou to the hags of hell
+    For daring to affy a mighty lord
+    Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
+    Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
+    By devilish policy art thou grown great,
+    And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd
+    With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
+    By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France;
+    The false revolting Normans thorough thee
+    Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy
+    Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts,
+    And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
+    The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
+    Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,  
+    As hating thee, are rising up in arms;
+    And now the house of York- thrust from the crown
+    By shameful murder of a guiltless king
+    And lofty proud encroaching tyranny-
+    Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours
+    Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine,
+    Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.'
+    The commons here in Kent are up in arms;
+    And to conclude, reproach and beggary
+    Is crept into the palace of our King,
+    And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.
+  SUFFOLK. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
+    Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
+    Small things make base men proud: this villain here,
+    Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
+    Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate.
+    Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives.
+    It is impossible that I should die
+    By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
+    Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.  
+    I go of message from the Queen to France:
+    I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.
+  LIEUTENANT. Walter-
+  WHITMORE. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
+  SUFFOLK. Gelidus timor occupat artus: it is thee I fear.
+  WHITMORE. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
+    What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.
+  SUFFOLK. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stem and rough,
+    Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour.
+    Far be it we should honour such as these
+    With humble suit: no, rather let my head
+    Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
+    Save to the God of heaven and to my king;
+    And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
+    Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
+    True nobility is exempt from fear:
+    More can I bear than you dare execute.
+  LIEUTENANT. Hale him away, and let him talk no more.
+  SUFFOLK. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,  
+    That this my death may never be forgot-
+    Great men oft die by vile bezonians:
+    A Roman sworder and banditto slave
+    Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
+    Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders
+    Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.
+                                        Exit WALTER with SUFFOLK
+  LIEUTENANT. And as for these, whose ransom we have set,
+    It is our pleasure one of them depart;
+    Therefore come you with us, and let him go.
+                              Exeunt all but the FIRST GENTLEMAN
+
+                Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK'S body
+
+  WHITMORE. There let his head and lifeless body lie,
+    Until the Queen his mistress bury it.                   Exit
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
+    His body will I bear unto the King.
+    If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
+    So will the Queen, that living held him dear.  
+                                              Exit with the body
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Blackheath
+
+Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND
+
+  GEORGE. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have
+    been up these two days.
+  JOHN. They have the more need to sleep now, then.
+  GEORGE. I tell thee Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the
+    commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.
+  JOHN. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never
+    merry world in England since gentlemen came up.
+  GEORGE. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen.
+  JOHN. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.
+  GEORGE. Nay, more, the King's Council are no good workmen.
+  JOHN. True; and yet it is said 'Labour in thy vocation'; which is
+    as much to say as 'Let the magistrates be labouring men'; and
+    therefore should we be magistrates.
+  GEORGE. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave
+    mind than a hard hand.
+  JOHN. I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner of
+    Wingham-  
+  GEORGE. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's
+    leather of.
+  JOHN. And Dick the butcher-
+  GEORGE. Then is sin struck down, like an ox, and iniquity's throat
+    cut like a calf.
+  JOHN. And Smith the weaver-
+  GEORGE. Argo, their thread of life is spun.
+  JOHN. Come, come, let's fall in with them.
+
+                Drum. Enter CADE, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH
+             THE WEAVER, and a SAWYER, with infinite numbers
+
+  CADE. We John Cade, so term'd of our supposed father-
+  DICK. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.
+  CADE. For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the
+    spirit of putting down kings and princes- command silence.
+  DICK. Silence!
+  CADE. My father was a Mortimer-
+  DICK. [Aside] He was an honest man and a good bricklayer.
+  CADE. My mother a Plantagenet-  
+  DICK. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife.
+  CADE. My wife descended of the Lacies-
+  DICK. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many
+    laces.
+  SMITH. [Aside] But now of late, not able to travel with her furr'd
+    pack, she washes bucks here at home.
+  CADE. Therefore am I of an honourable house.
+  DICK. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and there
+    was he born, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but
+    the cage.
+  CADE. Valiant I am.
+  SMITH. [Aside] 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant.
+  CADE. I am able to endure much.
+  DICK. [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him whipt three
+    market days together.
+  CADE. I fear neither sword nor fire.
+  SMITH. [Aside] He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of
+    proof.
+  DICK. [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being
+    burnt i' th' hand for stealing of sheep.  
+  CADE. Be brave, then, for your captain is brave, and vows
+    reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves
+    sold for a penny; the three-hoop'd pot shall have ten hoops; and
+    I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be
+    in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And
+    when I am king- as king I will be
+  ALL. God save your Majesty!
+  CADE. I thank you, good people- there shall be no money; all shall
+    eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one
+    livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their
+    lord.
+  DICK. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
+  CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that
+    of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That
+    parchment, being scribbl'd o'er, should undo a man? Some say the
+    bee stings; but I say 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal once
+    to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! Who's
+    there?
+
+              Enter some, bringing in the CLERK OF CHATHAM  
+
+  SMITH. The clerk of Chatham. He can write and read and cast
+    accompt.
+  CADE. O monstrous!
+  SMITH. We took him setting of boys' copies.
+  CADE. Here's a villain!
+  SMITH. Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't.
+  CADE. Nay, then he is a conjurer.
+  DICK. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand.
+  CADE. I am sorry for't; the man is a proper man, of mine honour;
+    unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah,
+    I must examine thee. What is thy name?
+  CLERK. Emmanuel.
+  DICK. They use to write it on the top of letters; 'twill go hard
+    with you.
+  CADE. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name, or hast thou a
+    mark to thyself, like a honest plain-dealing man?
+  CLERK. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can
+    write my name.
+  ALL. He hath confess'd. Away with him! He's a villain and a  
+    traitor.
+  CADE. Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about
+    his neck.                            Exit one with the CLERK
+
+                           Enter MICHAEL
+
+  MICHAEL. Where's our General?
+  CADE. Here I am, thou particular fellow.
+  MICHAEL. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are
+    hard by, with the King's forces.
+  CADE. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He shall be
+    encount'red with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight,
+    is 'a?
+  MICHAEL. No.
+  CADE. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.
+    [Kneels] Rise up, Sir John Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him!
+
+                Enter SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD and WILLIAM
+                  his brother, with drum and soldiers
+  
+  STAFFORD. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
+    Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down;
+    Home to your cottages, forsake this groom;
+    The King is merciful if you revolt.
+  WILLIAM STAFFORD. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood,
+    If you go forward; therefore yield or die.
+  CADE. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not;
+    It is to you, good people, that I speak,
+    O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
+    For I am rightful heir unto the crown.
+  STAFFORD. Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
+    And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?
+  CADE. And Adam was a gardener.
+  WILLIAM STAFFORD. And what of that?
+  CADE. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March,
+    Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not?
+  STAFFORD. Ay, sir.
+  CADE. By her he had two children at one birth.
+  WILLIAM STAFFORD. That's false.
+  CADE. Ay, there's the question; but I say 'tis true.  
+    The elder of them being put to nurse,
+    Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away,
+    And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,
+    Became a bricklayer when he came to age.
+    His son am I; deny it if you can.
+  DICK. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.
+  SMITH. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks
+    are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not.
+  STAFFORD. And will you credit this base drudge's words
+    That speaks he knows not what?
+  ALL. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.
+  WILLIAM STAFFORD. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.
+  CADE. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself- Go to, sirrah,
+    tell the King from me that for his father's sake, Henry the
+    Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns,
+    I am content he shall reign; but I'll be Protector over him.
+  DICK. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord Say's head for selling
+    the dukedom of Maine.
+  CADE. And good reason; for thereby is England main'd and fain to go
+    with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I  
+    tell you that that Lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth and made
+    it an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, and
+    therefore he is a traitor.
+  STAFFORD. O gross and miserable ignorance!
+  CADE. Nay, answer if you can; the Frenchmen are our enemies. Go to,
+    then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an
+    enemy be a good counsellor, or no?
+  ALL. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head.
+  WILLIAM STAFFORD. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,
+    Assail them with the army of the King.
+  STAFFORD. Herald, away; and throughout every town
+    Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
+    That those which fly before the battle ends
+    May, even in their wives'and children's sight,
+    Be hang'd up for example at their doors.
+    And you that be the King's friends, follow me.
+                           Exeunt the TWO STAFFORDS and soldiers
+  CADE. And you that love the commons follow me.
+    Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty.
+    We will not leave one lord, one gentleman;  
+    Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon,
+    For they are thrifty honest men and such
+    As would- but that they dare not- take our parts.
+  DICK. They are all in order, and march toward us.
+  CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come,
+    march forward.                                        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Another part of Blackheath
+
+Alarums to the fight, wherein both the STAFFORDS are slain.
+Enter CADE and the rest
+
+  CADE. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?
+  DICK. Here, sir.
+  CADE. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst
+    thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house;
+    therefore thus will I reward thee- the Lent shall be as long
+    again as it is, and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a
+    hundred lacking one.
+  DICK. I desire no more.
+  CADE. And, to speak truth, thou deserv'st no less. [Putting on SIR
+    HUMPHREY'S brigandine] This monument of the victory will I bear,
+    and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come
+    to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us.
+  DICK. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and
+    let out the prisoners.
+  CADE. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards
+    London.                                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+London. The palace
+
+Enter the KING with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head;
+the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD SAY
+
+  QUEEN. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind
+    And makes it fearful and degenerate;
+    Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.
+    But who can cease to weep, and look on this?
+    Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast;
+    But where's the body that I should embrace?
+  BUCKINGHAM. What answer makes your Grace to the rebels'
+    supplication?
+  KING HENRY. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat;
+    For God forbid so many simple souls
+    Should perish by the sword! And I myself,
+    Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,
+    Will parley with Jack Cade their general.
+    But stay, I'll read it over once again.
+  QUEEN. Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face  
+    Rul'd like a wandering planet over me,
+    And could it not enforce them to relent
+    That were unworthy to behold the same?
+  KING HENRY. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.
+  SAY. Ay, but I hope your Highness shall have his.
+  KING HENRY. How now, madam!
+    Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death?
+    I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,
+    Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me.
+  QUEEN. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.
+
+                        Enter A MESSENGER
+
+  KING HENRY. How now! What news? Why com'st thou in such haste?
+  MESSENGER. The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord!
+    Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,
+    Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house,
+    And calls your Grace usurper, openly,
+    And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
+    His army is a ragged multitude  
+    Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless;
+    Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
+    Hath given them heart and courage to proceed.
+    All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
+    They call false caterpillars and intend their death.
+  KING HENRY. O graceless men! they know not what they do.
+  BUCKINGHAM. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth
+    Until a power be rais'd to put them down.
+  QUEEN. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive,
+    These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd!
+  KING HENRY. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;
+    Therefore away with us to Killingworth.
+  SAY. So might your Grace's person be in danger.
+    The sight of me is odious in their eyes;
+    And therefore in this city will I stay
+    And live alone as secret as I may.
+
+                      Enter another MESSENGER
+
+  SECOND MESSENGER. Jack Cade hath gotten London Bridge.  
+    The citizens fly and forsake their houses;
+    The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
+    Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear
+    To spoil the city and your royal court.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse.
+  KING HENRY. Come Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us.
+  QUEEN. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd.
+  KING HENRY. [To LORD SAY] Farewell, my lord, trust not the Kentish
+    rebels.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd.
+  SAY. The trust I have is in mine innocence,
+    And therefore am I bold and resolute.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+London. The Tower
+
+Enter LORD SCALES Upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three CITIZENS,
+below
+
+  SCALES. How now! Is Jack Cade slain?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have
+    won the bridge, killing all those that withstand them.
+    The Lord Mayor craves aid of your honour from the
+    Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.
+  SCALES. Such aid as I can spare you shall command,
+    But I am troubled here with them myself;
+    The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
+    But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,
+    And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;
+    Fight for your King, your country, and your lives;
+    And so, farewell, for I must hence again.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+London. Cannon street
+
+Enter JACK CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on London Stone
+
+  CADE. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon
+    London Stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the
+    pissing conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of
+    our reign. And now henceforward it shall be treason for any that
+    calls me other than Lord Mortimer.
+
+                    Enter a SOLDIER, running
+
+  SOLDIER. Jack Cade! Jack Cade!
+  CADE. Knock him down there.                    [They kill him]
+  SMITH. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack Cade more;
+    I think he hath a very fair warning.
+  DICK. My lord, there's an army gathered together in Smithfield.
+  CADE. Come then, let's go fight with them. But first go and set
+    London Bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too.
+    Come, let's away.                                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+London. Smithfield
+
+Alarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest.  Then enter JACK CADE,
+with his company
+
+  CADE. So, sirs. Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to th'
+    Inns of Court; down with them all.
+  DICK. I have a suit unto your lordship.
+  CADE. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.
+  DICK. Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.
+  JOHN. [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law then; for he was thrust in
+    the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet.
+  SMITH. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his breath
+    stinks with eating toasted cheese.
+  CADE. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. Away, burn all the
+    records of the realm. My mouth shall be the Parliament of
+    England.
+  JOHN. [Aside] Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his
+    teeth be pull'd out.
+  CADE. And henceforward all things shall be in common.
+  
+                          Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. My lord, a prize, a prize! Here's the Lord Say, which
+    sold the towns in France; he that made us pay one and twenty
+    fifteens, and one shining to the pound, the last subsidy.
+
+                Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the LORD SAY
+
+  CADE. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah, thou say,
+    thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! Now art thou within point
+    blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my
+    Majesty for giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu the
+    Dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even
+    the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must
+    sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most
+    traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a
+    grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other
+    books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to
+    be us'd, and, contrary to the King, his crown, and dignity, thou
+    hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou  
+    hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and
+    such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear.
+    Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before
+    them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou
+    hast put them in prison, and because they could not read, thou
+    hast hang'd them, when, indeed, only for that cause they have
+    been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost
+    thou not?
+  SAY. What of that?
+  CADE. Marry, thou ought'st not to let thy horse wear a cloak, when
+    honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets.
+  DICK. And work in their shirt too, as myself, for example, that am
+    a butcher.
+  SAY. You men of Kent-
+  DICK. What say you of Kent?
+  SAY. Nothing but this: 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.'
+  CADE. Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin.
+  SAY. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.
+    Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,
+    Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle.  
+    Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
+    The people liberal valiant, active, wealthy;
+    Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.
+    I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy;
+    Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
+    Justice with favour have I always done;
+    Pray'rs and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never.
+    When have I aught exacted at your hands,
+    But to maintain the King, the realm, and you?
+    Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
+    Because my book preferr'd me to the King,
+    And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
+    Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,
+    Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits
+    You cannot but forbear to murder me.
+    This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
+    For your behoof.
+  CADE. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field?
+  SAY. Great men have reaching hands. Oft have I struck
+    Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.  
+  GEORGE. O monstrous coward! What, to come behind folks?
+  SAY. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.
+  CADE. Give him a box o' th' ear, and that will make 'em red again.
+  SAY. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
+    Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.
+  CADE. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the help of hatchet.
+  DICK. Why dost thou quiver, man?
+  SAY. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.
+  CADE. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say 'I'll be even with
+    you'; I'll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no.
+    Take him away, and behead him.
+  SAY. Tell me: wherein have I offended most?
+    Have I affected wealth or honour? Speak.
+    Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold?
+    Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
+    Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death?
+    These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,
+    This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.
+    O, let me live!
+  CADE. [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with his words; but I'll  
+    bridle it. He shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for
+    his life.- Away with him! He has a familiar under his tongue; he
+    speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike
+    off his head presently, and then break into his son-in-law's
+    house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them
+    both upon two poles hither.
+  ALL. It shall be done.
+  SAY. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your pray'rs,
+    God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
+    How would it fare with your departed souls?
+    And therefore yet relent and save my life.
+  CADE. Away with him, and do as I command ye.  [Exeunt some with
+    LORD SAY]  The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head
+    on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a
+    maid be married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they
+    have it. Men shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and
+    command that their wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue
+    can tell.
+  DICK. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and take up
+    commodities upon our bills?  
+  CADE. Marry, presently.
+  ALL. O, brave!
+
+                      Re-enter one with the heads
+
+  CADE. But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they
+    lov'd well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they
+    consult about the giving up of some more towns in France.
+    Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night; for with these
+    borne before us instead of maces will we ride through the
+    streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away!     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+Southwark
+
+Alarum and retreat. Enter again CADE and all his rabblement
+
+  CADE. Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill and knock
+    down! Throw them into Thames!               [Sound a parley]
+    What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat
+    or parley when I command them kill?
+
+            Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD, attended
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee.
+    And therefore yet relent, and save my life.
+    Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the King
+    Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;
+    And here pronounce free pardon to them all
+    That will forsake thee and go home in peace.
+  CLIFFORD. What say ye, countrymen? Will ye relent
+    And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you,
+    Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?
+    Who loves the King, and will embrace his pardon,  
+    Fling up his cap and say 'God save his Majesty!'
+    Who hateth him and honours not his father,
+    Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,
+    Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.
+  ALL. God save the King! God save the King!
+  CADE. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave?
+    And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? Will you needs be
+    hang'd with your about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke
+    through London gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart
+    in Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out these arms
+    till you had recovered your ancient freedom. But you are all
+    recreants and dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the
+    nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your
+    houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before
+    your faces. For me, I will make shift for one; and so God's curse
+    light upon you all!
+  ALL. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade!
+  CLIFFORD. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,
+    That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him?
+    Will he conduct you through the heart of France,  
+    And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
+    Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
+    Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,
+    Unless by robbing of your friends and us.
+    Were't not a shame that whilst you live at jar
+    The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
+    Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you?
+    Methinks already in this civil broil
+    I see them lording it in London streets,
+    Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet.
+    Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry
+    Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
+    To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
+    Spare England, for it is your native coast.
+    Henry hath money; you are strong and manly.
+    God on our side, doubt not of victory.
+  ALL. A Clifford! a Clifford! We'll follow the King and Clifford.
+  CADE. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this
+    multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred
+    mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their  
+    heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me for here
+    is no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have through
+    the very middest of you! and heavens and honour be witness that
+    no want of resolution in me, but only my followers' base and
+    ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.
+ Exit
+  BUCKINGHAM. What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;
+    And he that brings his head unto the King
+    Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.
+                                             Exeunt some of them
+    Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean
+    To reconcile you all unto the King.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+Killing, worth Castle
+
+Sound trumpets. Enter KING, QUEEN, and SOMERSET, on the terrace
+
+  KING HENRY. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne
+    And could command no more content than I?
+    No sooner was I crept out of my cradle
+    But I was made a king, at nine months old.
+    Was never subject long'd to be a King
+    As I do long and wish to be a subject.
+
+               Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. Health and glad tidings to your Majesty!
+  KING HENRY. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surpris'd?
+    Or is he but retir'd to make him strong?
+
+     Enter, below, multitudes, with halters about their necks
+
+  CLIFFORD. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield,  
+    And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,
+    Expect your Highness' doom of life or death.
+  KING HENRY. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,
+    To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!
+    Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives,
+    And show'd how well you love your Prince and country.
+    Continue still in this so good a mind,
+    And Henry, though he be infortunate,
+    Assure yourselves, will never be unkind.
+    And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,
+    I do dismiss you to your several countries.
+  ALL. God save the King! God save the King!
+
+                     Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Please it your Grace to be advertised
+    The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland
+    And with a puissant and a mighty power
+    Of gallowglasses and stout kerns
+    Is marching hitherward in proud array,  
+    And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,
+    His arms are only to remove from thee
+    The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.
+  KING HENRY. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd;
+    Like to a ship that, having scap'd a tempest,
+    Is straightway calm'd, and boarded with a pirate;
+    But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd,
+    And now is York in arms to second him.
+    I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him
+    And ask him what's the reason of these arms.
+    Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower-
+    And Somerset, we will commit thee thither
+    Until his army be dismiss'd from him.
+  SOMERSET. My lord,
+    I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
+    Or unto death, to do my country good.
+  KING HENRY. In any case be not too rough in terms,
+    For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.
+  BUCKINGHAM. I will, my lord, and doubt not so to deal
+    As all things shall redound unto your good.  
+  KING HENRY. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;
+    For yet may England curse my wretched reign.
+                                                Flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE X.
+Kent. Iden's garden
+
+Enter CADE
+
+  CADE. Fie on ambitions! Fie on myself, that have a sword and yet am
+    ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and
+    durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now
+    am I so hungry that, if I might have a lease of my life for a
+    thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick
+    wall have I climb'd into this garden, to see if I can eat grass
+    or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a
+    man's stomach this hot weather. And I think this word 'sallet'
+    was born to do me good; for many a time, but for a sallet, my
+    brain-pain had been cleft with a brown bill; and many a time,
+    when I have been dry, and bravely marching, it hath serv'd me
+    instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and now the word 'sallet'
+    must serve me to feed on.
+
+                             Enter IDEN
+
+  IDEN. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court  
+    And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
+    This small inheritance my father left me
+    Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.
+    I seek not to wax great by others' waning
+    Or gather wealth I care not with what envy;
+    Sufficeth that I have maintains my state,
+    And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.
+  CADE. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for
+    entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt
+    betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the King by carrying my
+    head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich and
+    swallow my sword like a great pin ere thou and I part.
+  IDEN. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,
+    I know thee not; why then should I betray thee?
+    Is't not enough to break into my garden
+    And like a thief to come to rob my grounds,
+    Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,
+    But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?
+  CADE. Brave thee? Ay, by the best blood that ever was broach'd, and
+    beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five  
+    days, yet come thou and thy five men and if I do not leave you
+    all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass
+    more.
+  IDEN. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,
+    That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
+    Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
+    Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine;
+    See if thou canst outface me with thy looks;
+    Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
+    Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,
+    Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;
+    My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast,
+    And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
+    Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
+    As for words, whose greatness answers words,
+    Let this my sword report what speech forbears.
+  CADE. By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard!
+    Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly bon'd
+    clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech
+    God on my knees thou mayst be turn'd to hobnails. [Here they  
+    fight; CADE falls] O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain
+    me. Let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the
+    ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden, and
+    be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house,
+    because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.
+  IDEN. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?
+    Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed
+    And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead.
+    Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point,
+    But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat
+    To emblaze the honour that thy master got.
+  CADE. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from
+    me she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be
+    cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine,
+    not by valour.                                        [Dies]
+  IDEN. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge.
+    Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee!
+    And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
+    So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.
+    Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels  
+    Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave,
+    And there cut off thy most ungracious head,
+    Which I will bear in triumph to the King,
+    Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.               Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Fields between Dartford and Blackheath
+
+Enter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours
+
+  YORK. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right
+    And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
+    Ring bells aloud, burn bonfires clear and bright,
+    To entertain great England's lawful king.
+    Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear?
+    Let them obey that knows not how to rule;
+    This hand was made to handle nought but gold.
+    I cannot give due action to my words
+    Except a sword or sceptre balance it.
+    A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul
+    On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.
+
+                         Enter BUCKINGHAM
+
+    [Aside] Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
+    The King hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.
+  BUCKINGHAM. York, if thou meanest well I greet thee well.  
+  YORK. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.
+    Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?
+  BUCKINGHAM. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
+    To know the reason of these arms in peace;
+    Or why thou, being a subject as I am,
+    Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
+    Should raise so great a power without his leave,
+    Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.
+  YORK. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great.
+    O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,
+    I am so angry at these abject terms;
+    And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
+    On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.
+    I am far better born than is the King,
+    More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts;
+    But I must make fair weather yet awhile,
+    Till Henry be more weak and I more strong.-
+    Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me
+    That I have given no answer all this while;
+    My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.  
+    The cause why I have brought this army hither
+    Is to remove proud Somerset from the King,
+    Seditious to his Grace and to the state.
+  BUCKINGHAM. That is too much presumption on thy part;
+    But if thy arms be to no other end,
+    The King hath yielded unto thy demand:
+    The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
+  YORK. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.
+  YORK. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my pow'rs.
+    Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;
+    Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field,
+    You shall have pay and everything you wish.
+    And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
+    Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,
+    As pledges of my fealty and love.
+    I'll send them all as willing as I live:
+    Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have,
+    Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
+  BUCKINGHAM. York, I commend this kind submission.  
+    We twain will go into his Highness' tent.
+
+                  Enter the KING, and attendants
+
+  KING HENRY. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,
+    That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?
+  YORK. In all submission and humility
+    York doth present himself unto your Highness.
+  KING HENRY. Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?
+  YORK. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,
+    And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,
+    Who since I heard to be discomfited.
+
+                    Enter IDEN, with CADE's head
+
+  IDEN. If one so rude and of so mean condition
+    May pass into the presence of a king,
+    Lo, I present your Grace a traitor's head,
+    The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.
+  KING HENRY. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!  
+    O, let me view his visage, being dead,
+    That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
+    Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?
+  IDEN. I was, an't like your Majesty.
+  KING HENRY. How art thou call'd? And what is thy degree?
+  IDEN. Alexander Iden, that's my name;
+    A poor esquire of Kent that loves his king.
+  BUCKINGHAM. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
+    He were created knight for his good service.
+  KING HENRY. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels] Rise up a knight.
+    We give thee for reward a thousand marks,
+    And will that thou thenceforth attend on us.
+  IDEN. May Iden live to merit such a bounty,
+    And never live but true unto his liege!
+
+                    Enter the QUEEN and SOMERSET
+
+  KING HENRY. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with th' Queen:
+    Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.
+  QUEEN. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,  
+    But boldly stand and front him to his face.
+  YORK. How now! Is Somerset at liberty?
+    Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts
+    And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
+    Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?
+    False king, why hast thou broken faith with me,
+    Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
+    King did I call thee? No, thou art not king;
+    Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,
+    Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
+    That head of thine doth not become a crown;
+    Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
+    And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.
+    That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,
+    Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
+    Is able with the change to kill and cure.
+    Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up,
+    And with the same to act controlling laws.
+    Give place. By heaven, thou shalt rule no more
+    O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.  
+  SOMERSET. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,
+    Of capital treason 'gainst the King and crown.
+    Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.
+  YORK. Wouldst have me kneel? First let me ask of these,
+    If they can brook I bow a knee to man.
+    Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail:        Exit attendant
+    I know, ere thy will have me go to ward,
+    They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.
+  QUEEN. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain,
+    To say if that the bastard boys of York
+    Shall be the surety for their traitor father.
+                                                 Exit BUCKINGHAM
+  YORK. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,
+    Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
+    The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
+    Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those
+    That for my surety will refuse the boys!
+
+               Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET
+  
+    See where they come: I'll warrant they'll make it good.
+
+                     Enter CLIFFORD and his SON
+
+  QUEEN. And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.
+  CLIFFORD. Health and all happiness to my lord the King!
+                                                        [Kneels]
+  YORK. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news with thee?
+    Nay, do not fright us with an angry look.
+    We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;
+    For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
+  CLIFFORD. This is my King, York, I do not mistake;
+    But thou mistakes me much to think I do.
+    To Bedlam with him! Is the man grown mad?
+  KING HENRY. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour
+    Makes him oppose himself against his king.
+  CLIFFORD. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
+    And chop away that factious pate of his.
+  QUEEN. He is arrested, but will not obey;
+    His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.  
+  YORK. Will you not, sons?
+  EDWARD. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.
+  RICHARD. And if words will not, then our weapons shall.
+  CLIFFORD. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!
+  YORK. Look in a glass, and call thy image so:
+    I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.
+    Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
+    That with the very shaking of their chains
+    They may astonish these fell-lurking curs.
+    Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.
+
+               Enter the EARLS OF WARWICK and SALISBURY
+
+  CLIFFORD. Are these thy bears? We'll bait thy bears to death,
+    And manacle the berard in their chains,
+    If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.
+  RICHARD. Oft have I seen a hot o'er weening cur
+    Run back and bite, because he was withheld;
+    Who, being suffer'd, with the bear's fell paw,
+    Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried;  
+    And such a piece of service will you do,
+    If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.
+  CLIFFORD. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,
+    As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!
+  YORK. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
+  CLIFFORD. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.
+  KING HENRY. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?
+    Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,
+    Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son!
+    What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian
+    And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?
+    O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?
+    If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
+    Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?
+    Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war
+    And shame thine honourable age with blood?
+    Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
+    Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
+    For shame! In duty bend thy knee to me,
+    That bows unto the grave with mickle age.  
+  SALISBURY. My lord, I have considered with myself
+    The tide of this most renowned duke,
+    And in my conscience do repute his Grace
+    The rightful heir to England's royal seat.
+  KING HENRY. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?
+  SALISBURY. I have.
+  KING HENRY. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?
+  SALISBURY. It is great sin to swear unto a sin;
+    But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
+    Who can be bound by any solemn vow
+    To do a murd'rous deed, to rob a man,
+    To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
+    To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
+    To wring the widow from her custom'd right,
+    And have no other reason for this wrong
+    But that he was bound by a solemn oath?
+  QUEEN. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
+  KING HENRY. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.
+  YORK. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,
+    I am resolv'd for death or dignity.  
+  CLIFFORD. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.
+  WARWICK. You were best to go to bed and dream again
+    To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
+  CLIFFORD. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm
+    Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
+    And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,
+    Might I but know thee by thy household badge.
+  WARWICK. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
+    The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
+    This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
+    As on a mountain-top the cedar shows,
+    That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,
+    Even to affright thee with the view thereof.
+  CLIFFORD. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear
+    And tread it under foot with all contempt,
+    Despite the berard that protects the bear.
+  YOUNG CLIFFORD. And so to arms, victorious father,
+    To quell the rebels and their complices.
+  RICHARD. Fie! charity, for shame! Speak not in spite,
+    For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.  
+  YOUNG CLIFFORD. Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell.
+  RICHARD. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.
+                                                Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Saint Albans
+
+Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK
+
+  WARWICK. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls;
+    And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
+    Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum
+    And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
+    Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me.
+    Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
+  WARWICK is hoarse with calling thee to arms.
+
+                          Enter YORK
+
+    How now, my noble lord! what, all a-foot?
+  YORK. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed;
+    But match to match I have encount'red him,
+    And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
+    Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.
+
+                      Enter OLD CLIFFORD  
+
+  WARWICK. Of one or both of us the time is come.
+  YORK. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
+    For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
+  WARWICK. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.
+    As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
+    It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.            Exit
+  CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?
+  YORK. With thy brave bearing should I be in love
+    But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
+  CLIFFORD. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem
+    But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.
+  YORK. So let it help me now against thy sword,
+    As I in justice and true right express it!
+  CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both!
+  YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.
+                                 [They fight and CLIFFORD falls]
+  CLIFFORD. La fin couronne les oeuvres.                  [Dies]
+  YORK. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
+    Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!         Exit  
+
+                     Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD
+
+  YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout;
+    Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
+    Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
+    Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
+    Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
+    Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
+    He that is truly dedicate to war
+    Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself
+    Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
+    The name of valour.                 [Sees his father's body]
+    O, let the vile world end
+    And the premised flames of the last day
+    Knit earth and heaven together!
+    Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
+    Particularities and petty sounds
+    To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
+    To lose thy youth in peace and to achieve  
+    The silver livery of advised age,
+    And in thy reverence and thy chair-days thus
+    To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
+    My heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mine
+    It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
+    No more will I their babes. Tears virginal
+    Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
+    And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
+    Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
+    Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
+    Meet I an infant of the house of York,
+    Into as many gobbets will I cut it
+    As wild Medea young Absyrtus did;
+    In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
+    Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house;
+    As did Aeneas old Anchises bear,
+    So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
+    But then Aeneas bare a living load,
+    Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
+                                              Exit with the body  
+
+       Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed
+
+  RICHARD. So, lie thou there;
+    For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
+    The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset
+    Hath made the wizard famous in his death.
+    Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
+    Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.             Exit
+
+        Fight. Excursions. Enter KING, QUEEN, and others
+
+  QUEEN. Away, my lord! You are slow; for shame, away!
+  KING HENRY. Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay.
+  QUEEN. What are you made of? You'll nor fight nor fly.
+    Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
+    To give the enemy way, and to secure us
+    By what we can, which can no more but fly.
+                                               [Alarum afar off]
+    If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom  
+    Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape-
+    As well we may, if not through your neglect-
+    We shall to London get, where you are lov'd,
+    And where this breach now in our fortunes made
+    May readily be stopp'd.
+
+                     Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD
+
+  YOUNG CLIFFORD. But that my heart's on future mischief set,
+    I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;
+    But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
+    Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.
+    Away, for your relief! and we will live
+    To see their day and them our fortune give.
+    Away, my lord, away!                                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Fields near Saint Albans
+
+Alarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK, and soldiers,
+with drum and colours
+
+  YORK. Of Salisbury, who can report of him,
+    That winter lion, who in rage forgets
+    Aged contusions and all brush of time
+    And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,
+    Repairs him with occasion? This happy day
+    Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
+    If Salisbury be lost.
+  RICHARD. My noble father,
+    Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
+    Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off,
+    Persuaded him from any further act;
+    But still where danger was, still there I met him;
+    And like rich hangings in a homely house,
+    So was his will in his old feeble body.
+    But, noble as he is, look where he comes.
+  
+                         Enter SALISBURY
+
+  SALISBURY. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day!
+    By th' mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard:
+    God knows how long it is I have to live,
+    And it hath pleas'd Him that three times to-day
+    You have defended me from imminent death.
+    Well, lords, we have not got that which we have;
+    'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
+    Being opposites of such repairing nature.
+  YORK. I know our safety is to follow them;
+    For, as I hear, the King is fled to London
+    To call a present court of Parliament.
+    Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.
+    What says Lord Warwick? Shall we after them?
+  WARWICK. After them? Nay, before them, if we can.
+    Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
+    Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York,
+    Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.
+    Sound drum and trumpets and to London all;  
+    And more such days as these to us befall!             Exeunt
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1591
+
+THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  KING HENRY THE SIXTH
+  EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, his son
+  LEWIS XI, King of France           DUKE OF SOMERSET
+  DUKE OF EXETER                     EARL OF OXFORD
+  EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND             EARL OF WESTMORELAND
+  LORD CLIFFORD
+  RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK
+  EDWARD, EARL OF MARCH, afterwards KING EDWARD IV, his son
+  EDMUND, EARL OF RUTLAND, his son
+  GEORGE, afterwards DUKE OF CLARENCE, his son
+  RICHARD, afterwards DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his son
+  DUKE OF NORFOLK                    MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE
+  EARL OF WARWICK                    EARL OF PEMBROKE
+  LORD HASTINGS                      LORD STAFFORD
+  SIR JOHN MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York
+  SIR HUGH MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York
+  HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, a youth
+  LORD RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey
+  SIR WILLIAM STANLEY                SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY
+  SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE                TUTOR, to Rutland  
+  MAYOR OF YORK                      LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER
+  A NOBLEMAN                         TWO KEEPERS
+  A HUNTSMAN
+  A SON that has killed his father
+  A FATHER that has killed his son
+
+  QUEEN MARGARET
+  LADY GREY, afterwards QUEEN to Edward IV
+  BONA, sister to the French Queen
+
+  Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, etc.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+SCENE:
+England and France
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+London. The Parliament House
+
+Alarum. Enter DUKE OF YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK,
+and soldiers, with white roses in their hats
+
+  WARWICK. I wonder how the King escap'd our hands.
+  YORK. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north,
+    He slily stole away and left his men;
+    Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
+    Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
+    Cheer'd up the drooping army, and himself,
+    Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
+    Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in,
+    Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.
+  EDWARD. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,
+    Is either slain or wounded dangerous;
+    I cleft his beaver with a downright blow.
+    That this is true, father, behold his blood.
+  MONTAGUE. And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,
+    Whom I encount'red as the battles join'd.  
+  RICHARD. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did.
+                                 [Throwing down SOMERSET'S head]
+  YORK. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.
+    But is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?
+  NORFOLK. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!
+  RICHARD. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.
+  WARWICK. And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,
+    Before I see thee seated in that throne
+    Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
+    I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.
+    This is the palace of the fearful King,
+    And this the regal seat. Possess it, York;
+    For this is thine, and not King Henry's heirs'.
+  YORK. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
+    For hither we have broken in by force.
+  NORFOLK. We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.
+  YORK. Thanks, gentle Norfolk. Stay by me, my lords;
+    And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.
+                                                    [They go up]
+  WARWICK. And when the King comes, offer him no violence.  
+    Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.
+  YORK. The Queen this day here holds her parliament,
+    But little thinks we shall be of her council.
+    By words or blows here let us win our right.
+  RICHARD. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.
+  WARWICK. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
+    Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be King,
+    And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice
+    Hath made us by-words to our enemies.
+  YORK. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute:
+    I mean to take possession of my right.
+  WARWICK. Neither the King, nor he that loves him best,
+    The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
+    Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells.
+    I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.
+    Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.
+                                      [YORK occupies the throne]
+
+       Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,
+        WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and others, with red roses in  
+                            their hats
+
+  KING HENRY. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
+    Even in the chair of state! Belike he means,
+    Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,
+    To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.
+    Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father;
+    And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge
+    On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me!
+  CLIFFORD. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.
+  WESTMORELAND. What, shall we suffer this? Let's pluck him down;
+    My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.
+  KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.
+  CLIFFORD. Patience is for poltroons such as he;
+    He durst not sit there had your father liv'd.
+    My gracious lord, here in the parliament
+    Let us assail the family of York.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so.
+  KING HENRY. Ah, know you not the city favours them,  
+    And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?
+  EXETER. But when the Duke is slain they'll quickly fly.
+  KING HENRY. Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,
+    To make a shambles of the parliament house!
+    Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats,
+    Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
+    Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne
+    And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
+    I am thy sovereign.
+  YORK. I am thine.
+  EXETER. For shame, come down; he made thee Duke of York.
+  YORK. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.
+  EXETER. Thy father was a traitor to the crown.
+  WARWICK. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
+    In following this usurping Henry.
+  CLIFFORD. Whom should he follow but his natural king?
+  WARWICK. True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.
+  KING HENRY. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?
+  YORK. It must and shall be so; content thyself.
+  WARWICK. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be King.  
+  WESTMORELAND. He is both King and Duke of Lancaster;
+    And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.
+  WARWICK. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget
+    That we are those which chas'd you from the field,
+    And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
+    March'd through the city to the palace gates.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
+    And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.
+  WESTMORELAND. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons,
+    Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives
+    Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.
+  CLIFFORD. Urge it no more; lest that instead of words
+    I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
+    As shall revenge his death before I stir.
+  WARWICK. Poor Clifford, how I scorn his worthless threats!
+  YORK. Will you we show our title to the crown?
+    If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.
+  KING HENRY. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
+    Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;
+    Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:  
+    I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
+    Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop,
+    And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces.
+  WARWICK. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.
+  KING HENRY. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I:
+    When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old.
+  RICHARD. You are old enough now, and yet methinks you lose.
+    Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.
+  EDWARD. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.
+  MONTAGUE. Good brother, as thou lov'st and honourest arms,
+    Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.
+  RICHARD. Sound drums and trumpets, and the King will fly.
+  YORK. Sons, peace!
+  KING HENRY. Peace thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.
+  WARWICK. Plantagenet shall speak first. Hear him, lords;
+    And be you silent and attentive too,
+    For he that interrupts him shall not live.
+  KING HENRY. Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,
+    Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?
+    No; first shall war unpeople this my realm;  
+    Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,
+    And now in England to our heart's great sorrow,
+    Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?
+    My title's good, and better far than his.
+  WARWICK. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be King.
+  KING HENRY. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.
+  YORK. 'Twas by rebellion against his king.
+  KING HENRY. [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.-
+    Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?
+  YORK. What then?
+  KING HENRY. An if he may, then am I lawful King;
+    For Richard, in the view of many lords,
+    Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
+    Whose heir my father was, and I am his.
+  YORK. He rose against him, being his sovereign,
+    And made him to resign his crown perforce.
+  WARWICK. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
+    Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?
+  EXETER. No; for he could not so resign his crown
+    But that the next heir should succeed and reign.  
+  KING HENRY. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?
+  EXETER. His is the right, and therefore pardon me.
+  YORK. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?
+  EXETER. My conscience tells me he is lawful King.
+  KING HENRY. [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
+    Think not that Henry shall be so depos'd.
+  WARWICK. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Thou art deceiv'd. 'Tis not thy southern power
+    Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,
+    Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,
+    Can set the Duke up in despite of me.
+  CLIFFORD. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
+    Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence.
+    May that ground gape, and swallow me alive,
+    Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!
+  KING HENRY. O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!
+  YORK. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
+    What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?
+  WARWICK. Do right unto this princely Duke of York;  
+    Or I will fill the house with armed men,
+    And over the chair of state, where now he sits,
+    Write up his title with usurping blood.
+                                [He stamps with his foot and the
+                                       soldiers show themselves]
+  KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick, hear but one word:
+    Let me for this my life-time reign as king.
+  YORK. Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,
+    And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.
+  KING HENRY. I am content. Richard Plantagenet,
+    Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.
+  CLIFFORD. What wrong is this unto the Prince your son!
+  WARWICK. What good is this to England and himself!
+  WESTMORELAND. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry!
+  CLIFFORD. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and or us!
+  WESTMORELAND. I cannot stay to hear these articles.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Nor I.
+  CLIFFORD. Come, cousin, let us tell the Queen these news.
+  WESTMORELAND. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,
+    In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.  
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Be thou a prey unto the house of York
+    And die in bands for this unmanly deed!
+  CLIFFORD. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,
+    Or live in peace abandon'd and despis'd!
+                                Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD,
+                                                and WESTMORELAND
+  WARWICK. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.
+  EXETER. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield.
+  KING HENRY. Ah, Exeter!
+  WARWICK. Why should you sigh, my lord?
+  KING HENRY. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,
+    Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
+    But be it as it may. [To YORK] I here entail
+    The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;
+    Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
+    To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
+    To honour me as thy king and sovereign,
+    And neither by treason nor hostility
+    To seek to put me down and reign thyself.
+  YORK. This oath I willingly take, and will perform.  
+                                        [Coming from the throne]
+  WARWICK. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him.
+  KING HENRY. And long live thou, and these thy forward sons!
+  YORK. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.
+  EXETER. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes!
+                                   [Sennet. Here they come down]
+  YORK. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.
+  WARWICK. And I'll keep London with my soldiers.
+  NORFOLK. And I to Norfolk with my followers.
+  MONTAGUE. And I unto the sea, from whence I came.
+                                             Exeunt the YORKISTS
+  KING HENRY. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.
+
+            Enter QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE OF WALES
+
+  EXETER. Here comes the Queen, whose looks bewray her anger.
+    I'll steal away.
+  KING HENRY. Exeter, so will I.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.
+  KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.  
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Who can be patient in such extremes?
+    Ah, wretched man! Would I had died a maid,
+    And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
+    Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father!
+    Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus?
+    Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I,
+    Or felt that pain which I did for him once,
+    Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood,
+    Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there
+    Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir,
+    And disinherited thine only son.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Father, you cannot disinherit me.
+    If you be King, why should not I succeed?
+  KING HENRY. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son.
+    The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Enforc'd thee! Art thou King and wilt be
+      forc'd?
+    I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
+    Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me;
+    And giv'n unto the house of York such head  
+    As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
+    To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
+    What is it but to make thy sepulchre
+    And creep into it far before thy time?
+    Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Calais;
+    Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;
+    The Duke is made Protector of the realm;
+    And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds
+    The trembling lamb environed with wolves.
+    Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
+    The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes
+    Before I would have granted to that act.
+    But thou prefer'st thy life before thine honour;
+    And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,
+    Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
+    Until that act of parliament be repeal'd
+    Whereby my son is disinherited.
+    The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours
+    Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;
+    And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace  
+    And utter ruin of the house of York.
+    Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away;
+    Our army is ready; come, we'll after them.
+  KING HENRY. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.
+  KING HENRY. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. When I return with victory from the field
+    I'll see your Grace; till then I'll follow her.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.
+                            Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE
+  KING HENRY. Poor queen! How love to me and to her son
+    Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
+    Reveng'd may she be on that hateful Duke,
+    Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
+    Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle
+    Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!
+    The loss of those three lords torments my heart.
+    I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;
+    Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.  
+  EXETER. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire
+
+Flourish. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE
+
+  RICHARD. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.
+  EDWARD. No, I can better play the orator.
+  MONTAGUE. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
+
+                     Enter the DUKE OF YORK
+
+  YORK. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?
+    What is your quarrel? How began it first?
+  EDWARD. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
+  YORK. About what?
+  RICHARD. About that which concerns your Grace and us-
+    The crown of England, father, which is yours.
+  YORK. Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead.
+  RICHARD. Your right depends not on his life or death.
+  EDWARD. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now.
+    By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
+    It will outrun you, father, in the end.  
+  YORK. I took an oath that he should quietly reign.
+  EDWARD. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:
+    I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.
+  RICHARD. No; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn.
+  YORK. I shall be, if I claim by open war.
+  RICHARD. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.
+  YORK. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.
+  RICHARD. An oath is of no moment, being not took
+    Before a true and lawful magistrate
+    That hath authority over him that swears.
+    Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
+    Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
+    Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
+    Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think
+    How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,
+    Within whose circuit is Elysium
+    And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
+    Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest
+    Until the white rose that I wear be dy'd
+    Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.  
+  YORK. Richard, enough; I will be King, or die.
+    Brother, thou shalt to London presently
+    And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
+    Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk
+    And tell him privily of our intent.
+    You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,
+    With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise;
+    In them I trust, for they are soldiers,
+    Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
+    While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more
+    But that I seek occasion how to rise,
+    And yet the King not privy to my drift,
+    Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
+
+                      Enter a MESSENGER
+
+    But, stay. What news? Why com'st thou in such post?
+  MESSENGER. The Queen with all the northern earls and lords
+    Intend here to besiege you in your castle.
+    She is hard by with twenty thousand men;  
+    And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
+  YORK. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?
+    Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
+    My brother Montague shall post to London.
+    Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
+    Whom we have left protectors of the King,
+    With pow'rful policy strengthen themselves
+    And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.
+  MONTAGUE. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not.
+    And thus most humbly I do take my leave.                Exit
+
+              Enter SIR JOHN and SIR HUGH MORTIMER
+
+  YORK. Sir john and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!
+    You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
+    The army of the Queen mean to besiege us.
+  SIR JOHN. She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.
+  YORK. What, with five thousand men?
+  RICHARD. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.
+    A woman's general; what should we fear?  
+                                              [A march afar off]
+  EDWARD. I hear their drums. Let's set our men in order,
+    And issue forth and bid them battle straight.
+  YORK. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great,
+    I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
+    Many a battle have I won in France,
+    When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
+    Why should I not now have the like success?           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Field of battle between Sandal Castle and Wakefield
+
+Alarum. Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR
+
+  RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands?
+    Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!
+
+                  Enter CLIFFORD and soldiers
+
+  CLIFFORD. Chaplain, away! Thy priesthood saves thy life.
+    As for the brat of this accursed duke,
+    Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
+  TUTOR. And I, my lord, will bear him company.
+  CLIFFORD. Soldiers, away with him!
+  TUTOR. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
+    Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
+                                    Exit, forced off by soldiers
+  CLIFFORD. How now, is he dead already? Or is it fear
+    That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.
+  RUTLAND. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
+    That trembles under his devouring paws;  
+    And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
+    And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.
+    Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
+    And not with such a cruel threat'ning look!
+    Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.
+    I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;
+    Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
+  CLIFFORD. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
+    Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.
+  RUTLAND. Then let my father's blood open it again:
+    He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
+  CLIFFORD. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
+    Were not revenge sufficient for me;
+    No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
+    And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
+    It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart.
+    The sight of any of the house of York
+    Is as a fury to torment my soul;
+    And till I root out their accursed line
+    And leave not one alive, I live in hell.  
+    Therefore-
+  RUTLAND. O, let me pray before I take my death!
+    To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me.
+  CLIFFORD. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
+  RUTLAND. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?
+  CLIFFORD. Thy father hath.
+  RUTLAND. But 'twas ere I was born.
+    Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,
+    Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
+    He be as miserably slain as I.
+    Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
+    And when I give occasion of offence
+    Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
+  CLIFFORD. No cause!
+    Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.       [Stabs him]
+  RUTLAND. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!         [Dies]
+  CLIFFORD. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet;
+    And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
+    Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
+    Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.          Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Another part of the field
+
+Alarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK
+
+  YORK. The army of the Queen hath got the field.
+    My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
+    And all my followers to the eager foe
+    Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind,
+    Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
+    My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them;
+    But this I know- they have demean'd themselves
+    Like men born to renown by life or death.
+    Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
+    And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out.'
+    And full as oft came Edward to my side
+    With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
+    In blood of those that had encount'red him.
+    And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
+    Richard cried 'Charge, and give no foot of ground!'
+    And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
+    A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'  
+    With this we charg'd again; but out alas!
+    We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan
+    With bootless labour swim against the tide
+    And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
+                                         [A short alarum within]
+    Ah, hark! The fatal followers do pursue,
+    And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;
+    And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.
+    The sands are numb'red that make up my life;
+    Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
+
+         Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,
+               the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers
+
+    Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
+    I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
+    I am your butt, and I abide your shot.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
+  CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm
+    With downright payment show'd unto my father.  
+    Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
+    And made an evening at the noontide prick.
+  YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
+    A bird that will revenge upon you all;
+    And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
+    Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
+    Why come you not? What! multitudes, and fear?
+  CLIFFORD. So cowards fight when they can fly no further;
+    So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
+    So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
+    Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.
+  YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
+    And in thy thought o'errun my former time;
+    And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,
+    And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice
+    Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!
+  CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word,
+    But buckler with thee blows, twice two for one.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes
+    I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.  
+    Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much
+    To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
+    What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
+    For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
+    When he might spurn him with his foot away?
+    It is war's prize to take all vantages;
+    And ten to one is no impeach of valour.
+                         [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles]
+  CLIFFORD. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. So doth the cony struggle in the net.
+  YORK. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
+    So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. What would your Grace have done unto him now?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
+    Come, make him stand upon this molehill here
+    That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
+    Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
+    What, was it you that would be England's king?
+    Was't you that revell'd in our parliament  
+    And made a preachment of your high descent?
+    Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
+    The wanton Edward and the lusty George?
+    And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
+    Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
+    Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
+    Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
+    Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
+    That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point
+    Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
+    And if thine eyes can water for his death,
+    I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
+    Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
+    I should lament thy miserable state.
+    I prithee grieve to make me merry, York.
+    What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
+    That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
+    Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad;
+    And I to make thee mad do mock thee thus.
+    Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.  
+    Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;
+    York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.
+    A crown for York!-and, lords, bow low to him.
+    Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.
+                             [Putting a paper crown on his head]
+    Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
+    Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
+    And this is he was his adopted heir.
+    But how is it that great Plantagenet
+    Is crown'd so soon and broke his solemn oath?
+    As I bethink me, you should not be King
+    Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
+    And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
+    And rob his temples of the diadem,
+    Now in his life, against your holy oath?
+    O, 'tis a fault too too
+    Off with the crown and with the crown his head;
+    And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
+  CLIFFORD. That is my office, for my father's sake.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.  
+  YORK. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
+    Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
+    How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
+    To triumph like an Amazonian trull
+    Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!
+    But that thy face is visard-like, unchanging,
+    Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
+    I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.
+    To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,
+    Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.
+    Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
+    Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,
+    Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
+    Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
+    It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
+    Unless the adage must be verified,
+    That beggars mounted run their horse to death.
+    'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
+    But, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.
+    'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;  
+    The contrary doth make thee wond'red at.
+    'Tis government that makes them seem divine;
+    The want thereof makes thee abominable.
+    Thou art as opposite to every good
+    As the Antipodes are unto us,
+    Or as the south to the septentrion.
+    O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
+    How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
+    To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
+    And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
+    Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible:
+    Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
+    Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish;
+    Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will;
+    For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
+    And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
+    These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
+    And every drop cries vengeance for his death
+    'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so  
+    That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
+  YORK. That face of his the hungry cannibals
+    Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood;
+    But you are more inhuman, more inexorable-
+    O, ten times more- than tigers of Hyrcania.
+    See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears.
+    This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
+    And I with tears do wash the blood away.
+    Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;
+    And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
+    Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
+    Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears
+    And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!'
+    There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse;
+    And in thy need such comfort come to thee
+    As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
+    Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
+    My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
+    I should not for my life but weep with him,  
+    To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
+    Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
+    And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
+  CLIFFORD. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.
+                                                  [Stabbing him]
+  QUEEN MARGARET. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.
+                                                  [Stabbing him]
+  YORK. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
+    My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.
+                                                          [Dies]
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
+    So York may overlook the town of York.
+                                                Flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire
+
+A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power
+
+  EDWARD. I wonder how our princely father scap'd,
+    Or whether he be scap'd away or no
+    From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit.
+    Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
+    Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
+    Or had he scap'd, methinks we should have heard
+    The happy tidings of his good escape.
+    How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?
+  RICHARD. I cannot joy until I be resolv'd
+    Where our right valiant father is become.
+    I saw him in the battle range about,
+    And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
+    Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
+    As doth a lion in a herd of neat;
+    Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
+    Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,
+    The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.  
+    So far'd our father with his enemies;
+    So fled his enemies my warlike father.
+    Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son.
+    See how the morning opes her golden gates
+    And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.
+    How well resembles it the prime of youth,
+    Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!
+  EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
+  RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
+    Not separated with the racking clouds,
+    But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
+    See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
+    As if they vow'd some league inviolable.
+    Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
+    In this the heaven figures some event.
+  EDWARD. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
+    I think it cites us, brother, to the field,
+    That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
+    Each one already blazing by our meeds,
+    Should notwithstanding join our lights together  
+    And overshine the earth, as this the world.
+    Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
+    Upon my target three fair shining suns.
+  RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it,
+    You love the breeder better than the male.
+
+                 Enter a MESSENGER, blowing
+
+    But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
+    Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
+  MESSENGER. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on
+    When as the noble Duke of York was slain,
+    Your princely father and my loving lord!
+  EDWARD. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.
+  RICHARD. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
+  MESSENGER. Environed he was with many foes,
+    And stood against them as the hope of Troy
+    Against the Greeks that would have ent'red Troy.
+    But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
+    And many strokes, though with a little axe,  
+    Hews down and fells the hardest-timber'd oak.
+    By many hands your father was subdu'd;
+    But only slaught'red by the ireful arm
+    Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,
+    Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despite,
+    Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,
+    The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks
+    A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
+    Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain;
+    And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
+    They took his head, and on the gates of York
+    They set the same; and there it doth remain,
+    The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
+  EDWARD. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
+    Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
+    O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain
+    The flow'r of Europe for his chivalry;
+    And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
+    For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.
+    Now my soul's palace is become a prison.  
+    Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
+    Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
+    For never henceforth shall I joy again;
+    Never, O never, shall I see more joy.
+  RICHARD. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture
+    Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;
+    Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden,
+    For self-same wind that I should speak withal
+    Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,
+    And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.
+    To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
+    Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!
+    Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,
+    Or die renowned by attempting it.
+  EDWARD. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
+    His dukedom and his chair with me is left.
+  RICHARD. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
+    Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun;
+    For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom, say:
+    Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.  
+
+         March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army
+
+  WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad?
+  RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount
+    Our baleful news and at each word's deliverance
+    Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told,
+    The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
+    O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!
+  EDWARD. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet
+    Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption
+    Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.
+  WARWICK. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;
+    And now, to add more measure to your woes,
+    I come to tell you things sith then befall'n.
+    After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
+    Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
+    Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
+    Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
+    I, then in London, keeper of the King,  
+    Muster'd my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,
+    And very well appointed, as I thought,
+    March'd toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen,
+    Bearing the King in my behalf along;
+    For by my scouts I was advertised
+    That she was coming with a full intent
+    To dash our late decree in parliament
+    Touching King Henry's oath and your succession.
+    Short tale to make- we at Saint Albans met,
+    Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought;
+    But whether 'twas the coldness of the King,
+    Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
+    That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen,
+    Or whether 'twas report of her success,
+    Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
+    Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
+    I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,
+    Their weapons like to lightning came and went:
+    Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight
+    Or like an idle thresher with a flail,  
+    Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
+    I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
+    With promise of high pay and great rewards,
+    But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
+    And we in them no hope to win the day;
+    So that we fled: the King unto the Queen;
+    Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
+    In haste post-haste are come to join with you;
+    For in the marches here we heard you were
+    Making another head to fight again.
+  EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
+    And when came George from Burgundy to England?
+  WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers;
+    And for your brother, he was lately sent
+    From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
+    With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
+  RICHARD. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled.
+    Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
+    But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.
+  WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;  
+    For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine
+    Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head
+    And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
+    Were he as famous and as bold in war
+    As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.
+  RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not.
+    'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
+    But in this troublous time what's to be done?
+    Shall we go throw away our coats of steel
+    And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns,
+    Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?
+    Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
+    Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
+    If for the last, say 'Ay,' and to it, lords.
+  WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
+    And therefore comes my brother Montague.
+    Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen,
+    With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,
+    And of their feather many moe proud birds,
+    Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax.  
+    He swore consent to your succession,
+    His oath enrolled in the parliament;
+    And now to London all the crew are gone
+    To frustrate both his oath and what beside
+    May make against the house of Lancaster.
+    Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.
+    Now if the help of Norfolk and myself,
+    With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
+    Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
+    Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
+    Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
+    And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
+    And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'
+    But never once again turn back and fly.
+  RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.
+    Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day
+    That cries 'Retire!' if Warwick bid him stay.
+  EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
+    And when thou fail'st- as God forbid the hour!-
+    Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend.  
+  WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;
+    The next degree is England's royal throne,
+    For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
+    In every borough as we pass along;
+    And he that throws not up his cap for joy
+    Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
+    King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
+    Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,
+    But sound the trumpets and about our task.
+  RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
+    As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
+    I come to pierce it or to give thee mine.
+  EDWARD. Then strike up drums. God and Saint George for us!
+
+                       Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  WARWICK. How now! what news?
+  MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me
+    The Queen is coming with a puissant host,
+    And craves your company for speedy counsel.  
+  WARWICK. Why, then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Before York
+
+Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, the PRINCE OF WALES, CLIFFORD,
+NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets
+
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
+    Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy
+    That sought to be encompass'd with your crown.
+    Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
+  KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck-
+    To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
+    Withhold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,
+    Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.
+  CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity
+    And harmful pity must be laid aside.
+    To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
+    Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
+    Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
+    Not his that spoils her young before her face.
+    Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?  
+    Not he that sets his foot upon her back,
+    The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,
+    And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
+    Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
+    Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.
+    He, but a Duke, would have his son a king,
+    And raise his issue like a loving sire:
+    Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son,
+    Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
+    Which argued thee a most unloving father.
+    Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
+    And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
+    Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
+    Who hath not seen them- even with those wings
+    Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight-
+    Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
+    Offering their own lives in their young's defence
+    For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
+    Were it not pity that this goodly boy
+    Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,  
+    And long hereafter say unto his child
+    'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got
+    My careless father fondly gave away'?
+    Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
+    And let his manly face, which promiseth
+    Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
+    To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.
+  KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,
+    Inferring arguments of mighty force.
+    But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear
+    That things ill got had ever bad success?
+    And happy always was it for that son
+    Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
+    I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
+    And would my father had left me no more!
+    For all the rest is held at such a rate
+    As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep
+    Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
+    Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know
+    How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!  
+  QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh,
+    And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
+    You promis'd knighthood to our forward son:
+    Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.
+    Edward, kneel down.
+  KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
+    And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
+    I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
+    And in that quarrel use it to the death.
+  CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
+
+                      Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness;
+    For with a band of thirty thousand men
+    Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York,
+    And in the towns, as they do march along,
+    Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.
+    Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.  
+  CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field:
+    The Queen hath best success when you are absent.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.
+  KING HENRY. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
+    And hearten those that fight in your defence.
+    Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'
+
+         March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK,
+                NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers
+
+  EDWARD. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace
+    And set thy diadem upon my head,
+    Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.
+    Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
+    Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?
+  EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee.
+    I was adopted heir by his consent:  
+    Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
+    You that are King, though he do wear the crown,
+    Have caus'd him by new act of parliament
+    To blot out me and put his own son in.
+  CLIFFORD. And reason too:
+    Who should succeed the father but the son?
+  RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!
+  CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
+    Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.
+  RICHARD. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?
+  CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
+  RICHARD. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.
+  WARWICK. What say'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! Dare you speak?
+    When you and I met at Saint Albans last
+    Your legs did better service than your hands.
+  WARWICK. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.
+  CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled.
+  WARWICK. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.  
+  RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
+    Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain
+    The execution of my big-swol'n heart
+    Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
+  CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call'st thou him a child?
+  RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,
+    As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
+    But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.
+  KING HENRY. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.
+  KING HENRY. I prithee give no limits to my tongue:
+    I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.
+  CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
+    Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.
+  RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.
+    By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd
+    That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
+  EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
+    A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day
+    That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.  
+  WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
+    For York in justice puts his armour on.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. If that be right which Warwick says is right,
+    There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
+  RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
+    For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;
+    But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,
+    Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
+    As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings.
+  RICHARD. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
+    Whose father bears the title of a king-
+    As if a channel should be call'd the sea-
+    Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
+    To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?
+  EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns
+    To make this shameless callet know herself.
+    Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
+    Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
+    And ne'er was Agamemmon's brother wrong'd  
+    By that false woman as this king by thee.
+    His father revell'd in the heart of France,
+    And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop;
+    And had he match'd according to his state,
+    He might have kept that glory to this day;
+    But when he took a beggar to his bed
+    And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day,
+    Even then that sunshine brew'd a show'r for him
+    That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France
+    And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
+    For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride?
+    Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
+    And we, in pity of the gentle King,
+    Had slipp'd our claim until another age.
+  GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,
+    And that thy summer bred us no increase,
+    We set the axe to thy usurping root;
+    And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
+    Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
+    We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down,  
+    Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.
+  EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee;
+    Not willing any longer conference,
+    Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak.
+    Sound trumpets; let our bloody colours wave,
+    And either victory or else a grave!
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Stay, Edward.
+  EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay;
+    These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire
+
+Alarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK
+
+  WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
+    I lay me down a little while to breathe;
+    For strokes receiv'd and many blows repaid
+    Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
+    And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.
+
+                     Enter EDWARD, running
+
+  EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death;
+    For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
+  WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good?
+
+                         Enter GEORGE
+
+  GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair;
+    Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.  
+    What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?
+  EDWARD. Bootless is flight: they follow us with wings;
+    And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
+
+                         Enter RICHARD
+
+  RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
+    Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
+    Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;
+    And in the very pangs of death he cried,
+    Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,
+    'Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death.'
+    So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
+    That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
+    The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
+  WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood.
+    I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
+    Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
+    Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage,
+    And look upon, as if the tragedy  
+    Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
+    Here on my knee I vow to God above
+    I'll never pause again, never stand still,
+    Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine
+    Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
+  EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine,
+    And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!
+    And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face
+    I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee,
+    Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings,
+    Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands
+    That to my foes this body must be prey,
+    Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope
+    And give sweet passage to my sinful soul.
+    Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
+    Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.
+  RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,
+    Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.
+    I that did never weep now melt with woe
+    That winter should cut off our spring-time so.  
+  WARWICK. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.
+  GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops,
+    And give them leave to fly that will not stay,
+    And call them pillars that will stand to us;
+    And if we thrive, promise them such rewards
+    As victors wear at the Olympian games.
+    This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,
+    For yet is hope of life and victory.
+    Forslow no longer; make we hence amain.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Another part of the field
+
+Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD
+
+  RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone.
+    Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,
+    And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
+    Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.
+  CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.
+    This is the hand that stabbed thy father York;
+    And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
+    And here's the heart that triumphs in their death
+    And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother
+    To execute the like upon thyself;
+    And so, have at thee!                           [They fight]
+
+                 Enter WARWICK; CLIFFORD flies
+
+  RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;
+    For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Another part of the field
+
+Alarum. Enter KING HENRY alone
+
+  KING HENRY. This battle fares like to the morning's war,
+    When dying clouds contend with growing light,
+    What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
+    Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
+    Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
+    Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
+    Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea
+    Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind.
+    Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;
+    Now one the better, then another best;
+    Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
+    Yet neither conqueror nor conquered.
+    So is the equal poise of this fell war.
+    Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
+    To whom God will, there be the victory!
+    For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
+    Have chid me from the battle, swearing both  
+    They prosper best of all when I am thence.
+    Would I were dead, if God's good will were so!
+    For what is in this world but grief and woe?
+    O God! methinks it were a happy life
+    To be no better than a homely swain;
+    To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
+    To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
+    Thereby to see the minutes how they run-
+    How many makes the hour full complete,
+    How many hours brings about the day,
+    How many days will finish up the year,
+    How many years a mortal man may live.
+    When this is known, then to divide the times-
+    So many hours must I tend my flock;
+    So many hours must I take my rest;
+    So many hours must I contemplate;
+    So many hours must I sport myself;
+    So many days my ewes have been with young;
+    So many weeks ere the poor fools will can;
+    So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:  
+    So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
+    Pass'd over to the end they were created,
+    Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
+    Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
+    Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
+    To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
+    Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
+    To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
+    O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
+    And to conclude: the shepherd's homely curds,
+    His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
+    His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
+    All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
+    Is far beyond a prince's delicates-
+    His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
+    His body couched in a curious bed,
+    When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.
+
+       Alarum. Enter a son that hath kill'd his Father, at
+       one door; and a FATHER that hath kill'd his Son, at  
+                         another door
+
+  SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
+    This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight
+    May be possessed with some store of crowns;
+    And I, that haply take them from him now,
+    May yet ere night yield both my life and them
+    To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
+    Who's this? O God! It is my father's face,
+    Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
+    O heavy times, begetting such events!
+    From London by the King was I press'd forth;
+    My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,
+    Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
+    And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
+    Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
+    Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did.
+    And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.
+    My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
+    And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.  
+  KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
+    Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,
+    Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
+    Weep, wretched man; I'll aid thee tear for tear;
+    And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
+    Be blind with tears and break o'ercharg'd with grief.
+
+               Enter FATHER, bearing of his SON
+
+  FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,
+    Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
+    For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
+    But let me see. Is this our foeman's face?
+    Ah, no, no, no, no, it is mine only son!
+    Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
+    Throw up thine eye! See, see what show'rs arise,
+    Blown with the windy tempest of my heart
+    Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart!
+    O, pity, God, this miserable age!
+    What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,  
+    Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
+    This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
+    O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
+    And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!
+  KING HENRY. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
+    O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
+    O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
+    The red rose and the white are on his face,
+    The fatal colours of our striving houses:
+    The one his purple blood right well resembles;
+    The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.
+    Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
+    If you contend, a thousand lives must perish.
+  SON. How will my mother for a father's death
+    Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!
+  FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son
+    Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied!
+  KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances
+    Misthink the King, and not be satisfied!
+  SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death?  
+  FATHER. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?
+  KING HENRY. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe?
+    Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.
+  SON. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.
+                                              Exit with the body
+  FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
+    My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
+    For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
+    My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
+    And so obsequious will thy father be,
+    Even for the loss of thee, having no more,
+    As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
+    I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
+    For I have murdered where I should not kill.
+                                              Exit with the body
+  KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
+    Here sits a king more woeful than you are.
+
+           Alarums, excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,
+                  PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER  
+
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled,
+    And Warwick rages like a chafed bull.
+    Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain.
+    Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
+    Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
+    With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
+    And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
+    Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
+  EXETER. Away! for vengeance comes along with them.
+    Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed;
+    Or else come after. I'll away before.
+  KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter.
+    Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
+    Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away!             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Another part of the field
+
+A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded
+
+  CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
+    Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
+    O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
+    More than my body's parting with my soul!
+    My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee;
+    And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts,
+    Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud York.
+    The common people swarm like summer flies;
+    And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
+    And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
+    O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
+    That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds,
+    Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
+    And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
+    Or as thy father and his father did,
+    Giving no ground unto the house of York,
+    They never then had sprung like summer flies;  
+    I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
+    Had left no mourning widows for our death;
+    And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
+    For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
+    And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
+    Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds.
+    No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight.
+    The foe is merciless and will not pity;
+    For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.
+    The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
+    And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
+    Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
+    I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms: split my breast.
+                                                     [He faints]
+
+       Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD
+               MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers
+
+  EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause
+    And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.  
+    Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen
+    That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
+    As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
+    Command an argosy to stern the waves.
+    But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
+  WARWICK. No, 'tis impossible he should escape;
+    For, though before his face I speak the words,
+    Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;
+    And, whereso'er he is, he's surely dead.
+                                     [CLIFFORD groans, and dies]
+  RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?
+    A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
+    See who it is.
+  EDWARD. And now the battle's ended,
+    If friend or foe, let him be gently used.
+  RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
+    Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
+    In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
+    But set his murd'ring knife unto the root
+    From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring-  
+    I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
+  WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
+    Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
+    Instead whereof let this supply the room.
+    Measure for measure must be answered.
+  EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
+    That nothing sung but death to us and ours.
+    Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound,
+    And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
+  WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft.
+    Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
+    Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
+    And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.
+  RICHARD. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth.
+    'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
+    Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
+    Which in the time of death he gave our father.
+  GEORGE. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.
+  RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.
+  EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.  
+  WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
+  GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
+  RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
+  EDWARD. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
+  GEORGE. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?
+  WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.
+  RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard
+    When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
+    I know by that he's dead; and by my soul,
+    If this right hand would buy two hours' life,
+    That I in all despite might rail at him,
+    This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood
+    Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
+    York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
+  WARWICK. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head,
+    And rear it in the place your father's stands.
+    And now to London with triumphant march,
+    There to be crowned England's royal King;
+    From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
+    And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.  
+    So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
+    And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
+    The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again;
+    For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
+    Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.
+    First will I see the coronation;
+    And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea
+    To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
+  EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
+    For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,
+    And never will I undertake the thing
+    Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.
+    Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester;
+    And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself,
+    Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.
+  RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;
+    For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.
+  WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation.
+    Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London
+    To see these honours in possession.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+A chase in the north of England
+
+Enter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands
+
+  FIRST KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves,
+    For through this laund anon the deer will come;
+    And in this covert will we make our stand,
+    Culling the principal of all the deer.
+  SECOND KEEPER. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.
+  FIRST KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
+    Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
+    Here stand we both, and aim we at the best;
+    And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
+    I'll tell thee what befell me on a day
+    In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
+  SECOND KEEPER. Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.
+
+        Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book
+
+  KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
+    To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.  
+    No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
+    Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
+    Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed.
+    No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
+    No humble suitors press to speak for right,
+    No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
+    For how can I help them and not myself?
+  FIRST KEEPER. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee.
+    This is the quondam King; let's seize upon him.
+  KING HENRY. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
+    For wise men say it is the wisest course.
+  SECOND KEEPER. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
+  FIRST KEEPER. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.
+  KING HENRY. My Queen and son are gone to France for aid;
+    And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
+    Is thither gone to crave the French King's sister
+    To wife for Edward. If this news be true,
+    Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;
+    For Warwick is a subtle orator,
+    And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.  
+    By this account, then, Margaret may win him;
+    For she's a woman to be pitied much.
+    Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast;
+    Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
+    The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;
+    And Nero will be tainted with remorse
+    To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.
+    Ay, but she's come to beg: Warwick, to give.
+    She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry:
+    He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
+    She weeps, and says her Henry is depos'd:
+    He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd;
+    That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
+    Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
+    Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
+    And in conclusion wins the King from her
+    With promise of his sister, and what else,
+    To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
+    O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
+    Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!  
+  SECOND KEEPER. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?
+  KING HENRY. More than I seem, and less than I was born to:
+    A man at least, for less I should not be;
+    And men may talk of kings, and why not I?
+  SECOND KEEPER. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.
+  KING HENRY. Why, so I am- in mind; and that's enough.
+  SECOND KEEPER. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?
+  KING HENRY. My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
+    Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones,
+    Not to be seen. My crown is call'd content;
+    A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
+  SECOND KEEPER. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,
+    Your crown content and you must be contented
+    To go along with us; for as we think,
+    You are the king King Edward hath depos'd;
+    And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,
+    Will apprehend you as his enemy.
+  KING HENRY. But did you never swear, and break an oath?
+  SECOND KEEPER. No, never such an oath; nor will not now.
+  KING HENRY. Where did you dwell when I was King of England?  
+  SECOND KEEPER. Here in this country, where we now remain.
+  KING HENRY. I was anointed king at nine months old;
+    My father and my grandfather were kings;
+    And you were sworn true subjects unto me;
+    And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?
+  FIRST KEEPER. No;
+    For we were subjects but while you were king.
+  KING HENRY. Why, am I dead? Do I not breathe a man?
+    Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!
+    Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
+    And as the air blows it to me again,
+    Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
+    And yielding to another when it blows,
+    Commanded always by the greater gust,
+    Such is the lightness of you common men.
+    But do not break your oaths; for of that sin
+    My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
+    Go where you will, the King shall be commanded;
+    And be you kings: command, and I'll obey.
+  FIRST KEEPER. We are true subjects to the King, King Edward.  
+  KING HENRY. So would you be again to Henry,
+    If he were seated as King Edward is.
+  FIRST KEEPER. We charge you, in God's name and the King's,
+    To go with us unto the officers.
+  KING HENRY. In God's name, lead; your King's name be obey'd;
+    And what God will, that let your King perform;
+    And what he will, I humbly yield unto.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+London. The palace
+
+Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY
+
+  KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans' field
+    This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,
+    His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror.
+    Her suit is now to repossess those lands;
+    Which we in justice cannot well deny,
+    Because in quarrel of the house of York
+    The worthy gentleman did lose his life.
+  GLOUCESTER. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit;
+    It were dishonour to deny it her.
+  KING EDWARD. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so?
+    I see the lady hath a thing to grant,
+    Before the King will grant her humble suit.
+  CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game; how true he
+    keeps the wind!
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence!
+  KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit;  
+    And come some other time to know our mind.
+  LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay.
+    May it please your Highness to resolve me now;
+    And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, widow? Then I'll warrant you all your
+      lands,
+    An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.
+    Fight closer or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.
+  CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance
+    to fall.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that, for he'll take
+    vantages.
+  KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me.
+  CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of
+    her.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, then whip me; he'll rather
+    give her two.
+  LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] You shall have four if you'll be rul'd by him.
+  KING EDWARD. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.  
+  LADY GREY. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it, then.
+  KING EDWARD. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have
+      leave
+    Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.
+                              [GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE withdraw]
+  KING EDWARD. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?
+  LADY GREY. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.
+  KING EDWARD. And would you not do much to do them good?
+  LADY GREY. To do them good I would sustain some harm.
+  KING EDWARD. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.
+  LADY GREY. Therefore I came unto your Majesty.
+  KING EDWARD. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.
+  LADY GREY. So shall you bind me to your Highness' service.
+  KING EDWARD. What service wilt thou do me if I give them?
+  LADY GREY. What you command that rests in me to do.
+  KING EDWARD. But you will take exceptions to my boon.
+  LADY GREY. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.
+  KING EDWARD. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.
+  LADY GREY. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands.  
+  GLOUCESTER. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.
+  CLARENCE. As red as fire! Nay, then her wax must melt.
+  LADY GREY. Why stops my lord? Shall I not hear my task?
+  KING EDWARD. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.
+  LADY GREY. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.
+  KING EDWARD. Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.
+  LADY GREY. I take my leave with many thousand thanks.
+  GLOUCESTER. The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy.
+  KING EDWARD. But stay thee- 'tis the fruits of love I mean.
+  LADY GREY. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.
+  KING EDWARD. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
+    What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get?
+  LADY GREY. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
+    That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.
+  KING EDWARD. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.
+  LADY GREY. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.
+  KING EDWARD. But now you partly may perceive my mind.
+  LADY GREY. My mind will never grant what I perceive
+    Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.
+  KING EDWARD. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.  
+  LADY GREY. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.
+  KING EDWARD. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.
+  LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
+    For by that loss I will not purchase them.
+  KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.
+  LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me.
+    But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
+    Accords not with the sadness of my suit.
+    Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no.
+  KING EDWARD. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request;
+    No, if thou dost say no to my demand.
+  LADY GREY. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.
+  GLOUCESTER. The widow likes him not; she knits her brows.
+  CLARENCE. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.
+  KING EDWARD. [Aside] Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty;
+    Her words doth show her wit incomparable;
+    All her perfections challenge sovereignty.
+    One way or other, she is for a king;
+    And she shall be my love, or else my queen.
+    Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?  
+  LADY GREY. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord.
+    I am a subject fit to jest withal,
+    But far unfit to be a sovereign.
+  KING EDWARD. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee
+    I speak no more than what my soul intends;
+    And that is to enjoy thee for my love.
+  LADY GREY. And that is more than I will yield unto.
+    I know I am too mean to be your queen,
+    And yet too good to be your concubine.
+  KING EDWARD. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.
+  LADY GREY. 'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father.
+  KING EDWARD.No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
+    Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
+    And, by God's Mother, I, being but a bachelor,
+    Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing
+    To be the father unto many sons.
+    Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.
+  GLOUCESTER. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.
+  CLARENCE. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shrift.
+  KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.  
+  GLOUCESTER. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.
+  KING EDWARD. You'd think it strange if I should marry her.
+  CLARENCE. To who, my lord?
+  KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself.
+  GLOUCESTER. That would be ten days' wonder at the least.
+  CLARENCE. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.
+  GLOUCESTER. By so much is the wonder in extremes.
+  KING EDWARD. Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both
+    Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.
+
+                       Enter a NOBLEMAN
+
+  NOBLEMAN. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken
+    And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.
+  KING EDWARD. See that he be convey'd unto the Tower.
+    And go we, brothers, to the man that took him
+    To question of his apprehension.
+    Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.
+                                       Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, Edward will use women honourably.  
+    Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
+    That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring
+    To cross me from the golden time I look for!
+    And yet, between my soul's desire and me-
+    The lustful Edward's title buried-
+    Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
+    And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,
+    To take their rooms ere I can place myself.
+    A cold premeditation for my purpose!
+    Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty;
+    Like one that stands upon a promontory
+    And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
+    Wishing his foot were equal with his eye;
+    And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
+    Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way-
+    So do I wish the crown, being so far off;
+    And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;
+    And so I say I'll cut the causes off,
+    Flattering me with impossibilities.
+    My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,  
+    Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
+    Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;
+    What other pleasure can the world afford?
+    I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
+    And deck my body in gay ornaments,
+    And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
+    O miserable thought! and more unlikely
+    Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.
+    Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb;
+    And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
+    She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
+    To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub
+    To make an envious mountain on my back,
+    Where sits deformity to mock my body;
+    To shape my legs of an unequal size;
+    To disproportion me in every part,
+    Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp
+    That carries no impression like the dam.
+    And am I, then, a man to be belov'd?
+    O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought!  
+    Then, since this earth affords no joy to me
+    But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
+    As are of better person than myself,
+    I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,
+    And whiles I live t' account this world but hell,
+    Until my misshap'd trunk that bear this head
+    Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
+    And yet I know not how to get the crown,
+    For many lives stand between me and home;
+    And I- like one lost in a thorny wood
+    That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns,
+    Seeking a way and straying from the way
+    Not knowing how to find the open air,
+    But toiling desperately to find it out-
+    Torment myself to catch the English crown;
+    And from that torment I will free myself
+    Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
+    Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,
+    And cry 'Content!' to that which grieves my heart,
+    And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,  
+    And frame my face to all occasions.
+    I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;
+    I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
+    I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
+    Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
+    And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
+    I can add colours to the chameleon,
+    Change shapes with Protheus for advantages,
+    And set the murderous Machiavel to school.
+    Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
+    Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.           Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+France.  The KING'S palace
+
+Flourish.  Enter LEWIS the French King, his sister BONA,
+his Admiral call'd BOURBON; PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN MARGARET,
+and the EARL of OXFORD.  LEWIS sits, and riseth up again
+
+  LEWIS. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,
+    Sit down with us. It ill befits thy state
+    And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. No, mighty King of France. Now Margaret
+    Must strike her sail and learn a while to serve
+    Where kings command. I was, I must confess,
+    Great Albion's Queen in former golden days;
+    But now mischance hath trod my title down
+    And with dishonour laid me on the ground,
+    Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
+    And to my humble seat conform myself.
+  LEWIS. Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
+    And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.  
+  LEWIS. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
+    And sit thee by our side. [Seats her by him] Yield not thy neck
+    To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
+    Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
+    Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
+    It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts
+    And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.
+    Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis
+    That Henry, sole possessor of my love,
+    Is, of a king, become a banish'd man,
+    And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn;
+    While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York
+    Usurps the regal title and the seat
+    Of England's true-anointed lawful King.
+    This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,
+    With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir,
+    Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;
+    And if thou fail us, all our hope is done.
+    Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;  
+    Our people and our peers are both misled,
+    Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight,
+    And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.
+  LEWIS. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm,
+    While we bethink a means to break it off.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.
+  LEWIS. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
+    And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!
+
+                        Enter WARWICK
+
+  LEWIS. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.
+  LEWIS. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?
+                                      [He descends. She ariseth]
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
+    For this is he that moves both wind and tide.
+  WARWICK. From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
+    My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,  
+    I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,
+    First to do greetings to thy royal person,
+    And then to crave a league of amity,
+    And lastly to confirm that amity
+    With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
+    That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,
+    To England's King in lawful marriage.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.
+  WARWICK. [To BONA] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf,
+    I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
+    Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
+    To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart;
+    Where fame, late ent'ring at his heedful ears,
+    Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak
+    Before you answer Warwick. His demand
+    Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
+    But from deceit bred by necessity;
+    For how can tyrants safely govern home
+    Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?  
+    To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,
+    That Henry liveth still; but were he dead,
+    Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.
+    Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage
+    Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour;
+    For though usurpers sway the rule a while
+    Yet heav'ns are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.
+  WARWICK. Injurious Margaret!
+  PRINCE OF WALES. And why not Queen?
+  WARWICK. Because thy father Henry did usurp;
+    And thou no more art prince than she is queen.
+  OXFORD. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
+    Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;
+    And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
+    Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
+    And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,
+    Who by his prowess conquered all France.
+    From these our Henry lineally descends.
+  WARWICK. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse
+    You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost  
+    All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten?
+    Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.
+    But for the rest: you tell a pedigree
+    Of threescore and two years- a silly time
+    To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.
+  OXFORD. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,
+    Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years,
+    And not betray thy treason with a blush?
+  WARWICK. Can Oxford that did ever fence the right
+    Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?
+    For shame! Leave Henry, and call Edward king.
+  OXFORD. Call him my king by whose injurious doom
+    My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,
+    Was done to death; and more than so, my father,
+    Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
+    When nature brought him to the door of death?
+    No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
+    This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.
+  WARWICK. And I the house of York.
+  LEWIS. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,  
+    Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside
+    While I use further conference with Warwick.
+                                              [They stand aloof]
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not!
+  LEWIS. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,
+    Is Edward your true king? for I were loath
+    To link with him that were not lawful chosen.
+  WARWICK. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.
+  LEWIS. But is he gracious in the people's eye?
+  WARWICK. The more that Henry was unfortunate.
+  LEWIS. Then further: all dissembling set aside,
+    Tell me for truth the measure of his love
+    Unto our sister Bona.
+  WARWICK. Such it seems
+    As may beseem a monarch like himself.
+    Myself have often heard him say and swear
+    That this his love was an eternal plant
+    Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
+    The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
+    Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,  
+    Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.
+  LEWIS. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.
+  BONA. Your grant or your denial shall be mine.
+    [To WARWICK] Yet I confess that often ere this day,
+    When I have heard your king's desert recounted,
+    Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.
+  LEWIS. Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's.
+    And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
+    Touching the jointure that your king must make,
+    Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd.
+    Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness
+    That Bona shall be wife to the English king.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. To Edward, but not to the English king.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device
+    By this alliance to make void my suit.
+    Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend.
+  LEWIS. And still is friend to him and Margaret.
+    But if your title to the crown be weak,
+    As may appear by Edward's good success,
+    Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd  
+    From giving aid which late I promised.
+    Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand
+    That your estate requires and mine can yield.
+  WARWICK. Henry now lives in Scotland at his case,
+    Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
+    And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,
+    You have a father able to maintain you,
+    And better 'twere you troubled him than France.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick,
+    Proud setter up and puller down of kings!
+    I will not hence till with my talk and tears,
+    Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold
+    Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love;
+    For both of you are birds of self-same feather.
+                                    [POST blowing a horn within]
+  LEWIS. Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.
+
+                       Enter the POST
+
+  POST. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you,  
+    Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague.
+    These from our King unto your Majesty.
+    And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not.
+                                   [They all read their letters]
+  OXFORD. I like it well that our fair Queen and mistress
+    Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled.
+    I hope all's for the best.
+  LEWIS. Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Mine such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys.
+  WARWICK. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.
+  LEWIS. What, has your king married the Lady Grey?
+    And now, to soothe your forgery and his,
+    Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
+    Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France?
+    Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. I told your Majesty as much before.
+    This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.
+  WARWICK. King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heaven,
+    And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,  
+    That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's-
+    No more my king, for he dishonours me,
+    But most himself, if he could see his shame.
+    Did I forget that by the house of York
+    My father came untimely to his death?
+    Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece?
+    Did I impale him with the regal crown?
+    Did I put Henry from his native right?
+    And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
+    Shame on himself! for my desert is honour;
+    And to repair my honour lost for him
+    I here renounce him and return to Henry.
+    My noble Queen, let former grudges pass,
+    And henceforth I am thy true servitor.
+    I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,
+    And replant Henry in his former state.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;
+    And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
+    And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend.
+  WARWICK. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,  
+    That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
+    With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
+    I'll undertake to land them on our coast
+    And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
+    'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him;
+    And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,
+    He's very likely now to fall from him
+    For matching more for wanton lust than honour
+    Or than for strength and safety of our country.
+  BONA. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd
+    But by thy help to this distressed queen?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live
+    Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?
+  BONA. My quarrel and this English queen's are one.
+  WARWICK. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours.
+  LEWIS. And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
+    Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd
+    You shall have aid.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Let me give humble thanks for all at once.
+  LEWIS. Then, England's messenger, return in post  
+    And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
+    That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
+    To revel it with him and his new bride.
+    Thou seest what's past; go fear thy king withal.
+  BONA. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
+    I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside,
+    And I am ready to put armour on.
+  WARWICK. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
+    And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
+    There's thy reward; be gone.                       Exit POST
+  LEWIS. But, Warwick,
+    Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men,
+    Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle:
+    And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen
+    And Prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
+    Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt:
+    What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?
+  WARWICK. This shall assure my constant loyalty:
+    That if our Queen and this young Prince agree,  
+    I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy
+    To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.
+    Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,
+    Therefore delay not- give thy hand to Warwick;
+    And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable
+    That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;
+    And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.
+                                  [He gives his hand to WARWICK]
+  LEWIS. stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied;
+    And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral,
+    Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.
+    I long till Edward fall by war's mischance
+    For mocking marriage with a dame of France.
+                                          Exeunt all but WARWICK
+  WARWICK. I came from Edward as ambassador,
+    But I return his sworn and mortal foe.
+    Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
+    But dreadful war shall answer his demand.  
+    Had he none else to make a stale but me?
+    Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
+    I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown,
+    And I'll be chief to bring him down again;
+    Not that I pity Henry's misery,
+    But seek revenge on Edward's mockery.                   Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+London. The palace
+
+Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
+    Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?
+    Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?
+  CLARENCE. Alas, you know 'tis far from hence to France!
+    How could he stay till Warwick made return?
+  SOMERSET. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King.
+
+           Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended; LADY
+          GREY, as Queen; PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS,
+      and others. Four stand on one side, and four on the other
+
+  GLOUCESTER. And his well-chosen bride.
+  CLARENCE. I mind to tell him plainly what I think.
+  KING EDWARD. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice
+    That you stand pensive as half malcontent?
+  CLARENCE. As well as Lewis of France or the Earl of Warwick,
+    Which are so weak of courage and in judgment  
+    That they'll take no offence at our abuse.
+  KING EDWARD. Suppose they take offence without a cause;
+    They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,
+    Your King and Warwick's and must have my will.
+  GLOUCESTER. And shall have your will, because our King.
+    Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
+  KING EDWARD. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?
+  GLOUCESTER. Not I.
+    No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd
+    Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity
+    To sunder them that yoke so well together.
+  KING EDWARD. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,
+    Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey
+    Should not become my wife and England's Queen.
+    And you too, Somerset and Montague,
+    Speak freely what you think.
+  CLARENCE. Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis
+    Becomes your enemy for mocking him
+    About the marriage of the Lady Bona.
+  GLOUCESTER. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,  
+    Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.
+  KING EDWARD. What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd
+    By such invention as I can devise?
+  MONTAGUE. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance
+    Would more have strength'ned this our commonwealth
+    'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.
+  HASTINGS. Why, knows not Montague that of itself
+    England is safe, if true within itself?
+  MONTAGUE. But the safer when 'tis back'd with France.
+  HASTINGS. 'Tis better using France than trusting France.
+    Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas
+    Which He hath giv'n for fence impregnable,
+    And with their helps only defend ourselves.
+    In them and in ourselves our safety lies.
+  CLARENCE. For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves
+    To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.
+  KING EDWARD. Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;
+    And for this once my will shall stand for law.
+  GLOUCESTER. And yet methinks your Grace hath not done well
+    To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales  
+    Unto the brother of your loving bride.
+    She better would have fitted me or Clarence;
+    But in your bride you bury brotherhood.
+  CLARENCE. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
+    Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
+    And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.
+  KING EDWARD. Alas, poor Clarence! Is it for a wife
+    That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.
+  CLARENCE. In choosing for yourself you show'd your judgment,
+    Which being shallow, you shall give me leave
+    To play the broker in mine own behalf;
+    And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.
+  KING EDWARD. Leave me or tarry, Edward will be King,
+    And not be tied unto his brother's will.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. My lords, before it pleas'd his Majesty
+    To raise my state to title of a queen,
+    Do me but right, and you must all confess
+    That I was not ignoble of descent:
+    And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
+    But as this title honours me and mine,  
+    So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,
+    Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.
+  KING EDWARD. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns.
+    What danger or what sorrow can befall thee,
+    So long as Edward is thy constant friend
+    And their true sovereign whom they must obey?
+    Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
+    Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;
+    Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,
+    And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.
+
+                          Enter a POST
+
+  KING EDWARD. Now, messenger, what letters or what news
+    From France?
+  MESSENGER. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words,
+    But such as I, without your special pardon,
+    Dare not relate.
+  KING EDWARD. Go to, we pardon thee; therefore, in brief,  
+    Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.
+    What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?
+  MESSENGER. At my depart, these were his very words:
+    'Go tell false Edward, the supposed king,
+    That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
+    To revel it with him and his new bride.'
+  KING EDWARD. IS Lewis so brave? Belike he thinks me Henry.
+    But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?
+  MESSENGER. These were her words, utt'red with mild disdain:
+    'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
+    I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake.'
+  KING EDWARD. I blame not her: she could say little less;
+    She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?
+    For I have heard that she was there in place.
+  MESSENGER. 'Tell him' quoth she 'my mourning weeds are done,
+    And I am ready to put armour on.'
+  KING EDWARD. Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
+    But what said Warwick to these injuries?
+  MESSENGER. He, more incens'd against your Majesty
+    Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words:  
+    'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong;
+    And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.'
+  KING EDWARD. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
+    Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd.
+    They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.
+    But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?
+  MESSENGER. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship
+    That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.
+  CLARENCE. Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.
+    Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,
+    For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
+    That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
+    I may not prove inferior to yourself.
+    You that love me and Warwick, follow me.
+                                      Exit, and SOMERSET follows
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Not I.
+    My thoughts aim at a further matter; I
+    Stay not for the love of Edward but the crown.
+  KING EDWARD. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
+    Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;  
+    And haste is needful in this desp'rate case.
+    Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf
+    Go levy men and make prepare for war;
+    They are already, or quickly will be landed.
+    Myself in person will straight follow you.
+                                    Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD
+    But ere I go, Hastings and Montague,
+    Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,
+    Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance.
+    Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?
+    If it be so, then both depart to him:
+    I rather wish you foes than hollow friends.
+    But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
+    Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
+    That I may never have you in suspect.
+  MONTAGUE. So God help Montague as he proves true!
+  HASTINGS. And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!
+  KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.
+  KING EDWARD. Why, so! then am I sure of victory.  
+    Now therefore let us hence, and lose no hour
+    Till we meet Warwick with his foreign pow'r.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A plain in Warwickshire
+
+Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers
+
+  WARWICK. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
+    The common people by numbers swarm to us.
+
+                 Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET
+
+    But see where Somerset and Clarence comes.
+    Speak suddenly, my lords- are we all friends?
+  CLARENCE. Fear not that, my lord.
+  WARWICK. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
+    And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice
+    To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
+    Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
+    Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
+    Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.
+    But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.
+    And now what rests but, in night's coverture,
+    Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,  
+    His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
+    And but attended by a simple guard,
+    We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
+    Our scouts have found the adventure very easy;
+    That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
+    With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
+    And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
+    So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
+    At unawares may beat down Edward's guard
+    And seize himself- I say not 'slaughter him,'
+    For I intend but only to surprise him.
+    You that will follow me to this attempt,
+    Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.
+                                         [They all cry 'Henry!']
+    Why then, let's on our way in silent sort.
+    For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!    Exeunt
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Edward's camp, near Warwick
+
+Enter three WATCHMEN, to guard the KING'S tent
+
+  FIRST WATCHMAN. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand;
+    The King by this is set him down to sleep.
+  SECOND WATCHMAN. What, will he not to bed?
+  FIRST WATCHMAN. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow
+    Never to lie and take his natural rest
+    Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.
+  SECOND WATCHMAN. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day,
+    If Warwick be so near as men report.
+  THIRD WATCHMAN. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that
+    That with the King here resteth in his tent?
+  FIRST WATCHMAN. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King's chiefest friend.
+  THIRD WATCHMAN. O, is it So? But why commands the King
+    That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
+    While he himself keeps in the cold field?
+  SECOND WATCHMAN. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.
+  THIRD WATCHMAN. Ay, but give me worship and quietness;
+    I like it better than dangerous honour.  
+    If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
+    'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.
+  FIRST WATCHMAN. Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.
+  SECOND WATCHMAN. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent
+    But to defend his person from night-foes?
+
+             Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET,
+                   and French soldiers, silent all
+
+  WARWICK. This is his tent; and see where stand his guard.
+    Courage, my masters! Honour now or never!
+    But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.
+  FIRST WATCHMAN. Who goes there?
+  SECOND WATCHMAN. Stay, or thou diest.
+
+       WARWICK and the rest cry all 'Warwick! Warwick!' and
+      set upon the guard, who fly, crying 'Arm! Arm!' WARWICK
+                   and the rest following them
+
+      The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re-enter WARWICK  
+         and the rest, bringing the KING out in his gown,
+   sitting in a chair. GLOUCESTER and HASTINGS fly over the stage
+
+  SOMERSET. What are they that fly there?
+  WARWICK. Richard and Hastings. Let them go; here is the Duke.
+  KING EDWARD. The Duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted,
+    Thou call'dst me King?
+  WARWICK. Ay, but the case is alter'd.
+    When you disgrac'd me in my embassade,
+    Then I degraded you from being King,
+    And come now to create you Duke of York.
+    Alas, how should you govern any kingdom
+    That know not how to use ambassadors,
+    Nor how to be contented with one wife,
+    Nor how to use your brothers brotherly,
+    Nor how to study for the people's welfare,
+    Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?
+  KING EDWARD. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too?
+    Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down.
+    Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,  
+    Of thee thyself and all thy complices,
+    Edward will always bear himself as King.
+    Though fortune's malice overthrow my state,
+    My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.
+  WARWICK. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king;
+                                           [Takes off his crown]
+    But Henry now shall wear the English crown
+    And be true King indeed; thou but the shadow.
+    My Lord of Somerset, at my request,
+    See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd
+    Unto my brother, Archbishop of York.
+    When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
+    I'll follow you and tell what answer
+    Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him.
+    Now for a while farewell, good Duke of York.
+  KING EDWARD. What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
+    It boots not to resist both wind and tide.
+                                    [They lead him out forcibly]
+  OXFORD. What now remains, my lords, for us to do
+    But march to London with our soldiers?  
+  WARWICK. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do;
+    To free King Henry from imprisonment,
+    And see him seated in the regal throne.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+London. The palace
+
+Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS
+
+  RIVERS. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn
+    What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward?
+  RIVERS. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, but the loss of his own royal person.
+  RIVERS. Then is my sovereign slain?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner;
+    Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard
+    Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares;
+    And, as I further have to understand,
+    Is new committed to the Bishop of York,
+    Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe.
+  RIVERS. These news, I must confess, are full of grief;
+    Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may:
+    Warwick may lose that now hath won the day.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay.
+    And I the rather wean me from despair  
+    For love of Edward's offspring in my womb.
+    This is it that makes me bridle passion
+    And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross;
+    Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear
+    And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,
+    Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
+    King Edward's fruit, true heir to th' English crown.
+  RIVERS. But, madam, where is Warwick then become?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. I am inform'd that he comes towards London
+    To set the crown once more on Henry's head.
+    Guess thou the rest: King Edward's friends must down.
+    But to prevent the tyrant's violence-
+    For trust not him that hath once broken faith-
+    I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary
+    To save at least the heir of Edward's right.
+    There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.
+    Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly:
+    If Warwick take us, we are sure to die.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire
+
+Enter GLOUCESTER, LORD HASTINGS, SIR WILLIAM STANLEY, and others
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley,
+    Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither
+    Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
+    Thus stands the case: you know our King, my brother,
+    Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands
+    He hath good usage and great liberty;
+    And often but attended with weak guard
+    Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
+    I have advertis'd him by secret means
+    That if about this hour he make this way,
+    Under the colour of his usual game,
+    He shall here find his friends, with horse and men,
+    To set him free from his captivity.
+
+             Enter KING EDWARD and a HUNTSMAN with him
+  
+  HUNTSMAN. This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.
+  KING EDWARD. Nay, this way, man. See where the huntsmen stand.
+    Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
+    Stand you thus close to steal the Bishop's deer?
+  GLOUCESTER. Brother, the time and case requireth haste;
+    Your horse stands ready at the park corner.
+  KING EDWARD. But whither shall we then?
+  HASTINGS. To Lynn, my lord; and shipt from thence to Flanders.
+  GLOUCESTER. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning.
+  KING EDWARD. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.
+  GLOUCESTER. But wherefore stay we? 'Tis no time to talk.
+  KING EDWARD. Huntsman, what say'st thou? Wilt thou go along?
+  HUNTSMAN. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd.
+  GLOUCESTER. Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado.
+  KING EDWARD. Bishop, farewell. Shield thee from Warwick's frown,
+    And pray that I may repossess the crown.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+London. The Tower
+
+Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, SOMERSET, young HENRY,
+EARL OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER, and attendants
+
+  KING HENRY. Master Lieutenant, now that God and friends
+    Have shaken Edward from the regal seat
+    And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
+    My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,
+    At our enlargement what are thy due fees?
+  LIEUTENANT. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sov'reigns;
+    But if an humble prayer may prevail,
+    I then crave pardon of your Majesty.
+  KING HENRY. For what, Lieutenant? For well using me?
+    Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness,
+    For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure;
+    Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
+    Conceive when, after many moody thoughts,
+    At last by notes of household harmony
+    They quite forget their loss of liberty.  
+    But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free,
+    And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee;
+    He was the author, thou the instrument.
+    Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite
+    By living low where fortune cannot hurt me,
+    And that the people of this blessed land
+    May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars,
+    Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,
+    I here resign my government to thee,
+    For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.
+  WARWICK. Your Grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous,
+    And now may seem as wise as virtuous
+    By spying and avoiding fortune's malice,
+    For few men rightly temper with the stars;
+    Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace,
+    For choosing me when Clarence is in place.
+  CLARENCE. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,
+    To whom the heav'ns in thy nativity
+    Adjudg'd an olive branch and laurel crown,
+    As likely to be blest in peace and war;  
+    And therefore I yield thee my free consent.
+  WARWICK. And I choose Clarence only for Protector.
+  KING HENRY. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands.
+    Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,
+    That no dissension hinder government.
+    I make you both Protectors of this land,
+    While I myself will lead a private life
+    And in devotion spend my latter days,
+    To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.
+  WARWICK. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will?
+  CLARENCE. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent,
+    For on thy fortune I repose myself.
+  WARWICK. Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content.
+    We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
+    To Henry's body, and supply his place;
+    I mean, in bearing weight of government,
+    While he enjoys the honour and his ease.
+    And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful
+    Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor,
+    And all his lands and goods confiscated.  
+  CLARENCE. What else? And that succession be determin'd.
+  WARWICK. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.
+  KING HENRY. But, with the first of all your chief affairs,
+    Let me entreat- for I command no more-
+    That Margaret your Queen and my son Edward
+    Be sent for to return from France with speed;
+    For till I see them here, by doubtful fear
+    My joy of liberty is half eclips'd.
+  CLARENCE. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.
+  KING HENRY. My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,
+    Of whom you seem to have so tender care?
+  SOMERSET. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond.
+  KING HENRY. Come hither, England's hope.
+                                     [Lays his hand on his head]
+    If secret powers
+    Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
+    This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.
+    His looks are full of peaceful majesty;
+    His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown,
+    His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself  
+    Likely in time to bless a regal throne.
+    Make much of him, my lords; for this is he
+    Must help you more than you are hurt by me.
+
+                          Enter a POST
+
+  WARWICK. What news, my friend?
+  POST. That Edward is escaped from your brother
+    And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.
+  WARWICK. Unsavoury news! But how made he escape?
+  POST. He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester
+    And the Lord Hastings, who attended him
+    In secret ambush on the forest side
+    And from the Bishop's huntsmen rescu'd him;
+    For hunting was his daily exercise.
+  WARWICK. My brother was too careless of his charge.
+    But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
+    A salve for any sore that may betide.
+                   Exeunt all but SOMERSET, RICHMOND, and OXFORD
+  SOMERSET. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's;  
+    For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,
+    And we shall have more wars befor't be long.
+    As Henry's late presaging prophecy
+    Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond,
+    So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts,
+    What may befall him to his harm and ours.
+    Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
+    Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany,
+    Till storms be past of civil enmity.
+  OXFORD. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,
+    'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.
+  SOMERSET. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.
+    Come therefore, let's about it speedily.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+Before York
+
+Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and soldiers
+
+  KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
+    Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
+    And says that once more I shall interchange
+    My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
+    Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas,
+    And brought desired help from Burgundy;
+    What then remains, we being thus arriv'd
+    From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York,
+    But that we enter, as into our dukedom?
+  GLOUCESTER. The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;
+    For many men that stumble at the threshold
+    Are well foretold that danger lurks within.
+  KING EDWARD. Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us.
+    By fair or foul means we must enter in,
+    For hither will our friends repair to us.
+  HASTINGS. My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them.  
+
+         Enter, on the walls, the MAYOR OF YORK and
+                       his BRETHREN
+
+  MAYOR. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming
+    And shut the gates for safety of ourselves,
+    For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.
+  KING EDWARD. But, Master Mayor, if Henry be your King,
+    Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.
+  MAYOR. True, my good lord; I know you for no less.
+  KING EDWARD. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,
+    As being well content with that alone.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] But when the fox hath once got in his nose,
+    He'll soon find means to make the body follow.
+  HASTINGS. Why, Master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
+    Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends.
+  MAYOR. Ay, say you so? The gates shall then be open'd.
+                                                   [He descends]
+  GLOUCESTER. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!
+  HASTINGS. The good old man would fain that all were well,  
+    So 'twere not long of him; but being ent'red,
+    I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
+    Both him and all his brothers unto reason.
+
+             Enter, below, the MAYOR and two ALDERMEN
+
+  KING EDWARD. So, Master Mayor. These gates must not be shut
+    But in the night or in the time of war.
+    What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys;
+                                                [Takes his keys]
+    For Edward will defend the town and thee,
+    And all those friends that deign to follow me.
+
+           March. Enter MONTGOMERY with drum and soldiers
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,
+    Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd.
+  KING EDWARD. Welcome, Sir john! But why come you in arms?
+  MONTGOMERY. To help King Edward in his time of storm,
+    As every loyal subject ought to do.  
+  KING EDWARD. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget
+    Our title to the crown, and only claim
+    Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.
+  MONTGOMERY. Then fare you well, for I will hence again.
+    I came to serve a king and not a duke.
+    Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.
+                                      [The drum begins to march]
+  KING EDWARD. Nay, stay, Sir John, a while, and we'll debate
+    By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.
+  MONTGOMERY. What talk you of debating? In few words:
+    If you'll not here proclaim yourself our King,
+    I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone
+    To keep them back that come to succour you.
+    Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?
+  KING EDWARD. When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim;
+    Till then 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.
+  HASTINGS. Away with scrupulous wit! Now arms must rule.
+  GLOUCESTER. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
+    Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand;  
+    The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.
+  KING EDWARD. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
+    And Henry but usurps the diadem.
+  MONTGOMERY. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;
+    And now will I be Edward's champion.
+  HASTINGS. Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd.
+    Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation.
+                                   [Gives him a paper. Flourish]
+  SOLDIER. [Reads] 'Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God,
+    King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, &c.'
+  MONTGOMERY. And whoso'er gainsays King Edward's right,
+    By this I challenge him to single fight.
+                                          [Throws down gauntlet]
+  ALL. Long live Edward the Fourth!
+  KING EDWARD. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks unto you all;
+    If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
+    Now for this night let's harbour here in York;
+    And when the morning sun shall raise his car
+    Above the border of this horizon,
+    We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates;  
+    For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.
+    Ah, froward Clarence, how evil it beseems the
+    To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother!
+    Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.
+    Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day,
+    And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+London. The palace
+
+Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, WARWICK, MONTAGUE, CLARENCE, OXFORD, and EXETER
+
+  WARWICK. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,
+    With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,
+    Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas
+    And with his troops doth march amain to London;
+    And many giddy people flock to him.
+  KING HENRY. Let's levy men and beat him back again.
+  CLARENCE. A little fire is quickly trodden out,
+    Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
+  WARWICK. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,
+    Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;
+    Those will I muster up, and thou, son Clarence,
+    Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
+    The knights and gentlemen to come with thee.
+    Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
+    Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
+    Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st.  
+    And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd,
+    In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.
+    My sovereign, with the loving citizens,
+    Like to his island girt in with the ocean
+    Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs,
+    Shall rest in London till we come to him.
+    Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply.
+    Farewell, my sovereign.
+  KING HENRY. Farewell, my Hector and my Troy's true hope.
+  CLARENCE. In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness' hand.
+  KING HENRY. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!
+  MONTAGUE. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.
+  OXFORD. [Kissing the KING'S band] And thus I seal my truth and bid
+    adieu.
+  KING HENRY. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
+    And all at once, once more a happy farewell.
+  WARWICK. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry.
+                              Exeunt all but the KING and EXETER
+  KING HENRY. Here at the palace will I rest a while.
+    Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?  
+    Methinks the power that Edward hath in field
+    Should not be able to encounter mine.
+  EXETER. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.
+  KING HENRY. That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:
+    I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
+    Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
+    My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
+    My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
+    My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;
+    I have not been desirous of their wealth,
+    Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
+    Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd.
+    Then why should they love Edward more than me?
+    No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace;
+    And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
+    The lamb will never cease to follow him.
+                      [Shout within 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!']
+  EXETER. Hark, hark, my lord! What shouts are these?
+
+            Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers  
+
+  KING EDWARD. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence;
+    And once again proclaim us King of England.
+    You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.
+    Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,
+    And swell so much the higher by their ebb.
+    Hence with him to the Tower: let him not speak.
+                                     Exeunt some with KING HENRY
+    And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course,
+    Where peremptory Warwick now remains.
+    The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay,
+    Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.
+  GLOUCESTER. Away betimes, before his forces join,
+    And take the great-grown traitor unawares.
+    Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Coventry
+
+Enter WARWICK, the MAYOR OF COVENTRY, two MESSENGERS,
+and others upon the walls
+
+  WARWICK. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?
+    How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?
+  FIRST MESSENGER. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.
+  WARWICK. How far off is our brother Montague?
+    Where is the post that came from Montague?
+  SECOND MESSENGER. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.
+
+                   Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE
+
+  WARWICK. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
+    And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?
+  SOMERVILLE. At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
+    And do expect him here some two hours hence.
+                                                    [Drum heard]
+  WARWICK. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum.
+  SOMERVILLE. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies.  
+    The drum your Honour hears marcheth from Warwick.
+  WARWICK. Who should that be? Belike unlook'd for friends.
+  SOMERVILLE. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.
+
+        March. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER,
+                         and soldiers
+
+  KING EDWARD. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.
+  GLOUCESTER. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall.
+  WARWICK. O unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come?
+    Where slept our scouts or how are they seduc'd
+    That we could hear no news of his repair?
+  KING EDWARD. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,
+    Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,
+    Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy?
+    And he shall pardon thee these outrages.
+  WARWICK. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
+    Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down,
+    Call Warwick patron, and be penitent?
+    And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.  
+  GLOUCESTER. I thought, at least, he would have said the King;
+    Or did he make the jest against his will?
+  WARWICK. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give.
+    I'll do thee service for so good a gift.
+  WARWICK. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.
+  KING EDWARD. Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.
+  WARWICK. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight;
+    And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
+    And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.
+  KING EDWARD. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner.
+    And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:
+    What is the body when the head is off?
+  GLOUCESTER. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
+    But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
+    The king was slily finger'd from the deck!
+    You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
+    And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower.
+  KING EDWARD. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.
+  GLOUCESTER. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down.  
+    Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.
+  WARWICK. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
+    And with the other fling it at thy face,
+    Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee.
+  KING EDWARD. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,
+    This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,
+    Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,
+    Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood:
+    'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.'
+
+               Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours
+
+  WARWICK. O cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes.
+  OXFORD. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!
+                              [He and his forces enter the city]
+  GLOUCESTER. The gates are open, let us enter too.
+  KING EDWARD. So other foes may set upon our backs.
+    Stand we in good array, for they no doubt
+    Will issue out again and bid us battle;
+    If not, the city being but of small defence,  
+    We'll quietly rouse the traitors in the same.
+  WARWICK. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.
+
+             Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colours
+
+  MONTAGUE. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!
+                              [He and his forces enter the city]
+  GLOUCESTER. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason
+    Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.
+  KING EDWARD. The harder match'd, the greater victory.
+    My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.
+
+             Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours
+
+  SOMERSET. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!
+                              [He and his forces enter the city]
+  GLOUCESTER. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
+    Have sold their lives unto the house of York;
+    And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.
+  
+             Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours
+
+  WARWICK. And lo where George of Clarence sweeps along,
+    Of force enough to bid his brother battle;
+    With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
+    More than the nature of a brother's love.
+  CLARENCE. Clarence, Clarence, for Lancaster!
+  KING EDWARD. Et tu Brute- wilt thou stab Caesar too?
+    A parley, sirrah, to George of Clarence.
+                  [Sound a parley. RICHARD and CLARENCE whisper]
+  WARWICK. Come, Clarence, come. Thou wilt if Warwick call.
+  CLARENCE. [Taking the red rose from his hat and throwing
+      it at WARWICK]
+    Father of Warwick, know you what this means?
+    Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.
+    I will not ruinate my father's house,
+    Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,
+    And set up Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwick,
+    That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
+    To bend the fatal instruments of war  
+    Against his brother and his lawful King?
+    Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath.
+    To keep that oath were more impiety
+    Than Jephtha when he sacrific'd his daughter.
+    I am so sorry for my trespass made
+    That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
+    I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
+    With resolution whereso'er I meet thee-
+    As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad-
+    To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
+    And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
+    And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
+    Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;
+    And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
+    For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.
+  KING EDWARD. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,
+    Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.
+  GLOUCESTER. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like.
+  WARWICK. O passing traitor, perjur'd and unjust!
+  KING EDWARD. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave die town and fight?  
+    Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?
+  WARWICK. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence!
+    I will away towards Barnet presently
+    And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.
+  KING EDWARD. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares and leads the way.
+    Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!
+                                                 Exeunt YORKISTS
+                         [March. WARWICK and his company follow]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A field of battle near Barnet
+
+Alarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing forth WARWICK, wounded
+
+  KING EDWARD. So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear;
+    For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.
+    Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
+    That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.            Exit
+  WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,
+    And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
+    Why ask I that? My mangled body shows,
+    My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,
+    That I must yield my body to the earth
+    And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
+    Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
+    Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
+    Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
+    Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree
+    And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.
+    These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,  
+    Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun
+    To search the secret treasons of the world;
+    The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood,
+    Were lik'ned oft to kingly sepulchres;
+    For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave?
+    And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
+    Lo now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!
+    My parks, my walks, my manors, that I had,
+    Even now forsake me; and of all my lands
+    Is nothing left me but my body's length.
+    what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
+    And live we how we can, yet die we must.
+
+                  Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET
+
+  SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are,
+    We might recover all our loss again.
+    The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power;
+    Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!
+  WARWICK. Why then, I would not fly. Ah, Montague,  
+    If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
+    And with thy lips keep in my soul a while!
+    Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
+    Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
+    That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
+    Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
+  SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breath'd his last;
+    And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,
+    And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.'
+    And more he would have said; and more he spoke,
+    Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,
+    That mought not be distinguish'd; but at last,
+    I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
+    'O farewell, Warwick!'
+  WARWICK. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves:
+    For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.
+                                                          [Dies]
+  OXFORD. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power!
+                                  [Here they bear away his body]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Another part of the field
+
+Flourish. Enter KING in triumph; with GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest
+
+  KING EDWARD. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,
+    And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
+    But in the midst of this bright-shining day
+    I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud
+    That will encounter with our glorious sun
+    Ere he attain his easeful western bed-
+    I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen
+    Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast
+    And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
+  CLARENCE. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
+    And blow it to the source from whence it came;
+    Thy very beams will dry those vapours up,
+    For every cloud engenders not a storm.
+  GLOUCESTER. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong,
+    And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her.
+    If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd  
+    Her faction will be full as strong as ours.
+  KING EDWARD. are advertis'd by our loving friends
+    That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury;
+    We, having now the best at Barnet field,
+    Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;
+    And as we march our strength will be augmented
+    In every county as we go along.
+    Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Plains wear Tewksbury
+
+Flourish. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD,
+and SOLDIERS
+
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their
+      loss,
+    But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
+    What though the mast be now blown overboard,
+    The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
+    And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood;
+    Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he
+    Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad,
+    With tearful eyes add water to the sea
+    And give more strength to that which hath too much;
+    Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
+    Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
+    Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
+    Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
+    And Montague our top-mast; what of him?
+    Our slaught'red friends the tackles; what of these?  
+    Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
+    And Somerset another goodly mast?
+    The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
+    And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
+    For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
+    We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
+    But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,
+    From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck,
+    As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
+    And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?
+    What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?
+    And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?
+    All these the enemies to our poor bark.
+    Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while!
+    Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink.
+    Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
+    Or else you famish- that's a threefold death.
+    This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
+    If case some one of you would fly from us,
+    That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers  
+    More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.
+    Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided
+    'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit
+    Should, if a coward hear her speak these words,
+    Infuse his breast with magnanimity
+    And make him naked foil a man-at-arms.
+    I speak not this as doubting any here;
+    For did I but suspect a fearful man,
+    He should have leave to go away betimes,
+    Lest in our need he might infect another
+    And make him of the like spirit to himself.
+    If any such be here- as God forbid!-
+    Let him depart before we need his help.
+  OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage,
+    And warriors faint! Why, 'twere perpetual shame.
+    O brave young Prince! thy famous grandfather
+    Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou Eve
+    To bear his image and renew his glories!
+  SOMERSET. And he that will not fight for such a hope,  
+    Go home to bed and, like the owl by day,
+    If he arise, be mock'd and wond'red at.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.
+
+                        Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand
+    Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.
+  OXFORD. I thought no less. It is his policy
+    To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.
+  SOMERSET. But he's deceiv'd; we are in readiness.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.
+  OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.
+
+      Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD,
+               GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers
+
+  KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood
+    Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength,  
+    Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
+    I need not add more fuel to your fire,
+    For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out.
+    Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say
+    My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
+    Ye see, I drink the water of my eye.
+    Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,
+    Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
+    His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
+    His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent;
+    And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
+    You fight in justice. Then, in God's name, lords,
+    Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.
+                             Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Another part of the field
+
+Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and forces,
+With QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners
+
+  KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils.
+    Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight;
+    For Somerset, off with his guilty head.
+    Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.
+  OXFORD. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.
+  SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.
+                             Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded
+  QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world,
+    To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.
+  KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward
+    Shall have a high reward, and he his life?
+  GLOUCESTER. It is; and lo where youthful Edward comes.
+
+                Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD
+  
+  KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak.
+    What, can so young a man begin to prick?
+    Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make
+    For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
+    And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York.
+    Suppose that I am now my father's mouth;
+    Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou,
+    Whilst I propose the self-same words to the
+    Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd!
+  GLOUCESTER. That you might still have worn the petticoat
+    And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Let Aesop fable in a winter's night;
+    His currish riddle sorts not with this place.
+  GLOUCESTER. By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.
+  GLOUCESTER. For God's sake, take away this captive scold.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.
+  KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.  
+  CLARENCE. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.
+  PRINCE OF WALES. I know my duty; you are all undutiful.
+    Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George,
+    And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all
+    I am your better, traitors as ye are;
+    And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.
+  KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.
+                                                     [Stabs him]
+  GLOUCESTER. Sprawl'st thou? Take that, to end thy agony.
+                                                     [Stabs him]
+  CLARENCE. And there's for twitting me with perjury.
+                                                     [Stabs him]
+  QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too!
+  GLOUCESTER. Marry, and shall.             [Offers to kill her]
+  KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done to much.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why should she live to fill the world with words?
+  KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.
+  GLOUCESTER. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother.
+    I'll hence to London on a serious matter;
+    Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.  
+  CLARENCE. What? what?
+  GLOUCESTER. The Tower! the Tower!                         Exit
+  QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy!
+    Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!
+    They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all,
+    Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
+    If this foul deed were by to equal it.
+    He was a man: this, in respect, a child;
+    And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
+    What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
+    No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak-
+    And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.
+    Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!
+    How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
+    You have no children, butchers, if you had,
+    The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse.
+    But if you ever chance to have a child,
+    Look in his youth to have him so cut off
+    As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!
+  KING EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.  
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence; dispatch me here.
+    Here sheathe thy sword; I'll pardon thee my death.
+    What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.
+  CLARENCE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.
+  CLARENCE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself.
+    'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
+    What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,
+    Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
+    Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed;
+    Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.
+  KING EDWARD. Away, I say; I charge ye bear her hence.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince.
+                                          Exit, led out forcibly
+  KING EDWARD. Where's Richard gone?
+  CLARENCE. To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
+    To make a bloody supper in the Tower.
+  KING EDWARD. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
+    Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort  
+    With pay and thanks; and let's away to London
+    And see our gentle queen how well she fares.
+    By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+London. The Tower
+
+Enter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER with the LIEUTENANT, on the walls
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?
+  KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord- my lord, I should say rather.
+    'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better.
+    'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike,
+    And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.'
+  GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.
+                                                 Exit LIEUTENANT
+  KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;
+    So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
+    And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.
+    What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?
+  GLOUCESTER. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind:
+    The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
+  KING HENRY. The bird that hath been limed in a bush
+    With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;
+    And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,  
+    Have now the fatal object in my eye
+    Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete
+    That taught his son the office of a fowl!
+    And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.
+  KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
+    Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
+    The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
+    Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea
+    Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
+    Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
+    My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
+    Than can my ears that tragic history.
+    But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life?
+  GLOUCESTER. Think'st thou I am an executioner?
+  KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art.
+    If murdering innocents be executing,
+    Why, then thou are an executioner.
+  GLOUCESTER. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.
+  KING HENRY. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume,  
+    Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
+    And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand
+    Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
+    And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
+    And many an orphan's water-standing eye-
+    Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,
+    Orphans for their parents' timeless death-
+    Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
+    The owl shriek'd at thy birth- an evil sign;
+    The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
+    Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
+    The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
+    And chatt'ring pies in dismal discords sung;
+    Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
+    And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,
+    To wit, an indigest deformed lump,
+    Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
+    Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
+    To signify thou cam'st to bite the world;
+    And if the rest be true which I have heard,  
+    Thou cam'st-
+  GLOUCESTER. I'll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech.
+                                                     [Stabs him]
+    For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.
+  KING HENRY. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
+    O, God forgive my sins and pardon thee!               [Dies]
+  GLOUCESTER. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
+    Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
+    See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death.
+    O, may such purple tears be always shed
+    From those that wish the downfall of our house!
+    If any spark of life be yet remaining,
+    Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither-
+                                               [Stabs him again]
+    I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
+    Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;
+    For I have often heard my mother say
+    I came into the world with my legs forward.
+    Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste
+    And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?  
+    The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried
+    'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!'
+    And so I was, which plainly signified
+    That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
+    Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
+    Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
+    I have no brother, I am like no brother;
+    And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine,
+    Be resident in men like one another,
+    And not in me! I am myself alone.
+    Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light,
+    But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
+    For I will buzz abroad such prophecies
+    That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
+    And then to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
+    King Henry and the Prince his son are gone.
+    Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;
+    Counting myself but bad till I be best.
+    I'll throw thy body in another room,
+    And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.  
+                                              Exit with the body
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+London. The palace
+
+Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,
+HASTINGS, NURSE, with the Young PRINCE, and attendants
+
+  KING EDWARD. Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
+    Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies.
+    What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
+    Have we mow'd down in tops of all their pride!
+    Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
+    For hardy and undoubted champions;
+    Two Cliffords, as the father and the son;
+    And two Northumberlands- two braver men
+    Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;
+    With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
+    That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion
+    And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
+    Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
+    And made our footstool of security.
+    Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.  
+    Young Ned, for thee thine uncles and myself
+    Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night,
+    Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
+    That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;
+    And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.
+  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest if your head were laid;
+    For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
+    This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;
+    And heave it shall some weight or break my back.
+    Work thou the way- and that shall execute.
+  KING EDWARD. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;
+    And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
+  CLARENCE. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty
+    I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.
+  KING EDWARD. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.
+  GLOUCESTER. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
+    Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
+    [Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master
+    And cried 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm.
+  KING EDWARD. Now am I seated as my soul delights,  
+    Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.
+  CLARENCE. What will your Grace have done with Margaret?
+    Reignier, her father, to the King of France
+    Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
+    And hither have they sent it for her ransom.
+  KING EDWARD. Away with her, and waft her hence to France.
+    And now what rests but that we spend the time
+    With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
+    Such as befits the pleasure of the court?
+    Sound drums and trumpets. Farewell, sour annoy!
+    For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.             Exeunt
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1611
+
+KING HENRY THE EIGHTH
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  KING HENRY THE EIGHTH
+  CARDINAL WOLSEY               CARDINAL CAMPEIUS
+  CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V
+  CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
+  DUKE OF NORFOLK               DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
+  DUKE OF SUFFOLK               EARL OF SURREY
+  LORD CHAMBERLAIN              LORD CHANCELLOR
+  GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER
+  BISHOP OF LINCOLN             LORD ABERGAVENNY
+  LORD SANDYS                   SIR HENRY GUILDFORD
+  SIR THOMAS LOVELL             SIR ANTHONY DENNY
+  SIR NICHOLAS VAUX             SECRETARIES to Wolsey
+  CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey
+  GRIFFITH, gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine
+  THREE GENTLEMEN
+  DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King
+  GARTER KING-AT-ARMS
+  SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham
+  BRANDON, and a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS
+  DOORKEEPER Of the Council chamber  
+  PORTER, and his MAN           PAGE to Gardiner
+  A CRIER
+
+  QUEEN KATHARINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced
+  ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen
+  AN OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen
+  PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katharine
+
+  Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Lords and Ladies in the Dumb
+       Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes,
+       Officers, Guards, and other Attendants; Spirits
+
+                          SCENE:
+
+              London; Westminster; Kimbolton
+
+
+
+                 KING HENRY THE EIGHTH
+
+                     THE PROLOGUE.
+
+    I come no more to make you laugh; things now
+    That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
+    Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
+    Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
+    We now present. Those that can pity here
+    May, if they think it well, let fall a tear:
+    The subject will deserve it. Such as give
+    Their money out of hope they may believe
+    May here find truth too. Those that come to see
+    Only a show or two, and so agree
+    The play may pass, if they be still and willing,
+    I'll undertake may see away their shilling
+    Richly in two short hours. Only they
+    That come to hear a merry bawdy play,
+    A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
+    In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,
+    Will be deceiv'd; for, gentle hearers, know,
+    To rank our chosen truth with such a show  
+    As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
+    Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring
+    To make that only true we now intend,
+    Will leave us never an understanding friend.
+    Therefore, for goodness sake, and as you are known
+    The first and happiest hearers of the town,
+    Be sad, as we would make ye. Think ye see
+    The very persons of our noble story
+    As they were living; think you see them great,
+    And follow'd with the general throng and sweat
+    Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see
+    How soon this mightiness meets misery.
+    And if you can be merry then, I'll say
+    A man may weep upon his wedding-day.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other,
+the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and the LORD ABERGAVENNY
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
+    Since last we saw in France?
+  NORFOLK. I thank your Grace,
+    Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
+    Of what I saw there.
+  BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague
+    Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when
+    Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
+    Met in the vale of Andren.
+  NORFOLK. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde-
+    I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
+    Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
+    In their embracement, as they grew together;
+    Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have weigh'd  
+    Such a compounded one?
+  BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time
+    I was my chamber's prisoner.
+  NORFOLK. Then you lost
+    The view of earthly glory; men might say,
+    Till this time pomp was single, but now married
+    To one above itself. Each following day
+    Became the next day's master, till the last
+    Made former wonders its. To-day the French,
+    All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
+    Shone down the English; and to-morrow they
+    Made Britain India: every man that stood
+    Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
+    As cherubins, an gilt; the madams too,
+    Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear
+    The pride upon them, that their very labour
+    Was to them as a painting. Now this masque
+    Was cried incomparable; and th' ensuing night
+    Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,
+    Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,  
+    As presence did present them: him in eye
+    still him in praise; and being present both,
+    'Twas said they saw but one, and no discerner
+    Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-
+    For so they phrase 'em-by their heralds challeng'd
+    The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
+    Beyond thought's compass, that former fabulous story,
+    Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
+    That Bevis was believ'd.
+  BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far!
+  NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect
+    In honour honesty, the tract of ev'rything
+    Would by a good discourser lose some life
+    Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal:
+    To the disposing of it nought rebell'd;
+    Order gave each thing view. The office did
+    Distinctly his full function.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide-
+    I mean, who set the body and the limbs
+    Of this great sport together, as you guess?  
+  NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element
+    In such a business.
+  BUCKINGHAM. I pray you, who, my lord?
+  NORFOLK. All this was ord'red by the good discretion
+    Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.
+  BUCKINGHAM. The devil speed him! No man's pie is freed
+    From his ambitious finger. What had he
+    To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder
+    That such a keech can with his very bulk
+    Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun,
+    And keep it from the earth.
+  NORFOLK. Surely, sir,
+    There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
+    For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
+    Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
+    For high feats done to th' crown, neither allied
+    To eminent assistants, but spider-like,
+    Out of his self-drawing web, 'a gives us note
+    The force of his own merit makes his way-
+    A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys  
+    A place next to the King.
+  ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell
+    What heaven hath given him-let some graver eye
+    Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
+    Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that?
+    If not from hell, the devil is a niggard
+    Or has given all before, and he begins
+    A new hell in himself.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil,
+    Upon this French going out, took he upon him-
+    Without the privity o' th' King-t' appoint
+    Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
+    Of all the gentry; for the most part such
+    To whom as great a charge as little honour
+    He meant to lay upon; and his own letter,
+    The honourable board of council out,
+    Must fetch him in he papers.
+  ABERGAVENNY. I do know
+    Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
+    By this so sicken'd their estates that never  
+    They shall abound as formerly.
+  BUCKINGHAM. O, many
+    Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em
+    For this great journey. What did this vanity
+    But minister communication of
+    A most poor issue?
+  NORFOLK. Grievingly I think
+    The peace between the French and us not values
+    The cost that did conclude it.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Every man,
+    After the hideous storm that follow'd, was
+    A thing inspir'd, and, not consulting, broke
+    Into a general prophecy-that this tempest,
+    Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
+    The sudden breach on't.
+  NORFOLK. Which is budded out;
+    For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
+    Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux.
+  ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore
+    Th' ambassador is silenc'd?  
+  NORFOLK. Marry, is't.
+  ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas'd
+    At a superfluous rate!
+  BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business
+    Our reverend Cardinal carried.
+  NORFOLK. Like it your Grace,
+    The state takes notice of the private difference
+    Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you-
+    And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
+    Honour and plenteous safety-that you read
+    The Cardinal's malice and his potency
+    Together; to consider further, that
+    What his high hatred would effect wants not
+    A minister in his power. You know his nature,
+    That he's revengeful; and I know his sword
+    Hath a sharp edge-it's long and't may be said
+    It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend,
+    Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel
+    You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock
+    That I advise your shunning.  
+
+      Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before
+      him, certain of the guard, and two SECRETARIES
+      with papers. The CARDINAL in his passage fixeth his
+      eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him,
+      both full of disdain
+
+  WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? Ha!
+    Where's his examination?
+  SECRETARY. Here, so please you.
+  WOLSEY. Is he in person ready?
+  SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace.
+  WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham
+    shall lessen this big look.
+                                          Exeunt WOLSEY and his train
+  BUCKINGHAM. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
+    Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
+    Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
+    Outworths a noble's blood.
+  NORFOLK. What, are you chaf'd?  
+    Ask God for temp'rance; that's th' appliance only
+    Which your disease requires.
+  BUCKINGHAM. I read in's looks
+    Matter against me, and his eye revil'd
+    Me as his abject object. At this instant
+    He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' King;
+    I'll follow, and outstare him.
+  NORFOLK. Stay, my lord,
+    And let your reason with your choler question
+    What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills
+    Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like
+    A full hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
+    Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
+    Can advise me like you; be to yourself
+    As you would to your friend.
+  BUCKINGHAM. I'll to the King,
+    And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
+    This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim
+    There's difference in no persons.
+  NORFOLK. Be advis'd:  
+    Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
+    That it do singe yourself. We may outrun
+    By violent swiftness that which we run at,
+    And lose by over-running. Know you not
+    The fire that mounts the liquor till't run o'er
+    In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis'd.
+    I say again there is no English soul
+    More stronger to direct you than yourself,
+    If with the sap of reason you would quench
+    Or but allay the fire of passion.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Sir,
+    I am thankful to you, and I'll go along
+    By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow-
+    Whom from the flow of gan I name not, but
+    From sincere motions, by intelligence,
+    And proofs as clear as founts in July when
+    We see each grain of gravel-I do know
+    To be corrupt and treasonous.
+  NORFOLK. Say not treasonous.
+  BUCKINGHAM. To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong  
+    As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox,
+    Or wolf, or both-for he is equal rav'nous
+    As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief
+    As able to perform't, his mind and place
+    Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-
+    Only to show his pomp as well in France
+    As here at home, suggests the King our master
+    To this last costly treaty, th' interview
+    That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass
+    Did break i' th' wrenching.
+  NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal
+    The articles o' th' combination drew
+    As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified
+    As he cried 'Thus let be' to as much end
+    As give a crutch to th' dead. But our Count-Cardinal
+    Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,
+    Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,
+    Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
+    To th' old dam treason: Charles the Emperor,  
+    Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt-
+    For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came
+    To whisper Wolsey-here makes visitation-
+    His fears were that the interview betwixt
+    England and France might through their amity
+    Breed him some prejudice; for from this league
+    Peep'd harms that menac'd him-privily
+    Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow-
+    Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor
+    Paid ere he promis'd; whereby his suit was granted
+    Ere it was ask'd-but when the way was made,
+    And pav'd with gold, the Emperor thus desir'd,
+    That he would please to alter the King's course,
+    And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know,
+    As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal
+    Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,
+    And for his own advantage.
+  NORFOLK. I am sorry
+    To hear this of him, and could wish he were
+    Something mistaken in't.  
+  BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable:
+    I do pronounce him in that very shape
+    He shall appear in proof.
+
+       Enter BRANDON, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS before him,
+              and two or three of the guard
+
+  BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it.
+  SERGEANT. Sir,
+    My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
+    Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
+    Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
+    Of our most sovereign King.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord,
+    The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish
+    Under device and practice.
+  BRANDON. I am sorry
+    To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
+    The business present; 'tis his Highness' pleasure
+    You shall to th' Tower.  
+  BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing
+    To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me
+    Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heav'n
+    Be done in this and all things! I obey.
+    O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well!
+  BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company.
+    [To ABERGAVENNY]  The King
+    Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know
+    How he determines further.
+  ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said,
+    The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure
+    By me obey'd.
+  BRANDON. Here is warrant from
+    The King t' attach Lord Montacute and the bodies
+    Of the Duke's confessor, John de la Car,
+    One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-
+  BUCKINGHAM. So, so!
+    These are the limbs o' th' plot; no more, I hope.
+  BRANDON. A monk o' th' Chartreux.
+  BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins?  
+  BRANDON. He.
+  BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o'er-great Cardinal
+    Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already.
+    I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
+    Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on
+    By dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.
+    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 2.
+
+London. The Council Chamber
+
+Cornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL'S shoulder, the NOBLES,
+and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself
+under the KING'S feet on his right side
+
+  KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it,
+    Thanks you for this great care; I stood i' th' level
+    Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks
+    To you that chok'd it. Let be call'd before us
+    That gentleman of Buckingham's. In person
+    I'll hear his confessions justify;
+    And point by point the treasons of his master
+    He shall again relate.
+
+      A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!'
+      Enter the QUEEN, usher'd by the DUKES OF NORFOLK
+      and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING riseth
+      from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her  
+      by him
+
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor.
+  KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit
+    Never name to us: you have half our power.
+    The other moiety ere you ask is given;
+    Repeat your will, and take it.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty.
+    That you would love yourself, and in that love
+    Not unconsidered leave your honour nor
+    The dignity of your office, is the point
+    Of my petition.
+  KING. Lady mine, proceed.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few,
+    And those of true condition, that your subjects
+    Are in great grievance: there have been commissions
+    Sent down among 'em which hath flaw'd the heart
+    Of all their loyalties; wherein, although,
+    My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches
+    Most bitterly on you as putter-on  
+    Of these exactions, yet the King our master-
+    Whose honour Heaven shield from soil!-even he escapes not
+    Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks
+    The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
+    In loud rebellion.
+  NORFOLK. Not almost appears-
+    It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,
+    The clothiers all, not able to maintain
+    The many to them 'longing, have put of
+    The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who
+    Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
+    And lack of other means, in desperate manner
+    Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar,
+    And danger serves among them.
+  KING. Taxation!
+    Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal,
+    You that are blam'd for it alike with us,
+    Know you of this taxation?
+  WOLSEY. Please you, sir,
+    I know but of a single part in aught  
+    Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file
+    Where others tell steps with me.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord!
+    You know no more than others! But you frame
+    Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome
+    To those which would not know them, and yet must
+    Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,
+    Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
+    Most pestilent to th' hearing; and to bear 'em
+    The back is sacrifice to th' load. They say
+    They are devis'd by you, or else you suffer
+    Too hard an exclamation.
+  KING. Still exaction!
+    The nature of it? In what kind, let's know,
+    Is this exaction?
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. I am much too venturous
+    In tempting of your patience, but am bold'ned
+    Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief
+    Comes through commissions, which compels from each
+    The sixth part of his substance, to be levied  
+    Without delay; and the pretence for this
+    Is nam'd your wars in France. This makes bold mouths;
+    Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
+    Allegiance in them; their curses now
+    Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass
+    This tractable obedience is a slave
+    To each incensed will. I would your Highness
+    Would give it quick consideration, for
+    There is no primer business.
+  KING. By my life,
+    This is against our pleasure.
+  WOLSEY. And for me,
+    I have no further gone in this than by
+    A single voice; and that not pass'd me but
+    By learned approbation of the judges. If I am
+    Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know
+    My faculties nor person, yet will be
+    The chronicles of my doing, let me say
+    'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
+    That virtue must go through. We must not stint  
+    Our necessary actions in the fear
+    To cope malicious censurers, which ever
+    As rav'nous fishes do a vessel follow
+    That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further
+    Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
+    By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
+    Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft
+    Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
+    For our best act. If we shall stand still,
+    In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
+    We should take root here where we sit, or sit
+    State-statues only.
+  KING. Things done well
+    And with a care exempt themselves from fear:
+    Things done without example, in their issue
+    Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
+    Of this commission? I believe, not any.
+    We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
+    And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?
+    A trembling contribution! Why, we take  
+    From every tree lop, bark, and part o' th' timber;
+    And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
+    The air will drink the sap. To every county
+    Where this is question'd send our letters with
+    Free pardon to each man that has denied
+    The force of this commission. Pray, look tot;
+    I put it to your care.
+  WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY]  A word with you.
+    Let there be letters writ to every shire
+    Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons
+    Hardly conceive of me-let it be nois'd
+    That through our intercession this revokement
+    And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you
+    Further in the proceeding.                         Exit SECRETARY
+
+                    Enter SURVEYOR
+
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham
+    Is run in your displeasure.
+  KING. It grieves many.  
+    The gentleman is learn'd and a most rare speaker;
+    To nature none more bound; his training such
+    That he may furnish and instruct great teachers
+    And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,
+    When these so noble benefits shall prove
+    Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt,
+    They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly
+    Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,
+    Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,
+    Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find
+    His hour of speech a minute-he, my lady,
+    Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
+    That once were his, and is become as black
+    As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-
+    This was his gentleman in trust-of him
+    Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount
+    The fore-recited practices, whereof
+    We cannot feel too little, hear too much.
+  WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,
+    Most like a careful subject, have collected  
+    Out of the Duke of Buckingham.
+  KING. Speak freely.
+  SURVEYOR. First, it was usual with him-every day
+    It would infect his speech-that if the King
+    Should without issue die, he'll carry it so
+    To make the sceptre his. These very words
+    I've heard him utter to his son-in-law,
+    Lord Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd
+    Revenge upon the Cardinal.
+  WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note
+    This dangerous conception in this point:
+    Not friended by his wish, to your high person
+    His will is most malignant, and it stretches
+    Beyond you to your friends.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn'd Lord Cardinal,
+    Deliver all with charity.
+  KING. Speak on.
+    How grounded he his title to the crown
+    Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him
+    At any time speak aught?  
+  SURVEYOR. He was brought to this
+    By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton.
+  KING. What was that Henton?
+  SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar,
+    His confessor, who fed him every minute
+    With words of sovereignty.
+  KING. How know'st thou this?
+  SURVEYOR. Not long before your Highness sped to France,
+    The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish
+    Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
+    What was the speech among the Londoners
+    Concerning the French journey. I replied
+    Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious,
+    To the King's danger. Presently the Duke
+    Said 'twas the fear indeed and that he doubted
+    'Twould prove the verity of certain words
+    Spoke by a holy monk 'that oft' says he
+    'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
+    John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour
+    To hear from him a matter of some moment;  
+    Whom after under the confession's seal
+    He solemnly had sworn that what he spoke
+    My chaplain to no creature living but
+    To me should utter, with demure confidence
+    This pausingly ensu'd: "Neither the King nor's heirs,
+    Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive
+    To gain the love o' th' commonalty; the Duke
+    Shall govern England."'
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well,
+    You were the Duke's surveyor, and lost your office
+    On the complaint o' th' tenants. Take good heed
+    You charge not in your spleen a noble person
+    And spoil your nobler soul. I say, take heed;
+    Yes, heartily beseech you.
+  KING. Let him on.
+    Go forward.
+  SURVEYOR. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
+    I told my lord the Duke, by th' devil's illusions
+    The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous
+      for him  
+    To ruminate on this so far, until
+    It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd,
+    It was much like to do. He answer'd 'Tush,
+    It can do me no damage'; adding further
+    That, had the King in his last sickness fail'd,
+    The Cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads
+    Should have gone off.
+  KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!
+    There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say further?
+  SURVEYOR. I can, my liege.
+  KING. Proceed.
+  SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich,
+    After your Highness had reprov'd the Duke
+    About Sir William Bulmer-
+  KING. I remember
+    Of such a time: being my sworn servant,
+    The Duke retain'd him his. But on: what hence?
+  SURVEYOR. 'If' quoth he 'I for this had been committed-
+    As to the Tower I thought-I would have play'd
+    The part my father meant to act upon  
+    Th' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,
+    Made suit to come in's presence, which if granted,
+    As he made semblance of his duty, would
+    Have put his knife into him.'
+  KING. A giant traitor!
+  WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom,
+    And this man out of prison?
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all!
+  KING. There's something more would out of thee: what say'st?
+  SURVEYOR. After 'the Duke his father' with the 'knife,'
+    He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
+    Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes,
+    He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour
+    Was, were he evil us'd, he would outgo
+    His father by as much as a performance
+    Does an irresolute purpose.
+  KING. There's his period,
+    To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd;
+    Call him to present trial. If he may
+    Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none,  
+    Let him not seek't of us. By day and night!
+    He's traitor to th' height.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 3.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS
+
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Is't possible the spells of France should juggle
+    Men into such strange mysteries?
+  SANDYS. New customs,
+    Though they be never so ridiculous,
+    Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English
+    Have got by the late voyage is but merely
+    A fit or two o' th' face; but they are shrewd ones;
+    For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly
+    Their very noses had been counsellors
+    To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.
+  SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it,
+    That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin
+    Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord,
+    Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to't,  
+    That sure th' have worn out Christendom.
+
+           Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL
+
+    How now?
+    What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
+  LOVELL. Faith, my lord,
+    I hear of none but the new proclamation
+    That's clapp'd upon the court gate.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. What is't for?
+  LOVELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
+    That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs
+    To think an English courtier may be wise,
+    And never see the Louvre.
+  LOVELL. They must either,
+    For so run the conditions, leave those remnants
+    Of fool and feather that they got in France,
+    With all their honourable points of ignorance
+    Pertaining thereunto-as fights and fireworks;  
+    Abusing better men than they can be,
+    Out of a foreign wisdom-renouncing clean
+    The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,
+    Short blist'red breeches, and those types of travel
+    And understand again like honest men,
+    Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it,
+    They may, cum privilegio, wear away
+    The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at.
+  SANDYS. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
+    Are grown so catching.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies
+    Will have of these trim vanities!
+  LOVELL. Ay, marry,
+    There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons
+    Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies.
+    A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.
+  SANDYS. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,
+    For sure there's no converting 'em. Now
+    An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
+    A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong  
+    And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r Lady,
+    Held current music too.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys;
+    Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
+  SANDYS. No, my lord,
+    Nor shall not while I have a stamp.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas,
+    Whither were you a-going?
+  LOVELL. To the Cardinal's;
+    Your lordship is a guest too.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. O, 'tis true;
+    This night he makes a supper, and a great one,
+    To many lords and ladies; there will be
+    The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.
+  LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
+    A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
+    His dews fall everywhere.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he's noble;
+    He had a black mouth that said other of him.
+  SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him  
+    Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:
+    Men of his way should be most liberal,
+    They are set here for examples.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so;
+    But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;
+    Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,
+    We shall be late else; which I would not be,
+    For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford,
+    This night to be comptrollers.
+  SANDYS. I am your lordship's.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 4.
+
+London. The Presence Chamber in York Place
+
+Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal,
+a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE BULLEN,
+and divers other LADIES and GENTLEMEN, as guests, at one door;
+at another door enter SIR HENRY GUILDFORD
+
+  GUILDFORD. Ladies, a general welcome from his Grace
+    Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates
+    To fair content and you. None here, he hopes,
+    In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
+    One care abroad; he would have all as merry
+    As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,
+    Can make good people.
+
+       Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR
+                  THOMAS LOVELL
+
+    O, my lord, y'are tardy,  
+    The very thought of this fair company
+    Clapp'd wings to me.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.
+  SANDYS. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinal
+    But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these
+    Should find a running banquet ere they rested
+    I think would better please 'em. By my life,
+    They are a sweet society of fair ones.
+  LOVELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor
+    To one or two of these!
+  SANDYS. I would I were;
+    They should find easy penance.
+  LOVELL. Faith, how easy?
+  SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,
+    Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this.
+    His Grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not freeze:
+    Two women plac'd together makes cold weather.
+    My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep 'em waking:
+    Pray sit between these ladies.  
+  SANDYS. By my faith,
+    And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies.
+                 [Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another lady]
+    If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;
+    I had it from my father.
+  ANNE. Was he mad, sir?
+  SANDYS. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too.
+    But he would bite none; just as I do now,
+    He would kiss you twenty with a breath.              [Kisses her]
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord.
+    So, now y'are fairly seated. Gentlemen,
+    The penance lies on you if these fair ladies
+    Pass away frowning.
+  SANDYS. For my little cure,
+    Let me alone.
+
+         Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and
+                         takes his state
+
+  WOLSEY. Y'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady  
+    Or gentleman that is not freely merry
+    Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome-
+    And to you all, good health!                             [Drinks]
+  SANDYS. Your Grace is noble.
+    Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks
+    And save me so much talking.
+  WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys,
+    I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours.
+    Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,
+    Whose fault is this?
+  SANDYS. The red wine first must rise
+    In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em
+    Talk us to silence.
+  ANNE. You are a merry gamester,
+    My Lord Sandys.
+  SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play.
+    Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam,
+    For 'tis to such a thing-
+  ANNE. You cannot show me.
+  SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon.  
+                             [Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharg'd]
+  WOLSEY. What's that?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye.             Exit a SERVANT
+  WOLSEY. What warlike voice,
+    And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not:
+    By all the laws of war y'are privileg'd.
+
+            Re-enter SERVANT
+
+  CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is't?
+  SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers-
+    For so they seem. Th' have left their barge and landed,
+    And hither make, as great ambassadors
+    From foreign princes.
+  WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain,
+    Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;
+    And pray receive 'em nobly and conduct 'em
+    Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
+    Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.
+              Exit CHAMBERLAIN attended. All rise, and tables remov'd  
+    You have now a broken banquet, but we'll mend it.
+    A good digestion to you all; and once more
+    I show'r a welcome on ye; welcome all.
+
+      Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers,
+      habited like shepherds, usher'd by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN.
+      They pass directly before the CARDINAL,
+      and gracefully salute him
+
+    A noble company! What are their pleasures?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd
+    To tell your Grace, that, having heard by fame
+    Of this so noble and so fair assembly
+    This night to meet here, they could do no less,
+    Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,
+    But leave their flocks and, under your fair conduct,
+    Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat
+    An hour of revels with 'em.
+  WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain,
+    They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em  
+    A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures.
+                   [They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE BULLEN]
+  KING. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,
+    Till now I never knew thee!                        [Music. Dance]
+  WOLSEY. My lord!
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace?
+  WOLSEY. Pray tell 'em thus much from me:
+    There should be one amongst 'em, by his person,
+    More worthy this place than myself; to whom,
+    If I but knew him, with my love and duty
+    I would surrender it.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord.
+                                         [He whispers to the maskers]
+  WOLSEY. What say they?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess,
+    There is indeed; which they would have your Grace
+    Find out, and he will take it.
+  WOLSEY. Let me see, then.                    [Comes from his state]
+    By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make
+    My royal choice.  
+  KING.  [Unmasking]  Ye have found him, Cardinal.
+    You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord.
+    You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, Cardinal,
+    I should judge now unhappily.
+  WOLSEY. I am glad
+    Your Grace is grown so pleasant.
+  KING. My Lord Chamberlain,
+    Prithee come hither: what fair lady's that?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's
+      daughter-
+    The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness' women.
+  KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet heart,
+    I were unmannerly to take you out
+    And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!
+    Let it go round.
+  WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
+    I' th' privy chamber?
+  LOVELL. Yes, my lord.
+  WOLSEY. Your Grace,
+    I fear, with dancing is a little heated.  
+  KING. I fear, too much.
+  WOLSEY. There's fresher air, my lord,
+    In the next chamber.
+  KING. Lead in your ladies, ev'ry one. Sweet partner,
+    I must not yet forsake you. Let's be merry:
+    Good my Lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths
+    To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure
+    To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream
+    Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it.
+                                                Exeunt, with trumpets
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1.
+
+Westminster. A street
+
+Enter two GENTLEMEN, at several doors
+
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Whither away so fast?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. O, God save ye!
+    Ev'n to the Hall, to hear what shall become
+    Of the great Duke of Buckingham.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll save you
+    That labour, sir. All's now done but the ceremony
+    Of bringing back the prisoner.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Were you there?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, indeed, was I.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Pray, speak what has happen'd.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. You may guess quickly what.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is he found guilty?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am sorry for't.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. So are a number more.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. But, pray, how pass'd it?  
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you in a little. The great Duke.
+    Came to the bar; where to his accusations
+    He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged
+    Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
+    The King's attorney, on the contrary,
+    Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions,
+    Of divers witnesses; which the Duke desir'd
+    To have brought, viva voce, to his face;
+    At which appear'd against him his surveyor,
+    Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor, and John Car,
+    Confessor to him, with that devil-monk,
+    Hopkins, that made this mischief.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. That was he
+    That fed him with his prophecies?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. The same.
+    All these accus'd him strongly, which he fain
+    Would have flung from him; but indeed he could not;
+    And so his peers, upon this evidence,
+    Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
+    He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all  
+    Was either pitied in him or forgotten.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. After all this, how did he bear him-self
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. When he was brought again to th' bar to hear
+    His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd
+    With such an agony he sweat extremely,
+    And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty;
+    But he fell to himself again, and sweetly
+    In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do not think he fears death.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sure, he does not;
+    He never was so womanish; the cause
+    He may a little grieve at.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Certainly
+    The Cardinal is the end of this.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis likely,
+    By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,
+    Then deputy of Ireland, who remov'd,
+    Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,
+    Lest he should help his father.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. That trick of state  
+    Was a deep envious one.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. At his return
+    No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,
+    And generally: whoever the King favours
+    The Cardinal instantly will find employment,
+    And far enough from court too.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. All the commons
+    Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
+    Wish him ten fathom deep: this Duke as much
+    They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,
+    The mirror of all courtesy-
+
+      Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment, tip-staves
+      before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds
+      on each side; accompanied with SIR THOMAS
+      LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDYS,
+      and common people, etc.
+
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Stay there, sir,
+    And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.  
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Let's stand close, and behold him.
+  BUCKINGHAM. All good people,
+    You that thus far have come to pity me,
+    Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
+    I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment,
+    And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness,
+    And if I have a conscience, let it sink me
+    Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!
+    The law I bear no malice for my death:
+    'T has done, upon the premises, but justice.
+    But those that sought it I could wish more Christians.
+    Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em;
+    Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief
+    Nor build their evils on the graves of great men,
+    For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em.
+    For further life in this world I ne'er hope
+    Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies
+    More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me
+    And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
+    His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave  
+    Is only bitter to him, only dying,
+    Go with me like good angels to my end;
+    And as the long divorce of steel falls on me
+    Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
+    And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a God's name.
+  LOVELL. I do beseech your Grace, for charity,
+    If ever any malice in your heart
+    Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you
+    As I would be forgiven. I forgive all.
+    There cannot be those numberless offences
+    'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with. No black envy
+    Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace;
+    And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him
+    You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers
+    Yet are the King's, and, till my soul forsake,
+    Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live
+    Longer than I have time to tell his years;
+    Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be;
+    And when old time Shall lead him to his end,  
+    Goodness and he fill up one monument!
+  LOVELL. To th' water side I must conduct your Grace;
+    Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,
+    Who undertakes you to your end.
+  VAUX. Prepare there;
+    The Duke is coming; see the barge be ready;
+    And fit it with such furniture as suits
+    The greatness of his person.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Nay, Sir Nicholas,
+    Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
+    When I came hither I was Lord High Constable
+    And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun.
+    Yet I am richer than my base accusers
+    That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it;
+    And with that blood will make 'em one day groan fort.
+    My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
+    Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
+    Flying for succour to his servant Banister,
+    Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd
+    And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!  
+    Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying
+    My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
+    Restor'd me to my honours, and out of ruins
+    Made my name once more noble. Now his son,
+    Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all
+    That made me happy, at one stroke has taken
+    For ever from the world. I had my trial,
+    And must needs say a noble one; which makes me
+    A little happier than my wretched father;
+    Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both
+    Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most-
+    A most unnatural and faithless service.
+    Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me,
+    This from a dying man receive as certain:
+    Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels,
+    Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends
+    And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
+    The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
+    Like water from ye, never found again
+    But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,  
+    Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour
+    Of my long weary life is come upon me.
+    Farewell;
+    And when you would say something that is sad,
+    Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me!
+                                          Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,
+    I fear, too many curses on their heads
+    That were the authors.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless,
+    'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling
+    Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,
+    Greater than this.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us!
+    What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
+    A strong faith to conceal it.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it;
+    I do not talk much.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident.  
+    You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear
+    A buzzing of a separation
+    Between the King and Katharine?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not;
+    For when the King once heard it, out of anger
+    He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight
+    To stop the rumour and allay those tongues
+    That durst disperse it.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. But that slander, sir,
+    Is found a truth now; for it grows again
+    Fresher than e'er it was, and held for certain
+    The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal
+    Or some about him near have, out of malice
+    To the good Queen, possess'd him with a scruple
+    That will undo her. To confirm this too,
+    Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd and lately;
+    As all think, for this business.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the Cardinal;
+    And merely to revenge him on the Emperor
+    For not bestowing on him at his asking  
+    The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is't
+        not cruel
+    That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal
+    Will have his will, and she must fall.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis woeful.
+    We are too open here to argue this;
+    Let's think in private more.                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 2.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter
+
+  CHAMBERLAIN. 'My lord,
+    'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care
+    had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. They were
+    young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north.
+    When they were ready to set out for London, a man of
+    my Lord Cardinal's, by commission, and main power, took
+    'em from me, with this reason: his master would be serv'd
+    before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp'd
+    our mouths, sir.'
+
+    I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them.
+    He will have all, I think.
+
+    Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK
+
+  NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain.  
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces.
+  SUFFOLK. How is the King employ'd?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private,
+    Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
+  NORFOLK. What's the cause?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife
+    Has crept too near his conscience.
+  SUFFOLK. No, his conscience
+    Has crept too near another lady.
+  NORFOLK. 'Tis so;
+    This is the Cardinal's doing; the King-Cardinal,
+    That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
+    Turns what he list. The King will know him one day.
+  SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He'll never know himself else.
+  NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business!
+    And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the league
+    Between us and the Emperor, the Queen's great nephew,
+    He dives into the King's soul and there scatters
+    Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
+    Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage;  
+    And out of all these to restore the King,
+    He counsels a divorce, a loss of her
+    That like a jewel has hung twenty years
+    About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
+    Of her that loves him with that excellence
+    That angels love good men with; even of her
+    That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
+    Will bless the King-and is not this course pious?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true
+    These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks 'em,
+    And every true heart weeps for 't. All that dare
+    Look into these affairs see this main end-
+    The French King's sister. Heaven will one day open
+    The King's eyes, that so long have slept upon
+    This bold bad man.
+  SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery.
+  NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance;
+    Or this imperious man will work us an
+    From princes into pages. All men's honours
+    Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd  
+    Into what pitch he please.
+  SUFFOLK. For me, my lords,
+    I love him not, nor fear him-there's my creed;
+    As I am made without him, so I'll stand,
+    If the King please; his curses and his blessings
+    Touch me alike; th' are breath I not believe in.
+    I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him
+    To him that made him proud-the Pope.
+  NORFOLK. Let's in;
+    And with some other business put the King
+    From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him.
+    My lord, you'll bear us company?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me,
+    The King has sent me otherwhere; besides,
+    You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him.
+    Health to your lordships!
+  NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain.
+                            Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws
+                               the curtain and sits reading pensively
+  SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted.  
+  KING. Who's there, ha?
+  NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry.
+  KING HENRY. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves
+    Into my private meditations?
+    Who am I, ha?
+  NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences
+    Malice ne'er meant. Our breach of duty this way
+    Is business of estate, in which we come
+    To know your royal pleasure.
+  KING. Ye are too bold.
+    Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business.
+    Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?
+
+      Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission
+
+    Who's there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey,
+    The quiet of my wounded conscience,
+    Thou art a cure fit for a King.  [To CAMPEIUS]  You're
+      welcome,
+    Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom.  
+    Use us and it.  [To WOLSEY]  My good lord, have great care
+    I be not found a talker.
+  WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot.
+    I would your Grace would give us but an hour
+    Of private conference.
+  KING.  [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]  We are busy; go.
+  NORFOLK.  [Aside to SUFFOLK]  This priest has no pride in him!
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside to NORFOLK]  Not to speak of!
+    I would not be so sick though for his place.
+    But this cannot continue.
+  NORFOLK.  [Aside to SUFFOLK]  If it do,
+    I'll venture one have-at-him.
+  SUFFOLK.  [Aside to NORFOLK]  I another.
+                                           Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK
+  WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom
+    Above all princes, in committing freely
+    Your scruple to the voice of Christendom.
+    Who can be angry now? What envy reach you?
+    The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,
+    Must now confess, if they have any goodness,  
+    The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
+    I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms
+    Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment,
+    Invited by your noble self, hath sent
+    One general tongue unto us, this good man,
+    This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius,
+    Whom once more I present unto your Highness.
+  KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,
+    And thank the holy conclave for their loves.
+    They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.
+  CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers' loves,
+    You are so noble. To your Highness' hand
+    I tender my commission; by whose virtue-
+    The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord
+    Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant
+    In the unpartial judging of this business.
+  KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted
+    Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?
+  WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov'd her
+    So dear in heart not to deny her that  
+    A woman of less place might ask by law-
+    Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.
+  KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour
+    To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal,
+    Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;
+    I find him a fit fellow.                              Exit WOLSEY
+
+          Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER
+
+  WOLSEY.  [Aside to GARDINER]  Give me your hand: much
+      joy and favour to you;
+    You are the King's now.
+  GARDINER.  [Aside to WOLSEY]  But to be commanded
+    For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais'd me.
+  KING. Come hither, Gardiner.                   [Walks and whispers]
+  CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace
+    In this man's place before him?
+  WOLSEY. Yes, he was.
+  CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man?
+  WOLSEY. Yes, surely.  
+  CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then,
+    Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal.
+  WOLSEY. How! Of me?
+  CAMPEIUS. They will not stick to say you envied him
+    And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
+    Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him
+    That he ran mad and died.
+  WOLSEY. Heav'n's peace be with him!
+    That's Christian care enough. For living murmurers
+    There's places of rebuke. He was a fool,
+    For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,
+    If I command him, follows my appointment.
+    I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
+    We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
+  KING. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queen.
+                                                        Exit GARDINER
+    The most convenient place that I can think of
+    For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars;
+    There ye shall meet about this weighty business-
+    My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord,  
+    Would it not grieve an able man to leave
+    So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!
+    O, 'tis a tender place! and I must leave her.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 3.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY
+
+  ANNE. Not for that neither. Here's the pang that pinches:
+    His Highness having liv'd so long with her, and she
+    So good a lady that no tongue could ever
+    Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life,
+    She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after
+    So many courses of the sun enthroned,
+    Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which
+    To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than
+    'Tis sweet at first t' acquire-after this process,
+    To give her the avaunt, it is a pity
+    Would move a monster.
+  OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper
+    Melt and lament for her.
+  ANNE. O, God's will! much better
+    She ne'er had known pomp; though't be temporal,
+    Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce  
+    It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging
+    As soul and body's severing.
+  OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady!
+    She's a stranger now again.
+  ANNE. So much the more
+    Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
+    I swear 'tis better to be lowly born
+    And range with humble livers in content
+    Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief
+    And wear a golden sorrow.
+  OLD LADY. Our content
+    Is our best having.
+  ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead,
+    I would not be a queen.
+  OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would,
+    And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you,
+    For all this spice of your hypocrisy.
+    You that have so fair parts of woman on you
+    Have too a woman's heart, which ever yet
+    Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;  
+    Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,
+    Saving your mincing, the capacity
+    Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive
+    If you might please to stretch it.
+  ANNE. Nay, good troth.
+  OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen!
+  ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven.
+  OLD LADY. 'Tis strange: a threepence bow'd would hire me,
+    Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you,
+    What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs
+    To bear that load of title?
+  ANNE. No, in truth.
+  OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little;
+    I would not be a young count in your way
+    For more than blushing comes to. If your back
+    Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak
+    Ever to get a boy.
+  ANNE. How you do talk!
+    I swear again I would not be a queen
+    For all the world.  
+  OLD LADY. In faith, for little England
+    You'd venture an emballing. I myself
+    Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd
+    No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
+
+         Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN
+
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know
+    The secret of your conference?
+  ANNE. My good lord,
+    Not your demand; it values not your asking.
+    Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming
+    The action of good women; there is hope
+    All will be well.
+  ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen!
+  CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings
+    Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
+    Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes
+    Ta'en of your many virtues, the King's Majesty  
+    Commends his good opinion of you to you, and
+    Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
+    Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide
+    A thousand pound a year, annual support,
+    Out of his grace he adds.
+  ANNE. I do not know
+    What kind of my obedience I should tender;
+    More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers
+    Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes
+    More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes
+    Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,
+    Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,
+    As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness;
+    Whose health and royalty I pray for.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Lady,
+    I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit
+    The King hath of you.  [Aside]  I have perus'd her well:
+    Beauty and honour in her are so mingled
+    That they have caught the King; and who knows yet
+    But from this lady may proceed a gem  
+    To lighten all this isle?-I'll to the King
+    And say I spoke with you.
+  ANNE. My honour'd lord!                       Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN
+  OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see!
+    I have been begging sixteen years in court-
+    Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could
+    Come pat betwixt too early and too late
+    For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!
+    A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon
+    This compell'd fortune!-have your mouth fill'd up
+    Before you open it.
+  ANNE. This is strange to me.
+  OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.
+    There was a lady once-'tis an old story-
+    That would not be a queen, that would she not,
+    For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?
+  ANNE. Come, you are pleasant.
+  OLD LADY. With your theme I could
+    O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!
+    A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!  
+    No other obligation! By my life,
+    That promises moe thousands: honour's train
+    Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time
+    I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,
+    Are you not stronger than you were?
+  ANNE. Good lady,
+    Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
+    And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,
+    If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me
+    To think what follows.
+    The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
+    In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver
+    What here y' have heard to her.
+  OLD LADY. What do you think me?                              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 4.
+
+London. A hall in Blackfriars
+
+Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver wands;
+next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them,
+the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY,
+ROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance,
+follows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal,
+and a Cardinal's hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross;
+then a GENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS
+bearing a silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars;
+after them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS;
+two NOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN
+and their trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state;
+the two CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place
+some distance from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side
+of the court, in manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES.
+The LORDS sit next the BISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand
+in convenient order about the stage
+
+  WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
+    Let silence be commanded.
+  KING. What's the need?
+    It hath already publicly been read,
+    And on all sides th' authority allow'd;
+    You may then spare that time.
+  WOLSEY. Be't so; proceed.
+  SCRIBE. Say 'Henry King of England, come into the court.'
+  CRIER. Henry King of England, &c.
+  KING. Here.
+  SCRIBE. Say 'Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.'
+  CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c.
+
+     The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair,
+     goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels  
+     at his feet; then speaks
+
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,
+    And to bestow your pity on me; for
+    I am a most poor woman and a stranger,
+    Born out of your dominions, having here
+    No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
+    Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
+    In what have I offended you? What cause
+    Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure
+    That thus you should proceed to put me of
+    And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,
+    I have been to you a true and humble wife,
+    At all times to your will conformable,
+    Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,
+    Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry
+    As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour
+    I ever contradicted your desire
+    Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends
+    Have I not strove to love, although I knew  
+    He were mine enemy? What friend of mine
+    That had to him deriv'd your anger did
+    Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice
+    He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind
+    That I have been your wife in this obedience
+    Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
+    With many children by you. If, in the course
+    And process of this time, you can report,
+    And prove it too against mine honour, aught,
+    My bond to wedlock or my love and duty,
+    Against your sacred person, in God's name,
+    Turn me away and let the foul'st contempt
+    Shut door upon me, and so give me up
+    To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you, sir,
+    The King, your father, was reputed for
+    A prince most prudent, of an excellent
+    And unmatch'd wit and judgment; Ferdinand,
+    My father, King of Spain, was reckon'd one
+    The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many
+    A year before. It is not to be question'd  
+    That they had gather'd a wise council to them
+    Of every realm, that did debate this business,
+    Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly
+    Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may
+    Be by my friends in Spain advis'd, whose counsel
+    I will implore. If not, i' th' name of God,
+    Your pleasure be fulfill'd!
+  WOLSEY. You have here, lady,
+    And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men
+    Of singular integrity and learning,
+    Yea, the elect o' th' land, who are assembled
+    To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless
+    That longer you desire the court, as well
+    For your own quiet as to rectify
+    What is unsettled in the King.
+  CAMPEIUS. His Grace
+    Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam,
+    It's fit this royal session do proceed
+    And that, without delay, their arguments
+    Be now produc'd and heard.  
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal,
+    To you I speak.
+  WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam?
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir,
+    I am about to weep; but, thinking that
+    We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain
+    The daughter of a king, my drops of tears
+    I'll turn to sparks of fire.
+  WOLSEY. Be patient yet.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before
+    Or God will punish me. I do believe,
+    Induc'd by potent circumstances, that
+    You are mine enemy, and make my challenge
+    You shall not be my judge; for it is you
+    Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me-
+    Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again,
+    I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul
+    Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more
+    I hold my most malicious foe and think not
+    At all a friend to truth.  
+  WOLSEY. I do profess
+    You speak not like yourself, who ever yet
+    Have stood to charity and display'd th' effects
+    Of disposition gentle and of wisdom
+    O'ertopping woman's pow'r. Madam, you do me wrong:
+    I have no spleen against you, nor injustice
+    For you or any; how far I have proceeded,
+    Or how far further shall, is warranted
+    By a commission from the Consistory,
+    Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me
+    That I have blown this coal: I do deny it.
+    The King is present; if it be known to him
+    That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,
+    And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much
+    As you have done my truth. If he know
+    That I am free of your report, he knows
+    I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him
+    It lies to cure me, and the cure is to
+    Remove these thoughts from you; the which before
+    His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech  
+    You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking
+    And to say so no more.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord,
+    I am a simple woman, much too weak
+    T' oppose your cunning. Y'are meek and humble-mouth'd;
+    You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,
+    With meekness and humility; but your heart
+    Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
+    You have, by fortune and his Highness' favours,
+    Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted
+    Where pow'rs are your retainers, and your words,
+    Domestics to you, serve your will as't please
+    Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you
+    You tender more your person's honour than
+    Your high profession spiritual; that again
+    I do refuse you for my judge and here,
+    Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,
+    To bring my whole cause 'fore his Holiness
+    And to be judg'd by him.
+                     [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart]  
+  CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate,
+    Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
+    Disdainful to be tried by't; 'tis not well.
+    She's going away.
+  KING. Call her again.
+  CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.
+  GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call'd back.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way;
+    When you are call'd, return. Now the Lord help!
+    They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on.
+    I will not tarry; no, nor ever more
+    Upon this business my appearance make
+    In any of their courts.           Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants
+  KING. Go thy ways, Kate.
+    That man i' th' world who shall report he has
+    A better wife, let him in nought be trusted
+    For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone-
+    If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
+    Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,
+    Obeying in commanding, and thy parts  
+    Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out-
+    The queen of earthly queens. She's noble born;
+    And like her true nobility she has
+    Carried herself towards me.
+  WOLSEY. Most gracious sir,
+    In humblest manner I require your Highness
+    That it shall please you to declare in hearing
+    Of all these ears-for where I am robb'd and bound,
+    There must I be unloos'd, although not there
+    At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I
+    Did broach this business to your Highness, or
+    Laid any scruple in your way which might
+    Induce you to the question on't, or ever
+    Have to you, but with thanks to God for such
+    A royal lady, spake one the least word that might
+    Be to the prejudice of her present state,
+    Or touch of her good person?
+  KING. My Lord Cardinal,
+    I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,
+    I free you from't. You are not to be taught  
+    That you have many enemies that know not
+    Why they are so, but, like to village curs,
+    Bark when their fellows do. By some of these
+    The Queen is put in anger. Y'are excus'd.
+    But will you be more justified? You ever
+    Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desir'd
+    It to be stirr'd; but oft have hind'red, oft,
+    The passages made toward it. On my honour,
+    I speak my good Lord Cardinal to this point,
+    And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't,
+    I will be bold with time and your attention.
+    Then mark th' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to't:
+    My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness,
+    Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd
+    By th' Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador,
+    Who had been hither sent on the debating
+    A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and
+    Our daughter Mary. I' th' progress of this business,
+    Ere a determinate resolution, he-
+    I mean the Bishop-did require a respite  
+    Wherein he might the King his lord advertise
+    Whether our daughter were legitimate,
+    Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,
+    Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook
+    The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,
+    Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
+    The region of my breast, which forc'd such way
+    That many maz'd considerings did throng
+    And press'd in with this caution. First, methought
+    I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had
+    Commanded nature that my lady's womb,
+    If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should
+    Do no more offices of life to't than
+    The grave does to the dead; for her male issue
+    Or died where they were made, or shortly after
+    This world had air'd them. Hence I took a thought
+    This was a judgment on me, that my kingdom,
+    Well worthy the best heir o' th' world, should not
+    Be gladded in't by me. Then follows that
+    I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in  
+    By this my issue's fail, and that gave to me
+    Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in
+    The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer
+    Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
+    Now present here together; that's to say
+    I meant to rectify my conscience, which
+    I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,
+    By all the reverend fathers of the land
+    And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private
+    With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember
+    How under my oppression I did reek,
+    When I first mov'd you.
+  LINCOLN. Very well, my liege.
+  KING. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to say
+    How far you satisfied me.
+  LINCOLN. So please your Highness,
+    The question did at first so stagger me-
+    Bearing a state of mighty moment in't
+    And consequence of dread-that I committed
+    The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt,  
+    And did entreat your Highness to this course
+    Which you are running here.
+  KING. I then mov'd you,
+    My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave
+    To make this present summons. Unsolicited
+    I left no reverend person in this court,
+    But by particular consent proceeded
+    Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on,
+    For no dislike i' th' world against the person
+    Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points
+    Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward.
+    Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life
+    And kingly dignity, we are contented
+    To wear our moral state to come with her,
+    Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
+    That's paragon'd o' th' world.
+  CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness,
+    The Queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness
+    That we adjourn this court till further day;
+    Meanwhile must be an earnest motion  
+    Made to the Queen to call back her appeal
+    She intends unto his Holiness.
+  KING.  [Aside]  I may perceive
+    These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor
+    This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
+    My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
+    Prithee return. With thy approach I know
+    My comfort comes along. -Break up the court;
+    I say, set on.                   Exuent in manner as they entered
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1.
+
+London. The QUEEN'S apartments
+
+Enter the QUEEN and her women, as at work
+
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows
+      sad with troubles;
+    Sing and disperse 'em, if thou canst. Leave working.
+
+                    SONG
+
+        Orpheus with his lute made trees,
+        And the mountain tops that freeze,
+          Bow themselves when he did sing;
+        To his music plants and flowers
+        Ever sprung, as sun and showers
+          There had made a lasting spring.
+
+        Every thing that heard him play,
+        Even the billows of the sea,
+          Hung their heads and then lay by.  
+        In sweet music is such art,
+        Killing care and grief of heart
+          Fall asleep or hearing die.
+
+              Enter a GENTLEMAN
+
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. How now?
+  GENTLEMAN. An't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals
+    Wait in the presence.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me?
+  GENTLEMAN. They will'd me say so, madam.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces
+    To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business
+    With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour?
+    I do not like their coming. Now I think on't,
+    They should be good men, their affairs as righteous;
+    But all hoods make not monks.
+
+         Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS
+  
+  WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness!
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife;
+    I would be all, against the worst may happen.
+    What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?
+  WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw
+    Into your private chamber, we shall give you
+    The full cause of our coming.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here;
+    There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,
+    Deserves a corner. Would all other women
+    Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!
+    My lords, I care not-so much I am happy
+    Above a number-if my actions
+    Were tried by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em,
+    Envy and base opinion set against 'em,
+    I know my life so even. If your business
+    Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,
+    Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing.
+  WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima-
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin!  
+    I am not such a truant since my coming,
+    As not to know the language I have liv'd in;
+    A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious;
+    Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you,
+    If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake:
+    Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal,
+    The willing'st sin I ever yet committed
+    May be absolv'd in English.
+  WOLSEY. Noble lady,
+    I am sorry my integrity should breed,
+    And service to his Majesty and you,
+    So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant
+    We come not by the way of accusation
+    To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,
+    Nor to betray you any way to sorrow-
+    You have too much, good lady; but to know
+    How you stand minded in the weighty difference
+    Between the King and you, and to deliver,
+    Like free and honest men, our just opinions
+    And comforts to your cause.  
+  CAMPEIUS. Most honour'd madam,
+    My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,
+    Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace,
+    Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure
+    Both of his truth and him-which was too far-
+    Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
+    His service and his counsel.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE.  [Aside]  To betray me.-
+    My lords, I thank you both for your good wins;
+    Ye speak like honest men-pray God ye prove so!
+    But how to make ye suddenly an answer,
+    In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,
+    More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit,
+    And to such men of gravity and learning,
+    In truth I know not. I was set at work
+    Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking
+    Either for such men or such business.
+    For her sake that I have been-for I feel
+    The last fit of my greatness-good your Graces,
+    Let me have time and counsel for my cause.  
+    Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!
+  WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears;
+    Your hopes and friends are infinite.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. In England
+    But little for my profit; can you think, lords,
+    That any Englishman dare give me counsel?
+    Or be a known friend, 'gainst his Highness' pleasure-
+    Though he be grown so desperate to be honest-
+    And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,
+    They that must weigh out my afflictions,
+    They that my trust must grow to, live not here;
+    They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,
+    In mine own country, lords.
+  CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace
+    Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir?
+  CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King's protection;
+    He's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much
+    Both for your honour better and your cause;
+    For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye  
+    You'll part away disgrac'd.
+  WOLSEY. He tells you rightly.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin.
+    Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye!
+    Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge
+    That no king can corrupt.
+  CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,
+    Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;
+    But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye.
+    Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?
+    The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady-
+    A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?
+    I will not wish ye half my miseries:
+    I have more charity; but say I warned ye.
+    Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once
+    The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.
+  WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction;
+    You turn the good we offer into envy.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye,  
+    And all such false professors! Would you have me-
+    If you have any justice, any pity,
+    If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-
+    Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
+    Alas! has banish'd me his bed already,
+    His love too long ago! I am old, my lords,
+    And all the fellowship I hold now with him
+    Is only my obedience. What can happen
+    To me above this wretchedness? All your studies
+    Make me a curse like this.
+  CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv'd thus long-let me speak myself,
+    Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one?
+    A woman, I dare say without vain-glory,
+    Never yet branded with suspicion?
+    Have I with all my full affections
+    Still met the King, lov'd him next heav'n, obey'd him,
+    Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him,
+    Almost forgot my prayers to content him,
+    And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well, lords.  
+    Bring me a constant woman to her husband,
+    One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure,
+    And to that woman, when she has done most,
+    Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.
+  WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,
+    To give up willingly that noble title
+    Your master wed me to: nothing but death
+    Shall e'er divorce my dignities.
+  WOLSEY. Pray hear me.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth,
+    Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!
+    Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.
+    What will become of me now, wretched lady?
+    I am the most unhappy woman living.
+    [To her WOMEN]  Alas, poor wenches, where are now
+      your fortunes?
+    Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
+    No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me;
+    Almost no grave allow'd me. Like the My,  
+    That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
+    I'll hang my head and perish.
+  WOLSEY. If your Grace
+    Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,
+    You'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady,
+    Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places,
+    The way of our profession is against it;
+    We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.
+    For goodness' sake, consider what you do;
+    How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly
+    Grow from the King's acquaintance, by this carriage.
+    The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
+    So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits
+    They swell and grow as terrible as storms.
+    I know you have a gentle, noble temper,
+    A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us
+    Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.
+  CAMPEIUS. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues
+    With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit,
+    As yours was put into you, ever casts  
+    Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you;
+    Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please
+    To trust us in your business, we are ready
+    To use our utmost studies in your service.
+  QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray
+      forgive me
+    If I have us'd myself unmannerly;
+    You know I am a woman, lacking wit
+    To make a seemly answer to such persons.
+    Pray do my service to his Majesty;
+    He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers
+    While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,
+    Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs
+    That little thought, when she set footing here,
+    She should have bought her dignities so dear.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+ACT III.SCENE 2.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY,
+and the LORD CHAMBERLAIN
+
+  NORFOLK. If you will now unite in your complaints
+    And force them with a constancy, the Cardinal
+    Cannot stand under them: if you omit
+    The offer of this time, I cannot promise
+    But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces
+    With these you bear already.
+  SURREY. I am joyful
+    To meet the least occasion that may give me
+    Remembrance of my father-in-law, the Duke,
+    To be reveng'd on him.
+  SUFFOLK. Which of the peers
+    Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
+    Strangely neglected? When did he regard
+    The stamp of nobleness in any person
+    Out of himself?  
+  CHAMBERLAIN. My lords, you speak your pleasures.
+    What he deserves of you and me I know;
+    What we can do to him-though now the time
+    Gives way to us-I much fear. If you cannot
+    Bar his access to th' King, never attempt
+    Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft
+    Over the King in's tongue.
+  NORFOLK. O, fear him not!
+    His spell in that is out; the King hath found
+    Matter against him that for ever mars
+    The honey of his language. No, he's settled,
+    Not to come off, in his displeasure.
+  SURREY. Sir,
+    I should be glad to hear such news as this
+    Once every hour.
+  NORFOLK. Believe it, this is true:
+    In the divorce his contrary proceedings
+    Are all unfolded; wherein he appears
+    As I would wish mine enemy.
+  SURREY. How came  
+    His practices to light?
+  SUFFOLK. Most Strangely.
+  SURREY. O, how, how?
+  SUFFOLK. The Cardinal's letters to the Pope miscarried,
+    And came to th' eye o' th' King; wherein was read
+    How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness
+    To stay the judgment o' th' divorce; for if
+    It did take place, 'I do' quoth he 'perceive
+    My king is tangled in affection to
+    A creature of the Queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.'
+  SURREY. Has the King this?
+  SUFFOLK. Believe it.
+  SURREY. Will this work?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. The King in this perceives him how he coasts
+    And hedges his own way. But in this point
+    All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic
+    After his patient's death: the King already
+    Hath married the fair lady.
+  SURREY. Would he had!
+  SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord!  
+    For, I profess, you have it.
+  SURREY. Now, all my joy
+    Trace the conjunction!
+  SUFFOLK. My amen to't!
+  NORFOLK. An men's!
+  SUFFOLK. There's order given for her coronation;
+    Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left
+    To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords,
+    She is a gallant creature, and complete
+    In mind and feature. I persuade me from her
+    Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall
+    In it be memoriz'd.
+  SURREY. But will the King
+    Digest this letter of the Cardinal's?
+    The Lord forbid!
+  NORFOLK. Marry, amen!
+  SUFFOLK. No, no;
+    There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose
+    Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius
+    Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;  
+    Has left the cause o' th' King unhandled, and
+    Is posted, as the agent of our Cardinal,
+    To second all his plot. I do assure you
+    The King cried 'Ha!' at this.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Now, God incense him,
+    And let him cry 'Ha!' louder!
+  NORFOLK. But, my lord,
+    When returns Cranmer?
+  SUFFOLK. He is return'd in his opinions; which
+    Have satisfied the King for his divorce,
+    Together with all famous colleges
+    Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I believe,
+    His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
+    Her coronation. Katharine no more
+    Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager
+    And widow to Prince Arthur.
+  NORFOLK. This same Cranmer's
+    A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain
+    In the King's business.
+  SUFFOLK. He has; and we shall see him  
+    For it an archbishop.
+  NORFOLK. So I hear.
+  SUFFOLK. 'Tis so.
+
+        Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL
+
+    The Cardinal!
+  NORFOLK. Observe, observe, he's moody.
+  WOLSEY. The packet, Cromwell,
+    Gave't you the King?
+  CROMWELL. To his own hand, in's bedchamber.
+  WOLSEY. Look'd he o' th' inside of the paper?
+  CROMWELL. Presently
+    He did unseal them; and the first he view'd,
+    He did it with a serious mind; a heed
+    Was in his countenance. You he bade
+    Attend him here this morning.
+  WOLSEY. Is he ready
+    To come abroad?
+  CROMWELL. I think by this he is.  
+  WOLSEY. Leave me awhile.                              Exit CROMWELL
+    [Aside]  It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,
+    The French King's sister; he shall marry her.
+    Anne Bullen! No, I'll no Anne Bullens for him;
+    There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen!
+    No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish
+    To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!
+  NORFOLK. He's discontented.
+  SUFFOLK. May be he hears the King
+    Does whet his anger to him.
+  SURREY. Sharp enough,
+    Lord, for thy justice!
+  WOLSEY.  [Aside]  The late Queen's gentlewoman, a knight's
+      daughter,
+    To be her mistress' mistress! The Queen's queen!
+    This candle burns not clear. 'Tis I must snuff it;
+    Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous
+    And well deserving? Yet I know her for
+    A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to
+    Our cause that she should lie i' th' bosom of  
+    Our hard-rul'd King. Again, there is sprung up
+    An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one
+    Hath crawl'd into the favour of the King,
+    And is his oracle.
+  NORFOLK. He is vex'd at something.
+
+        Enter the KING, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL
+
+  SURREY. I would 'twere something that would fret the string,
+    The master-cord on's heart!
+  SUFFOLK. The King, the King!
+  KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
+    To his own portion! And what expense by th' hour
+    Seems to flow from him! How, i' th' name of thrift,
+    Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords,
+    Saw you the Cardinal?
+  NORFOLK. My lord, we have
+    Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion
+    Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts,
+    Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,  
+    Then lays his finger on his temple; straight
+    Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,
+    Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts
+    His eye against the moon. In most strange postures
+    We have seen him set himself.
+  KING. It may well be
+    There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning
+    Papers of state he sent me to peruse,
+    As I requir'd; and wot you what I found
+    There-on my conscience, put unwittingly?
+    Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing
+    The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,
+    Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which
+    I find at such proud rate that it outspeaks
+    Possession of a subject.
+  NORFOLK. It's heaven's will;
+    Some spirit put this paper in the packet
+    To bless your eye withal.
+  KING. If we did think
+    His contemplation were above the earth  
+    And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still
+    dwell in his musings; but I am afraid
+    His thinkings are below the moon, not worth
+    His serious considering.
+                        [The KING takes his seat and whispers LOVELL,
+                                           who goes to the CARDINAL]
+  WOLSEY. Heaven forgive me!
+    Ever God bless your Highness!
+  KING. Good, my lord,
+    You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory
+    Of your best graces in your mind; the which
+    You were now running o'er. You have scarce time
+    To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span
+    To keep your earthly audit; sure, in that
+    I deem you an ill husband, and am glad
+    To have you therein my companion.
+  WOLSEY. Sir,
+    For holy offices I have a time; a time
+    To think upon the part of business which
+    I bear i' th' state; and nature does require  
+    Her times of preservation, which perforce
+    I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,
+    Must give my tendance to.
+  KING. You have said well.
+  WOLSEY. And ever may your Highness yoke together,
+    As I will lend you cause, my doing well
+    With my well saying!
+  KING. 'Tis well said again;
+    And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well;
+    And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you:
+    He said he did; and with his deed did crown
+    His word upon you. Since I had my office
+    I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
+    Employ'd you where high profits might come home,
+    But par'd my present havings to bestow
+    My bounties upon you.
+  WOLSEY.  [Aside]  What should this mean?
+  SURREY.  [Aside]  The Lord increase this business!
+  KING. Have I not made you
+    The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me  
+    If what I now pronounce you have found true;
+    And, if you may confess it, say withal
+    If you are bound to us or no. What say you?
+  WOLSEY. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
+    Show'r'd on me daily, have been more than could
+    My studied purposes requite; which went
+    Beyond all man's endeavours. My endeavours,
+    Have ever come too short of my desires,
+    Yet fil'd with my abilities; mine own ends
+    Have been mine so that evermore they pointed
+    To th' good of your most sacred person and
+    The profit of the state. For your great graces
+    Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I
+    Can nothing render but allegiant thanks;
+    My pray'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty,
+    Which ever has and ever shall be growing,
+    Till death, that winter, kill it.
+  KING. Fairly answer'd!
+    A loyal and obedient subject is
+    Therein illustrated; the honour of it  
+    Does pay the act of it, as, i' th' contrary,
+    The foulness is the punishment. I presume
+    That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you,
+    My heart dropp'd love, my pow'r rain'd honour, more
+    On you than any, so your hand and heart,
+    Your brain, and every function of your power,
+    Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
+    As 'twere in love's particular, be more
+    To me, your friend, than any.
+  WOLSEY. I do profess
+    That for your Highness' good I ever labour'd
+    More than mine own; that am, have, and will be-
+    Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
+    And throw it from their soul; though perils did
+    Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and
+    Appear in forms more horrid-yet my duty,
+    As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
+    Should the approach of this wild river break,
+    And stand unshaken yours.
+  KING. 'Tis nobly spoken.  
+    Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,
+    For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this;
+                                                  [Giving him papers]
+    And after, this; and then to breakfast with
+    What appetite you have.
+                Exit the KING, frowning upon the CARDINAL; the NOBLES
+                             throng after him, smiling and whispering
+  WOLSEY. What should this mean?
+    What sudden anger's this? How have I reap'd it?
+    He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
+    Leap'd from his eyes; so looks the chafed lion
+    Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him-
+    Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;
+    I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;
+    This paper has undone me. 'Tis th' account
+    Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
+    For mine own ends; indeed to gain the popedom,
+    And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,
+    Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil
+    Made me put this main secret in the packet  
+    I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this?
+    No new device to beat this from his brains?
+    I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know
+    A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune,
+    Will bring me off again. What's this? 'To th' Pope.'
+    The letter, as I live, with all the business
+    I writ to's Holiness. Nay then, farewell!
+    I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness,
+    And from that full meridian of my glory
+    I haste now to my setting. I shall fall
+    Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
+    And no man see me more.
+
+        Re-enter to WOLSEY the DUKES OF NORFOLK and
+        SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD
+        CHAMBERLAIN
+
+  NORFOLK. Hear the King's pleasure, Cardinal, who commands you
+    To render up the great seal presently
+    Into our hands, and to confine yourself  
+    To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's,
+    Till you hear further from his Highness.
+  WOLSEY. Stay:
+    Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carry
+    Authority so weighty.
+  SUFFOLK. Who dares cross 'em,
+    Bearing the King's will from his mouth expressly?
+  WOLSEY. Till I find more than will or words to do it-
+    I mean your malice-know, officious lords,
+    I dare and must deny it. Now I feel
+    Of what coarse metal ye are moulded-envy;
+    How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,
+    As if it fed ye; and how sleek and wanton
+    Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!
+    Follow your envious courses, men of malice;
+    You have Christian warrant for 'em, and no doubt
+    In time will find their fit rewards. That seal
+    You ask with such a violence, the King-
+    Mine and your master-with his own hand gave me;
+    Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,  
+    During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,
+    Tied it by letters-patents. Now, who'll take it?
+  SURREY. The King, that gave it.
+  WOLSEY. It must be himself then.
+  SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.
+  WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou liest.
+    Within these forty hours Surrey durst better
+    Have burnt that tongue than said so.
+  SURREY. Thy ambition,
+    Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
+    Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.
+    The heads of all thy brother cardinals,
+    With thee and all thy best parts bound together,
+    Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
+    You sent me deputy for Ireland;
+    Far from his succour, from the King, from all
+    That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him;
+    Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
+    Absolv'd him with an axe.
+  WOLSEY. This, and all else  
+    This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
+    I answer is most false. The Duke by law
+    Found his deserts; how innocent I was
+    From any private malice in his end,
+    His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
+    If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you
+    You have as little honesty as honour,
+    That in the way of loyalty and truth
+    Toward the King, my ever royal master,
+    Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be
+    And an that love his follies.
+  SURREY. By my soul,
+    Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel
+    My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords
+    Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?
+    And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
+    To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,
+    Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward
+    And dare us with his cap like larks.
+  WOLSEY. All goodness  
+    Is poison to thy stomach.
+  SURREY. Yes, that goodness
+    Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
+    Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion;
+    The goodness of your intercepted packets
+    You writ to th' Pope against the King; your goodness,
+    Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.
+    My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,
+    As you respect the common good, the state
+    Of our despis'd nobility, our issues,
+    Whom, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen-
+    Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
+    Collected from his life. I'll startle you
+    Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench
+    Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.
+  WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man,
+    But that I am bound in charity against it!
+  NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King's hand;
+    But, thus much, they are foul ones.
+  WOLSEY. So much fairer  
+    And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
+    When the King knows my truth.
+  SURREY. This cannot save you.
+    I thank my memory I yet remember
+    Some of these articles; and out they shall.
+    Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, Cardinal,
+    You'll show a little honesty.
+  WOLSEY. Speak on, sir;
+    I dare your worst objections. If I blush,
+    It is to see a nobleman want manners.
+  SURREY. I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!
+    First, that without the King's assent or knowledge
+    You wrought to be a legate; by which power
+    You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.
+  NORFOLK. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else
+    To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus'
+    Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the King
+    To be your servant.
+  SUFFOLK. Then, that without the knowledge
+    Either of King or Council, when you went  
+    Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold
+    To carry into Flanders the great seal.
+  SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission
+    To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,
+    Without the King's will or the state's allowance,
+    A league between his Highness and Ferrara.
+  SUFFOLK. That out of mere ambition you have caus'd
+    Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's coin.
+  SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance,
+    By what means got I leave to your own conscience,
+    To furnish Rome and to prepare the ways
+    You have for dignities, to the mere undoing
+    Of all the kingdom. Many more there are,
+    Which, since they are of you, and odious,
+    I will not taint my mouth with.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord,
+    Press not a falling man too far! 'Tis virtue.
+    His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
+    Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
+    So little of his great self.  
+  SURREY. I forgive him.
+  SUFFOLK. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is-
+    Because all those things you have done of late,
+    By your power legatine within this kingdom,
+    Fall into th' compass of a praemunire-
+    That therefore such a writ be sued against you:
+    To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
+    Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
+    Out of the King's protection. This is my charge.
+  NORFOLK. And so we'll leave you to your meditations
+    How to live better. For your stubborn answer
+    About the giving back the great seal to us,
+    The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.
+    So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.
+                                                Exeunt all but WOLSEY
+  WOLSEY. So farewell to the little good you bear me.
+    Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
+    This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
+    The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms
+    And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;  
+    The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
+    And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
+    His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
+    And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
+    Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
+    This many summers in a sea of glory;
+    But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride
+    At length broke under me, and now has left me,
+    Weary and old with service, to the mercy
+    Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
+    Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;
+    I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched
+    Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
+    There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
+    That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin
+    More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
+    And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
+    Never to hope again.
+
+         Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed  
+
+    Why, how now, Cromwell!
+  CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir.
+  WOLSEY. What, amaz'd
+    At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
+    A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
+    I am fall'n indeed.
+  CROMWELL. How does your Grace?
+  WOLSEY. Why, well;
+    Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
+    I know myself now, and I feel within me
+    A peace above all earthly dignities,
+    A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur'd me,
+    I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders,
+    These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
+    A load would sink a navy-too much honour.
+    O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden
+    Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!
+  CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.
+  WOLSEY. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks,  
+    Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
+    To endure more miseries and greater far
+    Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
+    What news abroad?
+  CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst
+    Is your displeasure with the King.
+  WOLSEY. God bless him!
+  CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen
+    Lord Chancellor in your place.
+  WOLSEY. That's somewhat sudden.
+    But he's a learned man. May he continue
+    Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice
+    For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones
+    When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,
+    May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on him!
+    What more?
+  CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
+    Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
+  WOLSEY. That's news indeed.
+  CROMWELL. Last, that the Lady Anne,  
+    Whom the King hath in secrecy long married,
+    This day was view'd in open as his queen,
+    Going to chapel; and the voice is now
+    Only about her coronation.
+  WOLSEY. There was the weight that pull'd me down.
+      O Cromwell,
+    The King has gone beyond me. All my glories
+    In that one woman I have lost for ever.
+    No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
+    Or gild again the noble troops that waited
+    Upon my smiles. Go get thee from me, Cromwell;
+    I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now
+    To be thy lord and master. Seek the King;
+    That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him
+    What and how true thou art. He will advance thee;
+    Some little memory of me will stir him-
+    I know his noble nature-not to let
+    Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,
+    Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
+    For thine own future safety.  
+  CROMWELL. O my lord,
+    Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo
+    So good, so noble, and so true a master?
+    Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
+    With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
+    The King shall have my service; but my prayers
+    For ever and for ever shall be yours.
+  WOLSEY. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
+    In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,
+    Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
+    Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell,
+    And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
+    And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
+    Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee-
+    Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
+    And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
+    Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in-
+    A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
+    Mark but my fall and that that ruin'd me.
+    Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:  
+    By that sin fell the angels. How can man then,
+    The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
+    Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;
+    Corruption wins not more than honesty.
+    Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace
+    To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not;
+    Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
+    Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
+    Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
+    Serve the King, and-prithee lead me in.
+    There take an inventory of all I have
+    To the last penny; 'tis the King's. My robe,
+    And my integrity to heaven, is all
+    I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!
+    Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
+    I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age
+    Have left me naked to mine enemies.
+  CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience.
+  WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell
+    The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1.
+
+A street in Westminster
+
+Enter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another
+
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y'are well met once again.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and
+      behold
+    The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter
+    The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd
+      sorrow;
+    This, general joy.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis well. The citizens,
+    I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds-
+    As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward-
+    In celebration of this day with shows,
+    Pageants, and sights of honour.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater,  
+    Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains,
+    That paper in your hand?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes; 'tis the list
+    Of those that claim their offices this day,
+    By custom of the coronation.
+    The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
+    To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,
+    He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known
+      those customs,
+    I should have been beholding to your paper.
+    But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
+    The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. That I can tell you too. The Archbishop
+    Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
+    Learned and reverend fathers of his order,
+    Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles of
+    From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which
+    She was often cited by them, but appear'd not.  
+    And, to be short, for not appearance and
+    The King's late scruple, by the main assent
+    Of all these learned men, she was divorc'd,
+    And the late marriage made of none effect;
+    Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,
+    Where she remains now sick.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady!                       [Trumpets]
+    The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming.
+[Hautboys]
+
+              THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION.
+
+    1. A lively flourish of trumpets.
+    2. Then two JUDGES.
+    3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him.
+    4. CHORISTERS singing.                                    [Music]
+    5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in
+       his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper
+       crown.
+    6. MARQUIS DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a  
+       demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY,
+       bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an
+       earl's coronet. Collars of Esses.
+    7. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on
+       his head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward.
+       With him, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, with the rod of
+       marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of Esses.
+    8. A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE-PORTS; under it
+       the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with
+       pearl, crowned. On each side her, the BISHOPS OF LONDON
+       and WINCHESTER.
+    9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold
+       wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S train.
+   10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold
+       without flowers.
+
+             Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and state,
+                                and then a great flourish of trumpets
+
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know.  
+    Who's that that bears the sceptre?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset;
+    And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be
+    The Duke of Suffolk?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the same-High Steward.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN.  [Looking on the QUEEN]  Heaven
+      bless thee!
+    Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.
+    Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;
+    Our king has all the Indies in his arms,
+    And more and richer, when he strains that lady;
+    I cannot blame his conscience.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. They that bear
+    The cloth of honour over her are four barons
+    Of the Cinque-ports.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Those men are happy; and so are all
+      are near her.  
+    I take it she that carries up the train
+    Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed,
+    And sometimes falling ones.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that.
+                   Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets
+
+               Enter a third GENTLEMAN
+
+    God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i' th' Abbey, where a finger
+    Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled
+    With the mere rankness of their joy.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw
+    The ceremony?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us.  
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. As well as I am able. The rich stream
+    Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen
+    To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell of
+    A distance from her, while her Grace sat down
+    To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,
+    In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
+    The beauty of her person to the people.
+    Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
+    That ever lay by man; which when the people
+    Had the full view of, such a noise arose
+    As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
+    As loud, and to as many tunes; hats, cloaks-
+    Doublets, I think-flew up, and had their faces
+    Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
+    I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
+    That had not half a week to go, like rams
+    In the old time of war, would shake the press,
+    And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living
+    Could say 'This is my wife' there, all were woven
+    So strangely in one piece.  
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow'd?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with
+      modest paces
+    Came to the altar, where she kneel'd, and saintlike
+    Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.
+    Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people;
+    When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
+    She had all the royal makings of a queen:
+    As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
+    The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
+    Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir,
+    With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
+    Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted,
+    And with the same full state pac'd back again
+    To York Place, where the feast is held.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sir,
+    You must no more call it York Place: that's past:
+    For since the Cardinal fell that title's lost.
+    'Tis now the King's, and called Whitehall.
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it;  
+    But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name
+    Is fresh about me.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops
+    Were those that went on each side of the Queen?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester,
+    Newly preferr'd from the King's secretary;
+    The other, London.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester
+    Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop's,
+    The virtuous Cranmer.
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that;
+    However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes,
+    Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell,
+    A man in much esteem with th' King, and truly
+    A worthy friend. The King has made him Master
+    O' th' jewel House,
+    And one, already, of the Privy Council.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more.  
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt.
+    Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
+    Is to th' court, and there ye shall be my guests:
+    Something I can command. As I walk thither,
+    I'll tell ye more.
+  BOTH. You may command us, sir.                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 2.
+
+Kimbolton
+
+Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her Gentleman Usher,
+and PATIENCE, her woman
+
+  GRIFFITH. How does your Grace?
+  KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death!
+    My legs like loaden branches bow to th' earth,
+    Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair.
+    So-now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
+    Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
+    That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,
+    Was dead?
+  GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace,
+    Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
+  KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.
+    If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,
+    For my example.
+  GRIFFITH. Well, the voice goes, madam;  
+    For after the stout Earl Northumberland
+    Arrested him at York and brought him forward,
+    As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,
+    He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill
+    He could not sit his mule.
+  KATHARINE. Alas, poor man!
+  GRIFFITH. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
+    Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
+    With all his covent, honourably receiv'd him;
+    To whom he gave these words: 'O father Abbot,
+    An old man, broken with the storms of state,
+    Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
+    Give him a little earth for charity!'
+    So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness
+    Pursu'd him still And three nights after this,
+    About the hour of eight-which he himself
+    Foretold should be his last-full of repentance,
+    Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
+    He gave his honours to the world again,
+    His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.  
+  KATHARINE. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!
+    Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
+    And yet with charity. He was a man
+    Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
+    Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion,
+    Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair play;
+    His own opinion was his law. I' th' presence
+    He would say untruths, and be ever double
+    Both in his words and meaning. He was never,
+    But where he meant to ruin, pitiful.
+    His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
+    But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
+    Of his own body he was ill, and gave
+    The clergy ill example.
+  GRIFFITH. Noble madam,
+    Men's evil manners live in brass: their virtues
+    We write in water. May it please your Highness
+    To hear me speak his good now?
+  KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith;
+    I were malicious else.  
+  GRIFFITH. This Cardinal,
+    Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
+    Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle.
+    He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;
+    Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading;
+    Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not,
+    But to those men that sought him sweet as summer.
+    And though he were unsatisfied in getting-
+    Which was a sin-yet in bestowing, madam,
+    He was most princely: ever witness for him
+    Those twins of learning that he rais'd in you,
+    Ipswich and Oxford! One of which fell with him,
+    Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
+    The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
+    So excellent in art, and still so rising,
+    That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
+    His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
+    For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
+    And found the blessedness of being little.
+    And, to add greater honours to his age  
+    Than man could give him, he died fearing God.
+  KATHARINE. After my death I wish no other herald,
+    No other speaker of my living actions,
+    To keep mine honour from corruption,
+    But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
+    Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
+    With thy religious truth and modesty,
+    Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him!
+    patience, be near me still, and set me lower:
+    I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,
+    Cause the musicians play me that sad note
+    I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
+    On that celestial harmony I go to.
+                                              [Sad and solemn music]
+  GRIFFITH. She is asleep. Good wench, let's sit down quiet,
+    For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience.
+
+                 THE VISION.
+
+      Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six  
+      PERSONAGES clad in white robes, wearing on their
+      heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their
+      faces; branches of bays or palm in their hands. They
+      first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain
+      changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her
+      head, at which the other four make reverent curtsies.
+      Then the two that held the garland deliver the
+      same to the other next two, who observe the same
+      order in their changes, and holding the garland over
+      her head; which done, they deliver the same garland
+      to the last two, who likewise observe the same order;
+      at which, as it were by inspiration, she makes
+      in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her
+      hands to heaven. And so in their dancing vanish,
+      carrying the garland with them. The music continues
+
+  KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?
+    And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
+  GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.
+  KATHARINE. It is not you I call for.  
+    Saw ye none enter since I slept?
+  GRIFFITH. None, madam.
+  KATHARINE. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop
+    Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
+    Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?
+    They promis'd me eternal happiness,
+    And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
+    I am not worthy yet to wear. I shall, assuredly.
+  GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
+    Possess your fancy.
+  KATHARINE. Bid the music leave,
+    They are harsh and heavy to me.                    [Music ceases]
+  PATIENCE. Do you note
+    How much her Grace is alter'd on the sudden?
+    How long her face is drawn! How pale she looks,
+    And of an earthly cold! Mark her eyes.
+  GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray.
+  PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her!
+
+             Enter a MESSENGER  
+
+  MESSENGER. An't like your Grace-
+  KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow.
+    Deserve we no more reverence?
+  GRIFFITH. You are to blame,
+    Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
+    To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.
+  MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness' pardon;
+    My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
+    A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you.
+  KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow
+    Let me ne'er see again.                            Exit MESSENGER
+
+              Enter LORD CAPUCIUS
+
+    If my sight fail not,
+    You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor,
+    My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
+  CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same-your servant.
+  KATHARINE. O, my Lord,  
+    The times and titles now are alter'd strangely
+    With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
+    What is your pleasure with me?
+  CAPUCIUS. Noble lady,
+    First, mine own service to your Grace; the next,
+    The King's request that I would visit you,
+    Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
+    Sends you his princely commendations
+    And heartily entreats you take good comfort.
+  KATHARINE. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late,
+    'Tis like a pardon after execution:
+    That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me;
+    But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.
+    How does his Highness?
+  CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health.
+  KATHARINE. So may he ever do! and ever flourish
+    When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
+    Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter
+    I caus'd you write yet sent away?
+  PATIENCE. No, madam.                       [Giving it to KATHARINE]  
+  KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
+    This to my lord the King.
+  CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.
+  KATHARINE. In which I have commended to his goodness
+    The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter-
+    The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-
+    Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding-
+    She is young, and of a noble modest nature;
+    I hope she will deserve well-and a little
+    To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,
+    Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
+    Is that his noble Grace would have some pity
+    Upon my wretched women that so long
+    Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully;
+    Of which there is not one, I dare avow-
+    And now I should not lie-but will deserve,
+    For virtue and true beauty of the soul,
+    For honesty and decent carriage,
+    A right good husband, let him be a noble;
+    And sure those men are happy that shall have 'em.  
+    The last is for my men-they are the poorest,
+    But poverty could never draw 'em from me-
+    That they may have their wages duly paid 'em,
+    And something over to remember me by.
+    If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life
+    And able means, we had not parted thus.
+    These are the whole contents; and, good my lord,
+    By that you love the dearest in this world,
+    As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,
+    Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the King
+    To do me this last right.
+  CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will,
+    Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
+  KATHARINE. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me
+    In all humility unto his Highness;
+    Say his long trouble now is passing
+    Out of this world. Tell him in death I bless'd him,
+    For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,
+    My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience,
+    You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;  
+    Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench,
+    Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over
+    With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
+    I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me,
+    Then lay me forth; although unqueen'd, yet like
+    A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
+    I can no more.                          Exeunt, leading KATHARINE
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+
+London. A gallery in the palace
+
+Enter GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a torch before him,
+met by SIR THOMAS LOVELL
+
+  GARDINER. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?
+  BOY. It hath struck.
+  GARDINER. These should be hours for necessities,
+    Not for delights; times to repair our nature
+    With comforting repose, and not for us
+    To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!
+    Whither so late?
+  LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord?
+  GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero
+    With the Duke of Suffolk.
+  LOVELL. I must to him too,
+    Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.
+  GARDINER. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter?
+    It seems you are in haste. An if there be  
+    No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
+    Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk-
+    As they say spirits do-at midnight, have
+    In them a wilder nature than the business
+    That seeks despatch by day.
+  LOVELL. My lord, I love you;
+    And durst commend a secret to your ear
+    Much weightier than this work. The Queen's in labour,
+    They say in great extremity, and fear'd
+    She'll with the labour end.
+  GARDINER. The fruit she goes with
+    I pray for heartily, that it may find
+    Good time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas,
+    I wish it grubb'd up now.
+  LOVELL. Methinks I could
+    Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says
+    She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
+    Deserve our better wishes.
+  GARDINER. But, sir, sir-
+    Hear me, Sir Thomas. Y'are a gentleman  
+    Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
+    And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well-
+    'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me-
+    Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,
+    Sleep in their graves.
+  LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two
+    The most remark'd i' th' kingdom. As for Cromwell,
+    Beside that of the Jewel House, is made Master
+    O' th' Rolls, and the King's secretary; further, sir,
+    Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments,
+    With which the time will load him. Th' Archbishop
+    Is the King's hand and tongue, and who dare speak
+    One syllable against him?
+  GARDINER. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,
+    There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd
+    To speak my mind of him; and indeed this day,
+    Sir-I may tell it you-I think I have
+    Incens'd the lords o' th' Council, that he is-
+    For so I know he is, they know he is-
+    A most arch heretic, a pestilence  
+    That does infect the land; with which they moved
+    Have broken with the King, who hath so far
+    Given ear to our complaint-of his great grace
+    And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs
+    Our reasons laid before him-hath commanded
+    To-morrow morning to the Council board
+    He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas,
+    And we must root him out. From your affairs
+    I hinder you too long-good night, Sir Thomas.
+  LOVELL. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant.
+                                             Exeunt GARDINER and PAGE
+
+         Enter the KING and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK
+
+  KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
+    My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.
+  SUFFOLK. Sir, I did never win of you before.
+  KING. But little, Charles;
+    Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.
+    Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?  
+  LOVELL. I could not personally deliver to her
+    What you commanded me, but by her woman
+    I sent your message; who return'd her thanks
+    In the great'st humbleness, and desir'd your Highness
+    Most heartily to pray for her.
+  KING. What say'st thou, ha?
+    To pray for her? What, is she crying out?
+  LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff'rance made
+    Almost each pang a death.
+  KING. Alas, good lady!
+  SUFFOLK. God safely quit her of her burden, and
+    With gentle travail, to the gladding of
+    Your Highness with an heir!
+  KING. 'Tis midnight, Charles;
+    Prithee to bed; and in thy pray'rs remember
+    Th' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone,
+    For I must think of that which company
+    Will not be friendly to.
+  SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness
+    A quiet night, and my good mistress will  
+    Remember in my prayers.
+  KING. Charles, good night.                             Exit SUFFOLK
+
+         Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY
+
+    Well, sir, what follows?
+  DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,
+    As you commanded me.
+  KING. Ha! Canterbury?
+  DENNY. Ay, my good lord.
+  KING. 'Tis true. Where is he, Denny?
+  DENNY. He attends your Highness' pleasure.
+  KING. Bring him to us.                                   Exit DENNY
+  LOVELL.  [Aside]  This is about that which the bishop spake.
+    I am happily come hither.
+
+         Re-enter DENNY, With CRANMER
+
+  KING. Avoid the gallery.                     [LOVELL seems to stay]
+    Ha! I have said. Be gone.  
+    What!                                     Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY
+  CRANMER.  [Aside]  I am fearful-wherefore frowns he thus?
+    'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.
+  KING. How now, my lord? You do desire to know
+    Wherefore I sent for you.
+  CRANMER.  [Kneeling]  It is my duty
+    T'attend your Highness' pleasure.
+  KING. Pray you, arise,
+    My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.
+    Come, you and I must walk a turn together;
+    I have news to tell you; come, come, me your hand.
+    Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
+    And am right sorry to repeat what follows.
+    I have, and most unwillingly, of late
+    Heard many grievous-I do say, my lord,
+    Grievous-complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
+    Have mov'd us and our Council that you shall
+    This morning come before us; where I know
+    You cannot with such freedom purge yourself
+    But that, till further trial in those charges  
+    Which will require your answer, you must take
+    Your patience to you and be well contented
+    To make your house our Tow'r. You a brother of us,
+    It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
+    Would come against you.
+  CRANMER. I humbly thank your Highness
+    And am right glad to catch this good occasion
+    Most throughly to be winnowed where my chaff
+    And corn shall fly asunder; for I know
+    There's none stands under more calumnious tongues
+    Than I myself, poor man.
+  KING. Stand up, good Canterbury;
+    Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
+    In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up;
+    Prithee let's walk. Now, by my holidame,
+    What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
+    You would have given me your petition that
+    I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
+    Yourself and your accusers, and to have heard you
+    Without indurance further.  
+  CRANMER. Most dread liege,
+    The good I stand on is my truth and honesty;
+    If they shall fail, I with mine enemies
+    Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not,
+    Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
+    What can be said against me.
+  KING. Know you not
+    How your state stands i' th' world, with the whole world?
+    Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices
+    Must bear the same proportion; and not ever
+    The justice and the truth o' th' question carries
+    The due o' th' verdict with it; at what ease
+    Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt
+    To swear against you? Such things have been done.
+    You are potently oppos'd, and with a malice
+    Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,
+    I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master,
+    Whose minister you are, whiles here He liv'd
+    Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to;
+    You take a precipice for no leap of danger,  
+    And woo your own destruction.
+  CRANMER. God and your Majesty
+    Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
+    The trap is laid for me!
+  KING. Be of good cheer;
+    They shall no more prevail than we give way to.
+    Keep comfort to you, and this morning see
+    You do appear before them; if they shall chance,
+    In charging you with matters, to commit you,
+    The best persuasions to the contrary
+    Fail not to use, and with what vehemency
+    Th' occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties
+    Will render you no remedy, this ring
+    Deliver them, and your appeal to us
+    There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!
+    He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest Mother!
+    I swear he is true-hearted, and a soul
+    None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,
+    And do as I have bid you.
+                                                         Exit CRANMER  
+    He has strangled his language in his tears.
+
+           Enter OLD LADY
+
+  GENTLEMAN.  [Within]  Come back; what mean you?
+  OLD LADY. I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring
+    Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels
+    Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
+    Under their blessed wings!
+  KING. Now, by thy looks
+    I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver'd?
+    Say ay, and of a boy.
+  OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege;
+    And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven
+    Both now and ever bless her! 'Tis a girl,
+    Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen
+    Desires your visitation, and to be
+    Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you
+    As cherry is to cherry.
+  KING. Lovell!  
+
+           Enter LOVELL
+
+  LOVELL. Sir?
+  KING. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen.            Exit
+  OLD LADY. An hundred marks? By this light, I'll ha' more!
+    An ordinary groom is for such payment.
+    I will have more, or scold it out of him.
+    Said I for this the girl was like to him! I'll
+    Have more, or else unsay't; and now, while 'tis hot,
+    I'll put it to the issue.                                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 2.
+
+Lobby before the Council Chamber
+
+Enter CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
+
+  CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman
+    That was sent to me from the Council pray'd me
+    To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho!
+    Who waits there? Sure you know me?
+
+           Enter KEEPER
+
+  KEEPER. Yes, my lord;
+    But yet I cannot help you.
+  CRANMER. Why?
+  KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call'd for.
+
+           Enter DOCTOR BUTTS
+
+  CRANMER. So.
+  BUTTS.  [Aside]  This is a piece of malice. I am glad  
+    I came this way so happily; the King
+    Shall understand it presently.                               Exit
+  CRANMER.  [Aside]  'Tis Butts,
+    The King's physician; as he pass'd along,
+    How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
+    Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace! For certain,
+    This is of purpose laid by some that hate me-
+    God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice-
+    To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me
+    Wait else at door, a fellow councillor,
+    'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures
+    Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.
+
+         Enter the KING and BUTTS at window above
+
+  BUTTS. I'll show your Grace the strangest sight-
+  KING. What's that, Butts?
+  BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day.
+  KING. Body a me, where is it?
+  BUTTS. There my lord:  
+    The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury;
+    Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,
+    Pages, and footboys.
+  KING. Ha, 'tis he indeed.
+    Is this the honour they do one another?
+    'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought
+    They had parted so much honesty among 'em-
+    At least good manners-as not thus to suffer
+    A man of his place, and so near our favour,
+    To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
+    And at the door too, like a post with packets.
+    By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery!
+    Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close;
+    We shall hear more anon.                                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 3.
+
+The Council Chamber
+
+A Council table brought in, with chairs and stools, and placed
+under the state. Enter LORD CHANCELLOR, places himself at the upper end
+of the table on the left band, a seat being left void above him,
+as for Canterbury's seat. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, DUKE OF NORFOLK, SURREY,
+LORD CHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, seat themselves in order on each side;
+CROMWELL at lower end, as secretary. KEEPER at the door
+
+  CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary;
+    Why are we met in council?
+  CROMWELL. Please your honours,
+    The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.
+  GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it?
+  CROMWELL. Yes.
+  NORFOLK. Who waits there?
+  KEEPER. Without, my noble lords?
+  GARDINER. Yes.  
+  KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop;
+    And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.
+  CHANCELLOR. Let him come in.
+  KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now.
+
+      CRANMER approaches the Council table
+
+  CHANCELLOR. My good Lord Archbishop, I am very sorry
+    To sit here at this present, and behold
+    That chair stand empty; but we all are men,
+    In our own natures frail and capable
+    Of our flesh; few are angels; out of which frailty
+    And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
+    Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
+    Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling
+    The whole realm by your teaching and your chaplains-
+    For so we are inform'd-with new opinions,
+    Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,
+    And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.
+  GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too,  
+    My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses
+    Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
+    But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur 'em
+    Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,
+    Out of our easiness and childish pity
+    To one man's honour, this contagious sickness,
+    Farewell all physic; and what follows then?
+    Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
+    Of the whole state; as of late days our neighbours,
+    The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
+    Yet freshly pitied in our memories.
+  CRANMER. My good lords, hitherto in all the progress
+    Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
+    And with no little study, that my teaching
+    And the strong course of my authority
+    Might go one way, and safely; and the end
+    Was ever to do well. Nor is there living-
+    I speak it with a single heart, my lords-
+    A man that more detests, more stirs against,
+    Both in his private conscience and his place,  
+    Defacers of a public peace than I do.
+    Pray heaven the King may never find a heart
+    With less allegiance in it! Men that make
+    Envy and crooked malice nourishment
+    Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships
+    That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
+    Be what they will, may stand forth face to face
+    And freely urge against me.
+  SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord,
+    That cannot be; you are a councillor,
+    And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.
+  GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment,
+    We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure
+    And our consent, for better trial of you,
+    From hence you be committed to the Tower;
+    Where, being but a private man again,
+    You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
+    More than, I fear, you are provided for.
+  CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;
+    You are always my good friend; if your will pass,  
+    I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,
+    You are so merciful. I see your end-
+    'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord,
+    Become a churchman better than ambition;
+    Win straying souls with modesty again,
+    Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
+    Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
+    I make as little doubt as you do conscience
+    In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
+    But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
+  GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary;
+    That's the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers,
+    To men that understand you, words and weakness.
+  CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, y'are a little,
+    By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
+    However faulty, yet should find respect
+    For what they have been; 'tis a cruelty
+    To load a falling man.
+  GARDINER. Good Master Secretary,
+    I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst  
+    Of all this table, say so.
+  CROMWELL. Why, my lord?
+  GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer
+    Of this new sect? Ye are not sound.
+  CROMWELL. Not sound?
+  GARDINER. Not sound, I say.
+  CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest!
+    Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
+  GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language.
+  CROMWELL. Do.
+    Remember your bold life too.
+  CHANCELLOR. This is too much;
+    Forbear, for shame, my lords.
+  GARDINER. I have done.
+  CROMWELL. And I.
+  CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,
+    I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
+    You be convey'd to th' Tower a prisoner;
+    There to remain till the King's further pleasure
+    Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?  
+  ALL. We are.
+  CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy,
+    But I must needs to th' Tower, my lords?
+  GARDINER. What other
+    Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.
+    Let some o' th' guard be ready there.
+
+           Enter the guard
+
+  CRANMER. For me?
+    Must I go like a traitor thither?
+  GARDINER. Receive him,
+    And see him safe i' th' Tower.
+  CRANMER. Stay, good my lords,
+    I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;
+    By virtue of that ring I take my cause
+    Out of the gripes of cruel men and give it
+    To a most noble judge, the King my master.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King's ring.
+  SURREY. 'Tis no counterfeit.  
+  SUFFOLK. 'Tis the right ring, by heav'n. I told ye all,
+    When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,
+    'Twould fall upon ourselves.
+  NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords,
+    The King will suffer but the little finger
+    Of this man to be vex'd?
+  CHAMBERLAIN. 'Tis now too certain;
+    How much more is his life in value with him!
+    Would I were fairly out on't!
+  CROMWELL. My mind gave me,
+    In seeking tales and informations
+    Against this man-whose honesty the devil
+    And his disciples only envy at-
+    Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!
+
+      Enter the KING frowning on them; he takes his seat
+
+  GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven
+    In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
+    Not only good and wise but most religious;  
+    One that in all obedience makes the church
+    The chief aim of his honour and, to strengthen
+    That holy duty, out of dear respect,
+    His royal self in judgment comes to hear
+    The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
+  KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations,
+    Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not
+    To hear such flattery now, and in my presence
+    They are too thin and bare to hide offences.
+    To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel,
+    And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
+    But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure
+    Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.
+    [To CRANMER]  Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest
+    He that dares most but wag his finger at thee.
+    By all that's holy, he had better starve
+    Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
+  SURREY. May it please your Grace-
+  KING. No, sir, it does not please me.
+    I had thought I had had men of some understanding  
+    And wisdom of my Council; but I find none.
+    Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
+    This good man-few of you deserve that title-
+    This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
+    At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
+    Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
+    Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
+    Power as he was a councillor to try him,
+    Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see,
+    More out of malice than integrity,
+    Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
+    Which ye shall never have while I live.
+  CHANCELLOR. Thus far,
+    My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace
+    To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
+    concerning his imprisonment was rather-
+    If there be faith in men-meant for his trial
+    And fair purgation to the world, than malice,
+    I'm sure, in me.
+  KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him;  
+    Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
+    I will say thus much for him: if a prince
+    May be beholding to a subject,
+    Am for his love and service so to him.
+    Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
+    Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury,
+    I have a suit which you must not deny me:
+    That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism;
+    You must be godfather, and answer for her.
+  CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
+    In such an honour; how may I deserve it,
+    That am a poor and humble subject to you?
+  KING. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons. You
+      shall have
+    Two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk
+    And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you?
+    Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,
+    Embrace and love this man.
+  GARDINER. With a true heart
+    And brother-love I do it.  
+  CRANMER. And let heaven
+    Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.
+  KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.
+    The common voice, I see, is verified
+    Of thee, which says thus: 'Do my Lord of Canterbury
+    A shrewd turn and he's your friend for ever.'
+    Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
+    To have this young one made a Christian.
+    As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
+    So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 4.
+
+The palace yard
+
+Noise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN
+
+  PORTER. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you
+    take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your
+    gaping.
+    [Within: Good master porter, I belong to th' larder.]
+  PORTER. Belong to th' gallows, and be hang'd, ye rogue! Is
+    this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves,
+    and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em. I'll scratch
+    your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look
+    for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?
+  MAN. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible,
+    Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons,
+    To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep
+    On May-day morning; which will never be.
+    We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.
+  PORTER. How got they in, and be hang'd?
+  MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in?  
+    As much as one sound cudgel of four foot-
+    You see the poor remainder-could distribute,
+    I made no spare, sir.
+  PORTER. You did nothing, sir.
+  MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
+    To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any
+    That had a head to hit, either young or old,
+    He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
+    Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again;
+    And that I would not for a cow, God save her!
+    [ Within: Do you hear, master porter?]
+  PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
+    Keep the door close, sirrah.
+  MAN. What would you have me do?
+  PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by th'
+    dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some
+    strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the
+    women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication
+    is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening
+    will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather,  
+    and all together.
+  MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow
+    somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his
+    face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now
+    reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line,
+    they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three
+    times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged
+    against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us.
+    There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that
+    rail'd upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her head,
+    for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the
+    meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out 'Clubs!'
+    when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw
+    to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strand, where
+    she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place.
+    At length they came to th' broomstaff to me; I defied 'em
+    still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot,
+    deliver'd such a show'r of pebbles that I was fain to draw
+    mine honour in and let 'em win the work: the devil was
+    amongst 'em, I think surely.  
+  PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse
+    and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation
+    of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear
+    brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo
+    Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days;
+    besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.
+
+          Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN
+
+  CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!
+    They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
+    As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
+    These lazy knaves? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows.
+    There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
+    Your faithful friends o' th' suburbs? We shall have
+    Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
+    When they pass back from the christening.
+  PORTER. An't please your honour,
+    We are but men; and what so many may do,
+    Not being torn a pieces, we have done.  
+    An army cannot rule 'em.
+  CHAMBERLAIN. As I live,
+    If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye an
+    By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
+    Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves;
+    And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
+    Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
+    Th' are come already from the christening.
+    Go break among the press and find a way out
+    To let the troops pass fairly, or I'll find
+    A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.
+  PORTER. Make way there for the Princess.
+  MAN. You great fellow,
+    Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
+  PORTER. You i' th' camlet, get up o' th' rail;
+    I'll peck you o'er the pales else.                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 5.
+
+The palace
+
+Enter TRUMPETS, sounding; then two ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER, CRANMER,
+DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK,
+two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts;
+then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF NORFOLK,
+godmother, bearing the CHILD richly habited in a mantle, etc.,
+train borne by a LADY; then follows the MARCHIONESS DORSET,
+the other godmother, and LADIES. The troop pass once about the stage,
+and GARTER speaks
+
+  GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous
+    life, long and ever-happy, to the high and mighty
+    Princess of England, Elizabeth!
+
+           Flourish. Enter KING and guard
+  
+  CRANMER.  [Kneeling]  And to your royal Grace and the
+      good Queen!
+    My noble partners and myself thus pray:
+    All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
+    Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
+    May hourly fall upon ye!
+  KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop.
+    What is her name?
+  CRANMER. Elizabeth.
+  KING. Stand up, lord.                   [The KING kisses the child]
+    With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
+    Into whose hand I give thy life.
+  CRANMER. Amen.
+  KING. My noble gossips, y'have been too prodigal;
+    I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady,
+    When she has so much English.
+  CRANMER. Let me speak, sir,
+    For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
+    Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.
+    This royal infant-heaven still move about her!-  
+    Though in her cradle, yet now promises
+    Upon this land a thousand blessings,
+    Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be-
+    But few now living can behold that goodness-
+    A pattern to all princes living with her,
+    And all that shall succeed. Saba was never
+    More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
+    Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces
+    That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
+    With all the virtues that attend the good,
+    Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her,
+    Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her;
+    She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her:
+    Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
+    And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her;
+    In her days every man shall eat in safety
+    Under his own vine what he plants, and sing
+    The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.
+    God shall be truly known; and those about her
+    From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,  
+    And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
+    Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when
+    The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix
+    Her ashes new create another heir
+    As great in admiration as herself,
+    So shall she leave her blessedness to one-
+    When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness-
+    Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
+    Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
+    And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
+    That were the servants to this chosen infant,
+    Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;
+    Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
+    His honour and the greatness of his name
+    Shall be, and make new nations; he shall flourish,
+    And like a mountain cedar reach his branches
+    To all the plains about him; our children's children
+    Shall see this and bless heaven.
+  KING. Thou speakest wonders.
+  CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England,  
+    An aged princess; many days shall see her,
+    And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
+    Would I had known no more! But she must die-
+    She must, the saints must have her-yet a virgin;
+    A most unspotted lily shall she pass
+    To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
+  KING. O Lord Archbishop,
+    Thou hast made me now a man; never before
+    This happy child did I get anything.
+    This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me
+    That when I am in heaven I shall desire
+    To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.
+    I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,
+    And you, good brethren, I am much beholding;
+    I have receiv'd much honour by your presence,
+    And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords;
+    Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye,
+    She will be sick else. This day, no man think
+    Has business at his house; for all shall stay.
+    This little one shall make it holiday.                     Exeunt
+
+KING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE
+              THE EPILOGUE.
+
+    'Tis ten to one this play can never please
+    All that are here. Some come to take their ease
+    And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
+    W'have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,
+    They'll say 'tis nought; others to hear the city
+    Abus'd extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!'
+    Which we have not done neither; that, I fear,
+    All the expected good w'are like to hear
+    For this play at this time is only in
+    The merciful construction of good women;
+    For such a one we show'd 'em. If they smile
+    And say 'twill do, I know within a while
+    All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap
+    If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1597
+
+KING JOHN
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+    KING JOHN
+    PRINCE HENRY, his son
+    ARTHUR, DUKE OF BRITAINE, son of Geffrey, late Duke of
+      Britaine, the elder brother of King John
+    EARL OF PEMBROKE
+    EARL OF ESSEX
+    EARL OF SALISBURY
+    LORD BIGOT
+    HUBERT DE BURGH
+    ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge
+    PHILIP THE BASTARD, his half-brother
+    JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge
+    PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet
+
+    KING PHILIP OF FRANCE
+    LEWIS, the Dauphin
+    LYMOGES, Duke of Austria
+    CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's legate
+    MELUN, a French lord
+    CHATILLON, ambassador from France to King John  
+
+    QUEEN ELINOR, widow of King Henry II and mother to
+      King John
+    CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur
+    BLANCH OF SPAIN, daughter to the King of Castile
+      and niece to King John
+    LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, widow of Sir Robert Faulconbridge
+
+    Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers,
+      Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+England and France
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1
+
+KING JOHN's palace
+
+Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others,
+with CHATILLON
+
+  KING JOHN. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?
+  CHATILLON. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
+    In my behaviour to the majesty,
+    The borrowed majesty, of England here.
+  ELINOR. A strange beginning- 'borrowed majesty'!
+  KING JOHN. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.
+  CHATILLON. Philip of France, in right and true behalf
+    Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
+    Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
+    To this fair island and the territories,
+    To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
+    Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
+    Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
+    And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
+    Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.  
+  KING JOHN. What follows if we disallow of this?
+  CHATILLON. The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
+    To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
+  KING JOHN. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,
+    Controlment for controlment- so answer France.
+  CHATILLON. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth-
+    The farthest limit of my embassy.
+  KING JOHN. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace;
+    Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
+    For ere thou canst report I will be there,
+    The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.
+    So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
+    And sullen presage of your own decay.
+    An honourable conduct let him have-
+    Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.
+                                        Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE
+  ELINOR. What now, my son! Have I not ever said
+    How that ambitious Constance would not cease
+    Till she had kindled France and all the world
+    Upon the right and party of her son?  
+    This might have been prevented and made whole
+    With very easy arguments of love,
+    Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
+    With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.
+  KING JOHN. Our strong possession and our right for us!
+  ELINOR. Your strong possession much more than your right,
+    Or else it must go wrong with you and me;
+    So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
+    Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.
+
+                  Enter a SHERIFF
+
+  ESSEX. My liege, here is the strangest controversy
+    Come from the country to be judg'd by you
+    That e'er I heard. Shall I produce the men?
+  KING JOHN. Let them approach.                          Exit SHERIFF
+    Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
+    This expedition's charge.
+
+     Enter ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his bastard  
+                     brother
+
+    What men are you?
+  BASTARD. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
+    Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,
+    As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge-
+    A soldier by the honour-giving hand
+    Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.
+  KING JOHN. What art thou?
+  ROBERT. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.
+  KING JOHN. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
+    You came not of one mother then, it seems.
+  BASTARD. Most certain of one mother, mighty king-
+    That is well known- and, as I think, one father;
+    But for the certain knowledge of that truth
+    I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother.
+    Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.
+  ELINOR. Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother,
+    And wound her honour with this diffidence.
+  BASTARD. I, madam? No, I have no reason for it-  
+    That is my brother's plea, and none of mine;
+    The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out
+    At least from fair five hundred pound a year.
+    Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!
+  KING JOHN. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
+    Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?
+  BASTARD. I know not why, except to get the land.
+    But once he slander'd me with bastardy;
+    But whe'er I be as true begot or no,
+    That still I lay upon my mother's head;
+    But that I am as well begot, my liege-
+    Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-
+    Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
+    If old Sir Robert did beget us both
+    And were our father, and this son like him-
+    O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee
+    I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!
+  KING JOHN. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!
+  ELINOR. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
+    The accent of his tongue affecteth him.  
+    Do you not read some tokens of my son
+    In the large composition of this man?
+  KING JOHN. Mine eye hath well examined his parts
+    And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
+    What doth move you to claim your brother's land?
+  BASTARD. Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
+    With half that face would he have all my land:
+    A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a year!
+  ROBERT. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd,
+    Your brother did employ my father much-
+  BASTARD. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
+    Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.
+  ROBERT. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
+    To Germany, there with the Emperor
+    To treat of high affairs touching that time.
+    Th' advantage of his absence took the King,
+    And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's;
+    Where how he did prevail I shame to speak-
+    But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
+    Between my father and my mother lay,  
+    As I have heard my father speak himself,
+    When this same lusty gentleman was got.
+    Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
+    His lands to me, and took it on his death
+    That this my mother's son was none of his;
+    And if he were, he came into the world
+    Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
+    Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
+    My father's land, as was my father's will.
+  KING JOHN. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate:
+    Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,
+    And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
+    Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
+    That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
+    Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
+    Had of your father claim'd this son for his?
+    In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
+    This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;
+    In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother's,
+    My brother might not claim him; nor your father,  
+    Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes:
+    My mother's son did get your father's heir;
+    Your father's heir must have your father's land.
+  ROBERT. Shall then my father's will be of no force
+    To dispossess that child which is not his?
+  BASTARD. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
+    Than was his will to get me, as I think.
+  ELINOR. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,
+    And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
+    Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
+    Lord of thy presence and no land beside?
+  BASTARD. Madam, an if my brother had my shape
+    And I had his, Sir Robert's his, like him;
+    And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
+    My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin
+    That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
+    Lest men should say 'Look where three-farthings goes!'
+    And, to his shape, were heir to all this land-
+    Would I might never stir from off this place,
+    I would give it every foot to have this face!  
+    I would not be Sir Nob in any case.
+  ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
+    Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?
+    I am a soldier and now bound to France.
+  BASTARD. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.
+    Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
+    Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear.
+    Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.
+  ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.
+  BASTARD. Our country manners give our betters way.
+  KING JOHN. What is thy name?
+  BASTARD. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun:
+    Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.
+  KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest:
+    Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great-
+    Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.
+  BASTARD. Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand;
+    My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
+    Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,
+    When I was got, Sir Robert was away!  
+  ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet!
+    I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so.
+  BASTARD. Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though?
+    Something about, a little from the right,
+    In at the window, or else o'er the hatch;
+    Who dares not stir by day must walk by night;
+    And have is have, however men do catch.
+    Near or far off, well won is still well shot;
+    And I am I, howe'er I was begot.
+  KING JOHN. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire:
+    A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
+    Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
+    For France, for France, for it is more than need.
+  BASTARD. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!
+    For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty.
+                                           Exeunt all but the BASTARD
+    A foot of honour better than I was;
+    But many a many foot of land the worse.
+    Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
+    'Good den, Sir Richard!'-'God-a-mercy, fellow!'  
+    And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
+    For new-made honour doth forget men's names:
+    'Tis too respective and too sociable
+    For your conversion. Now your traveller,
+    He and his toothpick at my worship's mess-
+    And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd,
+    Why then I suck my teeth and catechize
+    My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'
+    Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin
+    'I shall beseech you'-That is question now;
+    And then comes answer like an Absey book:
+    'O sir,' says answer 'at your best command,
+    At your employment, at your service, sir!'
+    'No, sir,' says question 'I, sweet sir, at yours.'
+    And so, ere answer knows what question would,
+    Saving in dialogue of compliment,
+    And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
+    The Pyrenean and the river Po-
+    It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
+    But this is worshipful society,  
+    And fits the mounting spirit like myself;
+    For he is but a bastard to the time
+    That doth not smack of observation-
+    And so am I, whether I smack or no;
+    And not alone in habit and device,
+    Exterior form, outward accoutrement,
+    But from the inward motion to deliver
+    Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth;
+    Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
+    Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
+    For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
+    But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?
+    What woman-post is this? Hath she no husband
+    That will take pains to blow a horn before her?
+
+      Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY
+
+    O me, 'tis my mother! How now, good lady!
+    What brings you here to court so hastily?
+  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Where is that slave, thy brother?  
+      Where is he
+    That holds in chase mine honour up and down?
+  BASTARD. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's son?
+    Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?
+    Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so?
+  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
+    Sir Robert's son! Why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert?
+    He is Sir Robert's son, and so art thou.
+  BASTARD. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?
+  GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip.
+  BASTARD. Philip-Sparrow! James,
+    There's toys abroad-anon I'll tell thee more.
+                                                          Exit GURNEY
+    Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son;
+    Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
+    Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his fast.
+    Sir Robert could do: well-marry, to confess-
+    Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:
+    We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother,
+    To whom am I beholding for these limbs?  
+    Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.
+  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
+    That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
+    What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
+  BASTARD. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
+    What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder.
+    But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son:
+    I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land;
+    Legitimation, name, and all is gone.
+    Then, good my mother, let me know my father-
+    Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother?
+  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?
+  BASTARD. As faithfully as I deny the devil.
+  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father.
+    By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd
+    To make room for him in my husband's bed.
+    Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!
+    Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
+    Which was so strongly urg'd past my defence.
+  BASTARD. Now, by this light, were I to get again,  
+    Madam, I would not wish a better father.
+    Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,
+    And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly;
+    Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,
+    Subjected tribute to commanding love,
+    Against whose fury and unmatched force
+    The aweless lion could not wage the fight
+    Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
+    He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
+    May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
+    With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
+    Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well
+    When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
+    Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;
+    And they shall say when Richard me begot,
+    If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin.
+    Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1
+
+France. Before Angiers
+
+Enter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF FRANCE,
+LEWIS the Dauphin, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and forces
+
+  KING PHILIP. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.
+    Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
+    Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart
+    And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
+    By this brave duke came early to his grave;
+    And for amends to his posterity,
+    At our importance hither is he come
+    To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
+    And to rebuke the usurpation
+    Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.
+    Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.
+  ARTHUR. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death
+    The rather that you give his offspring life,
+    Shadowing their right under your wings of war.
+    I give you welcome with a powerless hand,  
+    But with a heart full of unstained love;
+    Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.
+  KING PHILIP. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?
+  AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss
+    As seal to this indenture of my love:
+    That to my home I will no more return
+    Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
+    Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
+    Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides
+    And coops from other lands her islanders-
+    Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
+    That water-walled bulwark, still secure
+    And confident from foreign purposes-
+    Even till that utmost corner of the west
+    Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy,
+    Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
+  CONSTANCE. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
+    Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
+    To make a more requital to your love!
+  AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords  
+    In such a just and charitable war.
+  KING PHILIP. Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent
+    Against the brows of this resisting town;
+    Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
+    To cull the plots of best advantages.
+    We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
+    Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
+    But we will make it subject to this boy.
+  CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy,
+    Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood;
+    My Lord Chatillon may from England bring
+    That right in peace which here we urge in war,
+    And then we shall repent each drop of blood
+    That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.
+
+                  Enter CHATILLON
+
+  KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish,
+    Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.
+    What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;  
+    We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak.
+  CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
+    And stir them up against a mightier task.
+    England, impatient of your just demands,
+    Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds,
+    Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time
+    To land his legions all as soon as I;
+    His marches are expedient to this town,
+    His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
+    With him along is come the mother-queen,
+    An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
+    With her the Lady Blanch of Spain;
+    With them a bastard of the king's deceas'd;
+    And all th' unsettled humours of the land-
+    Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
+    With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens-
+    Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
+    Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
+    To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
+    In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits  
+    Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
+    Did never float upon the swelling tide
+    To do offence and scathe in Christendom.             [Drum beats]
+    The interruption of their churlish drums
+    Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand;
+    To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.
+  KING PHILIP. How much unlook'd for is this expedition!
+  AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much
+    We must awake endeavour for defence,
+    For courage mounteth with occasion.
+    Let them be welcome then; we are prepar'd.
+
+       Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,
+                 PEMBROKE, and others
+
+  KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
+    Our just and lineal entrance to our own!
+    If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
+    Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
+    Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven!  
+  KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return
+    From France to England, there to live in peace!
+    England we love, and for that England's sake
+    With burden of our armour here we sweat.
+    This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
+    But thou from loving England art so far
+    That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,
+    Cut off the sequence of posterity,
+    Outfaced infant state, and done a rape
+    Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
+    Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face:
+    These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his;
+    This little abstract doth contain that large
+    Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time
+    Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
+    That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
+    And this his son; England was Geffrey's right,
+    And this is Geffrey's. In the name of God,
+    How comes it then that thou art call'd a king,
+    When living blood doth in these temples beat  
+    Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest?
+  KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
+    To draw my answer from thy articles?
+  KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts
+    In any breast of strong authority
+    To look into the blots and stains of right.
+    That judge hath made me guardian to this boy,
+    Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,
+    And by whose help I mean to chastise it.
+  KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
+  KING PHILIP. Excuse it is to beat usurping down.
+  ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?
+  CONSTANCE. Let me make answer: thy usurping son.
+  ELINOR. Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king,
+    That thou mayst be a queen and check the world!
+  CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true
+    As thine was to thy husband; and this boy
+    Liker in feature to his father Geffrey
+    Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke
+    As rain to water, or devil to his dam.  
+    My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think
+    His father never was so true begot;
+    It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.
+  ELINOR. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.
+  CONSTANCE. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.
+  AUSTRIA. Peace!
+  BASTARD. Hear the crier.
+  AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou?
+  BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
+    An 'a may catch your hide and you alone.
+    You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
+    Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;
+    I'll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right;
+    Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith.
+  BLANCH. O, well did he become that lion's robe
+    That did disrobe the lion of that robe!
+  BASTARD. It lies as sightly on the back of him
+    As great Alcides' shows upon an ass;
+    But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back,
+    Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.  
+  AUSTRIA. What cracker is this same that deafs our ears
+    With this abundance of superfluous breath?
+    King Philip, determine what we shall do straight.
+  KING PHILIP. Women and fools, break off your conference.
+    King John, this is the very sum of all:
+    England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
+    In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee;
+    Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?
+  KING JOHN. My life as soon. I do defy thee, France.
+    Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand,
+    And out of my dear love I'll give thee more
+    Than e'er the coward hand of France can win.
+    Submit thee, boy.
+  ELINOR. Come to thy grandam, child.
+  CONSTANCE. Do, child, go to it grandam, child;
+    Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
+    Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.
+    There's a good grandam!
+  ARTHUR. Good my mother, peace!
+    I would that I were low laid in my grave:  
+    I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
+  ELINOR. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.
+  CONSTANCE. Now shame upon you, whe'er she does or no!
+    His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,
+    Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,
+    Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;
+    Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd
+    To do him justice and revenge on you.
+  ELINOR. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!
+  CONSTANCE. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth,
+    Call not me slanderer! Thou and thine usurp
+    The dominations, royalties, and rights,
+    Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son's son,
+    Infortunate in nothing but in thee.
+    Thy sins are visited in this poor child;
+    The canon of the law is laid on him,
+    Being but the second generation
+    Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.
+  KING JOHN. Bedlam, have done.
+  CONSTANCE. I have but this to say-  
+    That he is not only plagued for her sin,
+    But God hath made her sin and her the plague
+    On this removed issue, plagued for her
+    And with her plague; her sin his injury,
+    Her injury the beadle to her sin;
+    All punish'd in the person of this child,
+    And all for her-a plague upon her!
+  ELINOR. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
+    A will that bars the title of thy son.
+  CONSTANCE. Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will;
+    A woman's will; a cank'red grandam's will!
+  KING PHILIP. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate.
+    It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
+    To these ill-tuned repetitions.
+    Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
+    These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak
+    Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.
+
+      Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls
+  
+  CITIZEN. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?
+  KING PHILIP. 'Tis France, for England.
+  KING JOHN. England for itself.
+    You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-
+  KING PHILIP. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,
+    Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-
+  KING JOHN. For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
+    These flags of France, that are advanced here
+    Before the eye and prospect of your town,
+    Have hither march'd to your endamagement;
+    The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
+    And ready mounted are they to spit forth
+    Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls;
+    All preparation for a bloody siege
+    And merciless proceeding by these French
+    Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates;
+    And but for our approach those sleeping stones
+    That as a waist doth girdle you about
+    By the compulsion of their ordinance
+    By this time from their fixed beds of lime  
+    Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
+    For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
+    But on the sight of us your lawful king,
+    Who painfully with much expedient march
+    Have brought a countercheck before your gates,
+    To save unscratch'd your city's threat'ned cheeks-
+    Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle;
+    And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
+    To make a shaking fever in your walls,
+    They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,
+    To make a faithless error in your cars;
+    Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
+    And let us in-your King, whose labour'd spirits,
+    Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
+    Craves harbourage within your city walls.
+  KING PHILIP. When I have said, make answer to us both.
+    Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
+    Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
+    Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
+    Son to the elder brother of this man,  
+    And king o'er him and all that he enjoys;
+    For this down-trodden equity we tread
+    In warlike march these greens before your town,
+    Being no further enemy to you
+    Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
+    In the relief of this oppressed child
+    Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
+    To pay that duty which you truly owe
+    To him that owes it, namely, this young prince;
+    And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
+    Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up;
+    Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
+    Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven;
+    And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
+    With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruis'd,
+    We will bear home that lusty blood again
+    Which here we came to spout against your town,
+    And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.
+    But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
+    'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls  
+    Can hide you from our messengers of war,
+    Though all these English and their discipline
+    Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
+    Then tell us, shall your city call us lord
+    In that behalf which we have challeng'd it;
+    Or shall we give the signal to our rage,
+    And stalk in blood to our possession?
+  CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England's subjects;
+    For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
+  KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.
+  CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King,
+    To him will we prove loyal. Till that time
+    Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.
+  KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King?
+    And if not that, I bring you witnesses:
+    Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed-
+  BASTARD. Bastards and else.
+  KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives.
+  KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those-
+  BASTARD. Some bastards too.  
+  KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim.
+  CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
+    We for the worthiest hold the right from both.
+  KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls
+    That to their everlasting residence,
+    Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet
+    In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!
+  KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms!
+  BASTARD. Saint George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since
+    Sits on's horse back at mine hostess' door,
+    Teach us some fence!  [To AUSTRIA]  Sirrah, were I at home,
+    At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,
+    I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,
+    And make a monster of you.
+  AUSTRIA. Peace! no more.
+  BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar!
+  KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain, where we'll set forth
+    In best appointment all our regiments.
+  BASTARD. Speed then to take advantage of the field.
+  KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill  
+    Command the rest to stand. God and our right!              Exeunt
+
+    Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE,
+              with trumpets, to the gates
+
+  FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates
+    And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in,
+    Who by the hand of France this day hath made
+    Much work for tears in many an English mother,
+    Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;
+    Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
+    Coldly embracing the discoloured earth;
+    And victory with little loss doth play
+    Upon the dancing banners of the French,
+    Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed,
+    To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
+    Arthur of Britaine England's King and yours.
+
+         Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet
+  
+  ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
+    King John, your king and England's, doth approach,
+    Commander of this hot malicious day.
+    Their armours that march'd hence so silver-bright
+    Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood.
+    There stuck no plume in any English crest
+    That is removed by a staff of France;
+    Our colours do return in those same hands
+    That did display them when we first march'd forth;
+    And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come
+    Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
+    Dy'd in the dying slaughter of their foes.
+    Open your gates and give the victors way.
+  CITIZEN. Heralds, from off our tow'rs we might behold
+    From first to last the onset and retire
+    Of both your armies, whose equality
+    By our best eyes cannot be censured.
+    Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows;
+    Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power;
+    Both are alike, and both alike we like.  
+    One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even,
+    We hold our town for neither, yet for both.
+
+    Enter the two KINGS, with their powers, at several doors
+
+  KING JOHN. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
+    Say, shall the current of our right run on?
+    Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,
+    Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell
+    With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,
+    Unless thou let his silver water keep
+    A peaceful progress to the ocean.
+  KING PHILIP. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood
+    In this hot trial more than we of France;
+    Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,
+    That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
+    Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
+    We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
+    Or add a royal number to the dead,
+    Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss  
+    With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.
+  BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow'rs
+    When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
+    O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;
+    The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
+    And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
+    In undetermin'd differences of kings.
+    Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
+    Cry 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field,
+    You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits!
+    Then let confusion of one part confirm
+    The other's peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death!
+  KING JOHN. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
+  KING PHILIP. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?
+  CITIZEN. The King of England, when we know the King.
+  KING PHILIP. Know him in us that here hold up his right.
+  KING JOHN. In us that are our own great deputy
+    And bear possession of our person here,
+    Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.
+  CITIZEN. A greater pow'r than we denies all this;  
+    And till it be undoubted, we do lock
+    Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;
+    King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd,
+    Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.
+  BASTARD. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
+    And stand securely on their battlements
+    As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
+    At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
+    Your royal presences be rul'd by me:
+    Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
+    Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
+    Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.
+    By east and west let France and England mount
+    Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
+    Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
+    The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.
+    I'd play incessantly upon these jades,
+    Even till unfenced desolation
+    Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
+    That done, dissever your united strengths  
+    And part your mingled colours once again,
+    Turn face to face and bloody point to point;
+    Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth
+    Out of one side her happy minion,
+    To whom in favour she shall give the day,
+    And kiss him with a glorious victory.
+    How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
+    Smacks it not something of the policy?
+  KING JOHN. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
+    I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow'rs
+    And lay this Angiers even with the ground;
+    Then after fight who shall be king of it?
+  BASTARD. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
+    Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town,
+    Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
+    As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
+    And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
+    Why then defy each other, and pell-mell
+    Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.
+  KING PHILIP. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?  
+  KING JOHN. We from the west will send destruction
+    Into this city's bosom.
+  AUSTRIA. I from the north.
+  KING PHILIP. Our thunder from the south
+    Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.
+  BASTARD.  [Aside]  O prudent discipline! From north to south,
+    Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.
+    I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away!
+  CITIZEN. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,
+    And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league;
+    Win you this city without stroke or wound;
+    Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds
+    That here come sacrifices for the field.
+    Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.
+  KING JOHN. Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.
+  CITIZEN. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,
+    Is niece to England; look upon the years
+    Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid.
+    If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
+    Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?  
+    If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
+    Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
+    If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
+    Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?
+    Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,
+    Is the young Dauphin every way complete-
+    If not complete of, say he is not she;
+    And she again wants nothing, to name want,
+    If want it be not that she is not he.
+    He is the half part of a blessed man,
+    Left to be finished by such as she;
+    And she a fair divided excellence,
+    Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
+    O, two such silver currents, when they join,
+    Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
+    And two such shores to two such streams made one,
+    Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, Kings,
+    To these two princes, if you marry them.
+    This union shall do more than battery can
+    To our fast-closed gates; for at this match  
+    With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
+    The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope
+    And give you entrance; but without this match,
+    The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
+    Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
+    More free from motion-no, not Death himself
+    In mortal fury half so peremptory
+    As we to keep this city.
+  BASTARD. Here's a stay
+    That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
+    Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
+    That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;
+    Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
+    As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
+    What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
+    He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke and bounce;
+    He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
+    Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his
+    But buffets better than a fist of France.
+    Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words  
+    Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.
+  ELINOR. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
+    Give with our niece a dowry large enough;
+    For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
+    Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown
+    That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
+    The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
+    I see a yielding in the looks of France;
+    Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls
+    Are capable of this ambition,
+    Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
+    Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,
+    Cool and congeal again to what it was.
+  CITIZEN. Why answer not the double majesties
+    This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town?
+  KING PHILIP. Speak England first, that hath been forward first
+    To speak unto this city: what say you?
+  KING JOHN. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,
+    Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'
+    Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen;  
+    For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
+    And all that we upon this side the sea-
+    Except this city now by us besieg'd-
+    Find liable to our crown and dignity,
+    Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich
+    In titles, honours, and promotions,
+    As she in beauty, education, blood,
+    Holds hand with any princess of the world.
+  KING PHILIP. What say'st thou, boy? Look in the lady's face.
+  LEWIS. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
+    A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
+    The shadow of myself form'd in her eye;
+    Which, being but the shadow of your son,
+    Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.
+    I do protest I never lov'd myself
+    Till now infixed I beheld myself
+    Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.
+                                               [Whispers with BLANCH]
+  BASTARD.  [Aside]  Drawn in the flattering table of her eye,
+    Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,  
+    And quarter'd in her heart-he doth espy
+    Himself love's traitor. This is pity now,
+    That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd there should be
+    In such a love so vile a lout as he.
+  BLANCH. My uncle's will in this respect is mine.
+    If he see aught in you that makes him like,
+    That anything he sees which moves his liking
+    I can with ease translate it to my will;
+    Or if you will, to speak more properly,
+    I will enforce it eas'ly to my love.
+    Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
+    That all I see in you is worthy love,
+    Than this: that nothing do I see in you-
+    Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge-
+    That I can find should merit any hate.
+  KING JOHN. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?
+  BLANCH. That she is bound in honour still to do
+    What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.
+  KING JOHN. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?
+  LEWIS. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;  
+    For I do love her most unfeignedly.
+  KING JOHN. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
+    Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,
+    With her to thee; and this addition more,
+    Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
+    Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,
+    Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
+  KING PHILIP. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.
+  AUSTRIA. And your lips too; for I am well assur'd
+    That I did so when I was first assur'd.
+  KING PHILIP. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
+    Let in that amity which you have made;
+    For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
+    The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.
+    Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
+    I know she is not; for this match made up
+    Her presence would have interrupted much.
+    Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows.
+  LEWIS. She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent.
+  KING PHILIP. And, by my faith, this league that we have made  
+    Will give her sadness very little cure.
+    Brother of England, how may we content
+    This widow lady? In her right we came;
+    Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
+    To our own vantage.
+  KING JOHN. We will heal up all,
+    For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,
+    And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
+    We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;
+    Some speedy messenger bid her repair
+    To our solemnity. I trust we shall,
+    If not fill up the measure of her will,
+    Yet in some measure satisfy her so
+    That we shall stop her exclamation.
+    Go we as well as haste will suffer us
+    To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.
+                                           Exeunt all but the BASTARD
+  BASTARD. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
+    John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole,
+    Hath willingly departed with a part;  
+    And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
+    Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
+    As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
+    With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
+    That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,
+    That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
+    Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
+    Who having no external thing to lose
+    But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that;
+    That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,
+    Commodity, the bias of the world-
+    The world, who of itself is peised well,
+    Made to run even upon even ground,
+    Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
+    This sway of motion, this commodity,
+    Makes it take head from all indifferency,
+    From all direction, purpose, course, intent-
+    And this same bias, this commodity,
+    This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
+    Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,  
+    Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
+    From a resolv'd and honourable war,
+    To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
+    And why rail I on this commodity?
+    But for because he hath not woo'd me yet;
+    Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
+    When his fair angels would salute my palm,
+    But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
+    Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.
+    Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
+    And say there is no sin but to be rich;
+    And being rich, my virtue then shall be
+    To say there is no vice but beggary.
+    Since kings break faith upon commodity,
+    Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.                   Exit
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1.
+
+France. The FRENCH KING'S camp
+
+Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY
+
+  CONSTANCE. Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!
+    False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!
+    Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?
+    It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
+    Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again.
+    It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so;
+    I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word
+    Is but the vain breath of a common man:
+    Believe me I do not believe thee, man;
+    I have a king's oath to the contrary.
+    Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
+    For I am sick and capable of fears,
+    Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
+    A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
+    A woman, naturally born to fears;
+    And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,  
+    With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,
+    But they will quake and tremble all this day.
+    What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
+    Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
+    What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
+    Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
+    Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
+    Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
+    Then speak again-not all thy former tale,
+    But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
+  SALISBURY. As true as I believe you think them false
+    That give you cause to prove my saying true.
+  CONSTANCE. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
+    Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;
+    And let belief and life encounter so
+    As doth the fury of two desperate men
+    Which in the very meeting fall and die!
+    Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
+    France friend with England; what becomes of me?
+    Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight;  
+    This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
+  SALISBURY. What other harm have I, good lady, done
+    But spoke the harm that is by others done?
+  CONSTANCE. Which harm within itself so heinous is
+    As it makes harmful all that speak of it.
+  ARTHUR. I do beseech you, madam, be content.
+  CONSTANCE. If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim,
+    Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,
+    Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
+    Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
+    Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
+    I would not care, I then would be content;
+    For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou
+    Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
+    But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,
+    Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great:
+    Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,
+    And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O!
+    She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
+    Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,  
+    And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
+    To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
+    And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
+    France is a bawd to Fortune and King John-
+    That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!
+    Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
+    Envenom him with words, or get thee gone
+    And leave those woes alone which I alone
+    Am bound to under-bear.
+  SALISBURY. Pardon me, madam,
+    I may not go without you to the kings.
+  CONSTANCE. Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee;
+    I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,
+    For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
+    To me, and to the state of my great grief,
+    Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great
+    That no supporter but the huge firm earth
+    Can hold it up.                     [Seats herself on the ground]
+    Here I and sorrows sit;
+    Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.  
+
+       Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,
+       ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and attendants
+
+  KING PHILIP. 'Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day
+    Ever in France shall be kept festival.
+    To solemnize this day the glorious sun
+    Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,
+    Turning with splendour of his precious eye
+    The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold.
+    The yearly course that brings this day about
+    Shall never see it but a holiday.
+  CONSTANCE.  [Rising]  A wicked day, and not a holy day!
+    What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done
+    That it in golden letters should be set
+    Among the high tides in the calendar?
+    Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,
+    This day of shame, oppression, perjury;
+    Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
+    Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,  
+    Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd;
+    But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;
+    No bargains break that are not this day made;
+    This day, all things begun come to ill end,
+    Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!
+  KING PHILIP. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
+    To curse the fair proceedings of this day.
+    Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?
+  CONSTANCE. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit
+    Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,
+    Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn;
+    You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
+    But now in arms you strengthen it with yours.
+    The grappling vigour and rough frown of war
+    Is cold in amity and painted peace,
+    And our oppression hath made up this league.
+    Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings!
+    A widow cries: Be husband to me, heavens!
+    Let not the hours of this ungodly day
+    Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,  
+    Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!
+    Hear me, O, hear me!
+  AUSTRIA. Lady Constance, peace!
+  CONSTANCE. War! war! no peace! Peace is to me a war.
+    O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
+    That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!
+    Thou little valiant, great in villainy!
+    Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
+    Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
+    But when her humorous ladyship is by
+    To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur'd too,
+    And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,
+    A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear
+    Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
+    Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
+    Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend
+    Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength,
+    And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
+    Thou wear a lion's hide! Doff it for shame,
+    And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.  
+  AUSTRIA. O that a man should speak those words to me!
+  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
+  AUSTRIA. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.
+  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
+  KING JOHN. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.
+
+                  Enter PANDULPH
+
+  KING PHILIP. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.
+  PANDULPH. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
+    To thee, King John, my holy errand is.
+    I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
+    And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
+    Do in his name religiously demand
+    Why thou against the Church, our holy mother,
+    So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce
+    Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop
+    Of Canterbury, from that holy see?
+    This, in our foresaid holy father's name,
+    Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.  
+  KING JOHN. What earthly name to interrogatories
+    Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
+    Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name
+    So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,
+    To charge me to an answer, as the Pope.
+    Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England
+    Add thus much more, that no Italian priest
+    Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
+    But as we under heaven are supreme head,
+    So, under Him that great supremacy,
+    Where we do reign we will alone uphold,
+    Without th' assistance of a mortal hand.
+    So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart
+    To him and his usurp'd authority.
+  KING PHILIP. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.
+  KING JOHN. Though you and all the kings of Christendom
+    Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
+    Dreading the curse that money may buy out,
+    And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
+    Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,  
+    Who in that sale sells pardon from himself-
+    Though you and all the rest, so grossly led,
+    This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;
+    Yet I alone, alone do me oppose
+    Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes.
+  PANDULPH. Then by the lawful power that I have
+    Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate;
+    And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
+    From his allegiance to an heretic;
+    And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
+    Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,
+    That takes away by any secret course
+    Thy hateful life.
+  CONSTANCE. O, lawful let it be
+    That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
+    Good father Cardinal, cry thou 'amen'
+    To my keen curses; for without my wrong
+    There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.
+  PANDULPH. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.
+  CONSTANCE. And for mine too; when law can do no right,  
+    Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong;
+    Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,
+    For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;
+    Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
+    How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?
+  PANDULPH. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
+    Let go the hand of that arch-heretic,
+    And raise the power of France upon his head,
+    Unless he do submit himself to Rome.
+  ELINOR. Look'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.
+  CONSTANCE. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent
+    And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul.
+  AUSTRIA. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.
+  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.
+  AUSTRIA. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,
+    Because-
+  BASTARD. Your breeches best may carry them.
+  KING JOHN. Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal?
+  CONSTANCE. What should he say, but as the Cardinal?
+  LEWIS. Bethink you, father; for the difference  
+    Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome
+    Or the light loss of England for a friend.
+    Forgo the easier.
+  BLANCH. That's the curse of Rome.
+  CONSTANCE. O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here
+    In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.
+  BLANCH. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
+    But from her need.
+  CONSTANCE. O, if thou grant my need,
+    Which only lives but by the death of faith,
+    That need must needs infer this principle-
+    That faith would live again by death of need.
+    O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up:
+    Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!
+  KING JOHN. The King is mov'd, and answers not to this.
+  CONSTANCE. O be remov'd from him, and answer well!
+  AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.
+  BASTARD. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.
+  KING PHILIP. I am perplex'd and know not what to say.
+  PANDULPH. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,  
+    If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?
+  KING PHILIP. Good reverend father, make my person yours,
+    And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
+    This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
+    And the conjunction of our inward souls
+    Married in league, coupled and link'd together
+    With all religious strength of sacred vows;
+    The latest breath that gave the sound of words
+    Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,
+    Between our kingdoms and our royal selves;
+    And even before this truce, but new before,
+    No longer than we well could wash our hands,
+    To clap this royal bargain up of peace,
+    Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd
+    With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint
+    The fearful difference of incensed kings.
+    And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,
+    So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
+    Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?
+    Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,  
+    Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
+    As now again to snatch our palm from palm,
+    Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed
+    Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
+    And make a riot on the gentle brow
+    Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,
+    My reverend father, let it not be so!
+    Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose,
+    Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest
+    To do your pleasure, and continue friends.
+  PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless,
+    Save what is opposite to England's love.
+    Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church,
+    Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse-
+    A mother's curse-on her revolting son.
+    France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
+    A chafed lion by the mortal paw,
+    A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
+    Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.
+  KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.  
+  PANDULPH. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith;
+    And like. a civil war set'st oath to oath.
+    Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
+    First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,
+    That is, to be the champion of our Church.
+    What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself
+    And may not be performed by thyself,
+    For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss
+    Is not amiss when it is truly done;
+    And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
+    The truth is then most done not doing it;
+    The better act of purposes mistook
+    Is to mistake again; though indirect,
+    Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
+    And falsehood cures, as fire cools fire
+    Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.
+    It is religion that doth make vows kept;
+    But thou hast sworn against religion
+    By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,
+    And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth  
+    Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure
+    To swear swears only not to be forsworn;
+    Else what a mockery should it be to swear!
+    But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
+    And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear.
+    Therefore thy later vows against thy first
+    Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
+    And better conquest never canst thou make
+    Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
+    Against these giddy loose suggestions;
+    Upon which better part our pray'rs come in,
+    If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know
+    The peril of our curses fight on thee
+    So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
+    But in despair die under the black weight.
+  AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion!
+  BASTARD. Will't not be?
+    Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?
+  LEWIS. Father, to arms!
+  BLANCH. Upon thy wedding-day?  
+    Against the blood that thou hast married?
+    What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?
+    Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
+    Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
+    O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new
+    Is 'husband' in my mouth! even for that name,
+    Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
+    Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
+    Against mine uncle.
+  CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee,
+    Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
+    Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
+    Forethought by heaven!
+  BLANCH. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may
+    Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?
+  CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
+    His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!
+  LEWIS. I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold,
+    When such profound respects do pull you on.
+  PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head.  
+  KING PHILIP. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.
+  CONSTANCE. O fair return of banish'd majesty!
+  ELINOR. O foul revolt of French inconstancy!
+  KING JOHN. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.
+  BASTARD. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
+    Is it as he will? Well then, France shall rue.
+  BLANCH. The sun's o'ercast with blood. Fair day, adieu!
+    Which is the side that I must go withal?
+    I am with both: each army hath a hand;
+    And in their rage, I having hold of both,
+    They whirl asunder and dismember me.
+    Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
+    Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;
+    Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
+    Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive.
+    Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose:
+    Assured loss before the match be play'd.
+  LEWIS. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
+  BLANCH. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.
+  KING JOHN. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.  
+                                                         Exit BASTARD
+    France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath,
+    A rage whose heat hath this condition
+    That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
+    The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of France.
+  KING PHILIP. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
+    To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire.
+    Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.
+  KING JOHN. No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie!
+                                                     Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+France. Plains near Angiers
+
+Alarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD with AUSTRIA'S head
+
+  BASTARD. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;
+    Some airy devil hovers in the sky
+    And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there,
+    While Philip breathes.
+
+          Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT
+
+  KING JOHN. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up:
+    My mother is assailed in our tent,
+    And ta'en, I fear.
+  BASTARD. My lord, I rescued her;
+    Her Highness is in safety, fear you not;
+    But on, my liege, for very little pains
+    Will bring this labour to an happy end.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+France. Plains near Angiers
+
+Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR,
+the BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS
+
+  KING JOHN.  [To ELINOR]  So shall it be; your Grace shall stay
+      behind,
+    So strongly guarded.  [To ARTHUR]  Cousin, look not sad;
+    Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will
+    As dear be to thee as thy father was.
+  ARTHUR. O, this will make my mother die with grief!
+  KING JOHN.  [To the BASTARD]  Cousin, away for England! haste
+      before,
+    And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
+    Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels
+    Set at liberty; the fat ribs of peace
+    Must by the hungry now be fed upon.
+    Use our commission in his utmost force.
+  BASTARD. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back,
+    When gold and silver becks me to come on.  
+    I leave your Highness. Grandam, I will pray,
+    If ever I remember to be holy,
+    For your fair safety. So, I kiss your hand.
+  ELINOR. Farewell, gentle cousin.
+  KING JOHN. Coz, farewell.
+                                                         Exit BASTARD
+  ELINOR. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.
+  KING JOHN. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
+    We owe thee much! Within this wall of flesh
+    There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
+    And with advantage means to pay thy love;
+    And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
+    Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
+    Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say-
+    But I will fit it with some better time.
+    By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
+    To say what good respect I have of thee.
+  HUBERT. I am much bounden to your Majesty.
+  KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,
+    But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,  
+    Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
+    I had a thing to say-but let it go:
+    The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
+    Attended with the pleasures of the world,
+    Is all too wanton and too full of gawds
+    To give me audience. If the midnight bell
+    Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
+    Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
+    If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
+    And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
+    Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
+    Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
+    Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
+    Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes
+    And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
+    A passion hateful to my purposes;
+    Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
+    Hear me without thine cars, and make reply
+    Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
+    Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words-  
+    Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
+    I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.
+    But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well;
+    And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.
+  HUBERT. So well that what you bid me undertake,
+    Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
+    By heaven, I would do it.
+  KING JOHN. Do not I know thou wouldst?
+    Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
+    On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend,
+    He is a very serpent in my way;
+    And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
+    He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?
+    Thou art his keeper.
+  HUBERT. And I'll keep him so
+    That he shall not offend your Majesty.
+  KING JOHN. Death.
+  HUBERT. My lord?
+  KING JOHN. A grave.
+  HUBERT. He shall not live.  
+  KING JOHN. Enough!
+    I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.
+    Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee.
+    Remember. Madam, fare you well;
+    I'll send those powers o'er to your Majesty.
+  ELINOR. My blessing go with thee!
+  KING JOHN.  [To ARTHUR]  For England, cousin, go;
+    Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
+    With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+France. The FRENCH KING's camp
+
+Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and attendants
+
+  KING PHILIP. So by a roaring tempest on the flood
+    A whole armado of convicted sail
+    Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship.
+  PANDULPH. Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.
+  KING PHILIP. What can go well, when we have run so ill.
+    Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
+    Arthur ta'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain?
+    And bloody England into England gone,
+    O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?
+  LEWIS. he hath won, that hath he fortified;
+    So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,
+    Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
+    Doth want example; who hath read or heard
+    Of any kindred action like to this?
+  KING PHILIP. Well could I bear that England had this praise,
+    So we could find some pattern of our shame.  
+
+                   Enter CONSTANCE
+
+    Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
+    Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will,
+    In the vile prison of afflicted breath.
+    I prithee, lady, go away with me.
+  CONSTANCE. Lo now! now see the issue of your peace!
+  KING PHILIP. Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance!
+  CONSTANCE. No, I defy all counsel, all redress,
+    But that which ends all counsel, true redress-
+    Death, death; O amiable lovely death!
+    Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
+    Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
+    Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
+    And I will kiss thy detestable bones,
+    And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows,
+    And ring these fingers with thy household worms,
+    And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
+    And be a carrion monster like thyself.  
+    Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st,
+    And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,
+    O, come to me!
+  KING PHILIP. O fair affliction, peace!
+  CONSTANCE. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.
+    O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
+    Then with a passion would I shake the world,
+    And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy
+    Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
+    Which scorns a modern invocation.
+  PANDULPH. Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.
+  CONSTANCE. Thou art not holy to belie me so.
+    I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
+    My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
+    Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.
+    I am not mad-I would to heaven I were!
+    For then 'tis like I should forget myself.
+    O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
+    Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
+    And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal;  
+    For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,
+    My reasonable part produces reason
+    How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
+    And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
+    If I were mad I should forget my son,
+    Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.
+    I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
+    The different plague of each calamity.
+  KING PHILIP. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note
+    In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
+    Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fall'n,
+    Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
+    Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
+    Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
+    Sticking together in calamity.
+  CONSTANCE. To England, if you will.
+  KING PHILIP. Bind up your hairs.
+  CONSTANCE. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?
+    I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud
+    'O that these hands could so redeem my son,  
+    As they have given these hairs their liberty!'
+    But now I envy at their liberty,
+    And will again commit them to their bonds,
+    Because my poor child is a prisoner.
+    And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say
+    That we shall see and know our friends in heaven;
+    If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
+    For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
+    To him that did but yesterday suspire,
+    There was not such a gracious creature born.
+    But now will canker sorrow eat my bud
+    And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
+    And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
+    As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
+    And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
+    When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
+    I shall not know him. Therefore never, never
+    Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
+  PANDULPH. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
+  CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son.  
+  KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child.
+  CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
+    Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
+    Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
+    Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
+    Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
+    Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
+    Fare you well; had you such a loss as I,
+    I could give better comfort than you do.
+    I will not keep this form upon my head,
+                                                   [Tearing her hair]
+    When there is such disorder in my wit.
+    O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
+    My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!
+    My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!                      Exit
+  KING PHILIP. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.         Exit
+  LEWIS. There's nothing in this world can make me joy.
+    Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
+    Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
+    And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,  
+    That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
+  PANDULPH. Before the curing of a strong disease,
+    Even in the instant of repair and health,
+    The fit is strongest; evils that take leave
+    On their departure most of all show evil;
+    What have you lost by losing of this day?
+  LEWIS. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
+  PANDULPH. If you had won it, certainly you had.
+    No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
+    She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye.
+    'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
+    In this which he accounts so clearly won.
+    Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner?
+  LEWIS. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
+  PANDULPH. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
+    Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
+    For even the breath of what I mean to speak
+    Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
+    Out of the path which shall directly lead
+    Thy foot to England's throne. And therefore mark:  
+    John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be
+    That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
+    The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
+    One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
+    A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
+    Must be boisterously maintain'd as gain'd,
+    And he that stands upon a slipp'ry place
+    Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up;
+    That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall;
+    So be it, for it cannot be but so.
+  LEWIS. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?
+  PANDULPH. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
+    May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
+  LEWIS. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
+  PANDULPH. How green you are and fresh in this old world!
+    John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
+    For he that steeps his safety in true blood
+    Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
+    This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts
+    Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,  
+    That none so small advantage shall step forth
+    To check his reign but they will cherish it;
+    No natural exhalation in the sky,
+    No scope of nature, no distemper'd day,
+    No common wind, no customed event,
+    But they will pluck away his natural cause
+    And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
+    Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,
+    Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
+  LEWIS. May be he will not touch young Arthur's life,
+    But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
+  PANDULPH. O, Sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
+    If that young Arthur be not gone already,
+    Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
+    Of all his people shall revolt from him,
+    And kiss the lips of unacquainted change,
+    And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
+    Out of the bloody fingers' ends of john.
+    Methinks I see this hurly all on foot;
+    And, O, what better matter breeds for you  
+    Than I have nam'd! The bastard Faulconbridge
+    Is now in England ransacking the Church,
+    Offending charity; if but a dozen French
+    Were there in arms, they would be as a can
+    To train ten thousand English to their side;
+    Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
+    Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
+    Go with me to the King. 'Tis wonderful
+    What may be wrought out of their discontent,
+    Now that their souls are topful of offence.
+    For England go; I will whet on the King.
+  LEWIS. Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go;
+    If you say ay, the King will not say no.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1.
+
+England. A castle
+
+Enter HUBERT and EXECUTIONERS
+
+  HUBERT. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
+    Within the arras. When I strike my foot
+    Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth
+    And bind the boy which you shall find with me
+    Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch.
+  EXECUTIONER. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
+  HUBERT. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to't.
+                                                  Exeunt EXECUTIONERS
+    Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
+
+                    Enter ARTHUR
+
+  ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert.
+  HUBERT. Good morrow, little Prince.
+  ARTHUR. As little prince, having so great a tide
+    To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.  
+  HUBERT. Indeed I have been merrier.
+  ARTHUR. Mercy on me!
+    Methinks no body should be sad but I;
+    Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
+    Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
+    Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
+    So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
+    I should be as merry as the day is long;
+    And so I would be here but that I doubt
+    My uncle practises more harm to me;
+    He is afraid of me, and I of him.
+    Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
+    No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven
+    I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
+  HUBERT.  [Aside]  If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
+    He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;
+    Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.
+  ARTHUR. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day;
+    In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
+    That I might sit all night and watch with you.  
+    I warrant I love you more than you do me.
+  HUBERT.  [Aside]  His words do take possession of my bosom.-
+    Read here, young Arthur.                        [Showing a paper]
+      [Aside]  How now, foolish rheum!
+    Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
+    I must be brief, lest resolution drop
+    Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.-
+    Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?
+  ARTHUR. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
+    Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
+  HUBERT. Young boy, I must.
+  ARTHUR. And will you?
+  HUBERT. And I will.
+  ARTHUR. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
+    I knit my handkerchief about your brows-
+    The best I had, a princess wrought it me-
+    And I did never ask it you again;
+    And with my hand at midnight held your head;
+    And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
+    Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,  
+    Saying 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
+    Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
+    Many a poor man's son would have lyen still,
+    And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
+    But you at your sick service had a prince.
+    Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
+    And call it cunning. Do, an if you will.
+    If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
+    Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes,
+    These eyes that never did nor never shall
+    So much as frown on you?
+  HUBERT. I have sworn to do it;
+    And with hot irons must I burn them out.
+  ARTHUR. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
+    The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
+    Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears,
+    And quench his fiery indignation
+    Even in the matter of mine innocence;
+    Nay, after that, consume away in rust
+    But for containing fire to harm mine eye.  
+    Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
+    An if an angel should have come to me
+    And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
+    I would not have believ'd him-no tongue but Hubert's.
+  HUBERT.  [Stamps]  Come forth.
+
+     Re-enter EXECUTIONERS, With cord, irons, etc.
+
+    Do as I bid you do.
+  ARTHUR. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out
+    Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
+  HUBERT. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
+  ARTHUR. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough?
+    I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
+    For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
+    Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away,
+    And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
+    I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
+    Nor look upon the iron angrily;
+    Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,  
+    Whatever torment you do put me to.
+  HUBERT. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
+  EXECUTIONER. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed.
+                                                  Exeunt EXECUTIONERS
+  ARTHUR. Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
+    He hath a stern look but a gentle heart.
+    Let him come back, that his compassion may
+    Give life to yours.
+  HUBERT. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
+  ARTHUR. Is there no remedy?
+  HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes.
+  ARTHUR. O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,
+    A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
+    Any annoyance in that precious sense!
+    Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,
+    Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
+  HUBERT. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.
+  ARTHUR. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
+    Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes.
+    Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;  
+    Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
+    So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes,
+    Though to no use but still to look on you!
+    Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold
+    And would not harm me.
+  HUBERT. I can heat it, boy.
+  ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
+    Being create for comfort, to be us'd
+    In undeserved extremes. See else yourself:
+    There is no malice in this burning coal;
+    The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
+    And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.
+  HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
+  ARTHUR. An if you do, you will but make it blush
+    And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.
+    Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes,
+    And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
+    Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
+    All things that you should use to do me wrong
+    Deny their office; only you do lack  
+    That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
+    Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.
+  HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
+    For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.
+    Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
+    With this same very iron to burn them out.
+  ARTHUR. O, now you look like Hubert! All this while
+    You were disguis'd.
+  HUBERT. Peace; no more. Adieu.
+    Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
+    I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports;
+    And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure
+    That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
+    Will not offend thee.
+  ARTHUR. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.
+  HUBERT. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.
+    Much danger do I undergo for thee.                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+England. KING JOHN'S palace
+
+Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS
+
+  KING JOHN. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
+    And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
+  PEMBROKE. This once again, but that your Highness pleas'd,
+    Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
+    And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off,
+    The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
+    Fresh expectation troubled not the land
+    With any long'd-for change or better state.
+  SALISBURY. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
+    To guard a title that was rich before,
+    To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
+    To throw a perfume on the violet,
+    To smooth the ice, or add another hue
+    Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
+    To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
+    Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
+  PEMBROKE. But that your royal pleasure must be done,
+    This act is as an ancient tale new told  
+    And, in the last repeating, troublesome,
+    Being urged at a time unseasonable.
+  SALISBURY. In this the antique and well-noted face
+    Of plain old form is much disfigured;
+    And like a shifted wind unto a sail
+    It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,
+    Startles and frights consideration,
+    Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
+    For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.
+  PEMBROKE. When workmen strive to do better than well,
+    They do confound their skill in covetousness;
+    And oftentimes excusing of a fault
+    Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse,
+    As patches set upon a little breach
+    Discredit more in hiding of the fault
+    Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
+  SALISBURY. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd,
+    We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your Highness
+    To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd,
+    Since all and every part of what we would  
+    Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.
+  KING JOHN. Some reasons of this double coronation
+    I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;
+    And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,
+    I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask
+    What you would have reform'd that is not well,
+    And well shall you perceive how willingly
+    I will both hear and grant you your requests.
+  PEMBROKE. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,
+    To sound the purposes of all their hearts,
+    Both for myself and them- but, chief of all,
+    Your safety, for the which myself and them
+    Bend their best studies, heartily request
+    Th' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint
+    Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
+    To break into this dangerous argument:
+    If what in rest you have in right you hold,
+    Why then your fears-which, as they say, attend
+    The steps of wrong-should move you to mew up
+    Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days  
+    With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth
+    The rich advantage of good exercise?
+    That the time's enemies may not have this
+    To grace occasions, let it be our suit
+    That you have bid us ask his liberty;
+    Which for our goods we do no further ask
+    Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
+    Counts it your weal he have his liberty.
+  KING JOHN. Let it be so. I do commit his youth
+    To your direction.
+
+                     Enter HUBERT
+
+    [Aside]  Hubert, what news with you?
+  PEMBROKE. This is the man should do the bloody deed:
+    He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine;
+    The image of a wicked heinous fault
+    Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
+    Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast,
+    And I do fearfully believe 'tis done  
+    What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.
+  SALISBURY. The colour of the King doth come and go
+    Between his purpose and his conscience,
+    Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set.
+    His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
+  PEMBROKE. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
+    The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
+  KING JOHN. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.
+    Good lords, although my will to give is living,
+    The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
+    He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night.
+  SALISBURY. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure.
+  PEMBROKE. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,
+    Before the child himself felt he was sick.
+    This must be answer'd either here or hence.
+  KING JOHN. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
+    Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
+    Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
+  SALISBURY. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame
+    That greatness should so grossly offer it.  
+    So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.
+  PEMBROKE. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee
+    And find th' inheritance of this poor child,
+    His little kingdom of a forced grave.
+    That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle
+    Three foot of it doth hold-bad world the while!
+    This must not be thus borne: this will break out
+    To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.            Exeunt LORDS
+  KING JOHN. They burn in indignation. I repent.
+    There is no sure foundation set on blood,
+    No certain life achiev'd by others' death.
+
+                 Enter a MESSENGER
+
+    A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood
+    That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
+    So foul a sky clears not without a storm.
+    Pour down thy weather-how goes all in France?
+  MESSENGER. From France to England. Never such a pow'r
+    For any foreign preparation  
+    Was levied in the body of a land.
+    The copy of your speed is learn'd by them,
+    For when you should be told they do prepare,
+    The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd.
+  KING JOHN. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
+    Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,
+    That such an army could be drawn in France,
+    And she not hear of it?
+  MESSENGER. My liege, her ear
+    Is stopp'd with dust: the first of April died
+    Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord,
+    The Lady Constance in a frenzy died
+    Three days before; but this from rumour's tongue
+    I idly heard-if true or false I know not.
+  KING JOHN. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
+    O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd
+    My discontented peers! What! mother dead!
+    How wildly then walks my estate in France!
+    Under whose conduct came those pow'rs of France
+    That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here?  
+  MESSENGER. Under the Dauphin.
+  KING JOHN. Thou hast made me giddy
+    With these in tidings.
+
+         Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET
+
+    Now! What says the world
+    To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff
+    My head with more ill news, for it is fun.
+  BASTARD. But if you be afear'd to hear the worst,
+    Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
+  KING JOHN. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd
+    Under the tide; but now I breathe again
+    Aloft the flood, and can give audience
+    To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
+  BASTARD. How I have sped among the clergymen
+    The sums I have collected shall express.
+    But as I travell'd hither through the land,
+    I find the people strangely fantasied;
+    Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams.  
+    Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear;
+    And here's a prophet that I brought with me
+    From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
+    With many hundreds treading on his heels;
+    To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,
+    That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
+    Your Highness should deliver up your crown.
+  KING JOHN. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?
+  PETER. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.
+  KING JOHN. Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
+    And on that day at noon whereon he says
+    I shall yield up my crown let him be hang'd.
+    Deliver him to safety; and return,
+    For I must use thee.
+                                               Exit HUBERT with PETER
+    O my gentle cousin,
+    Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?
+  BASTARD. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it;
+    Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,
+    With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,  
+    And others more, going to seek the grave
+    Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night
+    On your suggestion.
+  KING JOHN. Gentle kinsman, go
+    And thrust thyself into their companies.
+    I have a way to will their loves again;
+    Bring them before me.
+  BASTARD. I Will seek them out.
+  KING JOHN. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.
+    O, let me have no subject enemies
+    When adverse foreigners affright my towns
+    With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!
+    Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,
+    And fly like thought from them to me again.
+  BASTARD. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
+  KING JOHN. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.
+                                                         Exit BASTARD
+    Go after him; for he perhaps shall need
+    Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
+    And be thou he.  
+  MESSENGER. With all my heart, my liege.                        Exit
+  KING JOHN. My mother dead!
+
+                   Re-enter HUBERT
+
+  HUBERT. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;
+    Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
+    The other four in wondrous motion.
+  KING JOHN. Five moons!
+  HUBERT. Old men and beldams in the streets
+    Do prophesy upon it dangerously;
+    Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths;
+    And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
+    And whisper one another in the ear;
+    And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist,
+    Whilst he that hears makes fearful action
+    With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
+    I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
+    The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
+    With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;  
+    Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
+    Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
+    Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,
+    Told of a many thousand warlike French
+    That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent.
+    Another lean unwash'd artificer
+    Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
+  KING JOHN. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?
+    Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
+    Thy hand hath murd'red him. I had a mighty cause
+    To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
+  HUBERT. No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?
+  KING JOHN. It is the curse of kings to be attended
+    By slaves that take their humours for a warrant
+    To break within the bloody house of life,
+    And on the winking of authority
+    To understand a law; to know the meaning
+    Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns
+    More upon humour than advis'd respect.
+  HUBERT. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.  
+  KING JOHN. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
+    Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
+    Witness against us to damnation!
+    How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
+    Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
+    A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
+    Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
+    This murder had not come into my mind;
+    But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
+    Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,
+    Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,
+    I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
+    And thou, to be endeared to a king,
+    Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
+  HUBERT. My lord-
+  KING JOHN. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause,
+    When I spake darkly what I purposed,
+    Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
+    As bid me tell my tale in express words,
+    Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,  
+    And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.
+    But thou didst understand me by my signs,
+    And didst in signs again parley with sin;
+    Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
+    And consequently thy rude hand to act
+    The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.
+    Out of my sight, and never see me more!
+    My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,
+    Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs;
+    Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,
+    This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
+    Hostility and civil tumult reigns
+    Between my conscience and my cousin's death.
+  HUBERT. Arm you against your other enemies,
+    I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
+    Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine
+    Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
+    Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
+    Within this bosom never ent'red yet
+    The dreadful motion of a murderous thought  
+    And you have slander'd nature in my form,
+    Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
+    Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
+    Than to be butcher of an innocent child.
+  KING JOHN. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
+    Throw this report on their incensed rage
+    And make them tame to their obedience!
+    Forgive the comment that my passion made
+    Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
+    And foul imaginary eyes of blood
+    Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
+    O, answer not; but to my closet bring
+    The angry lords with all expedient haste.
+    I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+England. Before the castle
+
+Enter ARTHUR, on the walls
+
+  ARTHUR. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down.
+    Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!
+    There's few or none do know me; if they did,
+    This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.
+    I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
+    If I get down and do not break my limbs,
+    I'll find a thousand shifts to get away.
+    As good to die and go, as die and stay.              [Leaps down]
+    O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones.
+    Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!
+    [Dies]
+
+          Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT
+
+  SALISBURY. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;
+    It is our safety, and we must embrace  
+    This gentle offer of the perilous time.
+  PEMBROKE. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?
+  SALISBURY. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,
+    Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
+    Is much more general than these lines import.
+  BIGOT. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.
+  SALISBURY. Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be
+    Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet.
+
+                 Enter the BASTARD
+
+  BASTARD. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
+    The King by me requests your presence straight.
+  SALISBURY. The King hath dispossess'd himself of us.
+    We will not line his thin bestained cloak
+    With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
+    That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.
+    Return and tell him so. We know the worst.
+  BASTARD. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.
+  SALISBURY. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.  
+  BASTARD. But there is little reason in your grief;
+    Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.
+  PEMBROKE. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.
+  BASTARD. 'Tis true-to hurt his master, no man else.
+  SALISBURY. This is the prison. What is he lies here?
+  PEMBROKE. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
+    The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
+  SALISBURY. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
+    Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.
+  BIGOT. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
+    Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
+  SALISBURY. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,
+    Or have you read or heard, or could you think?
+    Or do you almost think, although you see,
+    That you do see? Could thought, without this object,
+    Form such another? This is the very top,
+    The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
+    Of murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame,
+    The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
+    That ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage  
+    Presented to the tears of soft remorse.
+  PEMBROKE. All murders past do stand excus'd in this;
+    And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
+    Shall give a holiness, a purity,
+    To the yet unbegotten sin of times,
+    And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
+    Exampled by this heinous spectacle.
+  BASTARD. It is a damned and a bloody work;
+    The graceless action of a heavy hand,
+    If that it be the work of any hand.
+  SALISBURY. If that it be the work of any hand!
+    We had a kind of light what would ensue.
+    It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
+    The practice and the purpose of the King;
+    From whose obedience I forbid my soul
+    Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
+    And breathing to his breathless excellence
+    The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
+    Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
+    Never to be infected with delight,  
+    Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
+    Till I have set a glory to this hand
+    By giving it the worship of revenge.
+  PEMBROKE. and BIGOT. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
+
+                     Enter HUBERT
+
+  HUBERT. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.
+    Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.
+  SALISBURY. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death!
+    Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
+  HUBERT. I am no villain.
+  SALISBURY. Must I rob the law?                  [Drawing his sword]
+  BASTARD. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.
+  SALISBURY. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.
+  HUBERT. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;
+    By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours.
+    I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
+    Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
+    Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget  
+    Your worth, your greatness and nobility.
+  BIGOT. Out, dunghill! Dar'st thou brave a nobleman?
+  HUBERT. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend
+    My innocent life against an emperor.
+  SALISBURY. Thou art a murderer.
+  HUBERT. Do not prove me so.
+    Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
+    Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
+  PEMBROKE. Cut him to pieces.
+  BASTARD. Keep the peace, I say.
+  SALISBURY. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
+  BASTARD. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury.
+    If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
+    Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
+    I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
+    Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron
+    That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
+  BIGOT. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
+    Second a villain and a murderer?
+  HUBERT. Lord Bigot, I am none.  
+  BIGOT. Who kill'd this prince?
+  HUBERT. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well.
+    I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep
+    My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.
+  SALISBURY. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
+    For villainy is not without such rheum;
+    And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
+    Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
+    Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
+    Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
+    For I am stifled with this smell of sin.
+  BIGOT. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!
+  PEMBROKE. There tell the King he may inquire us out.
+                                                         Exeunt LORDS
+  BASTARD. Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work?
+    Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
+    Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
+    Art thou damn'd, Hubert.
+  HUBERT. Do but hear me, sir.
+  BASTARD. Ha! I'll tell thee what:  
+    Thou'rt damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black-
+    Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer;
+    There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
+    As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
+  HUBERT. Upon my soul-
+  BASTARD. If thou didst but consent
+    To this most cruel act, do but despair;
+    And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
+    That ever spider twisted from her womb
+    Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam
+    To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,
+    Put but a little water in a spoon
+    And it shall be as all the ocean,
+    Enough to stifle such a villain up
+    I do suspect thee very grievously.
+  HUBERT. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
+    Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
+    Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
+    Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
+    I left him well.  
+  BASTARD. Go, bear him in thine arms.
+    I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way
+    Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
+    How easy dost thou take all England up!
+    From forth this morsel of dead royalty
+    The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
+    Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
+    To tug and scamble, and to part by th' teeth
+    The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
+    Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty
+    Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest
+    And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace;
+    Now powers from home and discontents at home
+    Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
+    As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast,
+    The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
+    Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
+    Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
+    And follow me with speed. I'll to the King;
+    A thousand businesses are brief in hand,  
+    And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+England. KING JOHN'S palace
+
+Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH, and attendants
+
+  KING JOHN. Thus have I yielded up into your hand
+    The circle of my glory.
+  PANDULPH.  [Gives back the crown]  Take again
+    From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,
+    Your sovereign greatness and authority.
+  KING JOHN. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French;
+    And from his Holiness use all your power
+    To stop their marches fore we are inflam'd.
+    Our discontented counties do revolt;
+    Our people quarrel with obedience,
+    Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
+    To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
+    This inundation of mistemp'red humour
+    Rests by you only to be qualified.
+    Then pause not; for the present time's so sick
+    That present med'cine must be minist'red  
+    Or overthrow incurable ensues.
+  PANDULPH. It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
+    Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope;
+    But since you are a gentle convertite,
+    My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
+    And make fair weather in your blust'ring land.
+    On this Ascension-day, remember well,
+    Upon your oath of service to the Pope,
+    Go I to make the French lay down their arms.                 Exit
+  KING JOHN. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet
+    Say that before Ascension-day at noon
+    My crown I should give off? Even so I have.
+    I did suppose it should be on constraint;
+    But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.
+
+                 Enter the BASTARD
+
+  BASTARD. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out
+    But Dover Castle. London hath receiv'd,
+    Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers.  
+    Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
+    To offer service to your enemy;
+    And wild amazement hurries up and down
+    The little number of your doubtful friends.
+  KING JOHN. Would not my lords return to me again
+    After they heard young Arthur was alive?
+    BASTARD. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,
+    An empty casket, where the jewel of life
+    By some damn'd hand was robbed and ta'en away.
+  KING JOHN. That villain Hubert told me he did live.
+  BASTARD. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
+    But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad?
+    Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
+    Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
+    Govern the motion of a kingly eye.
+    Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
+    Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow
+    Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes,
+    That borrow their behaviours from the great,
+    Grow great by your example and put on  
+    The dauntless spirit of resolution.
+    Away, and glister like the god of war
+    When he intendeth to become the field;
+    Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
+    What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
+    And fright him there, and make him tremble there?
+    O, let it not be said! Forage, and run
+    To meet displeasure farther from the doors
+    And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.
+  KING JOHN. The legate of the Pope hath been with me,
+    And I have made a happy peace with him;
+    And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers
+    Led by the Dauphin.
+  BASTARD. O inglorious league!
+    Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
+    Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
+    Insinuation, parley, and base truce,
+    To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy,
+    A cock'red silken wanton, brave our fields
+    And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,  
+    Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
+    And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms.
+    Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace;
+    Or, if he do, let it at least be said
+    They saw we had a purpose of defence.
+  KING JOHN. Have thou the ordering of this present time.
+  BASTARD. Away, then, with good courage!
+    Yet, I know
+    Our party may well meet a prouder foe.                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+England. The DAUPHIN'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury
+
+Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers
+
+  LEWIS. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out
+    And keep it safe for our remembrance;
+    Return the precedent to these lords again,
+    That, having our fair order written down,
+    Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
+    May know wherefore we took the sacrament,
+    And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.
+  SALISBURY. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
+    And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
+    A voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith
+    To your proceedings; yet, believe me, Prince,
+    I am not glad that such a sore of time
+    Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,
+    And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
+    By making many. O, it grieves my soul  
+    That I must draw this metal from my side
+    To be a widow-maker! O, and there
+    Where honourable rescue and defence
+    Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
+    But such is the infection of the time
+    That, for the health and physic of our right,
+    We cannot deal but with the very hand
+    Of stern injustice and confused wrong.
+    And is't not pity, O my grieved friends!
+    That we, the sons and children of this isle,
+    Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
+    Wherein we step after a stranger-march
+    Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
+    Her enemies' ranks-I must withdraw and weep
+    Upon the spot of this enforced cause-
+    To grace the gentry of a land remote
+    And follow unacquainted colours here?
+    What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!
+    That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
+    Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself  
+    And grapple thee unto a pagan shore,
+    Where these two Christian armies might combine
+    The blood of malice in a vein of league,
+    And not to spend it so unneighbourly!
+  LEWIS. A noble temper dost thou show in this;
+    And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
+    Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
+    O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
+    Between compulsion and a brave respect!
+    Let me wipe off this honourable dew
+    That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks.
+    My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
+    Being an ordinary inundation;
+    But this effusion of such manly drops,
+    This show'r, blown up by tempest of the soul,
+    Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz'd
+    Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
+    Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
+    Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
+    And with a great heart heave away this storm;  
+    Commend these waters to those baby eyes
+    That never saw the giant world enrag'd,
+    Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
+    Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
+    Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
+    Into the purse of rich prosperity
+    As Lewis himself. So, nobles, shall you all,
+    That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
+
+                Enter PANDULPH
+
+    And even there, methinks, an angel spake:
+    Look where the holy legate comes apace,
+    To give us warrant from the hand of heaven
+    And on our actions set the name of right
+    With holy breath.
+  PANDULPH. Hail, noble prince of France!
+    The next is this: King John hath reconcil'd
+    Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
+    That so stood out against the holy Church,  
+    The great metropolis and see of Rome.
+    Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up
+    And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
+    That, like a lion fostered up at hand,
+    It may lie gently at the foot of peace
+    And be no further harmful than in show.
+  LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
+    I am too high-born to be propertied,
+    To be a secondary at control,
+    Or useful serving-man and instrument
+    To any sovereign state throughout the world.
+    Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
+    Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself
+    And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
+    And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
+    With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
+    You taught me how to know the face of right,
+    Acquainted me with interest to this land,
+    Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
+    And come ye now to tell me John hath made  
+    His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
+    I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
+    After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
+    And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
+    Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
+    Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
+    What men provided, what munition sent,
+    To underprop this action? Is 't not I
+    That undergo this charge? Who else but I,
+    And such as to my claim are liable,
+    Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
+    Have I not heard these islanders shout out
+    'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?
+    Have I not here the best cards for the game
+    To will this easy match, play'd for a crown?
+    And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
+    No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.
+  PANDULPH. You look but on the outside of this work.
+  LEWIS. Outside or inside, I will not return
+    Till my attempt so much be glorified  
+    As to my ample hope was promised
+    Before I drew this gallant head of war,
+    And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world
+    To outlook conquest, and to will renown
+    Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
+                                                     [Trumpet sounds]
+    What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?
+
+             Enter the BASTARD, attended
+
+  BASTARD. According to the fair play of the world,
+    Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.
+    My holy lord of Milan, from the King
+    I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
+    And, as you answer, I do know the scope
+    And warrant limited unto my tongue.
+  PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
+    And will not temporize with my entreaties;
+    He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.
+  BASTARD. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,  
+    The youth says well. Now hear our English King;
+    For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
+    He is prepar'd, and reason too he should.
+    This apish and unmannerly approach,
+    This harness'd masque and unadvised revel
+    This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
+    The King doth smile at; and is well prepar'd
+    To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
+    From out the circle of his territories.
+    That hand which had the strength, even at your door.
+    To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,
+    To dive like buckets in concealed wells,
+    To crouch in litter of your stable planks,
+    To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks,
+    To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out
+    In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake
+    Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
+    Thinking this voice an armed Englishman-
+    Shall that victorious hand be feebled here
+    That in your chambers gave you chastisement?  
+    No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms
+    And like an eagle o'er his aery tow'rs
+    To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.
+    And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
+    You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
+    Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
+    For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids,
+    Like Amazons, come tripping after drums,
+    Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
+    Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
+    To fierce and bloody inclination.
+  LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
+    We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well;
+    We hold our time too precious to be spent
+    With such a brabbler.
+  PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak.
+  BASTARD. No, I will speak.
+  LEWIS. We will attend to neither.
+    Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,
+    Plead for our interest and our being here.  
+  BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
+    And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start
+    And echo with the clamour of thy drum,
+    And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd
+    That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:
+    Sound but another, and another shall,
+    As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear
+    And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at hand-
+    Not trusting to this halting legate here,
+    Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need-
+    Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
+    A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
+    To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
+  LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.
+  BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
+    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+England. The field of battle
+
+Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT
+
+  KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.
+  HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?
+  KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long
+    Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!
+
+                  Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
+    Desires your Majesty to leave the field
+    And send him word by me which way you go.
+  KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.
+  MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply
+    That was expected by the Dauphin here
+    Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands;
+    This news was brought to Richard but even now.
+    The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.  
+  KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up
+    And will not let me welcome this good news.
+    Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight;
+    Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+England. Another part of the battlefield
+
+Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT
+
+  SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor'd with friends.
+  PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French;
+    If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
+  SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
+    In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
+  PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.
+
+                 Enter MELUN, wounded
+
+  MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here.
+  SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names.
+  PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun.
+  SALISBURY. Wounded to death.
+  MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
+    Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
+    And welcome home again discarded faith.  
+    Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;
+    For if the French be lords of this loud day,
+    He means to recompense the pains you take
+    By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,
+    And I with him, and many moe with me,
+    Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
+    Even on that altar where we swore to you
+    Dear amity and everlasting love.
+  SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true?
+  MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view,
+    Retaining but a quantity of life,
+    Which bleeds away even as a form of wax
+    Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
+    What in the world should make me now deceive,
+    Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
+    Why should I then be false, since it is true
+    That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
+    I say again, if Lewis do will the day,
+    He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours
+    Behold another day break in the east;  
+    But even this night, whose black contagious breath
+    Already smokes about the burning crest
+    Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,
+    Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,
+    Paying the fine of rated treachery
+    Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.
+    If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
+    Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;
+    The love of him-and this respect besides,
+    For that my grandsire was an Englishman-
+    Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
+    In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
+    From forth the noise and rumour of the field,
+    Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
+    In peace, and part this body and my soul
+    With contemplation and devout desires.
+  SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul
+    But I do love the favour and the form
+    Of this most fair occasion, by the which
+    We will untread the steps of damned flight,  
+    And like a bated and retired flood,
+    Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
+    Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
+    And calmly run on in obedience
+    Even to our ocean, to great King John.
+    My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
+    For I do see the cruel pangs of death
+    Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight,
+    And happy newness, that intends old right.
+                                            Exeunt, leading off MELUN
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+
+England. The French camp
+
+Enter LEWIS and his train
+
+  LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,
+    But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,
+    When English measure backward their own ground
+    In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
+    When with a volley of our needless shot,
+    After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
+    And wound our tott'ring colours clearly up,
+    Last in the field and almost lords of it!
+
+                 Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
+  LEWIS. Here; what news?
+  MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
+    By his persuasion are again fall'n off,
+    And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,  
+    Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
+  LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!
+    I did not think to be so sad to-night
+    As this hath made me. Who was he that said
+    King John did fly an hour or two before
+    The stumbling night did part our weary pow'rs?
+  MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
+  LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night;
+    The day shall not be up so soon as I
+    To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 6.
+
+An open place wear Swinstead Abbey
+
+Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally
+
+  HUBERT. Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.
+  BASTARD. A friend. What art thou?
+  HUBERT. Of the part of England.
+  BASTARD. Whither dost thou go?
+  HUBERT. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand
+    Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine?
+  BASTARD. Hubert, I think.
+  HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought.
+    I will upon all hazards well believe
+    Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well.
+    Who art thou?
+  BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please,
+    Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
+    I come one way of the Plantagenets.
+  HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
+    Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me  
+    That any accent breaking from thy tongue
+    Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
+  BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?
+  HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night
+    To find you out.
+  BASTARD. Brief, then; and what's the news?
+  HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
+    Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
+  BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news;
+    I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.
+  HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk;
+    I left him almost speechless and broke out
+    To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
+    The better arm you to the sudden time
+    Than if you had at leisure known of this.
+  BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him?
+  HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
+    Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King
+    Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
+  BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?  
+  HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,
+    And brought Prince Henry in their company;
+    At whose request the King hath pardon'd them,
+    And they are all about his Majesty.
+  BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
+    And tempt us not to bear above our power!
+    I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
+    Passing these flats, are taken by the tide-
+    These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;
+    Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
+    Away, before! conduct me to the King;
+    I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 7.
+
+The orchard at Swinstead Abbey
+
+Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT
+
+  PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood
+    Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain.
+    Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,
+    Doth by the idle comments that it makes
+    Foretell the ending of mortality.
+
+                   Enter PEMBROKE
+
+  PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
+    That, being brought into the open air,
+    It would allay the burning quality
+    Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
+  PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here.
+    Doth he still rage?                                    Exit BIGOT
+  PEMBROKE. He is more patient
+    Than when you left him; even now he sung.  
+  PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes
+    In their continuance will not feel themselves.
+    Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
+    Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
+    Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
+    With many legions of strange fantasies,
+    Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
+    Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing.
+    I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan
+    Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
+    And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
+    His soul and body to their lasting rest.
+  SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born
+    To set a form upon that indigest
+    Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
+
+       Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in
+                KING JOHN in a chair
+
+  KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;  
+    It would not out at windows nor at doors.
+    There is so hot a summer in my bosom
+    That all my bowels crumble up to dust.
+    I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen
+    Upon a parchment, and against this fire
+    Do I shrink up.
+  PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty?
+  KING JOHN. Poison'd-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off;
+    And none of you will bid the winter come
+    To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,
+    Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
+    Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north
+    To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips
+    And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much;
+    I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait
+    And so ingrateful you deny me that.
+  PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears,
+    That might relieve you!
+  KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot.
+    Within me is a hell; and there the poison  
+    Is as a fiend confin'd to tyrannize
+    On unreprievable condemned blood.
+
+                 Enter the BASTARD
+
+  BASTARD. O, I am scalded with my violent motion
+    And spleen of speed to see your Majesty!
+  KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye!
+    The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt,
+    And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
+    Are turned to one thread, one little hair;
+    My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
+    Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
+    And then all this thou seest is but a clod
+    And module of confounded royalty.
+  BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
+    Where God He knows how we shall answer him;
+    For in a night the best part of my pow'r,
+    As I upon advantage did remove,
+    Were in the Washes all unwarily  
+    Devoured by the unexpected flood.                 [The KING dies]
+  SALISBURY. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
+    My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus.
+  PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
+    What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
+    When this was now a king, and now is clay?
+  BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind
+    To do the office for thee of revenge,
+    And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
+    As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
+    Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,
+    Where be your pow'rs? Show now your mended faiths,
+    And instantly return with me again
+    To push destruction and perpetual shame
+    Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
+    Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
+    The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
+  SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we:
+    The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
+    Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,  
+    And brings from him such offers of our peace
+    As we with honour and respect may take,
+    With purpose presently to leave this war.
+  BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees
+    Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
+  SALISBURY. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already;
+    For many carriages he hath dispatch'd
+    To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
+    To the disposing of the Cardinal;
+    With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
+    If you think meet, this afternoon will post
+    To consummate this business happily.
+  BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince,
+    With other princes that may best be spar'd,
+    Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
+  PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
+    For so he will'd it.
+  BASTARD. Thither shall it, then;
+    And happily may your sweet self put on
+    The lineal state and glory of the land!  
+    To whom, with all submission, on my knee
+    I do bequeath my faithful services
+    And true subjection everlastingly.
+  SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make,
+    To rest without a spot for evermore.
+  PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,
+    And knows not how to do it but with tears.
+  BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
+    Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
+    This England never did, nor never shall,
+    Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
+    But when it first did help to wound itself.
+    Now these her princes are come home again,
+    Come the three corners of the world in arms,
+    And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
+    If England to itself do rest but true.                     Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+1599
+
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  JULIUS CAESAR, Roman statesman and general
+  OCTAVIUS, Triumvir after Caesar's death, later Augustus Caesar,
+    first emperor of Rome
+  MARK ANTONY, general and friend of Caesar, a Triumvir after his death
+  LEPIDUS, third member of the Triumvirate
+  MARCUS BRUTUS, leader of the conspiracy against Caesar
+  CASSIUS, instigator of the conspiracy
+  CASCA,          conspirator against Caesar
+  TREBONIUS,           "          "     "
+  CAIUS LIGARIUS,      "          "     "
+  DECIUS BRUTUS,       "          "     "
+  METELLUS CIMBER,     "          "     "
+  CINNA,               "          "     "
+  CALPURNIA, wife of Caesar
+  PORTIA, wife of Brutus
+  CICERO,     senator
+  POPILIUS,      "
+  POPILIUS LENA, "
+  FLAVIUS, tribune  
+  MARULLUS, tribune
+  CATO,     supportor of Brutus
+  LUCILIUS,     "     "    "
+  TITINIUS,     "     "    "
+  MESSALA,      "     "    "
+  VOLUMNIUS,    "     "    "
+  ARTEMIDORUS, a teacher of rhetoric
+  CINNA, a poet
+  VARRO,     servant to Brutus
+  CLITUS,       "    "     "
+  CLAUDIO,      "    "     "
+  STRATO,       "    "     "
+  LUCIUS,       "    "     "
+  DARDANIUS,    "    "     "
+  PINDARUS, servant to Cassius
+  The Ghost of Caesar
+  A Soothsayer
+  A Poet
+  Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE: Rome, the conspirators' camp near Sardis,  and the plains of Philippi.
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Rome. A street.
+
+Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners.
+
+  FLAVIUS. Hence, home, you idle creatures, get you home.
+    Is this a holiday? What, know you not,
+    Being mechanical, you ought not walk
+    Upon a laboring day without the sign
+    Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?
+  FIRST COMMONER. Why, sir, a carpenter.
+  MARULLUS. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
+    What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
+    You, sir, what trade are you?
+  SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am
+    but, as you would say, a cobbler.
+  MARULLUS. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.
+  SECOND COMMONER. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe
+    conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
+  MARULLUS. What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?
+  SECOND COMMONER. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet,
+    if you be out, sir, I can mend you.  
+  MARULLUS. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!
+  SECOND COMMONER. Why, sir, cobble you.
+  FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
+  SECOND COMMONER. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I
+    meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with
+    awl. I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in
+    great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon
+    neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.
+  FLAVIUS. But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
+    Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
+  SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes to get myself
+    into more work. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar
+    and to rejoice in his triumph.
+  MARULLUS. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
+    What tributaries follow him to Rome
+    To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
+    You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
+    O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
+    Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
+    Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,  
+    To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
+    Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
+    The livelong day with patient expectation
+    To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.
+    And when you saw his chariot but appear,
+    Have you not made an universal shout
+    That Tiber trembled underneath her banks
+    To hear the replication of your sounds
+    Made in her concave shores?
+    And do you now put on your best attire?
+    And do you now cull out a holiday?
+    And do you now strew flowers in his way
+    That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
+    Be gone!
+    Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
+    Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
+    That needs must light on this ingratitude.
+  FLAVIUS. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,
+    Assemble all the poor men of your sort,
+    Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears  
+    Into the channel, till the lowest stream
+    Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
+                                           Exeunt all Commoners.
+    See whether their basest metal be not moved;
+    They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
+    Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
+    This way will I. Disrobe the images
+    If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
+  MARULLUS. May we do so?
+    You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
+  FLAVIUS. It is no matter; let no images
+    Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about
+    And drive away the vulgar from the streets;
+    So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
+    These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing
+    Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
+    Who else would soar above the view of men
+    And keep us all in servile fearfulness.              Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A public place.
+
+Flourish. Enter Caesar; Antony, for the course; Calpurnia, Portia,
+Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca; a great crowd follows,
+among them a Soothsayer.
+
+  CAESAR. Calpurnia!
+  CASCA. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.
+                                                   Music ceases.
+  CAESAR. Calpurnia!
+  CALPURNIA. Here, my lord.
+  CAESAR. Stand you directly in Antonio's way,
+    When he doth run his course. Antonio!
+  ANTONY. Caesar, my lord?
+  CAESAR. Forget not in your speed, Antonio,
+    To touch Calpurnia, for our elders say
+    The barren, touched in this holy chase,
+    Shake off their sterile curse.
+  ANTONY. I shall remember.
+    When Caesar says "Do this," it is perform'd.
+  CAESAR. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.           Flourish.  
+  SOOTHSAYER. Caesar!
+  CAESAR. Ha! Who calls?
+  CASCA. Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again!
+  CAESAR. Who is it in the press that calls on me?
+    I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
+    Cry "Caesar." Speak, Caesar is turn'd to hear.
+  SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.
+  CAESAR. What man is that?
+  BRUTUS. A soothsayer you beware the ides of March.
+  CAESAR. Set him before me let me see his face.
+  CASSIUS. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.
+  CAESAR. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.
+  SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.
+  CAESAR. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass.
+                      Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius.
+  CASSIUS. Will you go see the order of the course?
+  BRUTUS. Not I.
+  CASSIUS. I pray you, do.
+  BRUTUS. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part
+    Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.  
+    Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
+    I'll leave you.
+  CASSIUS. Brutus, I do observe you now of late;
+    I have not from your eyes that gentleness
+    And show of love as I was wont to have;
+    You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
+    Over your friend that loves you.
+  BRUTUS. Cassius,
+    Be not deceived; if I have veil'd my look,
+    I turn the trouble of my countenance
+    Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
+    Of late with passions of some difference,
+    Conceptions only proper to myself,
+    Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;
+    But let not therefore my good friends be grieved-
+    Among which number, Cassius, be you one-
+    Nor construe any further my neglect
+    Than that poor Brutus with himself at war
+    Forgets the shows of love to other men.
+  CASSIUS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion,  
+    By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
+    Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
+    Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
+  BRUTUS. No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself
+    But by reflection, by some other things.
+  CASSIUS. 'Tis just,
+    And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
+    That you have no such mirrors as will turn
+    Your hidden worthiness into your eye
+    That you might see your shadow. I have heard
+    Where many of the best respect in Rome,
+    Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus
+    And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
+    Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
+  BRUTUS. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
+    That you would have me seek into myself
+    For that which is not in me?
+  CASSIUS. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear,
+    And since you know you cannot see yourself
+    So well as by reflection, I your glass  
+    Will modestly discover to yourself
+    That of yourself which you yet know not of.
+    And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus;
+    Were I a common laugher, or did use
+    To stale with ordinary oaths my love
+    To every new protester, if you know
+    That I do fawn on men and hug them hard
+    And after scandal them, or if you know
+    That I profess myself in banqueting
+    To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
+                                             Flourish and shout.
+  BRUTUS. What means this shouting? I do fear the people
+    Choose Caesar for their king.
+  CASSIUS. Ay, do you fear it?
+    Then must I think you would not have it so.
+  BRUTUS. I would not, Cassius, yet I love him well.
+    But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
+    What is it that you would impart to me?
+    If it be aught toward the general good,
+    Set honor in one eye and death i' the other  
+    And I will look on both indifferently.
+    For let the gods so speed me as I love
+    The name of honor more than I fear death.
+  CASSIUS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
+    As well as I do know your outward favor.
+    Well, honor is the subject of my story.
+    I cannot tell what you and other men
+    Think of this life, but, for my single self,
+    I had as lief not be as live to be
+    In awe of such a thing as I myself.
+    I was born free as Caesar, so were you;
+    We both have fed as well, and we can both
+    Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
+    For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
+    The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
+    Caesar said to me, "Darest thou, Cassius, now
+    Leap in with me into this angry flood
+    And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,
+    Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
+    And bade him follow. So indeed he did.  
+    The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
+    With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
+    And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
+    But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
+    Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink!
+    I, as Aeneas our great ancestor
+    Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
+    The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
+    Did I the tired Caesar. And this man
+    Is now become a god, and Cassius is
+    A wretched creature and must bend his body
+    If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
+    He had a fever when he was in Spain,
+    And when the fit was on him I did mark
+    How he did shake. 'Tis true, this god did shake;
+    His coward lips did from their color fly,
+    And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
+    Did lose his luster. I did hear him groan.
+    Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans
+    Mark him and write his speeches in their books,  
+    Alas, it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius,"
+    As a sick girl. Ye gods! It doth amaze me
+    A man of such a feeble temper should
+    So get the start of the majestic world
+    And bear the palm alone. Shout.                    Flourish.
+  BRUTUS. Another general shout!
+    I do believe that these applauses are
+    For some new honors that are heap'd on Caesar.
+  CASSIUS. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
+    Like a Colossus, and we petty men
+    Walk under his huge legs and peep about
+    To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
+    Men at some time are masters of their fates:
+    The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
+    But in ourselves that we are underlings.
+    Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that "Caesar"?
+    Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
+    Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
+    Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
+    Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,  
+    "Brutus" will start a spirit as soon as "Caesar."
+    Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
+    Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed
+    That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!
+    Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
+    When went there by an age since the great flood
+    But it was famed with more than with one man?
+    When could they say till now that talk'd of Rome
+    That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?
+    Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
+    When there is in it but one only man.
+    O, you and I have heard our fathers say
+    There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
+    The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
+    As easily as a king.
+  BRUTUS. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
+    What you would work me to, I have some aim.
+    How I have thought of this and of these times,
+    I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
+    I would not, so with love I might entreat you,  
+    Be any further moved. What you have said
+    I will consider; what you have to say
+    I will with patience hear, and find a time
+    Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
+    Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:
+    Brutus had rather be a villager
+    Than to repute himself a son of Rome
+    Under these hard conditions as this time
+    Is like to lay upon us.
+  CASSIUS. I am glad that my weak words
+    Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.
+
+            Re-enter Caesar and his Train.
+
+  BRUTUS. The games are done, and Caesar is returning.
+  CASSIUS. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,
+    And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
+    What hath proceeded worthy note today.
+  BRUTUS. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius,
+    The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow,  
+    And all the rest look like a chidden train:
+    Calpurnia's cheek is pale, and Cicero
+    Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
+    As we have seen him in the Capitol,
+    Being cross'd in conference by some senators.
+  CASSIUS. Casca will tell us what the matter is.
+  CAESAR. Antonio!
+  ANTONY. Caesar?
+  CAESAR. Let me have men about me that are fat,
+    Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights:
+    Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
+    He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
+  ANTONY. Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous;
+    He is a noble Roman and well given.
+  CAESAR. Would he were fatter! But I fear him not,
+    Yet if my name were liable to fear,
+    I do not know the man I should avoid
+    So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much,
+    He is a great observer, and he looks
+    Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays,  
+    As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;
+    Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
+    As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit
+    That could be moved to smile at anything.
+    Such men as he be never at heart's ease
+    Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
+    And therefore are they very dangerous.
+    I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd
+    Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar.
+    Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
+    And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.
+              Sennet. Exeunt Caesar and all his Train but Casca.
+  CASCA. You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me?
+  BRUTUS. Ay, Casca, tell us what hath chanced today
+    That Caesar looks so sad.
+  CASCA. Why, you were with him, were you not?
+  BRUTUS. I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.
+  CASCA. Why, there was a crown offered him, and being offered him,
+     he put it by with the back of his hand, thus, and then the
+     people fell ashouting.  
+  BRUTUS. What was the second noise for?
+  CASCA. Why, for that too.
+  CASSIUS. They shouted thrice. What was the last cry for?
+  CASCA. Why, for that too.
+  BRUTUS. Was the crown offered him thrice?
+  CASCA. Ay, marry, wast, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler
+    than other, and at every putting by mine honest neighbors
+    shouted.
+  CASSIUS. Who offered him the crown?
+  CASCA. Why, Antony.
+  BRUTUS. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.
+  CASCA. I can as well be hang'd as tell the manner of it. It was
+    mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a
+    crown (yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these
+    coronets) and, as I told you, he put it by once. But for all
+    that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered
+    it to him again; then he put it by again. But, to my thinking, he
+    was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it
+    the third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he
+    refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chopped hands  
+    and threw up their sweaty nightcaps and uttered such a deal of
+    stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had
+    almost choked Caesar, for he swounded and fell down at it. And
+    for mine own part, I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips
+    and receiving the bad air.
+  CASSIUS. But, soft, I pray you, what, did Caesars wound?
+  CASCA. He fell down in the marketplace and foamed at mouth and was
+    speechless.
+  BRUTUS. 'Tis very like. He hath the falling sickness.
+  CASSIUS. No, Caesar hath it not, but you, and I,
+    And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness.
+  CASCA. I know not what you mean by that, but I am sure Caesar fell
+    down. If the tagrag people did not clap him and hiss him
+    according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do
+    the players in the theatre, I am no true man.
+  BRUTUS. What said he when he came unto himself?
+  CASCA. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common
+    herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet
+    and offered them his throat to cut. An had been a man of any
+    occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I  
+    might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came
+    to himself again, he said, if he had done or said anything amiss,
+    he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or
+    four wenches where I stood cried, "Alas, good soul!" and forgave
+    him with all their hearts. But there's no heed to be taken of
+    them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done
+    no less.
+  BRUTUS. And after that he came, thus sad, away?
+  CASCA. Ay.
+  CASSIUS. Did Cicero say anything?
+  CASCA. Ay, he spoke Greek.
+  CASSIUS. To what effect?
+  CASCA. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the face
+    again; but those that understood him smiled at one another and
+    shook their heads; but for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I
+    could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling
+    scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well.
+    There was more foolery yet, if could remember it.
+  CASSIUS. Will you sup with me tonight, Casca?
+  CASCA. No, I am promised forth.  
+  CASSIUS. Will you dine with me tomorrow?
+  CASCA. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth
+    the eating.
+  CASSIUS. Good, I will expect you.
+  CASCA. Do so, farewell, both.                            Exit.
+  BRUTUS. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!
+    He was quick mettle when he went to school.
+  CASSIUS. So is he now in execution
+    Of any bold or noble enterprise,
+    However he puts on this tardy form.
+    This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
+    Which gives men stomach to digest his words
+    With better appetite.
+  BRUTUS. And so it is. For this time I will leave you.
+    Tomorrow, if you please to speak with me,
+    I will come home to you, or, if you will,
+    Come home to me and I will wait for you.
+  CASSIUS. I will do so. Till then, think of the world.
+                                                    Exit Brutus.
+    Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see  
+    Thy honorable mettle may be wrought
+    From that it is disposed; therefore it is meet
+    That noble minds keep ever with their likes;
+    For who so firm that cannot be seduced?
+    Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus.
+    If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius,
+    He should not humor me. I will this night,
+    In several hands, in at his windows throw,
+    As if they came from several citizens,
+    Writings, all tending to the great opinion
+    That Rome holds of his name, wherein obscurely
+    Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at.
+    And after this let Caesar seat him sure;
+    For we will shake him, or worse days endure.           Exit.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A street. Thunder and lightning.
+
+Enter, from opposite sides, Casca, with his sword drawn, and Cicero.
+
+  CICERO. Good even, Casca. Brought you Caesar home?
+    Why are you breathless, and why stare you so?
+  CASCA. Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth
+    Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,
+    I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
+    Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
+    The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam
+    To be exalted with the threatening clouds,
+    But never till tonight, never till now,
+    Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
+    Either there is a civil strife in heaven,
+    Or else the world too saucy with the gods
+    Incenses them to send destruction.
+  CICERO. Why, saw you anything more wonderful?
+  CASCA. A common slave- you know him well by sight-
+    Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn  
+    Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand
+    Not sensible of fire remain'd unscorch'd.
+    Besides- I ha' not since put up my sword-
+    Against the Capitol I met a lion,
+    Who glaz'd upon me and went surly by
+    Without annoying me. And there were drawn
+    Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women
+    Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw
+    Men all in fire walk up and down the streets.
+    And yesterday the bird of night did sit
+    Even at noonday upon the marketplace,
+    Howling and shrieking. When these prodigies
+    Do so conjointly meet, let not men say
+    "These are their reasons; they are natural":
+    For I believe they are portentous things
+    Unto the climate that they point upon.
+  CICERO. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time.
+    But men may construe things after their fashion,
+    Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
+    Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow?  
+  CASCA. He doth, for he did bid Antonio
+    Send word to you he would be there tomorrow.
+  CICERO. Good then, Casca. This disturbed sky
+    Is not to walk in.
+  CASCA. Farewell, Cicero.                          Exit Cicero.
+
+                        Enter Cassius.
+
+  CASSIUS. Who's there?
+  CASCA. A Roman.
+  CASSIUS. Casca, by your voice.
+  CASCA. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this!
+  CASSIUS. A very pleasing night to honest men.
+  CASCA. Who ever knew the heavens menace so?
+  CASSIUS. Those that have known the earth so full of faults.
+    For my part, I have walk'd about the streets,
+    Submitting me unto the perilous night,
+    And thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,
+    Have bared my bosom to the thunderstone;
+    And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open  
+    The breast of heaven, I did present myself
+    Even in the aim and very flash of it.
+  CASCA. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens?
+    It is the part of men to fear and tremble
+    When the most mighty gods by tokens send
+    Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.
+  CASSIUS. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life
+    That should be in a Roman you do want,
+    Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze
+    And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder
+    To see the strange impatience of the heavens.
+    But if you would consider the true cause
+    Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,
+    Why birds and beasts from quality and kind,
+    Why old men, fools, and children calculate,
+    Why all these things change from their ordinance,
+    Their natures, and preformed faculties
+    To monstrous quality, why, you shall find
+    That heaven hath infused them with these spirits
+    To make them instruments of fear and warning  
+    Unto some monstrous state.
+    Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man
+    Most like this dreadful night,
+    That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
+    As doth the lion in the Capitol,
+    A man no mightier than thyself or me
+    In personal action, yet prodigious grown
+    And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
+  CASCA. 'Tis Caesar that you mean, is it not, Cassius?
+  CASSIUS. Let it be who it is, for Romans now
+    Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors.
+    But, woe the while! Our fathers' minds are dead,
+    And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits;
+    Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.
+  CASCA. Indeed they say the senators tomorrow
+    Mean to establish Caesar as a king,
+    And he shall wear his crown by sea and land
+    In every place save here in Italy.
+  CASSIUS. I know where I will wear this dagger then:
+    Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.  
+    Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;
+    Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat.
+    Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
+    Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron
+    Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
+    But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
+    Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
+    If I know this, know all the world besides,
+    That part of tyranny that I do bear
+    I can shake off at pleasure.                  Thunder still.
+  CASCA. So can I.
+    So every bondman in his own hand bears
+    The power to cancel his captivity.
+  CASSIUS. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
+    Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf
+    But that he sees the Romans are but sheep.
+    He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
+    Those that with haste will make a mighty fire
+    Begin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome,
+    What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves  
+    For the base matter to illuminate
+    So vile a thing as Caesar? But, O grief,
+    Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this
+    Before a willing bondman; then I know
+    My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,
+    And dangers are to me indifferent.
+  CASCA. You speak to Casca, and to such a man
+    That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand.
+    Be factious for redress of all these griefs,
+    And I will set this foot of mine as far
+    As who goes farthest.
+  CASSIUS. There's a bargain made.
+    Now know you, Casca, I have moved already
+    Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans
+    To undergo with me an enterprise
+    Of honorable-dangerous consequence;
+    And I do know by this, they stay for me
+    In Pompey's Porch. For now, this fearful night,
+    There is no stir or walking in the streets,
+    And the complexion of the element  
+    In favor's like the work we have in hand,
+    Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.
+
+                       Enter Cinna.
+
+  CASCA. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.
+  CASSIUS. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait;
+    He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?
+  CINNA. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber?
+  CASSIUS. No, it is Casca, one incorporate
+    To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna?
+  CINNA. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this!
+    There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.
+  CASSIUS. Am I not stay'd for? Tell me.
+  CINNA. Yes, you are.
+    O Cassius, if you could
+    But win the noble Brutus to our party-
+  CASSIUS. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper,
+    And look you lay it in the praetor's chair,
+    Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this  
+    In at his window; set this up with wax
+    Upon old Brutus' statue. All this done,
+    Repair to Pompey's Porch, where you shall find us.
+    Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?
+  CINNA. All but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone
+    To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie
+    And so bestow these papers as you bade me.
+  CASSIUS. That done, repair to Pompey's Theatre.
+                                                     Exit Cinna.
+    Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day
+    See Brutus at his house. Three parts of him
+    Is ours already, and the man entire
+    Upon the next encounter yields him ours.
+  CASCA. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts,
+    And that which would appear offense in us,
+    His countenance, like richest alchemy,
+    Will change to virtue and to worthiness.
+  CASSIUS. Him and his worth and our great need of him
+    You have right well conceited. Let us go,
+    For it is after midnight, and ere day  
+    We will awake him and be sure of him.                Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+
+Enter Brutus in his orchard.
+
+  BRUTUS. What, Lucius, ho!
+    I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
+    Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say!
+    I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.
+    When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius!
+
+                            Enter Lucius.
+
+  LUCIUS. Call'd you, my lord?
+  BRUTUS. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius.
+    When it is lighted, come and call me here.
+  LUCIUS. I will, my lord.                                 Exit.
+  BRUTUS. It must be by his death, and, for my part,
+    I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
+    But for the general. He would be crown'd:
+    How that might change his nature, there's the question.
+    It is the bright day that brings forth the adder
+    And that craves wary walking. Crown him that,  
+    And then, I grant, we put a sting in him
+    That at his will he may do danger with.
+    The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins
+    Remorse from power, and, to speak truth of Caesar,
+    I have not known when his affections sway'd
+    More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof
+    That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
+    Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
+    But when he once attains the upmost round,
+    He then unto the ladder turns his back,
+    Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
+    By which he did ascend. So Caesar may;
+    Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
+    Will bear no color for the thing he is,
+    Fashion it thus, that what he is, augmented,
+    Would run to these and these extremities;
+    And therefore think him as a serpent's egg
+    Which hatch'd would as his kind grow mischievous,
+    And kill him in the shell.
+  
+                        Re-enter Lucius.
+
+  LUCIUS. The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
+    Searching the window for a flint I found
+    This paper thus seal'd up, and I am sure
+    It did not lie there when I went to bed.
+                                           Gives him the letter.
+  BRUTUS. Get you to bed again, it is not day.
+    Is not tomorrow, boy, the ides of March?
+  LUCIUS. I know not, sir.
+  BRUTUS. Look in the calendar and bring me word.
+  LUCIUS. I will, sir.                                     Exit.
+  BRUTUS. The exhalations whizzing in the air
+    Give so much light that I may read by them.
+                                     Opens the letter and reads.
+    "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake and see thyself!
+    Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress!"
+
+    "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!"
+    Such instigations have been often dropp'd  
+    Where I have took them up.
+    "Shall Rome, etc." Thus must I piece it out.
+    Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome?
+    My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
+    The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.
+    "Speak, strike, redress!" Am I entreated
+    To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise,
+    If the redress will follow, thou receivest
+    Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!
+
+                        Re-enter Lucius.
+
+  LUCIUS. Sir, March is wasted fifteen days.
+                                                Knocking within.
+  BRUTUS. 'Tis good. Go to the gate, somebody knocks.
+                                                    Exit Lucius.
+    Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar
+    I have not slept.
+    Between the acting of a dreadful thing
+    And the first motion, all the interim is  
+    Like a phantasma or a hideous dream;
+    The genius and the mortal instruments
+    Are then in council, and the state of man,
+    Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
+    The nature of an insurrection.
+
+                         Re-enter Lucius.
+
+  LUCIUS. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door,
+    Who doth desire to see you.
+  BRUTUS. Is he alone?
+  LUCIUS. No, sir, there are more with him.
+  BRUTUS. Do you know them?
+  LUCIUS. No, sir, their hats are pluck'd about their ears,
+    And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
+    That by no means I may discover them
+    By any mark of favor.
+  BRUTUS. Let 'em enter.                            Exit Lucius.
+    They are the faction. O Conspiracy,
+    Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,  
+    When evils are most free? O, then, by day
+    Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
+    To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, Conspiracy;
+    Hide it in smiles and affability;
+    For if thou path, thy native semblance on,
+    Not Erebus itself were dim enough
+    To hide thee from prevention.
+
+    Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna,
+                Metellus Cimber, and Trebonius.
+
+  CASSIUS. I think we are too bold upon your rest.
+    Good morrow, Brutus, do we trouble you?
+  BRUTUS. I have been up this hour, awake all night.
+    Know I these men that come along with you?
+  CASSIUS. Yes, every man of them, and no man here
+    But honors you, and every one doth wish
+    You had but that opinion of yourself
+    Which every noble Roman bears of you.
+    This is Trebonius.  
+  BRUTUS. He is welcome hither.
+  CASSIUS. This, Decius Brutus.
+  BRUTUS. He is welcome too.
+CASSIUS. This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber.
+  BRUTUS. They are all welcome.
+    What watchful cares do interpose themselves
+    Betwixt your eyes and night?
+  CASSIUS. Shall I entreat a word?                 They whisper.
+  DECIUS. Here lies the east. Doth not the day break here?
+  CASCA. No.
+  CINNA. O, pardon, sir, it doth, and yongrey lines
+    That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
+  CASCA. You shall confess that you are both deceived.
+    Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises,
+    Which is a great way growing on the south,
+    Weighing the youthful season of the year.
+    Some two months hence up higher toward the north
+    He first presents his fire, and the high east
+    Stands as the Capitol, directly here.
+  BRUTUS. Give me your hands all over, one by one.
+  CASSIUS. And let us swear our resolution.  
+  BRUTUS. No, not an oath. If not the face of men,
+    The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse-
+    If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
+    And every man hence to his idle bed;
+    So let high-sighted tyranny range on
+    Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,
+    As I am sure they do, bear fire enough
+    To kindle cowards and to steel with valor
+    The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen,
+    What need we any spur but our own cause
+    To prick us to redress? What other bond
+    Than secret Romans that have spoke the word
+    And will not palter? And what other oath
+    Than honesty to honesty engaged
+    That this shall be or we will fall for it?
+    Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,
+    Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls
+    That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear
+    Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain
+    The even virtue of our enterprise,  
+    Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits,
+    To think that or our cause or our performance
+    Did need an oath; when every drop of blood
+    That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
+    Is guilty of a several bastardy
+    If he do break the smallest particle
+    Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.
+  CASSIUS. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
+    I think he will stand very strong with us.
+  CASCA. Let us not leave him out.
+  CINNA. No, by no means.
+  METELLUS. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs
+    Will purchase us a good opinion,
+    And buy men's voices to commend our deeds.
+    It shall be said his judgement ruled our hands;
+    Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,
+    But all be buried in his gravity.
+  BRUTUS. O, name him not; let us not break with him,
+    For he will never follow anything
+    That other men begin.  
+  CASSIUS. Then leave him out.
+  CASCA. Indeed he is not fit.
+  DECIUS. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar?
+  CASSIUS. Decius, well urged. I think it is not meet
+    Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar,
+    Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him
+    A shrewd contriver; and you know his means,
+    If he improve them, may well stretch so far
+    As to annoy us all, which to prevent,
+    Let Antony and Caesar fall together.
+  BRUTUS. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
+    To cut the head off and then hack the limbs
+    Like wrath in death and envy afterwards;
+    For Antony is but a limb of Caesar.
+    Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
+    We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar,
+    And in the spirit of men there is no blood.
+    O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit,
+    And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,
+    Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,  
+    Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
+    Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
+    Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds;
+    And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
+    Stir up their servants to an act of rage
+    And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make
+    Our purpose necessary and not envious,
+    Which so appearing to the common eyes,
+    We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
+    And for Mark Antony, think not of him,
+    For he can do no more than Caesar's arm
+    When Caesar's head is off.
+  CASSIUS. Yet I fear him,
+    For in the ingrated love he bears to Caesar-
+  BRUTUS. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him.
+    If he love Caesar, all that he can do
+    Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar.
+    And that were much he should, for he is given
+    To sports, to wildness, and much company.
+  TREBONIUS. There is no fear in him-let him not die,  
+    For he will live and laugh at this hereafter.
+                                                  Clock strikes.
+  BRUTUS. Peace, count the clock.
+  CASSIUS. The clock hath stricken three.
+  TREBONIUS. 'Tis time to part.
+  CASSIUS. But it is doubtful yet
+    Whether Caesar will come forth today or no,
+    For he is superstitious grown of late,
+    Quite from the main opinion he held once
+    Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.
+    It may be these apparent prodigies,
+    The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
+    And the persuasion of his augurers
+    May hold him from the Capitol today.
+  DECIUS. Never fear that. If he be so resolved,
+    I can o'ersway him, for he loves to hear
+    That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
+    And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
+    Lions with toils, and men with flatterers;
+    But when I tell him he hates flatterers,  
+    He says he does, being then most flattered.
+    Let me work;
+    For I can give his humor the true bent,
+    And I will bring him to the Capitol.
+  CASSIUS. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
+  BRUTUS. By the eighth hour. Is that the utter most?
+  CINNA. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.
+  METELLUS. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
+    Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey.
+    I wonder none of you have thought of him.
+  BRUTUS. Now, good Metellus, go along by him.
+    He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;
+    Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.
+  CASSIUS. The morning comes upon 's. We'll leave you, Brutus,
+    And, friends, disperse yourselves, but all remember
+    What you have said and show yourselves true Romans.
+  BRUTUS. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
+    Let not our looks put on our purposes,
+    But bear it as our Roman actors do,
+    With untired spirits and formal constancy.  
+    And so, good morrow to you every one.
+                                          Exeunt all but Brutus.
+    Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter.
+    Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber;
+    Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
+    Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
+    Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
+
+                           Enter Portia.
+
+  PORTIA. Brutus, my lord!
+  BRUTUS. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?
+    It is not for your health thus to commit
+    Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
+  PORTIA. Nor for yours neither. have ungently, Brutus,
+    Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supper
+    You suddenly arose and walk'd about,
+    Musing and sighing, with your arms across;
+    And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
+    You stared upon me with ungentle looks.  
+    I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head,
+    And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot.
+    Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not,
+    But with an angry waiter of your hand
+    Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did,
+    Fearing to strengthen that impatience
+    Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal
+    Hoping it was but an effect of humor,
+    Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
+    It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
+    And, could it work so much upon your shape
+    As it hath much prevail'd on your condition,
+    I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
+    Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
+  BRUTUS. I am not well in health, and that is all.
+  PORTIA. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,
+    He would embrace the means to come by it.
+  BRUTUS. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.
+  PORTIA. Is Brutus sick, and is it physical
+    To walk unbraced and suck up the humors  
+    Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,
+    And will he steal out of his wholesome bed
+    To dare the vile contagion of the night
+    And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air
+    To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus,
+    You have some sick offense within your mind,
+    Which by the right and virtue of my place
+    I ought to know of; and, upon my knees,
+    I charm you, by my once commended beauty,
+    By all your vows of love and that great vow
+    Which did incorporate and make us one,
+    That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,
+    Why you are heavy and what men tonight
+    Have had resort to you; for here have been
+    Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
+    Even from darkness.
+  BRUTUS. Kneel not, gentle Portia.
+  PORTIA. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
+    Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
+    Is it excepted I should know no secrets  
+    That appertain to you? Am I yourself
+    But, as it were, in sort or limitation,
+    To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
+    And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs
+    Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
+    Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.
+  BRUTUS. You are my true and honorable wife,
+    As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
+    That visit my sad heart.
+  PORTIA. If this were true, then should I know this secret.
+    I grant I am a woman, but withal
+    A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife.
+    I grant I am a woman, but withal
+    A woman well reputed, Cato's daughter.
+    Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
+    Being so father'd and so husbanded?
+    Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em.
+    I have made strong proof of my constancy,
+    Giving myself a voluntary wound
+    Here in the thigh. Can I bear that with patience  
+    And not my husband's secrets?
+  BRUTUS. O ye gods,
+    Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within.
+    Hark, hark, one knocks. Portia, go in awhile,
+    And by and by thy bosom shall partake
+    The secrets of my heart.
+    All my engagements I will construe to thee,
+    All the charactery of my sad brows.
+    Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia.] Lucius, who's that knocks?
+
+                  Re-enter Lucius with Ligarius.
+
+  LUCIUS. Here is a sick man that would speak with you.
+  BRUTUS. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.
+    Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how?
+  LIGARIUS. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.
+  BRUTUS. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,
+    To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!
+  LIGARIUS. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
+    Any exploit worthy the name of honor.  
+  BRUTUS. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,
+    Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.
+  LIGARIUS. By all the gods that Romans bow before,
+    I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome!
+    Brave son, derived from honorable loins!
+    Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up
+    My mortified spirit. Now bid me run,
+    And I will strive with things impossible,
+    Yea, get the better of them. What's to do?
+  BRUTUS. A piece of work that will make sick men whole.
+  LIGARIUS. But are not some whole that we must make sick?
+  BRUTUS. That must we also. What it is, my Caius,
+    I shall unfold to thee, as we are going
+    To whom it must be done.
+  LIGARIUS. Set on your foot,
+    And with a heart new-fired I follow you,
+    To do I know not what; but it sufficeth
+    That Brutus leads me on.
+  BRUTUS. Follow me then.                                Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Caesar's house. Thunder and lightning.
+
+Enter Caesar, in his nightgown.
+
+  CAESAR. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight.
+    Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out,
+    "Help, ho! They murther Caesar!" Who's within?
+
+                         Enter a Servant.
+
+  SERVANT. My lord?
+  CAESAR. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice,
+    And bring me their opinions of success.
+  SERVANT. I will, my lord.                                Exit.
+
+                         Enter Calpurnia.
+
+  CALPURNIA. What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth?
+    You shall not stir out of your house today.
+  CAESAR. Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me
+    Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see  
+    The face of Caesar, they are vanished.
+  CALPURNIA. Caesar, I I stood on ceremonies,
+    Yet now they fright me. There is one within,
+    Besides the things that we have heard and seen,
+    Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
+    A lioness hath whelped in the streets;
+    And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead;
+    Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds,
+    In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,
+    Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol;
+    The noise of battle hurtled in the air,
+    Horses did neigh and dying men did groan,
+    And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.
+    O Caesar! These things are beyond all use,
+    And I do fear them.
+  CAESAR. What can be avoided
+    Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods?
+    Yet Caesar shall go forth, for these predictions
+    Are to the world in general as to Caesar.
+  CALPURNIA. When beggars die, there are no comets seen;  
+    The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
+  CAESAR. Cowards die many times before their deaths;
+    The valiant never taste of death but once.
+    Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
+    It seems to me most strange that men should fear
+    Seeing that death, a necessary end,
+    Will come when it will come.
+
+                      Re-enter Servant.
+
+    What say the augurers?
+  SERVANT. They would not have you to stir forth today.
+    Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,
+    They could not find a heart within the beast.
+  CAESAR. The gods do this in shame of cowardice.
+    Caesar should be a beast without a heart
+    If he should stay at home today for fear.
+    No, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well
+    That Caesar is more dangerous than he.
+    We are two lions litter'd in one day,  
+    And I the elder and more terrible.
+    And Caesar shall go forth.
+  CALPURNIA. Alas, my lord,
+    Your wisdom is consumed in confidence.
+    Do not go forth today. Call it my fear
+    That keeps you in the house and not your own.
+    We'll send Mark Antony to the Senate House,
+    And he shall say you are not well today.
+    Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.
+  CAESAR. Mark Antony shall say I am not well,
+    And, for thy humor, I will stay at home.
+
+                        Enter Decius.
+
+    Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.
+  DECIUS. Caesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar!
+    I come to fetch you to the Senate House.
+  CAESAR. And you are come in very happy time
+    To bear my greeting to the senators
+    And tell them that I will not come today.  
+    Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser:
+    I will not come today. Tell them so, Decius.
+  CALPURNIA. Say he is sick.
+  CAESAR. Shall Caesar send a lie?
+    Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far
+    To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth?
+    Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.
+  DECIUS. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,
+    Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so.
+  CAESAR. The cause is in my will: I will not come,
+    That is enough to satisfy the Senate.
+    But, for your private satisfaction,
+    Because I love you, I will let you know.
+    Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home;
+    She dreamt tonight she saw my statue,
+    Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts,
+    Did run pure blood, and many lusty Romans
+    Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it.
+    And these does she apply for warnings and portents
+    And evils imminent, and on her knee  
+    Hath begg'd that I will stay at home today.
+  DECIUS. This dream is all amiss interpreted;
+    It was a vision fair and fortunate.
+    Your statue spouting blood in many pipes,
+    In which so many smiling Romans bathed,
+    Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
+    Reviving blood, and that great men shall press
+    For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance.
+    This by Calpurnia's dream is signified.
+  CAESAR. And this way have you well expounded it.
+  DECIUS. I have, when you have heard what I can say.
+    And know it now, the Senate have concluded
+    To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar.
+    If you shall send them word you will not come,
+    Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock
+    Apt to be render'd, for someone to say
+    "Break up the Senate till another time,
+    When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams."
+    If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper
+    "Lo, Caesar is afraid"?  
+    Pardon me, Caesar, for my dear dear love
+    To your proceeding bids me tell you this,
+    And reason to my love is liable.
+  CAESAR. How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia!
+    I am ashamed I did yield to them.
+    Give me my robe, for I will go.
+
+         Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca,
+                     Trebonius, and Cinna.
+
+    And look where Publius is come to fetch me.
+  PUBLIUS. Good morrow,Caesar.
+  CAESAR. Welcome, Publius.
+    What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too?
+    Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius,
+    Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy
+    As that same ague which hath made you lean.
+    What is't o'clock?
+  BRUTUS. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight.
+  CAESAR. I thank you for your pains and courtesy.  
+
+                           Enter Antony.
+
+    See, Antony, that revels long o' nights,
+    Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony.
+  ANTONY. So to most noble Caesar.
+  CAESAR. Bid them prepare within.
+    I am to blame to be thus waited for.
+    Now, Cinna; now, Metellus; what, Trebonius,
+    I have an hour's talk in store for you;
+    Remember that you call on me today;
+    Be near me, that I may remember you.
+  TREBONIUS. Caesar, I will. [Aside.] And so near will I be
+    That your best friends shall wish I had been further.
+  CAESAR. Good friends, go in and taste some wine with me,
+    And we like friends will straightway go together.
+  BRUTUS. [Aside.] That every like is not the same, O Caesar,
+    The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon!            Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A street near the Capitol.
+
+Enter Artemidorus, reading paper.
+
+  ARTEMIDORUS. "Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come
+    not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark
+    well Metellus Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast
+    wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men,
+    and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look
+    about you. Security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods
+    defend thee!
+                                        Thy lover, Artemidorus."
+    Here will I stand till Caesar pass along,
+    And as a suitor will I give him this.
+    My heart laments that virtue cannot live
+    Out of the teeth of emulation.
+    If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live;
+    If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.           Exit.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus.
+
+Enter Portia and Lucius.
+
+  PORTIA. I prithee, boy, run to the Senate House;
+    Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone.
+    Why dost thou stay?
+  LUCIUS. To know my errand, madam.
+  PORTIA. I would have had thee there, and here again,
+    Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.
+    O constancy, be strong upon my side!
+    Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue!
+    I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
+    How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
+    Art thou here yet?
+  LUCIUS. Madam, what should I do?
+    Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?
+    And so return to you, and nothing else?
+  PORTIA. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
+    For he went sickly forth; and take good note
+    What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.  
+    Hark, boy, what noise is that?
+  LUCIUS. I hear none, madam.
+  PORTIA. Prithee, listen well.
+    I heard a bustling rumor like a fray,
+    And the wind brings it from the Capitol.
+  LUCIUS. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.
+
+                     Enter the Soothsayer.
+
+  PORTIA. Come hither, fellow;
+    Which way hast thou been?
+  SOOTHSAYER. At mine own house, good lady.
+  PORTIA. What is't o'clock?
+  SOOTHSAYER. About the ninth hour, lady.
+  PORTIA. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?
+  SOOTHSAYER. Madam, not yet. I go to take my stand
+    To see him pass on to the Capitol.
+  PORTIA. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?
+  SOOTHSAYER. That I have, lady. If it will please Caesar
+    To be so good to Caesar as to hear me,  
+    I shall beseech him to befriend himself.
+  PORTIA. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him?
+  SOOTHSAYER. None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.
+    Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow,
+    The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,
+    Of senators, of praetors, common suitors,
+    Will crowd a feeble man almost to death.
+    I'll get me to a place more void and there
+    Speak to great Caesar as he comes along.               Exit.
+  PORTIA. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing
+    The heart of woman is! O Brutus,
+    The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!
+    Sure, the boy heard me. Brutus hath a suit
+    That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint.
+    Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord;
+    Say I am merry. Come to me again,
+    And bring me word what he doth say to thee.
+                                               Exeunt severally.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above.
+A crowd of people, among them Artemidorus and the Soothsayer.
+
+Flourish. Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus,
+Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others.
+
+  CAESAR. The ides of March are come.
+  SOOTHSAYER. Ay, Caesar, but not gone.
+  A Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule.
+  DECIUS. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er read,
+    At your best leisure, this his humble suit.
+  ARTEMIDORUS. O Caesar, read mine first, for mine's a suit
+    That touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar.
+  CAESAR. What touches us ourself shall be last served.
+  ARTEMIDORUS. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly.
+  CAESAR. What, is the fellow mad?
+  PUBLIUS. Sirrah, give place.
+  CASSIUS. What, urge you your petitions in the street?
+    Come to the Capitol.
+  
+      Caesar goes up to the Senate House, the rest follow.
+
+  POPILIUS. I wish your enterprise today may thrive.
+  CASSIUS. What enterprise, Popilius?
+  POPILIUS. Fare you well.
+                                             Advances to Caesar.
+  BRUTUS. What said Popilius Lena?
+  CASSIUS. He wish'd today our enterprise might thrive.
+    I fear our purpose is discovered.
+  BRUTUS. Look, how he makes to Caesar. Mark him.
+  CASSIUS. Casca,
+    Be sudden, for we fear prevention.
+    Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known,
+    Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back,
+    For I will slay myself.
+  BRUTUS. Cassius, be constant.
+    Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;
+    For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.
+  CASSIUS. Trebonius knows his time, for, look you, Brutus,
+    He draws Mark Antony out of the way.  
+                                    Exeunt Antony and Trebonius.
+  DECIUS. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him
+    And presently prefer his suit to Caesar.
+  BRUTUS. He is address'd; press near and second him.
+  CINNA. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.
+  CAESAR. Are we all ready? What is now amiss
+    That Caesar and his Senate must redress?
+  METELLUS. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar,
+    Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat
+    An humble heart.                                     Kneels.
+  CAESAR. I must prevent thee, Cimber.
+    These couchings and these lowly courtesies
+    Might fire the blood of ordinary men
+    And turn preordinance and first decree
+    Into the law of children. Be not fond
+    To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood
+    That will be thaw'd from the true quality
+    With that which melteth fools- I mean sweet words,
+    Low-crooked court'sies, and base spaniel-fawning.
+    Thy brother by decree is banished.  
+    If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him,
+    I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.
+    Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause
+    Will he be satisfied.
+  METELLUS. Is there no voice more worthy than my own,
+    To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear
+    For the repealing of my banish'd brother?
+  BRUTUS. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar,
+    Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may
+    Have an immediate freedom of repeal.
+  CAESAR. What, Brutus?
+  CASSIUS. Pardon, Caesar! Caesar, pardon!
+    As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall
+    To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.
+  CAESAR. I could be well moved, if I were as you;
+    If I could pray to move, prayers would move me;
+    But I am constant as the northern star,
+    Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality
+    There is no fellow in the firmament.
+    The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks;  
+    They are all fire and every one doth shine;
+    But there's but one in all doth hold his place.
+    So in the world, 'tis furnish'd well with men,
+    And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;
+    Yet in the number I do know but one
+    That unassailable holds on his rank,
+    Unshaked of motion; and that I am he,
+    Let me a little show it, even in this;
+    That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd,
+    And constant do remain to keep him so.
+  CINNA. O Caesar-
+  CAESAR. Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus?
+  DECIUS. Great Caesar-
+  CAESAR. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?
+  CASCA. Speak, hands, for me!
+                        Casca first, then the other Conspirators
+                                  and Marcus Brutus stab Caesar.
+  CAESAR. Et tu, Brute?- Then fall, Caesar! Dies.
+  CINNA. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!
+    Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.  
+  CASSIUS. Some to the common pulpits and cry out
+    "Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!"
+  BRUTUS. People and senators, be not affrighted,
+    Fly not, stand still; ambition's debt is paid.
+  CASCA. Go to the pulpit, Brutus.
+  DECIUS. And Cassius too.
+  BRUTUS. Where's Publius?
+  CINNA. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.
+  METELLUS. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's
+    Should chance-
+  BRUTUS. Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer,
+    There is no harm intended to your person,
+    Nor to no Roman else. So tell them, Publius.
+  CASSIUS. And leave us, Publius, lest that the people
+    Rushing on us should do your age some mischief.
+  BRUTUS. Do so, and let no man abide this deed
+    But we the doers.
+
+                        Re-enter Trebonius.
+  
+  CASSIUS. Where is Antony?
+  TREBONIUS. Fled to his house amazed.
+    Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run
+    As it were doomsday.
+  BRUTUS. Fates, we will know your pleasures.
+    That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time
+    And drawing days out that men stand upon.
+  CASSIUS. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life
+    Cuts off so many years of fearing death.
+  BRUTUS. Grant that, and then is death a benefit;
+    So are we Caesar's friends that have abridged
+    His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,
+    And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood
+    Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords;
+    Then walk we forth, even to the marketplace,
+    And waving our red weapons o'er our heads,
+    Let's all cry, "Peace, freedom, and liberty!"
+  CASSIUS. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence
+    Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
+    In states unborn and accents yet unknown!  
+  BRUTUS. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,
+    That now on Pompey's basis lies along
+    No worthier than the dust!
+  CASSIUS. So oft as that shall be,
+    So often shall the knot of us be call'd
+    The men that gave their country liberty.
+  DECIUS. What, shall we forth?
+  CASSIUS. Ay, every man away.
+    Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels
+    With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.
+
+                        Enter a Servant.
+
+  BRUTUS. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's.
+  SERVANT. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel,
+    Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down,
+    And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:
+    Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;
+    Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving.
+    Say I love Brutus and I honor him;  
+    Say I fear'd Caesar, honor'd him, and loved him.
+    If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony
+    May safely come to him and be resolved
+    How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death,
+    Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead
+    So well as Brutus living, but will follow
+    The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus
+    Thorough the hazards of this untrod state
+    With all true faith. So says my master Antony.
+  BRUTUS. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman;
+    I never thought him worse.
+    Tell him, so please him come unto this place,
+    He shall be satisfied and, by my honor,
+    Depart untouch'd.
+  SERVANT. I'll fetch him presently.                       Exit.
+  BRUTUS. I know that we shall have him well to friend.
+  CASSIUS. I wish we may, but yet have I a mind
+    That fears him much, and my misgiving still
+    Falls shrewdly to the purpose.
+  
+                          Re-enter Antony.
+
+  BRUTUS. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony.
+  ANTONY. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low?
+    Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
+    Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.
+    I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
+    Who else must be let blood, who else is rank.
+    If I myself, there is no hour so fit
+    As Caesar's death's hour, nor no instrument
+    Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
+    With the most noble blood of all this world.
+    I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,
+    Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
+    Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
+    I shall not find myself so apt to die;
+    No place will please me so, no means of death,
+    As here by Caesar, and by you cut off,
+    The choice and master spirits of this age.
+  BRUTUS. O Antony, beg not your death of us!  
+    Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,
+    As, by our hands and this our present act
+    You see we do, yet see you but our hands
+    And this the bleeding business they have done.
+    Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful;
+    And pity to the general wrong of Rome-
+    As fire drives out fire, so pity pity-
+    Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,
+    To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony;
+    Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts
+    Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
+    With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.
+  CASSIUS. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's
+    In the disposing of new dignities.
+  BRUTUS. Only be patient till we have appeased
+    The multitude, beside themselves with fear,
+    And then we will deliver you the cause
+    Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,
+    Have thus proceeded.
+  ANTONY. I doubt not of your wisdom.  
+    Let each man render me his bloody hand.
+    First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;
+    Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;
+    Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus;
+    Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;
+    Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius.
+    Gentlemen all- alas, what shall I say?
+    My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
+    That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
+    Either a coward or a flatterer.
+    That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true!
+    If then thy spirit look upon us now,
+    Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death
+    To see thy Antony making his peace,
+    Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
+    Most noble! In the presence of thy corse?
+    Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
+    Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
+    It would become me better than to close
+    In terms of friendship with thine enemies.  
+    Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart,
+    Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand,
+    Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy Lethe.
+    O world, thou wast the forest to this hart,
+    And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.
+    How like a deer strucken by many princes
+    Dost thou here lie!
+  CASSIUS. Mark Antony-
+  ANTONY. Pardon me, Caius Cassius.
+    The enemies of Caesar shall say this:
+    Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.
+  CASSIUS. I blame you not for praising Caesar so;
+    But what compact mean you to have with us?
+    Will you be prick'd in number of our friends,
+    Or shall we on, and not depend on you?
+  ANTONY. Therefore I took your hands, but was indeed
+    Sway'd from the point by looking down on Caesar.
+    Friends am I with you all and love you all,
+    Upon this hope that you shall give me reasons
+    Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous.  
+  BRUTUS. Or else were this a savage spectacle.
+    Our reasons are so full of good regard
+    That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
+    You should be satisfied.
+  ANTONY. That's all I seek;
+    And am moreover suitor that I may
+    Produce his body to the marketplace,
+    And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
+    Speak in the order of his funeral.
+  BRUTUS. You shall, Mark Antony.
+  CASSIUS. Brutus, a word with you.
+    [Aside to Brutus.] You know not what you do. Do not consent
+    That Antony speak in his funeral.
+    Know you how much the people may be moved
+    By that which he will utter?
+  BRUTUS. By your pardon,
+    I will myself into the pulpit first,
+    And show the reason of our Caesar's death.
+    What Antony shall speak, I will protest
+    He speaks by leave and by permission,  
+    And that we are contented Caesar shall
+    Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.
+    It shall advantage more than do us wrong.
+  CASSIUS. I know not what may fall; I like it not.
+  BRUTUS. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body.
+    You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
+    But speak all good you can devise of Caesar,
+    And say you do't by our permission,
+    Else shall you not have any hand at all
+    About his funeral. And you shall speak
+    In the same pulpit whereto I am going,
+    After my speech is ended.
+  ANTONY. Be it so,
+    I do desire no more.
+  BRUTUS. Prepare the body then, and follow us.
+                                          Exeunt all but Antony.
+  ANTONY. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
+    That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
+    Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
+    That ever lived in the tide of times.  
+    Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
+    Over thy wounds now do I prophesy
+    (Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips
+    To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue)
+    A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
+    Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
+    Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
+    Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
+    And dreadful objects so familiar,
+    That mothers shall but smile when they behold
+    Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
+    All pity choked with custom of fell deeds,
+    And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge,
+    With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
+    Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
+    Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war,
+    That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
+    With carrion men, groaning for burial.
+
+                        Enter a Servant.  
+
+    You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not?
+  SERVANT. I do, Mark Antony.
+  ANTONY. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome.
+  SERVANT. He did receive his letters, and is coming,
+    And bid me say to you by word of mouth-
+    O Caesar!                                     Sees the body.
+  ANTONY. Thy heart is big; get thee apart and weep.
+    Passion, I see, is catching, for mine eyes,
+    Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,
+    Began to water. Is thy master coming?
+  SERVANT. He lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome.
+  ANTONY. Post back with speed and tell him what hath chanced.
+    Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
+    No Rome of safety for Octavius yet;
+    Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay awhile,
+    Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse
+    Into the marketplace. There shall I try,
+    In my oration, how the people take
+    The cruel issue of these bloody men,  
+    According to the which thou shalt discourse
+    To young Octavius of the state of things.
+    Lend me your hand.                Exeunt with Caesar's body.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The Forum.
+
+Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens.
+
+  CITIZENS. We will be satisfied! Let us be satisfied!
+  BRUTUS. Then follow me and give me audience, friends.
+    Cassius, go you into the other street
+    And part the numbers.
+    Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here;
+    Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;
+    And public reasons shall be rendered
+    Of Caesar's death.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. I will hear Brutus speak.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. I will hear Cassius and compare their reasons,
+    When severally we hear them rendered.
+                               Exit Cassius, with some Citizens.
+                                    Brutus goes into the pulpit.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. The noble Brutus is ascended. Silence!
+  BRUTUS. Be patient till the last.
+    Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause, and be
+    silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor, and have  
+    respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your
+    wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If
+    there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to
+    him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If
+    then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is
+    my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome
+    more. Had you rather Caesar were living and die all slaves, than
+    that Caesar were dead to live all freemen? As Caesar loved me, I
+    weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was
+    valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There
+    is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor,
+    and death for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a
+    bondman? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so
+    rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak, for him have I
+    offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If
+    any, speak, for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
+  ALL. None, Brutus, none.
+  BRUTUS. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar
+    than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is
+    enrolled in the Capitol, his glory not extenuated, wherein he was  
+    worthy, nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death.
+
+              Enter Antony and others, with Caesar's body.
+
+    Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had
+    no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a
+    place in the commonwealth, as which of you shall not? With this I
+    depart- that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I
+    have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country
+    to need my death.
+  ALL. Live, Brutus, live, live!
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Bring him with triumph home unto his house.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Give him a statue with his ancestors.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Let him be Caesar.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Caesar's better parts
+    Shall be crown'd in Brutus.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and
+    clamors.
+  BRUTUS. My countrymen-
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Peace! Silence! Brutus speaks.  
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Peace, ho!
+  BRUTUS. Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
+    And, for my sake, stay here with Antony.
+    Do grace to Caesar's corse, and grace his speech
+    Tending to Caesar's glories, which Mark Antony,
+    By our permission, is allow'd to make.
+    I do entreat you, not a man depart,
+    Save I alone, till Antony have spoke.                  Exit.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Stay, ho, and let us hear Mark Antony.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Let him go up into the public chair;
+    We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.
+  ANTONY. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you.
+                                           Goes into the pulpit.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. What does he say of Brutus?
+  THIRD CITIZEN. He says, for Brutus' sake,
+    He finds himself beholding to us all.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. This Caesar was a tyrant.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, that's certain.
+    We are blest that Rome is rid of him.  
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Peace! Let us hear what Antony can say.
+  ANTONY. You gentle Romans-
+  ALL. Peace, ho! Let us hear him.
+  ANTONY. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!
+    I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
+    The evil that men do lives after them,
+    The good is oft interred with their bones;
+    So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
+    Hath told you Caesar was ambitious;
+    If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
+    And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
+    Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest-
+    For Brutus is an honorable man;
+    So are they all, all honorable men-
+    Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
+    He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
+    But Brutus says he was ambitious,
+    And Brutus is an honorable man.
+    He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
+    Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.  
+    Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
+    When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;
+    Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
+    Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
+    And Brutus is an honorable man.
+    You all did see that on the Lupercal
+    I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
+    Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
+    Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
+    And sure he is an honorable man.
+    I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
+    But here I am to speak what I do know.
+    You all did love him once, not without cause;
+    What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
+    O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
+    And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
+    My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
+    And I must pause till it come back to me.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. If thou consider rightly of the matter,  
+    Caesar has had great wrong.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Has he, masters?
+    I fear there will a worse come in his place.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown;
+    Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. If it be found so, some will dear abide it.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Now mark him, he begins again to speak.
+  ANTONY. But yesterday the word of Caesar might
+    Have stood against the world. Now lies he there,
+    And none so poor to do him reverence.
+    O masters! If I were disposed to stir
+    Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
+    I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong,
+    Who, you all know, are honorable men.
+    I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
+    To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
+    Than I will wrong such honorable men.
+    But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar;  
+    I found it in his closet, 'tis his will.
+    Let but the commons hear this testament-
+    Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read-
+    And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds
+    And dip their napkins in his sacred blood,
+    Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
+    And, dying, mention it within their wills,
+    Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
+    Unto their issue.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony.
+  ALL. The will, the will! We will hear Caesar's will.
+  ANTONY. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
+    It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.
+    You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
+    And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar,
+    It will inflame you, it will make you mad.
+    'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs,
+    For if you should, O, what would come of it!
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony.
+    You shall read us the will, Caesar's will.  
+  ANTONY. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile?
+    I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
+    I fear I wrong the honorable men
+    Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar; I do fear it.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. They were traitors. Honorable men!
+  ALL. The will! The testament!
+  SECOND CITIZEN. They were villains, murtherers. The will!
+    Read the will!
+  ANTONY. You will compel me then to read the will?
+    Then make a ring about the corse of Caesar,
+    And let me show you him that made the will.
+    Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?
+  ALL. Come down.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Descend.
+                                  He comes down from the pulpit.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. You shall have leave.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. A ring, stand round.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Room for Antony, most noble Antony.
+  ANTONY. Nay, press not so upon me, stand far off.  
+  ALL. Stand back; room, bear back!
+  ANTONY. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
+    You all do know this mantle. I remember
+    The first time ever Caesar put it on;
+    'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
+    That day he overcame the Nervii.
+    Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through;
+    See what a rent the envious Casca made;
+    Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;
+    And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
+    Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it,
+    As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
+    If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
+    For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel.
+    Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!
+    This was the most unkindest cut of all;
+    For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
+    Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
+    Quite vanquish'd him. Then burst his mighty heart,
+    And, in his mantle muffling up his face,  
+    Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
+    Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
+    O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
+    Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
+    Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
+    O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel
+    The dint of pity. These are gracious drops.
+    Kind souls, what weep you when you but behold
+    Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
+    Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. O piteous spectacle!
+  SECOND CITIZEN. O noble Caesar!
+  THIRD CITIZEN. O woeful day!
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. O traitors villains!
+  FIRST CITIZEN. O most bloody sight!
+  SECOND CITIZEN. We will be revenged.
+  ALL. Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill!
+    Slay! Let not a traitor live!
+  ANTONY. Stay, countrymen.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Peace there! Hear the noble Antony.  
+  SECOND CITIZEN. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with
+    him.
+  ANTONY. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
+    To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
+    They that have done this deed are honorable.
+    What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
+    That made them do it. They are wise and honorable,
+    And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
+    I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts.
+    I am no orator, as Brutus is;
+    But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
+    That love my friend, and that they know full well
+    That gave me public leave to speak of him.
+    For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
+    Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
+    To stir men's blood. I only speak right on;
+    I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
+    Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor dumb mouths,
+    And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
+    And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony  
+    Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue
+    In every wound of Caesar that should move
+    The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
+  ALL. We'll mutiny.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. We'll burn the house of Brutus.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Away, then! Come, seek the conspirators.
+  ANTONY. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.
+  ALL. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony!
+  ANTONY. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what.
+    Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves?
+    Alas, you know not; I must tell you then.
+    You have forgot the will I told you of.
+  ALL. Most true, the will! Let's stay and hear the will.
+  ANTONY. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal.
+    To every Roman citizen he gives,
+    To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Most noble Caesar! We'll revenge his death.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. O royal Caesar!
+  ANTONY. Hear me with patience.
+  ALL. Peace, ho!  
+  ANTONY. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
+    His private arbors, and new-planted orchards,
+    On this side Tiber; he hath left them you,
+    And to your heirs forever- common pleasures,
+    To walk abroad and recreate yourselves.
+    Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Never, never. Come, away, away!
+    We'll burn his body in the holy place
+    And with the brands fire the traitors' houses.
+    Take up the body.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Go fetch fire.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Pluck down benches.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Pluck down forms, windows, anything.
+                                  Exeunt Citizens with the body.
+  ANTONY. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot,
+    Take thou what course thou wilt.
+
+                        Enter a Servant.
+
+    How now, fellow?  
+  SERVANT. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.
+  ANTONY. Where is he?
+  SERVANT. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house.
+  ANTONY. And thither will I straight to visit him.
+    He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry,
+    And in this mood will give us anything.
+  SERVANT. I heard him say Brutus and Cassius
+    Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.
+  ANTONY. Be like they had some notice of the people,
+    How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius.          Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A street.
+
+Enter Cinna the poet.
+
+  CINNA. I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar,
+    And things unluckily charge my fantasy.
+    I have no will to wander forth of doors,
+    Yet something leads me forth.
+
+                        Enter Citizens.
+
+  FIRST CITIZEN. What is your name?
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Whither are you going?
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Where do you dwell?
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Are you a married man or a bachelor?
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Answer every man directly.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, and briefly.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Ay, and wisely.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Ay, and truly, you were best.
+  CINNA. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I
+    a married man or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly  
+    and briefly, wisely and truly: wisely I say, I am a bachelor.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. That's as much as to say they are fools that marry.
+    You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed directly.
+  CINNA. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. As a friend or an enemy?
+  CINNA. As a friend.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. That matter is answered directly.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. For your dwelling, briefly.
+  CINNA. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Your name, sir, truly.
+  CINNA. Truly, my name is Cinna.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator.
+  CINNA. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad
+    verses.
+  CINNA. I am not Cinna the conspirator.
+  FOURTH CITIZEN. It is no matter, his name's Cinna. Pluck but his
+    name out of his heart, and turn him going.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, ho, firebrands. To
+    Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. Some to Decius' house, and some  
+    to Casca's, some to Ligarius'. Away, go!             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+A house in Rome. Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a table.
+
+  ANTONY. These many then shall die, their names are prick'd.
+  OCTAVIUS. Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?
+  LEPIDUS. I do consent-
+  OCTAVIUS. Prick him down, Antony.
+  LEPIDUS. Upon condition Publius shall not live,
+    Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony.
+  ANTONY. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.
+    But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house,
+    Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine
+    How to cut off some charge in legacies.
+  LEPIDUS. What, shall I find you here?
+  OCTAVIUS. Or here, or at the Capitol.            Exit Lepidus.
+  ANTONY. This is a slight unmeritable man,
+    Meet to be sent on errands. Is it fit,
+    The three-fold world divided, he should stand
+    One of the three to share it?
+  OCTAVIUS. So you thought him,
+    And took his voice who should be prick'd to die  
+    In our black sentence and proscription.
+  ANTONY. Octavius, I have seen more days than you,
+    And though we lay these honors on this man
+    To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads,
+    He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,
+    To groan and sweat under the business,
+    Either led or driven, as we point the way;
+    And having brought our treasure where we will,
+    Then take we down his load and turn him off,
+    Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears
+    And graze in commons.
+  OCTAVIUS. You may do your will,
+    But he's a tried and valiant soldier.
+  ANTONY. So is my horse, Octavius, and for that
+    I do appoint him store of provender.
+    It is a creature that I teach to fight,
+    To wind, to stop, to run directly on,
+    His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit.
+    And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so:
+    He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth;  
+    A barren-spirited fellow, one that feeds
+    On objects, arts, and imitations,
+    Which, out of use and staled by other men,
+    Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him
+    But as a property. And now, Octavius,
+    Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius
+    Are levying powers; we must straight make head;
+    Therefore let our alliance be combined,
+    Our best friends made, our means stretch'd;
+    And let us presently go sit in council,
+    How covert matters may be best disclosed,
+    And open perils surest answered.
+  OCTAVIUS. Let us do so, for we are at the stake,
+    And bay'd about with many enemies;
+    And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,
+    Millions of mischiefs.                               Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Camp near Sardis. Before Brutus' tent. Drum.
+
+Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers; Titinius and Pindarus meet them.
+
+  BRUTUS. Stand, ho!
+  LUCILIUS. Give the word, ho, and stand.
+  BRUTUS. What now, Lucilius, is Cassius near?
+  LUCILIUS. He is at hand, and Pindarus is come
+    To do you salutation from his master.
+  BRUTUS. He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,
+    In his own change, or by ill officers,
+    Hath given me some worthy cause to wish
+    Things done undone; but if he be at hand,
+    I shall be satisfied.
+  PINDARUS. I do not doubt
+    But that my noble master will appear
+    Such as he is, full of regard and honor.
+  BRUTUS. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius,
+    How he received you. Let me be resolved.
+  LUCILIUS. With courtesy and with respect enough,  
+    But not with such familiar instances,
+    Nor with such free and friendly conference,
+    As he hath used of old.
+  BRUTUS. Thou hast described
+    A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius,
+    When love begins to sicken and decay
+    It useth an enforced ceremony.
+    There are no tricks in plain and simple faith;
+    But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,
+    Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;
+    But when they should endure the bloody spur,
+    They fall their crests and like deceitful jades
+    Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?
+  LUCILIUS. They meant his night in Sard is to be quarter'd;
+    The greater part, the horse in general,
+    Are come with Cassius.                     Low march within.
+  BRUTUS. Hark, he is arrived.
+    March gently on to meet him.
+
+                  Enter Cassius and his Powers.  
+
+  CASSIUS. Stand, ho!
+  BRUTUS. Stand, ho! Speak the word along.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Stand!
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Stand!
+  THIRD SOLDIER. Stand!
+  CASSIUS. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.
+  BRUTUS. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine enemies?
+    And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?
+  CASSIUS. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs,
+    And when you do them-
+  BRUTUS. Cassius, be content,
+    Speak your griefs softly, I do know you well.
+    Before the eyes of both our armies here,
+    Which should perceive nothing but love from us,
+    Let us not wrangle. Bid them move away;
+    Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,
+    And I will give you audience.
+  CASSIUS. Pindarus,
+    Bid our commanders lead their charges off  
+    A little from this ground.
+  BRUTUS. Lucilius, do you the like, and let no man
+    Come to our tent till we have done our conference.
+    Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door.             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Brutus' tent.
+
+Enter Brutus and Cassius.
+
+  CASSIUS. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this:
+    You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella
+    For taking bribes here of the Sardians,
+    Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
+    Because I knew the man, were slighted off.
+  BRUTUS. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
+  CASSIUS. In such a time as this it is not meet
+    That every nice offense should bear his comment.
+  BRUTUS. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
+    Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm,
+    To sell and mart your offices for gold
+    To undeservers.
+  CASSIUS. I an itching palm?
+    You know that you are Brutus that speaks this,
+    Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
+  BRUTUS. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
+    And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.  
+  CASSIUS. Chastisement?
+  BRUTUS. Remember March, the ides of March remember.
+    Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
+    What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
+    And not for justice? What, shall one of us,
+    That struck the foremost man of all this world
+    But for supporting robbers, shall we now
+    Contaminate our fingers with base bribes
+    And sell the mighty space of our large honors
+    For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
+    I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
+    Than such a Roman.
+  CASSIUS. Brutus, bait not me,
+    I'll not endure it. You forget yourself
+    To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I,
+    Older in practice, abler than yourself
+    To make conditions.
+  BRUTUS. Go to, you are not, Cassius.
+  CASSIUS. I am.
+  BRUTUS. I say you are not.  
+  CASSIUS. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
+    Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther.
+  BRUTUS. Away, slight man!
+  CASSIUS. Is't possible?
+  BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak.
+    Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
+    Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
+  CASSIUS. O gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this?
+  BRUTUS. All this? Ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break.
+    Go show your slaves how choleric you are,
+    And make your bondmen tremble. Must I bouge?
+    Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
+    Under your testy humor? By the gods,
+    You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
+    Though it do split you, for, from this day forth,
+    I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
+    When you are waspish.
+  CASSIUS. Is it come to this?
+  BRUTUS. You say you are a better soldier:
+    Let it appear so, make your vaunting true,  
+    And it shall please me well. For mine own part,
+    I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
+  CASSIUS. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus.
+    I said, an elder soldier, not a better.
+    Did I say "better"?
+  BRUTUS. If you did, I care not.
+  CASSIUS. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.
+  BRUTUS. Peace, peace! You durst not so have tempted him.
+  CASSIUS. I durst not?
+  BRUTUS. No.
+  CASSIUS. What, durst not tempt him?
+  BRUTUS. For your life you durst not.
+  CASSIUS. Do not presume too much upon my love;
+    I may do that I shall be sorry for.
+  BRUTUS. You have done that you should be sorry for.
+    There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,
+    For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,
+    That they pass by me as the idle wind
+    Which I respect not. I did send to you
+    For certain sums of gold, which you denied me,  
+    For I can raise no money by vile means.
+    By heaven, I had rather coin my heart
+    And drop my blood for drachmas than to wring
+    From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
+    By any indirection. I did send
+    To you for gold to pay my legions,
+    Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius?
+    Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
+    When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous
+    To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
+    Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
+    Dash him to pieces!
+  CASSIUS. I denied you not.
+  BRUTUS. You did.
+  CASSIUS. I did not. He was but a fool
+    That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart.
+    A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
+    But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
+  BRUTUS. I do not, till you practise them on me.
+  CASSIUS. You love me not.  
+  BRUTUS. I do not like your faults.
+  CASSIUS. A friendly eye could never see such faults.
+  BRUTUS. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear
+    As huge as high Olympus.
+  CASSIUS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,
+    Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
+    For Cassius is aweary of the world:
+    Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
+    Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,
+    Set in a notebook, learn'd and conn'd by rote,
+    To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
+    My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
+    And here my naked breast; within, a heart
+    Dearer than Pluto's mine, richer than gold.
+    If that thou best a Roman, take it forth;
+    I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
+    Strike, as thou didst at Caesar, for I know,
+    When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
+    Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
+  BRUTUS. Sheathe your dagger.  
+    Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
+    Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
+    O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb,
+    That carries anger as the flint bears fire,
+    Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark
+    And straight is cold again.
+  CASSIUS. Hath Cassius lived
+    To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
+    When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him?
+  BRUTUS. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
+  CASSIUS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
+  BRUTUS. And my heart too.
+  CASSIUS. O Brutus!
+  BRUTUS. What's the matter?
+  CASSIUS. Have not you love enough to bear with me
+    When that rash humor which my mother gave me
+    Makes me forgetful?
+  BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth,
+    When you are overearnest with your Brutus,
+    He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.  
+  POET. [Within.] Let me go in to see the generals.
+    There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet
+    They be alone.
+  LUCILIUS. [Within.] You shall not come to them.
+  POET. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.
+
+      Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius, and Lucius.
+
+  CASSIUS. How now, what's the matter?
+  POET. For shame, you generals! What do you mean?
+    Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;
+    For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye.
+  CASSIUS. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!
+  BRUTUS. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!
+  CASSIUS. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion.
+  BRUTUS. I'll know his humor when he knows his time.
+    What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
+    Companion, hence!
+  CASSIUS. Away, away, be gone!                       Exit Poet.
+  BRUTUS. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders  
+    Prepare to lodge their companies tonight.
+  CASSIUS. And come yourselves and bring Messala with you
+    Immediately to us.             Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.
+  BRUTUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine!                   Exit Lucius.
+  CASSIUS. I did not think you could have been so angry.
+  BRUTUS. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
+  CASSIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use,
+    If you give place to accidental evils.
+  BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.
+  CASSIUS. Ha? Portia?
+  BRUTUS. She is dead.
+  CASSIUS. How 'scaped killing when I cross'd you so?
+    O insupportable and touching loss!
+    Upon what sickness?
+  BRUTUS. Impatient of my absence,
+    And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony
+    Have made themselves so strong- for with her death
+    That tidings came- with this she fell distract,
+    And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire.
+  CASSIUS. And died so?  
+  BRUTUS. Even so.
+  CASSIUS. O ye immortal gods!
+
+               Re-enter Lucius, with wine and taper.
+
+  BRUTUS. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.
+    In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.              Drinks.
+  CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.
+  Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
+  I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.               Drinks.
+  BRUTUS. Come in, Titinius!                        Exit Lucius.
+
+                 Re-enter Titinius, with Messala.
+
+    Welcome, good Messala.
+    Now sit we close about this taper here,
+    And call in question our necessities.
+  CASSIUS. Portia, art thou gone?
+  BRUTUS. No more, I pray you.
+    Messala, I have here received letters  
+    That young Octavius and Mark Antony
+    Come down upon us with a mighty power,
+    Bending their expedition toward Philippi.
+  MESSALA. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenure.
+  BRUTUS. With what addition?
+  MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry
+    Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus
+    Have put to death an hundred senators.
+  BRUTUS. There in our letters do not well agree;
+    Mine speak of seventy senators that died
+    By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
+  CASSIUS. Cicero one!
+  MESSALA. Cicero is dead,
+    And by that order of proscription.
+    Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
+  BRUTUS. No, Messala.
+  MESSALA. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
+  BRUTUS. Nothing, Messala.
+  MESSALA. That, methinks, is strange.
+  BRUTUS. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?  
+  MESSALA. No, my lord.
+  BRUTUS. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
+  MESSALA. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:
+    For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
+  BRUTUS. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala.
+    With meditating that she must die once
+    I have the patience to endure it now.
+  MESSALA. Even so great men great losses should endure.
+  CASSIUS. I have as much of this in art as you,
+    But yet my nature could not bear it so.
+  BRUTUS. Well, to our work alive. What do you think
+    Of marching to Philippi presently?
+  CASSIUS. I do not think it good.
+  BRUTUS. Your reason?
+  CASSIUS. This it is:
+    'Tis better that the enemy seek us;
+    So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
+    Doing himself offense, whilst we lying still
+    Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.
+  BRUTUS. Good reasons must of force give place to better.  
+    The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground
+    Do stand but in a forced affection,
+    For they have grudged us contribution.
+    The enemy, marching along by them,
+    By them shall make a fuller number up,
+    Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged;
+    From which advantage shall we cut him off
+    If at Philippi we do face him there,
+    These people at our back.
+  CASSIUS. Hear me, good brother.
+  BRUTUS. Under your pardon. You must note beside
+    That we have tried the utmost of our friends,
+    Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
+    The enemy increaseth every day;
+    We, at the height, are ready to decline.
+    There is a tide in the affairs of men
+    Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune;
+    Omitted, all the voyage of their life
+    Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
+    On such a full sea are we now afloat,  
+    And we must take the current when it serves,
+    Or lose our ventures.
+  CASSIUS. Then, with your will, go on;
+    We'll along ourselves and meet them at Philippi.
+  BRUTUS. The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
+    And nature must obey necessity,
+    Which we will niggard with a little rest.
+    There is no more to say?
+  CASSIUS. No more. Good night.
+    Early tomorrow will we rise and hence.
+  BRUTUS. Lucius!
+
+                       Re-enter Lucius.
+
+    My gown.                                        Exit Lucius.
+    Farewell, good Messala;
+    Good night, Titinius; noble, noble Cassius,
+    Good night and good repose.
+  CASSIUS. O my dear brother!
+    This was an ill beginning of the night.  
+    Never come such division 'tween our souls!
+    Let it not, Brutus.
+  BRUTUS. Everything is well.
+  CASSIUS. Good night, my lord.
+  BRUTUS. Good night, good brother.
+  TITINIUS. MESSALA. Good night, Lord Brutus.
+  BRUTUS. Farewell, everyone.
+                                          Exeunt all but Brutus.
+
+               Re-enter Lucius, with the gown.
+
+    Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?
+  LUCIUS. Here in the tent.
+  BRUTUS. What, thou speak'st drowsily?
+    Poor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o'erwatch'd.
+    Call Claudio and some other of my men,
+    I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
+  LUCIUS. Varro and Claudio!
+
+                   Enter Varro and Claudio.  
+
+  VARRO. Calls my lord?
+  BRUTUS. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;
+    It may be I shall raise you by and by
+    On business to my brother Cassius.
+  VARRO. So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.
+  BRUTUS. I would not have it so. Lie down, good sirs.
+    It may be I shall otherwise bethink me.
+    Look Lucius, here's the book I sought for so;
+    I put it in the pocket of my gown.
+                                     Varro and Claudio lie down.
+  LUCIUS. I was sure your lordship did not give it me.
+  BRUTUS. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.
+    Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,
+    And touch thy instrument a strain or two?
+  LUCIUS. Ay, my lord, an't please you.
+  BRUTUS. It does, my boy.
+    I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.
+  LUCIUS. It is my duty, sir.
+  BRUTUS. I should not urge thy duty past thy might;  
+    I know young bloods look for a time of rest.
+  LUCIUS. I have slept, my lord, already.
+  BRUTUS. It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again;
+    I will not hold thee long. If I do live,
+    I will be good to thee.                   Music, and a song.
+    This is a sleepy tune. O murtherous slumber,
+    Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy
+    That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night.
+    I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.
+    If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument;
+    I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
+    Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
+    Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.        Sits down.
+
+                 Enter the Ghost of Caesar.
+
+    How ill this taper burns! Ha, who comes here?
+    I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
+    That shapes this monstrous apparition.
+    It comes upon me. Art thou anything?  
+    Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil
+    That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
+    Speak to me what thou art.
+  GHOST. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
+  BRUTUS. Why comest thou?
+  GHOST. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
+  BRUTUS. Well, then I shall see thee again?
+  GHOST. Ay, at Philippi.
+  BRUTUS. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.     Exit Ghost.
+    Now I have taken heart thou vanishest.
+    Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
+    Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudio! Sirs, awake!
+    Claudio!
+  LUCIUS. The strings, my lord, are false.
+  BRUTUS. He thinks he still is at his instrument.
+    Lucius, awake!
+  LUCIUS. My lord?
+  BRUTUS. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?
+  LUCIUS. My lord, I do not know that I did cry.
+  BRUTUS. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?  
+  LUCIUS. Nothing, my lord.
+  BRUTUS. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudio!
+    [To Varro.] Fellow thou, awake!
+  VARRO. My lord?
+  CLAUDIO. My lord?
+  BRUTUS. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?
+  VARRO. CLAUDIO. Did we, my lord?
+  BRUTUS. Ay, saw you anything?
+  VARRO. No, my lord, I saw nothing.
+  CLAUDIO. Nor I, my lord.
+  BRUTUS. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius;
+    Bid him set on his powers betimes before,
+    And we will follow.
+  VARRO. CLAUDIO. It shall be done, my lord.             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+The plains of Philippi.
+
+Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army.
+
+  OCTAVIUS. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered.
+    You said the enemy would not come down,
+    But keep the hills and upper regions.
+    It proves not so. Their battles are at hand;
+    They mean to warn us at Philippi here,
+    Answering before we do demand of them.
+  ANTONY. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know
+    Wherefore they do it. They could be content
+    To visit other places, and come down
+    With fearful bravery, thinking by this face
+    To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;
+    But 'tis not so.
+
+                    Enter a Messenger.
+
+  MESSENGER. Prepare you, generals.
+    The enemy comes on in gallant show;  
+    Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,
+    And something to be done immediately.
+  ANTONY. Octavius, lead your battle softly on,
+    Upon the left hand of the even field.
+  OCTAVIUS. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left.
+  ANTONY. Why do you cross me in this exigent?
+  OCTAVIUS. I do not cross you, but I will do so.
+
+      March. Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army;
+           Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, and others.
+
+  BRUTUS. They stand, and would have parley.
+  CASSIUS. Stand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk.
+  OCTAVIUS. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?
+  ANTONY. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.
+    Make forth, the generals would have some words.
+  OCTAVIUS. Stir not until the signal not until the signal.
+  BRUTUS. Words before blows. Is it so, countrymen?
+  OCTAVIUS. Not that we love words better, as you do.
+  BRUTUS. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.  
+  ANTONY. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words.
+    Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart,
+    Crying "Long live! Hail, Caesar!"
+  CASSIUS. Antony,
+    The posture of your blows are yet unknown;
+    But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
+    And leave them honeyless.
+  ANTONY. Not stingless too.
+  BRUTUS. O, yes, and soundless too,
+    For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony,
+    And very wisely threat before you sting.
+  ANTONY. Villains! You did not so when your vile daggers
+    Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar.
+    You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds,
+    And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet;
+    Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind
+    Strooke Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!
+  CASSIUS. Flatterers? Now, Brutus, thank yourself.
+    This tongue had not offended so today,
+    If Cassius might have ruled.  
+  OCTAVIUS. Come, come, the cause. If arguing make us sweat,
+    The proof of it will turn to redder drops.
+    Look,
+    I draw a sword against conspirators;
+    When think you that the sword goes up again?
+    Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds
+    Be well avenged, or till another Caesar
+    Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.
+  BRUTUS. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands,
+    Unless thou bring'st them with thee.
+  OCTAVIUS. So I hope,
+    I was not born to die on Brutus' sword.
+  BRUTUS. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,
+    Young man, thou couldst not die more honorable.
+  CASSIUS. A peevish school boy, worthless of such honor,
+    Join'd with a masker and a reveler!
+  ANTONY. Old Cassius still!
+  OCTAVIUS. Come, Antony, away!
+    Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth.
+    If you dare fight today, come to the field;  
+    If not, when you have stomachs.
+                        Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army.
+  CASSIUS. Why, now, blow and, swell billow, and swim bark!
+    The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
+  BRUTUS. Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you.
+  LUCILIUS. [Stands forth.] My lord?
+                             Brutus and Lucilius converse apart.
+  CASSIUS. Messala!
+  MESSALA. [Stands forth.] What says my general?
+  CASSIUS. Messala,
+    This is my birthday, as this very day
+    Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala.
+    Be thou my witness that, against my will,
+    As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set
+    Upon one battle all our liberties.
+    You know that I held Epicurus strong,
+    And his opinion. Now I change my mind,
+    And partly credit things that do presage.
+    Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign
+    Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd,  
+    Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands,
+    Who to Philippi here consorted us.
+    This morning are they fled away and gone,
+    And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites
+    Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us,
+    As we were sickly prey. Their shadows seem
+    A canopy most fatal, under which
+    Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.
+  MESSALA. Believe not so.
+  CASSIUS. I but believe it partly,
+    For I am fresh of spirit and resolved
+    To meet all perils very constantly.
+  BRUTUS. Even so, Lucilius.
+  CASSIUS. Now, most noble Brutus,
+    The gods today stand friendly that we may,
+    Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age!
+    But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain,
+    Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
+    If we do lose this battle, then is this
+    The very last time we shall speak together.  
+    What are you then determined to do?
+  BRUTUS. Even by the rule of that philosophy
+    By which I did blame Cato for the death
+    Which he did give himself- I know not how,
+    But I do find it cowardly and vile,
+    For fear of what might fall, so to prevent
+    The time of life- arming myself with patience
+    To stay the providence of some high powers
+    That govern us below.
+  CASSIUS. Then, if we lose this battle,
+    You are contented to be led in triumph
+    Thorough the streets of Rome?
+  BRUTUS. No, Cassius, no. Think not, thou noble Roman,
+    That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;
+    He bears too great a mind. But this same day
+    Must end that work the ides of March begun.
+    And whether we shall meet again I know not.
+    Therefore our everlasting farewell take.
+    Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius!
+    If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;  
+    If not, why then this parting was well made.
+  CASSIUS. Forever and forever farewell, Brutus!
+    If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed;
+    If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.
+  BRUTUS. Why then, lead on. O, that a man might know
+    The end of this day's business ere it come!
+    But it sufficeth that the day will end,
+    And then the end is known. Come, ho! Away!           Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The field of battle.
+
+Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.
+
+  BRUTUS. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills
+    Unto the legions on the other side.             Loud alarum.
+    Let them set on at once, for I perceive
+    But cold demeanor in Octavia's wing,
+    And sudden push gives them the overthrow.
+    Ride, ride, Messala. Let them all come down.         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Another part of the field.
+
+Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius.
+
+  CASSIUS. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!
+    Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy.
+    This ensign here of mine was turning back;
+    I slew the coward, and did take it from him.
+  TITINIUS. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early,
+    Who, having some advantage on Octavius,
+    Took it too eagerly. His soldiers fell to spoil,
+    Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed.
+
+                       Enter Pindarus.
+
+  PINDARUS. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off;
+    Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord;
+    Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.
+  CASSIUS. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius:
+    Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?
+  TITINIUS. They are, my lord.  
+  CASSIUS. Titinius, if thou lovest me,
+    Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him,
+    Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops
+    And here again, that I may rest assured
+    Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.
+  TITINIUS. I will be here again, even with a thought.     Exit.
+  CASSIUS. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill;
+    My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius,
+    And tell me what thou notest about the field.
+                                      Pindarus ascends the hill.
+    This day I breathed first: time is come round,
+    And where I did begin, there shall I end;
+    My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?
+  PINDARUS. [Above.] O my lord!
+  CASSIUS. What news?
+  PINDARUS. [Above.] Titinius is enclosed round about
+    With horsemen, that make to him on the spur;
+    Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him.
+    Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too.
+    He's ta'en [Shout.] And, hark! They shout for joy.  
+  CASSIUS. Come down; behold no more.
+    O, coward that I am, to live so long,
+    To see my best friend ta'en before my face!
+                                              Pindarus descends.
+    Come hither, sirrah.
+    In Parthia did I take thee prisoner,
+    And then I swore thee, saving of thy life,
+    That whatsoever I did bid thee do,
+    Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath;
+    Now be a freeman, and with this good sword,
+    That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom.
+    Stand not to answer: here, take thou the hilts;
+    And when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now,
+    Guide thou the sword. [Pindarus stabs him.] Caesar, thou art
+      revenged,
+    Even with the sword that kill'd thee.                  Dies.
+  PINDARUS. So, I am free, yet would not so have been,
+    Durst I have done my will. O Cassius!
+    Far from this country Pindarus shall run,
+    Where never Roman shall take note of him.              Exit.  
+
+                Re-enter Titinius with Messala.
+
+  MESSALA. It is but change, Titinius, for Octavius
+    Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power,
+    As Cassius' legions are by Antony.
+  TITINIUS. These tidings would well comfort Cassius.
+  MESSALA. Where did you leave him?
+  TITINIUS. All disconsolate,
+    With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.
+  MESSALA. Is not that he that lies upon the ground?
+  TITINIUS. He lies not like the living. O my heart!
+  MESSALA. Is not that he?
+  TITINIUS. No, this was he, Messala,
+    But Cassius is no more. O setting sun,
+    As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night,
+    So in his red blood Cassius' day is set,
+    The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone;
+    Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done!
+    Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.  
+  MESSALA. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.
+    O hateful error, melancholy's child,
+    Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men
+    The things that are not? O error, soon conceived,
+    Thou never comest unto a happy birth,
+    But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee!
+  TITINIUS. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus?
+  MESSALA. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet
+    The noble Brutus, thrusting this report
+    Into his ears. I may say "thrusting" it,
+    For piercing steel and darts envenomed
+    Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus
+    As tidings of this sight.
+  TITINIUS. Hie you, Messala,
+    And I will seek for Pindarus the while.        Exit Messala.
+    Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?
+    Did I not meet thy friends? And did not they
+    Put on my brows this wreath of victory,
+    And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?
+    Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything!  
+    But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
+    Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
+    Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,
+    And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.
+    By your leave, gods, this is a Roman's part.
+    Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart.
+                                                  Kills himself.
+
+       Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato,
+                         and others.
+
+  BRUTUS. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?
+  MESSALA. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.
+  BRUTUS. Titinius' face is upward.
+  CATO. He is slain.
+  BRUTUS. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
+    Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords
+    In our own proper entrails.                     Low alarums.
+  CATO. Brave Titinius!
+    Look whe'er he have not crown'd dead Cassius!  
+  BRUTUS. Are yet two Romans living such as these?
+    The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!
+    It is impossible that ever Rome
+    Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe moe tears
+    To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
+    I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.
+    Come therefore, and to Thasos send his body;
+    His funerals shall not be in our camp,
+    Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come,
+    And come, young Cato; let us to the field.
+    Labio and Flavio, set our battles on.
+    'Tis three o'clock, and Romans, yet ere night
+    We shall try fortune in a second fight.              Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Another part of the field.
+
+Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, young Cato,
+Lucilius, and others.
+
+  BRUTUS. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!
+  CATO. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?
+    I will proclaim my name about the field.
+    I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
+    A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
+    I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
+  BRUTUS. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;
+    Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus!       Exit.
+  LUCILIUS. O young and noble Cato, art thou down?
+    Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius,
+    And mayst be honor'd, being Cato's son.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. Yield, or thou diest.
+  LUCILIUS. Only I yield to die.
+    [Offers money.] There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight:
+    Kill Brutus, and be honor'd in his death.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. We must not. A noble prisoner!  
+  SECOND SOLDIER. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en.
+  FIRST SOLDIER. I'll tell the news. Here comes the general.
+
+                         Enter Antony.
+
+    Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord.
+  ANTONY. Where is he?
+  LUCILIUS. Safe, Antony, Brutus is safe enough.
+    I dare assure thee that no enemy
+    Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus;
+    The gods defend him from so great a shame!
+    When you do find him, or alive or dead,
+    He will be found like Brutus, like himself.
+  ANTONY. This is not Brutus, friend, but, I assure you,
+    A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,
+    Give him all kindness; I had rather have
+    Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
+    And see wheer Brutus be alive or dead,
+    And bring us word unto Octavius' tent
+    How everything is chanced.                           Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Another part of the field.
+
+Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.
+
+  BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.
+  CLITUS. Statilius show'd the torchlight, but, my lord,
+    He came not back. He is or ta'en or slain.
+  BRUTUS. Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word:
+    It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.        Whispers.
+  CLITUS. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.
+  BRUTUS. Peace then, no words.
+  CLITUS. I'll rather kill myself.
+  BRUTUS. Hark thee, Dardanius.                        Whispers.
+  DARDANIUS. Shall I do such a deed?
+  CLITUS. O Dardanius!
+  DARDANIUS. O Clitus!
+  CLITUS. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
+  DARDANIUS. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.
+  CLITUS. Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
+    That it runs over even at his eyes.
+  BRUTUS. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word.  
+  VOLUMNIUS. What says my lord?
+  BRUTUS. Why, this, Volumnius:
+    The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me
+    Two several times by night; at Sardis once,
+    And this last night here in Philippi fields.
+    I know my hour is come.
+  VOLUMNIUS. Not so, my lord.
+  BRUTUS. Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius.
+    Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
+    Our enemies have beat us to the pit;            Low alarums.
+    It is more worthy to leap in ourselves
+    Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
+    Thou know'st that we two went to school together;
+    Even for that our love of old, I prithee,
+    Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.
+  VOLUMNIUS. That's not an office for a friend, my lord.
+                                                   Alarum still.
+  CLITUS. Fly, fly, my lord, there is no tarrying here.
+  BRUTUS. Farewell to you, and you, and you, Volumnius.
+    Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;  
+    Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen,
+    My heart doth joy that yet in all my life
+    I found no man but he was true to me.
+    I shall have glory by this losing day,
+    More than Octavius and Mark Antony
+    By this vile conquest shall attain unto.
+    So, fare you well at once, for Brutus' tongue
+    Hath almost ended his life's history.
+    Night hangs upon mine eyes, my bones would rest
+    That have but labor'd to attain this hour.
+                            Alarum. Cry within, "Fly, fly, fly!"
+  CLITUS. Fly, my lord, fly.
+  BRUTUS. Hence! I will follow.
+                        Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.
+    I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord.
+    Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
+    Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in it.
+    Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
+    While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
+  STRATO. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.  
+  BRUTUS. Farewell, good Strato.              Runs on his sword.
+    Caesar, now be still;
+    I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.            Dies.
+
+     Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Messala,
+                 Lucilius, and the Army.
+
+  OCTAVIUS. What man is that?
+  MESSALA. My master's man. Strato, where is thy master?
+  STRATO. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala:
+    The conquerors can but make a fire of him;
+    For Brutus only overcame himself,
+    And no man else hath honor by his death.
+  LUCILIUS. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,
+    That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true.
+  OCTAVIUS. All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.
+    Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
+  STRATO. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.
+  OCTAVIUS. Do so, good Messala.
+  MESSALA. How died my master, Strato?  
+  STRATO. I held the sword, and he did run on it.
+  MESSALA. Octavius, then take him to follow thee
+    That did the latest service to my master.
+  ANTONY. This was the noblest Roman of them all.
+    All the conspirators, save only he,
+    Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;
+    He only, in a general honest thought
+    And common good to all, made one of them.
+    His life was gentle, and the elements
+    So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up
+    And say to all the world, "This was a man!"
+  OCTAVIUS. According to his virtue let us use him
+    With all respect and rites of burial.
+    Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie,
+    Most like a soldier, ordered honorably.
+    So call the field to rest, and let's away,
+    To part the glories of this happy day.              Exeunt.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+1606
+
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+      Lear, King of Britain.
+      King of France.
+      Duke of Burgundy.
+      Duke of Cornwall.
+      Duke of Albany.
+      Earl of Kent.
+      Earl of Gloucester.
+      Edgar, son of Gloucester.
+      Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester.
+      Curan, a courtier.
+      Old Man, tenant to Gloucester.
+      Doctor.
+      Lear's Fool.
+      Oswald, steward to Goneril.
+      A Captain under Edmund's command.
+      Gentlemen.
+      A Herald.
+      Servants to Cornwall.
+
+      Goneril, daughter to Lear.
+      Regan, daughter to Lear.
+      Cordelia, daughter to Lear.
+
+      Knights attending on Lear, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers,
+        Attendants.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+Scene: - Britain.
+
+
+ACT I. Scene I.
+[King Lear's Palace.]
+
+Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. [Kent and Glouceste converse.
+Edmund stands back.]
+
+  Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than
+     Cornwall.
+  Glou. It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the
+     kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for
+     equalities are so weigh'd that curiosity in neither can make
+     choice of either's moiety.
+  Kent. Is not this your son, my lord?
+  Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often
+     blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't.
+  Kent. I cannot conceive you.
+  Glou. Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon she grew
+     round-womb'd, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she
+     had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?
+  Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so
+     proper.
+  Glou. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than
+     this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came
+     something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was  
+     his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the
+     whoreson must be acknowledged.- Do you know this noble gentleman,
+     Edmund?
+  Edm. [comes forward] No, my lord.
+  Glou. My Lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable
+     friend.
+  Edm. My services to your lordship.
+  Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better.
+  Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.
+  Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.
+                                                 Sound a sennet.
+     The King is coming.
+
+      Enter one bearing a coronet; then Lear; then the Dukes of
+      Albany and Cornwall; next, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, with
+                              Followers.
+
+  Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
+  Glou. I shall, my liege.
+                                 Exeunt [Gloucester and Edmund].
+  Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.
+     Give me the map there. Know we have divided  
+     In three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent
+     To shake all cares and business from our age,
+     Conferring them on younger strengths while we
+     Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,
+     And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
+     We have this hour a constant will to publish
+     Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
+     May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
+     Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
+     Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
+     And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters
+     (Since now we will divest us both of rule,
+     Interest of territory, cares of state),
+     Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
+     That we our largest bounty may extend
+     Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,
+     Our eldest-born, speak first.
+  Gon. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
+     Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;
+     Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;  
+     No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
+     As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found;
+     A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable.
+     Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
+  Cor. [aside] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.
+  Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
+     With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
+     With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
+     We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue
+     Be this perpetual.- What says our second daughter,
+     Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.
+  Reg. Sir, I am made
+     Of the selfsame metal that my sister is,
+     And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
+     I find she names my very deed of love;
+     Only she comes too short, that I profess
+     Myself an enemy to all other joys
+     Which the most precious square of sense possesses,
+     And find I am alone felicitate
+     In your dear Highness' love.  
+  Cor. [aside] Then poor Cordelia!
+     And yet not so; since I am sure my love's
+     More richer than my tongue.
+  Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever
+     Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,
+     No less in space, validity, and pleasure
+     Than that conferr'd on Goneril.- Now, our joy,
+     Although the last, not least; to whose young love
+     The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
+     Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw
+     A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
+  Cor. Nothing, my lord.
+  Lear. Nothing?
+  Cor. Nothing.
+  Lear. Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again.
+  Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
+     My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
+     According to my bond; no more nor less.
+  Lear. How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,
+     Lest it may mar your fortunes.  
+  Cor. Good my lord,
+     You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I
+     Return those duties back as are right fit,
+     Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
+     Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
+     They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
+     That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
+     Half my love with him, half my care and duty.
+     Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
+     To love my father all.
+  Lear. But goes thy heart with this?
+  Cor. Ay, good my lord.
+  Lear. So young, and so untender?
+  Cor. So young, my lord, and true.
+  Lear. Let it be so! thy truth then be thy dower!
+     For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
+     The mysteries of Hecate and the night;
+     By all the operation of the orbs
+     From whom we do exist and cease to be;
+     Here I disclaim all my paternal care,  
+     Propinquity and property of blood,
+     And as a stranger to my heart and me
+     Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
+     Or he that makes his generation messes
+     To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
+     Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
+     As thou my sometime daughter.
+  Kent. Good my liege-
+  Lear. Peace, Kent!
+     Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
+     I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest
+     On her kind nursery.- Hence and avoid my sight!-
+     So be my grave my peace as here I give
+     Her father's heart from her! Call France! Who stirs?
+     Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany,
+     With my two daughters' dowers digest this third;
+     Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
+     I do invest you jointly in my power,
+     Preeminence, and all the large effects
+     That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,  
+     With reservation of an hundred knights,
+     By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
+     Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain
+     The name, and all th' additions to a king. The sway,
+     Revenue, execution of the rest,
+     Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,
+     This coronet part betwixt you.
+  Kent. Royal Lear,
+     Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
+     Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
+     As my great patron thought on in my prayers-
+  Lear. The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.
+  Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
+     The region of my heart! Be Kent unmannerly
+     When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?
+     Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak
+     When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound
+     When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom;
+     And in thy best consideration check
+     This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgment,  
+     Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,
+     Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
+     Reverbs no hollowness.
+  Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more!
+  Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn
+     To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it,
+     Thy safety being the motive.
+  Lear. Out of my sight!
+  Kent. See better, Lear, and let me still remain
+     The true blank of thine eye.
+  Lear. Now by Apollo-
+  Kent. Now by Apollo, King,
+     Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
+  Lear. O vassal! miscreant!
+                                   [Lays his hand on his sword.]
+  Alb., Corn. Dear sir, forbear!
+  Kent. Do!
+     Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
+     Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift,
+     Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,  
+     I'll tell thee thou dost evil.
+  Lear. Hear me, recreant!
+     On thine allegiance, hear me!
+     Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow-
+     Which we durst never yet- and with strain'd pride
+     To come between our sentence and our power,-
+     Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,-
+     Our potency made good, take thy reward.
+     Five days we do allot thee for provision
+     To shield thee from diseases of the world,
+     And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
+     Upon our kingdom. If, on the tenth day following,
+     Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
+     The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,
+     This shall not be revok'd.
+  Kent. Fare thee well, King. Since thus thou wilt appear,
+     Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
+     [To Cordelia] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
+     That justly think'st and hast most rightly said!
+     [To Regan and Goneril] And your large speeches may your deeds  
+        approve,
+     That good effects may spring from words of love.
+     Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;
+     He'll shape his old course in a country new.
+Exit.
+
+  Flourish. Enter Gloucester, with France and Burgundy; Attendants.
+
+  Glou. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
+  Lear. My Lord of Burgundy,
+     We first address toward you, who with this king
+     Hath rivall'd for our daughter. What in the least
+     Will you require in present dower with her,
+     Or cease your quest of love?
+  Bur. Most royal Majesty,
+     I crave no more than hath your Highness offer'd,
+     Nor will you tender less.
+  Lear. Right noble Burgundy,
+     When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
+     But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands.
+     If aught within that little seeming substance,
+     Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd,  
+     And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,
+     She's there, and she is yours.
+  Bur. I know no answer.
+  Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes,
+     Unfriended, new adopted to our hate,
+     Dow'r'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
+     Take her, or leave her?
+  Bur. Pardon me, royal sir.
+     Election makes not up on such conditions.
+  Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the pow'r that made me,
+     I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For you, great King,
+     I would not from your love make such a stray
+     To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you
+     T' avert your liking a more worthier way
+     Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
+     Almost t' acknowledge hers.
+  France. This is most strange,
+     That she that even but now was your best object,
+     The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
+     Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time  
+     Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle
+     So many folds of favour. Sure her offence
+     Must be of such unnatural degree
+     That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
+     Fall'n into taint; which to believe of her
+     Must be a faith that reason without miracle
+     Should never plant in me.
+  Cor. I yet beseech your Majesty,
+     If for I want that glib and oily art
+     To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend,
+     I'll do't before I speak- that you make known
+     It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness,
+     No unchaste action or dishonoured step,
+     That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour;
+     But even for want of that for which I am richer-
+     A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
+     As I am glad I have not, though not to have it
+     Hath lost me in your liking.
+  Lear. Better thou
+     Hadst not been born than not t' have pleas'd me better.  
+  France. Is it but this- a tardiness in nature
+     Which often leaves the history unspoke
+     That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy,
+     What say you to the lady? Love's not love
+     When it is mingled with regards that stands
+     Aloof from th' entire point. Will you have her?
+     She is herself a dowry.
+  Bur. Royal Lear,
+     Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
+     And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
+     Duchess of Burgundy.
+  Lear. Nothing! I have sworn; I am firm.
+  Bur. I am sorry then you have so lost a father
+     That you must lose a husband.
+  Cor. Peace be with Burgundy!
+     Since that respects of fortune are his love,
+     I shall not be his wife.
+  France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
+     Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!
+     Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.  
+     Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.
+     Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect
+     My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.
+     Thy dow'rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,
+     Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.
+     Not all the dukes in wat'rish Burgundy
+     Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.
+     Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind.
+     Thou losest here, a better where to find.
+  Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine; for we
+     Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
+     That face of hers again. Therefore be gone
+     Without our grace, our love, our benison.
+     Come, noble Burgundy.
+             Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, [Cornwall, Albany,
+                                    Gloucester, and Attendants].
+  France. Bid farewell to your sisters.
+  Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
+     Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are;
+     And, like a sister, am most loath to call  
+     Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father.
+     To your professed bosoms I commit him;
+     But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,
+     I would prefer him to a better place!
+     So farewell to you both.
+  Gon. Prescribe not us our duties.
+  Reg. Let your study
+     Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
+     At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,
+     And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
+  Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.
+     Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
+     Well may you prosper!
+  France. Come, my fair Cordelia.
+                                     Exeunt France and Cordelia.
+  Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly
+     appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night.
+  Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next month with us.
+  Gon. You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we
+     have made of it hath not been little. He always lov'd our  
+     sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her
+     off appears too grossly.
+  Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly
+     known himself.
+  Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then
+     must we look to receive from his age, not alone the
+     imperfections of long-ingraffed condition, but therewithal
+     the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with
+     them.
+  Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this
+     of Kent's banishment.
+  Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and
+     him. Pray you let's hit together. If our father carry authority
+     with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his
+     will but offend us.
+  Reg. We shall further think on't.
+  Gon. We must do something, and i' th' heat.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+The Earl of Gloucester's Castle.
+
+Enter [Edmund the] Bastard solus, [with a letter].
+
+  Edm. Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
+     My services are bound. Wherefore should I
+     Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
+     The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
+     For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
+     Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
+     When my dimensions are as well compact,
+     My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
+     As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
+     With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
+     Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
+     More composition and fierce quality
+     Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
+     Go to th' creating a whole tribe of fops
+     Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well then,
+     Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.
+     Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
+     As to th' legitimate. Fine word- 'legitimate'!
+     Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,  
+     And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
+     Shall top th' legitimate. I grow; I prosper.
+     Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
+
+                          Enter Gloucester.
+
+  Glou. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choler parted?
+     And the King gone to-night? subscrib'd his pow'r?
+     Confin'd to exhibition? All this done
+     Upon the gad? Edmund, how now? What news?
+  Edm. So please your lordship, none.
+                                           [Puts up the letter.]
+  Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
+  Edm. I know no news, my lord.
+  Glou. What paper were you reading?
+  Edm. Nothing, my lord.
+  Glou. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your
+     pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide
+     itself. Let's see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need
+     spectacles.
+  Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother
+     that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have  
+     perus'd, I find it not fit for your o'erlooking.
+  Glou. Give me the letter, sir.
+  Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as
+     in part I understand them, are to blame.
+  Glou. Let's see, let's see!
+  Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as
+     an essay or taste of my virtue.
+
+  Glou. (reads) 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world
+     bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us
+     till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle
+     and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways,
+     not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that
+     of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I
+     wak'd him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live
+     the beloved of your brother,
+                                                        'EDGAR.'
+
+     Hum! Conspiracy? 'Sleep till I wak'd him, you should enjoy half
+     his revenue.' My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart
+     and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?
+  Edm. It was not brought me, my lord: there's the cunning of it. I  
+     found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.
+  Glou. You know the character to be your brother's?
+  Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his;
+     but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.
+  Glou. It is his.
+  Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the
+     contents.
+  Glou. Hath he never before sounded you in this business?
+  Edm. Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit
+     that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father
+     should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.
+  Glou. O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred
+     villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than
+     brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him. I'll apprehend him. Abominable
+     villain! Where is he?
+  Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend
+     your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him
+     better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course;
+     where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his
+     purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour and shake  
+     in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life
+     for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your
+     honour, and to no other pretence of danger.
+  Glou. Think you so?
+  Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall
+     hear us confer of this and by an auricular assurance have your
+     satisfaction, and that without any further delay than this very
+     evening.
+  Glou. He cannot be such a monster.
+  Edm. Nor is not, sure.
+  Glou. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him.
+     Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray
+     you; frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate
+     myself to be in a due resolution.
+  Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I
+     shall find means, and acquaint you withal.
+  Glou. These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to
+     us. Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet
+     nature finds itself scourg'd by the sequent effects. Love cools,
+     friendship falls off, brothers divide. In cities, mutinies; in  
+     countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond crack'd
+     'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the
+     prediction; there's son against father: the King falls from bias
+     of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best
+     of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all
+     ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out
+     this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it
+     carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banish'd! his
+     offence, honesty! 'Tis strange.                       Exit.
+  Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are
+     sick in fortune, often the surfeit of our own behaviour, we make
+     guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if
+     we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion;
+     knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical pre-dominance;
+     drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforc'd obedience of
+     planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine
+     thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay
+     his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father
+     compounded with my mother under the Dragon's Tail, and my
+     nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and  
+     lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am, had the
+     maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
+     Edgar-
+
+                             Enter Edgar.
+
+     and pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy. My
+     cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.
+     O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi.
+  Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are you
+     in?
+  Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day,
+     what should follow these eclipses.
+  Edg. Do you busy yourself with that?
+  Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as
+     of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death,
+     dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state,
+     menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless
+     diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts,
+     nuptial breaches, and I know not what.
+  Edg. How long have you been a sectary astronomical?
+  Edm. Come, come! When saw you my father last?  
+  Edg. The night gone by.
+  Edm. Spake you with him?
+  Edg. Ay, two hours together.
+  Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by
+     word or countenance
+  Edg. None at all.
+  Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him; and at my
+     entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath
+     qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so
+     rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would
+     scarcely allay.
+  Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.
+  Edm. That's my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till
+     the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me
+     to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my
+     lord speak. Pray ye, go! There's my key. If you do stir abroad,
+     go arm'd.
+  Edg. Arm'd, brother?
+  Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best. Go arm'd. I am no honest man
+     if there be any good meaning toward you. I have told you what I  
+     have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and
+     horror of it. Pray you, away!
+  Edg. Shall I hear from you anon?
+  Edm. I do serve you in this business.
+                                                     Exit Edgar.
+     A credulous father! and a brother noble,
+     Whose nature is so far from doing harms
+     That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
+     My practices ride easy! I see the business.
+     Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit;
+     All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
+Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+The Duke of Albany's Palace.
+
+Enter Goneril and [her] Steward [Oswald].
+
+  Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
+  Osw. Ay, madam.
+  Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me! Every hour
+     He flashes into one gross crime or other
+     That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it.
+     His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
+     On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
+     I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.
+     If you come slack of former services,
+     You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
+                                                 [Horns within.]
+  Osw. He's coming, madam; I hear him.
+  Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please,
+     You and your fellows. I'd have it come to question.
+     If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
+     Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
+     Not to be overrul'd. Idle old man,  
+     That still would manage those authorities
+     That he hath given away! Now, by my life,
+     Old fools are babes again, and must be us'd
+     With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus'd.
+     Remember what I have said.
+  Osw. Very well, madam.
+  Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among you.
+     What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.
+     I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
+     That I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister
+     To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+The Duke of Albany's Palace.
+
+Enter Kent, [disguised].
+
+  Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow,
+     That can my speech defuse, my good intent
+     May carry through itself to that full issue
+     For which I raz'd my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent,
+     If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
+     So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov'st,
+     Shall find thee full of labours.
+
+         Horns within. Enter Lear, [Knights,] and Attendants.
+
+  Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. [Exit
+     an Attendant.] How now? What art thou?
+  Kent. A man, sir.
+  Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?
+  Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him truly
+     that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to
+     converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear  
+     judgment, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish.
+  Lear. What art thou?
+  Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.
+  Lear. If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a king, thou
+     art poor enough. What wouldst thou?
+  Kent. Service.
+  Lear. Who wouldst thou serve?
+  Kent. You.
+  Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow?
+  Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would
+     fain call master.
+  Lear. What's that?
+  Kent. Authority.
+  Lear. What services canst thou do?
+  Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in
+     telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which
+     ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of me
+     is diligence.
+  Lear. How old art thou?
+  Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to  
+     dote on her for anything. I have years on my back forty-eight.
+  Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after
+     dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner!
+     Where's my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither.
+
+                                            [Exit an attendant.]
+
+                     Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+     You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
+  Osw. So please you-                                      Exit.
+  Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
+     [Exit a Knight.] Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's
+     asleep.
+
+                            [Enter Knight]
+
+     How now? Where's that mongrel?
+  Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
+  Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I call'd him?  
+  Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.
+  Lear. He would not?
+  Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgment
+     your Highness is not entertain'd with that ceremonious affection
+     as you were wont. There's a great abatement of kindness appears
+     as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also
+     and your daughter.
+  Lear. Ha! say'st thou so?
+  Knight. I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for
+     my duty cannot be silent when I think your Highness wrong'd.
+  Lear. Thou but rememb'rest me of mine own conception. I have
+     perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather
+     blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence
+     and purpose of unkindness. I will look further into't. But
+     where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days.
+  Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool
+     hath much pined away.
+  Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my
+     daughter I would speak with her. [Exit Knight.] Go you, call
+     hither my fool.  
+                                            [Exit an Attendant.]
+
+                     Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+     O, you, sir, you! Come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir?
+  Osw. My lady's father.
+  Lear. 'My lady's father'? My lord's knave! You whoreson dog! you
+     slave! you cur!
+  Osw. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
+  Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
+                                                  [Strikes him.]
+  Osw. I'll not be strucken, my lord.
+  Kent. Nor tripp'd neither, you base football player?
+                                            [Trips up his heels.
+  Lear. I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st me, and I'll love thee.
+  Kent. Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences. Away,
+     away! If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but
+     away! Go to! Have you wisdom? So.
+                                               [Pushes him out.]
+  Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee. There's earnest of thy  
+     service.                                     [Gives money.]
+
+                             Enter Fool.
+
+  Fool. Let me hire him too. Here's my coxcomb.
+                                          [Offers Kent his cap.]
+  Lear. How now, my pretty knave? How dost thou?
+  Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
+  Kent. Why, fool?
+  Fool. Why? For taking one's part that's out of favour. Nay, an thou
+     canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly.
+     There, take my coxcomb! Why, this fellow hath banish'd two on's
+     daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will. If
+     thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.- How now,
+     nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!
+  Lear. Why, my boy?
+  Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself.
+     There's mine! beg another of thy daughters.
+  Lear. Take heed, sirrah- the whip.
+  Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipp'd out, when  
+     Lady the brach may stand by th' fire and stink.
+  Lear. A pestilent gall to me!
+  Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
+  Lear. Do.
+  Fool. Mark it, nuncle.
+          Have more than thou showest,
+          Speak less than thou knowest,
+          Lend less than thou owest,
+          Ride more than thou goest,
+          Learn more than thou trowest,
+          Set less than thou throwest;
+          Leave thy drink and thy whore,
+          And keep in-a-door,
+          And thou shalt have more
+          Than two tens to a score.
+  Kent. This is nothing, fool.
+  Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfeed lawyer- you gave me
+     nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
+  Lear. Why, no, boy. Nothing can be made out of nothing.
+  Fool. [to Kent] Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land  
+     comes to. He will not believe a fool.
+  Lear. A bitter fool!
+  Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter
+     fool and a sweet fool?
+  Lear. No, lad; teach me.
+  Fool.   That lord that counsell'd thee
+            To give away thy land,
+          Come place him here by me-
+            Do thou for him stand.
+          The sweet and bitter fool
+            Will presently appear;
+          The one in motley here,
+            The other found out there.
+  Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy?
+  Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast
+     born with.
+  Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord.
+  Fool. No, faith; lords and great men will not let me. If I had a
+     monopoly out, they would have part on't. And ladies too, they
+     will not let me have all the fool to myself; they'll be  
+     snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two
+     crowns.
+  Lear. What two crowns shall they be?
+  Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' th' middle and eat up the
+     meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i'
+     th' middle and gav'st away both parts, thou bor'st thine ass on
+     thy back o'er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown
+     when thou gav'st thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in
+     this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so.
+
+     [Sings]    Fools had ne'er less grace in a year,
+                  For wise men are grown foppish;
+                They know not how their wits to wear,
+                  Their manners are so apish.
+
+  Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
+  Fool. I have us'd it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st thy daughters
+     thy mother; for when thou gav'st them the rod, and put'st down
+     thine own breeches,
+  
+     [Sings]    Then they for sudden joy did weep,
+                  And I for sorrow sung,
+                That such a king should play bo-peep
+                  And go the fools among.
+
+     Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to
+     lie. I would fain learn to lie.
+  Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd.
+  Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They'll have me
+     whipp'd for speaking true; thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying;
+     and sometimes I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be
+     any kind o' thing than a fool! And yet I would not be thee,
+     nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides and left nothing
+     i' th' middle. Here comes one o' the parings.
+
+                            Enter Goneril.
+
+  Lear. How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you
+     are too much o' late i' th' frown.
+  Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for  
+     her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better
+     than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art nothing.
+     [To Goneril] Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your face
+     bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum!
+
+            He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
+            Weary of all, shall want some.-
+
+     [Points at Lear] That's a sheal'd peascod.
+  Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool,
+     But other of your insolent retinue
+     Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth
+     In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,
+     I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
+     To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful,
+     By what yourself, too, late have spoke and done,
+     That you protect this course, and put it on
+     By your allowance; which if you should, the fault
+     Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
+     Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,  
+     Might in their working do you that offence
+     Which else were shame, that then necessity
+     Must call discreet proceeding.
+  Fool. For you know, nuncle,
+
+          The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long
+          That it had it head bit off by it young.
+
+     So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
+  Lear. Are you our daughter?
+  Gon. Come, sir,
+     I would you would make use of that good wisdom
+     Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
+     These dispositions that of late transform you
+     From what you rightly are.
+  Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?
+     Whoop, Jug, I love thee!
+  Lear. Doth any here know me? This is not Lear.
+     Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?
+     Either his notion weakens, his discernings  
+     Are lethargied- Ha! waking? 'Tis not so!
+     Who is it that can tell me who I am?
+  Fool. Lear's shadow.
+  Lear. I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty,
+     Knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded
+     I had daughters.
+  Fool. Which they will make an obedient father.
+  Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman?
+  Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' th' savour
+     Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
+     To understand my purposes aright.
+     As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
+     Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
+     Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd, and bold
+     That this our court, infected with their manners,
+     Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust
+     Make it more like a tavern or a brothel
+     Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak
+     For instant remedy. Be then desir'd
+     By her that else will take the thing she begs  
+     A little to disquantity your train,
+     And the remainder that shall still depend
+     To be such men as may besort your age,
+     Which know themselves, and you.
+  Lear. Darkness and devils!
+     Saddle my horses! Call my train together!
+     Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee;
+     Yet have I left a daughter.
+  Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble
+     Make servants of their betters.
+
+                            Enter Albany.
+
+  Lear. Woe that too late repents!- O, sir, are you come?
+     Is it your will? Speak, sir!- Prepare my horses.
+     Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
+     More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child
+     Than the sea-monster!
+  Alb. Pray, sir, be patient.
+  Lear. [to Goneril] Detested kite, thou liest!  
+     My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
+     That all particulars of duty know
+     And in the most exact regard support
+     The worships of their name.- O most small fault,
+     How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
+     Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature
+     From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love
+     And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
+     Beat at this gate that let thy folly in  [Strikes his head.]
+     And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.
+  Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
+     Of what hath mov'd you.
+  Lear. It may be so, my lord.
+     Hear, Nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!
+     Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
+     To make this creature fruitful.
+     Into her womb convey sterility;
+     Dry up in her the organs of increase;
+     And from her derogate body never spring
+     A babe to honour her! If she must teem,  
+     Create her child of spleen, that it may live
+     And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her.
+     Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,
+     With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,
+     Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
+     To laughter and contempt, that she may feel
+     How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
+     To have a thankless child! Away, away!                Exit.
+  Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
+  Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause;
+     But let his disposition have that scope
+     That dotage gives it.
+
+                             Enter Lear.
+
+  Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
+     Within a fortnight?
+  Alb. What's the matter, sir?
+  Lear. I'll tell thee. [To Goneril] Life and death! I am asham'd
+     That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;  
+     That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
+     Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!
+     Th' untented woundings of a father's curse
+     Pierce every sense about thee!- Old fond eyes,
+     Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,
+     And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
+     To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this?
+     Let it be so. Yet have I left a daughter,
+     Who I am sure is kind and comfortable.
+     When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
+     She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find
+     That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
+     I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.
+                            Exeunt [Lear, Kent, and Attendants].
+  Gon. Do you mark that, my lord?
+  Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
+     To the great love I bear you -
+  Gon. Pray you, content.- What, Oswald, ho!
+     [To the Fool] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master!
+  Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry! Take the fool with thee.  
+
+          A fox when one has caught her,
+          And such a daughter,
+          Should sure to the slaughter,
+          If my cap would buy a halter.
+          So the fool follows after.                       Exit.
+  Gon. This man hath had good counsel! A hundred knights?
+     'Tis politic and safe to let him keep
+     At point a hundred knights; yes, that on every dream,
+     Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
+     He may enguard his dotage with their pow'rs
+     And hold our lives in mercy.- Oswald, I say!
+  Alb. Well, you may fear too far.
+  Gon. Safer than trust too far.
+     Let me still take away the harms I fear,
+     Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart.
+     What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister.
+     If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
+     When I have show'd th' unfitness-
+  
+                     Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+     How now, Oswald?
+     What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
+  Osw. Yes, madam.
+  Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse!
+     Inform her full of my particular fear,
+     And thereto add such reasons of your own
+     As may compact it more. Get you gone,
+     And hasten your return. [Exit Oswald.] No, no, my lord!
+     This milky gentleness and course of yours,
+     Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
+     You are much more at task for want of wisdom
+     Than prais'd for harmful mildness.
+  Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.
+     Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
+  Gon. Nay then-
+  Alb. Well, well; th' event.                            Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Court before the Duke of Albany's Palace.
+
+Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
+
+  Lear. Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my
+     daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her
+     demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I
+     shall be there afore you.
+  Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.
+Exit.
+  Fool. If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of
+     kibes?
+  Lear. Ay, boy.
+  Fool. Then I prithee be merry. Thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod.
+  Lear. Ha, ha, ha!
+  Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though
+     she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell
+     what I can tell.
+  Lear. What canst tell, boy?
+  Fool. She'll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou
+     canst tell why one's nose stands i' th' middle on's face?  
+  Lear. No.
+  Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose, that what a
+     man cannot smell out, 'a may spy into.
+  Lear. I did her wrong.
+  Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
+  Lear. No.
+  Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.
+  Lear. Why?
+  Fool. Why, to put's head in; not to give it away to his daughters,
+     and leave his horns without a case.
+  Lear. I will forget my nature. So kind a father!- Be my horses
+     ready?
+  Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars
+     are no moe than seven is a pretty reason.
+  Lear. Because they are not eight?
+  Fool. Yes indeed. Thou wouldst make a good fool.
+  Lear. To tak't again perforce! Monster ingratitude!
+  Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being
+     old before thy time.
+  Lear. How's that?  
+  Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
+  Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
+     Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
+
+                         [Enter a Gentleman.]
+
+     How now? Are the horses ready?
+  Gent. Ready, my lord.
+  Lear. Come, boy.
+  Fool. She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
+     Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT II. Scene I.
+A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester.
+
+Enter [Edmund the] Bastard and Curan, meeting.
+
+  Edm. Save thee, Curan.
+  Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him
+     notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will be
+     here with him this night.
+  Edm. How comes that?
+  Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad- I mean the
+     whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?
+  Edm. Not I. Pray you, what are they?
+  Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward 'twixt the two Dukes
+     of Cornwall and Albany?
+  Edm. Not a word.
+  Cur. You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.      Exit.
+  Edm. The Duke be here to-night? The better! best!
+     This weaves itself perforce into my business.
+     My father hath set guard to take my brother;
+     And I have one thing, of a queasy question,
+     Which I must act. Briefness and fortune, work!  
+     Brother, a word! Descend! Brother, I say!
+
+                             Enter Edgar.
+
+     My father watches. O sir, fly this place!
+     Intelligence is given where you are hid.
+     You have now the good advantage of the night.
+     Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
+     He's coming hither; now, i' th' night, i' th' haste,
+     And Regan with him. Have you nothing said
+     Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
+     Advise yourself.
+  Edg. I am sure on't, not a word.
+  Edm. I hear my father coming. Pardon me!
+     In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.
+     Draw, seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.-
+     Yield! Come before my father. Light, ho, here!
+     Fly, brother.- Torches, torches!- So farewell.
+                                                     Exit Edgar.
+     Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion  
+     Of my more fierce endeavour. [Stabs his arm.] I have seen
+        drunkards
+     Do more than this in sport.- Father, father!-
+     Stop, stop! No help?
+
+             Enter Gloucester, and Servants with torches.
+
+  Glou. Now, Edmund, where's the villain?
+  Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
+     Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
+     To stand 's auspicious mistress.
+  Glou. But where is he?
+  Edm. Look, sir, I bleed.
+  Glou. Where is the villain, Edmund?
+  Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could-
+  Glou. Pursue him, ho! Go after.        [Exeunt some Servants].
+     By no means what?
+  Edm. Persuade me to the murther of your lordship;
+     But that I told him the revenging gods
+     'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;  
+     Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond
+     The child was bound to th' father- sir, in fine,
+     Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
+     To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion
+     With his prepared sword he charges home
+     My unprovided body, lanch'd mine arm;
+     But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
+     Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to th' encounter,
+     Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
+     Full suddenly he fled.
+  Glou. Let him fly far.
+     Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
+     And found- dispatch. The noble Duke my master,
+     My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night.
+     By his authority I will proclaim it
+     That he which find, him shall deserve our thanks,
+     Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake;
+     He that conceals him, death.
+  Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent
+     And found him pight to do it, with curst speech  
+     I threaten'd to discover him. He replied,
+     'Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think,
+     If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
+     Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
+     Make thy words faith'd? No. What I should deny
+     (As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce
+     My very character), I'ld turn it all
+     To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice;
+     And thou must make a dullard of the world,
+     If they not thought the profits of my death
+     Were very pregnant and potential spurs
+     To make thee seek it.'
+  Glou. Strong and fast'ned villain!
+     Would he deny his letter? I never got him.
+                                                  Tucket within.
+     Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes.
+     All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not scape;
+     The Duke must grant me that. Besides, his picture
+     I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
+     May have due note of him, and of my land,  
+     Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
+     To make thee capable.
+
+                Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants.
+
+  Corn. How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither
+     (Which I can call but now) I have heard strange news.
+  Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short
+     Which can pursue th' offender. How dost, my lord?
+  Glou. O madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd!
+  Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life?
+     He whom my father nam'd? Your Edgar?
+  Glou. O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
+  Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous knights
+     That tend upon my father?
+  Glou. I know not, madam. 'Tis too bad, too bad!
+  Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
+  Reg. No marvel then though he were ill affected.
+     'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
+     To have th' expense and waste of his revenues.  
+     I have this present evening from my sister
+     Been well inform'd of them, and with such cautions
+     That, if they come to sojourn at my house,
+     I'll not be there.
+  Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
+     Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
+     A childlike office.
+  Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir.
+  Glou. He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd
+     This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
+  Corn. Is he pursued?
+  Glou. Ay, my good lord.
+  Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more
+     Be fear'd of doing harm. Make your own purpose,
+     How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,
+     Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
+     So much commend itself, you shall be ours.
+     Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
+     You we first seize on.
+  Edm. I shall serve you, sir,  
+     Truly, however else.
+  Glou. For him I thank your Grace.
+  Corn. You know not why we came to visit you-
+  Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd night.
+     Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,
+     Wherein we must have use of your advice.
+     Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
+     Of differences, which I best thought it fit
+     To answer from our home. The several messengers
+     From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
+     Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow
+     Your needful counsel to our business,
+     Which craves the instant use.
+  Glou. I serve you, madam.
+     Your Graces are right welcome.
+                                               Exeunt. Flourish.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Before Gloucester's Castle.
+
+Enter Kent and [Oswald the] Steward, severally.
+
+  Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house?
+  Kent. Ay.
+  Osw. Where may we set our horses?
+  Kent. I' th' mire.
+  Osw. Prithee, if thou lov'st me, tell me.
+  Kent. I love thee not.
+  Osw. Why then, I care not for thee.
+  Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for
+     me.
+  Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
+  Kent. Fellow, I know thee.
+  Osw. What dost thou know me for?
+  Kent. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud,
+     shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy,
+     worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd, action-taking, whoreson,
+     glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue;
+     one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of
+     good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave,  
+     beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch;
+     one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny the
+     least syllable of thy addition.
+  Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one
+     that's neither known of thee nor knows thee!
+  Kent. What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me!
+     Is it two days ago since I beat thee and tripp'd up thy heels
+     before the King? [Draws his sword.] Draw, you rogue! for, though
+     it be night, yet the moon shines. I'll make a sop o' th'
+     moonshine o' you. Draw, you whoreson cullionly barbermonger!
+     draw!
+  Osw. Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
+  Kent. Draw, you rascal! You come with letters against the King, and
+     take Vanity the puppet's part against the royalty of her father.
+     Draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks! Draw, you
+     rascal! Come your ways!
+  Osw. Help, ho! murther! help!
+  Kent. Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave!
+     Strike!                                        [Beats him.]  
+  Osw. Help, ho! murther! murther!
+
+      Enter Edmund, with his rapier drawn, Gloucester, Cornwall,
+                           Regan, Servants.
+
+  Edm. How now? What's the matter?                 Parts [them].
+  Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please! Come, I'll flesh ye!
+     Come on, young master!
+  Glou. Weapons? arms? What's the matter here?
+  Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives!
+     He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?
+  Reg. The messengers from our sister and the King
+  Corn. What is your difference? Speak.
+  Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord.
+  Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly
+     rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
+  Corn. Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a man?
+  Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir. A stonecutter or a painter could not have
+     made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade.
+  Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?  
+  Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd
+     At suit of his grey beard-
+  Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if
+     you'll give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into
+     mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. 'Spare my grey
+     beard,' you wagtail?
+  Corn. Peace, sirrah!
+     You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
+  Kent. Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.
+  Corn. Why art thou angry?
+  Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
+     Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
+     Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain
+     Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion
+     That in the natures of their lords rebel,
+     Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
+     Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
+     With every gale and vary of their masters,
+     Knowing naught (like dogs) but following.
+     A plague upon your epileptic visage!  
+     Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
+     Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain,
+     I'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
+  Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow?
+  Glou. How fell you out? Say that.
+  Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy
+     Than I and such a knave.
+  Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
+  Kent. His countenance likes me not.
+  Corn. No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
+  Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain.
+     I have seen better faces in my time
+     Than stands on any shoulder that I see
+     Before me at this instant.
+  Corn. This is some fellow
+     Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
+     A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb
+     Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he!
+     An honest mind and plain- he must speak truth!
+     An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.  
+     These kind of knaves I know which in this plainness
+     Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends
+     Than twenty silly-ducking observants
+     That stretch their duties nicely.
+  Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
+     Under th' allowance of your great aspect,
+     Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
+     On flickering Phoebus' front-
+  Corn. What mean'st by this?
+  Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I
+     know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that beguil'd you in a plain
+     accent was a plain knave, which, for my part, I will not be,
+     though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to't.
+  Corn. What was th' offence you gave him?
+  Osw. I never gave him any.
+     It pleas'd the King his master very late
+     To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
+     When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
+     Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd
+     And put upon him such a deal of man  
+     That worthied him, got praises of the King
+     For him attempting who was self-subdu'd;
+     And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
+     Drew on me here again.
+  Kent. None of these rogues and cowards
+     But Ajax is their fool.
+  Corn. Fetch forth the stocks!
+     You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart,
+     We'll teach you-
+  Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn.
+     Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King;
+     On whose employment I was sent to you.
+     You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
+     Against the grace and person of my master,
+     Stocking his messenger.
+  Corn. Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,
+     There shall he sit till noon.
+  Reg. Till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night too!
+  Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
+     You should not use me so.  
+  Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will.
+  Corn. This is a fellow of the selfsame colour
+     Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!
+                                             Stocks brought out.
+  Glou. Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.
+     His fault is much, and the good King his master
+     Will check him for't. Your purpos'd low correction
+     Is such as basest and contemn'dest wretches
+     For pilf'rings and most common trespasses
+     Are punish'd with. The King must take it ill
+     That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
+     Should have him thus restrain'd.
+  Corn. I'll answer that.
+  Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse,
+     To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
+     For following her affairs. Put in his legs.-
+                                    [Kent is put in the stocks.]
+     Come, my good lord, away.
+                           Exeunt [all but Gloucester and Kent].
+  Glou. I am sorry for thee, friend. 'Tis the Duke's pleasure,  
+     Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
+     Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd. I'll entreat for thee.
+  Kent. Pray do not, sir. I have watch'd and travell'd hard.
+     Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
+     A good man's fortune may grow out at heels.
+     Give you good morrow!
+  Glou. The Duke 's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken.
+Exit.
+  Kent. Good King, that must approve the common saw,
+     Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
+     To the warm sun!
+     Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
+     That by thy comfortable beams I may
+     Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles
+     But misery. I know 'tis from Cordelia,
+     Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
+     Of my obscured course- and [reads] 'shall find time
+     From this enormous state, seeking to give
+     Losses their remedies'- All weary and o'erwatch'd,
+     Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold  
+     This shameful lodging.
+     Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel.
+                                                         Sleeps.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+The open country.
+
+Enter Edgar.
+
+  Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd,
+     And by the happy hollow of a tree
+     Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place
+     That guard and most unusual vigilance
+     Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape,
+     I will preserve myself; and am bethought
+     To take the basest and most poorest shape
+     That ever penury, in contempt of man,
+     Brought near to beast. My face I'll grime with filth,
+     Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots,
+     And with presented nakedness outface
+     The winds and persecutions of the sky.
+     The country gives me proof and precedent
+     Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
+     Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
+     Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
+     And with this horrible object, from low farms,  
+     Poor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills,
+     Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,
+     Enforce their charity. 'Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!'
+     That's something yet! Edgar I nothing am.             Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+Before Gloucester's Castle; Kent in the stocks.
+
+Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.
+
+  Lear. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,
+     And not send back my messenger.
+  Gent. As I learn'd,
+     The night before there was no purpose in them
+     Of this remove.
+  Kent. Hail to thee, noble master!
+  Lear. Ha!
+     Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?
+  Kent. No, my lord.
+  Fool. Ha, ha! look! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the
+     head, dogs and bears by th' neck, monkeys by th' loins, and men
+     by th' legs. When a man's over-lusty at legs, then he wears
+     wooden nether-stocks.
+  Lear. What's he that hath so much thy place mistook
+     To set thee here?
+  Kent. It is both he and she-
+     Your son and daughter.  
+  Lear. No.
+  Kent. Yes.
+  Lear. No, I say.
+  Kent. I say yea.
+  Lear. No, no, they would not!
+  Kent. Yes, they have.
+  Lear. By Jupiter, I swear no!
+  Kent. By Juno, I swear ay!
+  Lear. They durst not do't;
+     They would not, could not do't. 'Tis worse than murther
+     To do upon respect such violent outrage.
+     Resolve me with all modest haste which way
+     Thou mightst deserve or they impose this usage,
+     Coming from us.
+  Kent. My lord, when at their home
+     I did commend your Highness' letters to them,
+     Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
+     My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
+     Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
+     From Goneril his mistress salutations;  
+     Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,
+     Which presently they read; on whose contents,
+     They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse,
+     Commanded me to follow and attend
+     The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks,
+     And meeting here the other messenger,
+     Whose welcome I perceiv'd had poison'd mine-
+     Being the very fellow which of late
+     Display'd so saucily against your Highness-
+     Having more man than wit about me, drew.
+     He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries.
+     Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
+     The shame which here it suffers.
+  Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
+
+          Fathers that wear rags
+            Do make their children blind;
+          But fathers that bear bags
+            Shall see their children kind.
+          Fortune, that arrant whore,  
+          Ne'er turns the key to th' poor.
+
+     But for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy
+     daughters as thou canst tell in a year.
+  Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!
+     Hysterica passio! Down, thou climbing sorrow!
+     Thy element's below! Where is this daughter?
+  Kent. With the Earl, sir, here within.
+  Lear. Follow me not;
+     Stay here.                                            Exit.
+  Gent. Made you no more offence but what you speak of?
+  Kent. None.
+     How chance the King comes with so small a number?
+  Fool. An thou hadst been set i' th' stocks for that question,
+     thou'dst well deserv'd it.
+  Kent. Why, fool?
+  Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no
+     labouring i' th' winter. All that follow their noses are led by
+     their eyes but blind men, and there's not a nose among twenty
+     but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great  
+     wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following
+     it; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after.
+     When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I
+     would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
+          That sir which serves and seeks for gain,
+            And follows but for form,
+          Will pack when it begins to rain
+            And leave thee in the storm.
+          But I will tarry; the fool will stay,
+            And let the wise man fly.
+          The knave turns fool that runs away;
+            The fool no knave, perdy.
+  Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool?
+  Fool. Not i' th' stocks, fool.
+
+                      Enter Lear and Gloucester
+
+  Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?
+     They have travell'd all the night? Mere fetches-
+     The images of revolt and flying off!  
+     Fetch me a better answer.
+  Glou. My dear lord,
+     You know the fiery quality of the Duke,
+     How unremovable and fix'd he is
+     In his own course.
+  Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!
+     Fiery? What quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,
+     I'ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
+  Glou. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.
+  Lear. Inform'd them? Dost thou understand me, man?
+  Glou. Ay, my good lord.
+  Lear. The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
+     Would with his daughter speak, commands her service.
+     Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!
+     Fiery? the fiery Duke? Tell the hot Duke that-
+     No, but not yet! May be he is not well.
+     Infirmity doth still neglect all office
+     Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves
+     When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
+     To suffer with the body. I'll forbear;  
+     And am fallen out with my more headier will,
+     To take the indispos'd and sickly fit
+     For the sound man.- Death on my state! Wherefore
+     Should be sit here? This act persuades me
+     That this remotion of the Duke and her
+     Is practice only. Give me my servant forth.
+     Go tell the Duke and 's wife I'ld speak with them-
+     Now, presently. Bid them come forth and hear me,
+     Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum
+     Till it cry sleep to death.
+  Glou. I would have all well betwixt you.                 Exit.
+  Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down!
+  Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she
+     put 'em i' th' paste alive. She knapp'd 'em o' th' coxcombs with
+     a stick and cried 'Down, wantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that,
+     in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
+
+             Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, Servants.
+
+  Lear. Good morrow to you both.  
+  Corn. Hail to your Grace!
+                                       Kent here set at liberty.
+  Reg. I am glad to see your Highness.
+  Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what reason
+     I have to think so. If thou shouldst not be glad,
+     I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
+     Sepulchring an adultress. [To Kent] O, are you free?
+     Some other time for that.- Beloved Regan,
+     Thy sister's naught. O Regan, she hath tied
+     Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here!
+                                   [Lays his hand on his heart.]
+     I can scarce speak to thee. Thou'lt not believe
+     With how deprav'd a quality- O Regan!
+  Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope
+     You less know how to value her desert
+     Than she to scant her duty.
+  Lear. Say, how is that?
+  Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least
+     Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance
+     She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,  
+     'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
+     As clears her from all blame.
+  Lear. My curses on her!
+  Reg. O, sir, you are old!
+     Nature in you stands on the very verge
+     Of her confine. You should be rul'd, and led
+     By some discretion that discerns your state
+     Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you
+     That to our sister you do make return;
+     Say you have wrong'd her, sir.
+  Lear. Ask her forgiveness?
+     Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
+     'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old.          [Kneels.]
+     Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg
+     That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.'
+  Reg. Good sir, no more! These are unsightly tricks.
+     Return you to my sister.
+  Lear. [rises] Never, Regan!
+     She hath abated me of half my train;
+     Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,  
+     Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.
+     All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
+     On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
+     You taking airs, with lameness!
+  Corn. Fie, sir, fie!
+  Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
+     Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
+     You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the pow'rful sun,
+     To fall and blast her pride!
+  Reg. O the blest gods! so will you wish on me
+     When the rash mood is on.
+  Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse.
+     Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
+     Thee o'er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce; but thine
+     Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
+     To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
+     To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
+     And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
+     Against my coming in. Thou better know'st
+     The offices of nature, bond of childhood,  
+     Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude.
+     Thy half o' th' kingdom hast thou not forgot,
+     Wherein I thee endow'd.
+  Reg. Good sir, to th' purpose.
+                                                  Tucket within.
+  Lear. Who put my man i' th' stocks?
+  Corn. What trumpet's that?
+  Reg. I know't- my sister's. This approves her letter,
+     That she would soon be here.
+
+                     Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+     Is your lady come?
+  Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrowed pride
+     Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
+     Out, varlet, from my sight!
+  Corn. What means your Grace?
+
+                            Enter Goneril.
+  
+  Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope
+     Thou didst not know on't.- Who comes here? O heavens!
+     If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
+     Allow obedience- if yourselves are old,
+     Make it your cause! Send down, and take my part!
+     [To Goneril] Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?-
+     O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?
+  Gon. Why not by th' hand, sir? How have I offended?
+     All's not offence that indiscretion finds
+     And dotage terms so.
+  Lear. O sides, you are too tough!
+     Will you yet hold? How came my man i' th' stocks?
+  Corn. I set him there, sir; but his own disorders
+     Deserv'd much less advancement.
+  Lear. You? Did you?
+  Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
+     If, till the expiration of your month,
+     You will return and sojourn with my sister,
+     Dismissing half your train, come then to me.
+     I am now from home, and out of that provision  
+     Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
+  Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
+     No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
+     To wage against the enmity o' th' air,
+     To be a comrade with the wolf and owl-
+     Necessity's sharp pinch! Return with her?
+     Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
+     Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
+     To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
+     To keep base life afoot. Return with her?
+     Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
+     To this detested groom.                 [Points at Oswald.]
+  Gon. At your choice, sir.
+  Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad.
+     I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell.
+     We'll no more meet, no more see one another.
+     But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
+     Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
+     Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil,
+     A plague sore, an embossed carbuncle  
+     In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee.
+     Let shame come when it will, I do not call it.
+     I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoot
+     Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.
+     Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure;
+     I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,
+     I and my hundred knights.
+  Reg. Not altogether so.
+     I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
+     For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;
+     For those that mingle reason with your passion
+     Must be content to think you old, and so-
+     But she knows what she does.
+  Lear. Is this well spoken?
+  Reg. I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers?
+     Is it not well? What should you need of more?
+     Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger
+     Speak 'gainst so great a number? How in one house
+     Should many people, under two commands,
+     Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible.  
+  Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance
+     From those that she calls servants, or from mine?
+  Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack ye,
+     We could control them. If you will come to me
+     (For now I spy a danger), I entreat you
+     To bring but five-and-twenty. To no more
+     Will I give place or notice.
+  Lear. I gave you all-
+  Reg. And in good time you gave it!
+  Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
+     But kept a reservation to be followed
+     With such a number. What, must I come to you
+     With five-and-twenty, Regan? Said you so?
+  Reg. And speak't again my lord. No more with me.
+  Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd
+     When others are more wicked; not being the worst
+     Stands in some rank of praise. [To Goneril] I'll go with thee.
+     Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,
+     And thou art twice her love.
+  Gon. Hear, me, my lord.  
+     What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,
+     To follow in a house where twice so many
+     Have a command to tend you?
+  Reg. What need one?
+  Lear. O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars
+     Are in the poorest thing superfluous.
+     Allow not nature more than nature needs,
+     Man's life is cheap as beast's. Thou art a lady:
+     If only to go warm were gorgeous,
+     Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st
+     Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need-
+     You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
+     You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
+     As full of grief as age; wretched in both.
+     If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts
+     Against their father, fool me not so much
+     To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,
+     And let not women's weapons, water drops,
+     Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural hags!
+     I will have such revenges on you both  
+     That all the world shall- I will do such things-
+     What they are yet, I know not; but they shall be
+     The terrors of the earth! You think I'll weep.
+     No, I'll not weep.
+     I have full cause of weeping, but this heart
+     Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws
+     Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!
+              Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool. Storm and
+                                                        tempest.
+  Corn. Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.
+  Reg. This house is little; the old man and 's people
+     Cannot be well bestow'd.
+  Gon. 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest
+     And must needs taste his folly.
+  Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,
+     But not one follower.
+  Gon. So am I purpos'd.
+     Where is my Lord of Gloucester?
+  Corn. Followed the old man forth.
+  
+                          Enter Gloucester.
+
+     He is return'd.
+  Glou. The King is in high rage.
+  Corn. Whither is he going?
+  Glou. He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.
+  Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
+  Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
+  Glou. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
+     Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about
+     There's scarce a bush.
+  Reg. O, sir, to wilful men
+     The injuries that they themselves procure
+     Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.
+     He is attended with a desperate train,
+     And what they may incense him to, being apt
+     To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.
+  Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord: 'tis a wild night.
+     My Regan counsels well. Come out o' th' storm.        [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. Scene I.
+A heath.
+
+Storm still. Enter Kent and a Gentleman at several doors.
+
+  Kent. Who's there, besides foul weather?
+  Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
+  Kent. I know you. Where's the King?
+  Gent. Contending with the fretful elements;
+     Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
+     Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
+     That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,
+     Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
+     Catch in their fury and make nothing of;
+     Strives in his little world of man to outscorn
+     The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
+     This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
+     The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
+     Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
+     And bids what will take all.
+  Kent. But who is with him?
+  Gent. None but the fool, who labours to outjest  
+     His heart-struck injuries.
+  Kent. Sir, I do know you,
+     And dare upon the warrant of my note
+     Commend a dear thing to you. There is division
+     (Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
+     With mutual cunning) 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
+     Who have (as who have not, that their great stars
+     Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less,
+     Which are to France the spies and speculations
+     Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen,
+     Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes,
+     Or the hard rein which both of them have borne
+     Against the old kind King, or something deeper,
+     Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings-
+     But, true it is, from France there comes a power
+     Into this scattered kingdom, who already,
+     Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
+     In some of our best ports and are at point
+     To show their open banner. Now to you:
+     If on my credit you dare build so far  
+     To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
+     Some that will thank you, making just report
+     Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
+     The King hath cause to plain.
+     I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,
+     And from some knowledge and assurance offer
+     This office to you.
+  Gent. I will talk further with you.
+  Kent. No, do not.
+     For confirmation that I am much more
+     Than my out-wall, open this purse and take
+     What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia
+     (As fear not but you shall), show her this ring,
+     And she will tell you who your fellow is
+     That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
+     I will go seek the King.
+  Gent. Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?
+  Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet:
+     That, when we have found the King (in which your pain
+     That way, I'll this), he that first lights on him  
+     Holla the other.
+                                             Exeunt [severally].
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Another part of the heath.
+
+Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool.
+
+  Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
+     You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
+     Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
+     You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
+     Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
+     Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
+     Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world,
+     Crack Nature's moulds, all germains spill at once,
+     That makes ingrateful man!
+  Fool. O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this
+     rain water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters
+     blessing! Here's a night pities nether wise men nor fools.
+  Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
+     Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters.
+     I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.
+     I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
+     You owe me no subscription. Then let fall  
+     Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,
+     A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.
+     But yet I call you servile ministers,
+     That will with two pernicious daughters join
+     Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head
+     So old and white as this! O! O! 'tis foul!
+  Fool. He that has a house to put 's head in has a good head-piece.
+          The codpiece that will house
+            Before the head has any,
+          The head and he shall louse:
+            So beggars marry many.
+          The man that makes his toe
+            What he his heart should make
+          Shall of a corn cry woe,
+            And turn his sleep to wake.
+     For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a
+     glass.
+
+                             Enter Kent.
+  
+  Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience;
+     I will say nothing.
+  Kent. Who's there?
+  Fool. Marry, here's grace and a codpiece; that's a wise man and a
+     fool.
+  Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night
+     Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies
+     Gallow the very wanderers of the dark
+     And make them keep their caves. Since I was man,
+     Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
+     Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
+     Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry
+     Th' affliction nor the fear.
+  Lear. Let the great gods,
+     That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
+     Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
+     That hast within thee undivulged crimes
+     Unwhipp'd of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
+     Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue
+     That art incestuous. Caitiff, in pieces shake  
+     That under covert and convenient seeming
+     Hast practis'd on man's life. Close pent-up guilts,
+     Rive your concealing continents, and cry
+     These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
+     More sinn'd against than sinning.
+  Kent. Alack, bareheaded?
+     Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;
+     Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest.
+     Repose you there, whilst I to this hard house
+     (More harder than the stones whereof 'tis rais'd,
+     Which even but now, demanding after you,
+     Denied me to come in) return, and force
+     Their scanted courtesy.
+  Lear. My wits begin to turn.
+     Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?
+     I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?
+     The art of our necessities is strange,
+     That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.
+     Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
+     That's sorry yet for thee.  
+  Fool. [sings]
+
+          He that has and a little tiny wit-
+            With hey, ho, the wind and the rain-
+          Must make content with his fortunes fit,
+             For the rain it raineth every day.
+
+  Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.
+                                         Exeunt [Lear and Kent].
+  Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtesan. I'll speak a
+     prophecy ere I go:
+          When priests are more in word than matter;
+          When brewers mar their malt with water;
+          When nobles are their tailors' tutors,
+          No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors;
+          When every case in law is right,
+          No squire in debt nor no poor knight;
+          When slanders do not live in tongues,
+          Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;
+          When usurers tell their gold i' th' field,  
+          And bawds and whores do churches build:
+          Then shall the realm of Albion
+          Come to great confusion.
+          Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
+          That going shall be us'd with feet.
+     This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time.
+Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Gloucester's Castle.
+
+Enter Gloucester and Edmund.
+
+  Glou. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing! When
+     I desir'd their leave that I might pity him, they took from me
+     the use of mine own house, charg'd me on pain of perpetual
+     displeasure neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any
+     way sustain him.
+  Edm. Most savage and unnatural!
+  Glou. Go to; say you nothing. There is division betwixt the Dukes,
+     and a worse matter than that. I have received a letter this
+     night- 'tis dangerous to be spoken- I have lock'd the letter in
+     my closet. These injuries the King now bears will be revenged
+     home; there's part of a power already footed; we must incline to
+     the King. I will seek him and privily relieve him. Go you and
+     maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not of him
+     perceived. If he ask for me, I am ill and gone to bed. Though I
+     die for't, as no less is threat'ned me, the King my old master
+     must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund.
+     Pray you be careful.                                  Exit.  
+  Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke
+     Instantly know, and of that letter too.
+     This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
+     That which my father loses- no less than all.
+     The younger rises when the old doth fall.             Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+The heath. Before a hovel.
+
+Storm still. Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
+
+  Kent. Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter.
+     The tyranny of the open night 's too rough
+     For nature to endure.
+  Lear. Let me alone.
+  Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
+  Lear. Wilt break my heart?
+  Kent. I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
+  Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
+     Invades us to the skin. So 'tis to thee;
+     But where the greater malady is fix'd,
+     The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;
+     But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
+     Thou'dst meet the bear i' th' mouth. When the mind's free,
+     The body's delicate. The tempest in my mind
+     Doth from my senses take all feeling else
+     Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
+     Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand  
+     For lifting food to't? But I will punish home!
+     No, I will weep no more. In such a night
+     'To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.
+     In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!
+     Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all!
+     O, that way madness lies; let me shun that!
+     No more of that.
+  Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
+  Lear. Prithee go in thyself; seek thine own ease.
+     This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
+     On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.
+     [To the Fool] In, boy; go first.- You houseless poverty-
+     Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.
+                                                    Exit [Fool].
+     Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
+     That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
+     How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
+     Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
+     From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
+     Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;  
+     Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
+     That thou mayst shake the superflux to them
+     And show the heavens more just.
+  Edg. [within] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!
+
+                     Enter Fool [from the hovel].
+
+  Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. Help me, help me!
+  Kent. Give me thy hand. Who's there?
+  Fool. A spirit, a spirit! He says his name's poor Tom.
+  Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i' th' straw?
+     Come forth.
+
+                 Enter Edgar [disguised as a madman].
+
+  Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn
+     blows the cold wind. Humh! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
+  Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters, and art thou come
+     to this?
+  Edg. Who gives anything to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led  
+     through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er
+     bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and
+     halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud
+     of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inch'd
+     bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five
+     wits! Tom 's acold. O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from
+     whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity,
+     whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now- and there-
+     and there again- and there!
+                                                    Storm still.
+  Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?
+     Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give 'em all?
+  Fool. Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, else we had been all sham'd.
+  Lear. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air
+     Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!
+  Kent. He hath no daughters, sir.
+  Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd nature
+     To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.
+     Is it the fashion that discarded fathers
+     Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?  
+     Judicious punishment! 'Twas this flesh begot
+     Those pelican daughters.
+  Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock's Hill. 'Allow, 'allow, loo, loo!
+  Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
+  Edg. Take heed o' th' foul fiend; obey thy parents: keep thy word
+     justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not
+     thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom 's acold.
+  Lear. What hast thou been?
+  Edg. A servingman, proud in heart and mind; that curl'd my hair,
+     wore gloves in my cap; serv'd the lust of my mistress' heart and
+     did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake
+     words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven; one that
+     slept in the contriving of lust, and wak'd to do it. Wine lov'd
+     I deeply, dice dearly; and in woman out-paramour'd the Turk.
+     False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox
+     in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.
+     Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray
+     thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothel, thy hand
+     out of placket, thy pen from lender's book, and defy the foul
+     fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind; says  
+     suum, mun, hey, no, nonny. Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let
+     him trot by.
+                                                    Storm still.
+  Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy
+     uncover'd body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than
+     this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast
+     no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! Here's three
+     on's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself;
+     unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked
+     animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton
+     here.
+                                         [Tears at his clothes.]
+  Fool. Prithee, nuncle, be contented! 'Tis a naughty night to swim
+     in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's
+     heart- a small spark, all the rest on's body cold. Look, here
+     comes a walking fire.
+
+                    Enter Gloucester with a torch.
+
+  Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. He begins at curfew,  
+     and walks till the first cock. He gives the web and the pin,
+     squints the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat,
+     and hurts the poor creature of earth.
+
+           Saint Withold footed thrice the 'old;
+           He met the nightmare, and her nine fold;
+              Bid her alight
+              And her troth plight,
+           And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!
+
+  Kent. How fares your Grace?
+  Lear. What's he?
+  Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek?
+  Glou. What are you there? Your names?
+  Edg. Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole,
+     the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when
+     the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets, swallows the
+     old rat and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the
+     standing pool; who is whipp'd from tithing to tithing, and
+     stock-punish'd and imprison'd; who hath had three suits to his  
+     back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapons to
+     wear;
+
+          But mice and rats, and such small deer,
+          Have been Tom's food for seven long year.
+
+     Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin! peace, thou fiend!
+  Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company?
+  Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman!
+     Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.
+  Glou. Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,
+     That it doth hate what gets it.
+  Edg. Poor Tom 's acold.
+  Glou. Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer
+     T' obey in all your daughters' hard commands.
+     Though their injunction be to bar my doors
+     And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,
+     Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out
+     And bring you where both fire and food is ready.
+  Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher.  
+     What is the cause of thunder?
+  Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; go into th' house.
+  Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.
+     What is your study?
+  Edg. How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.
+  Lear. Let me ask you one word in private.
+  Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord.
+     His wits begin t' unsettle.
+  Glou. Canst thou blame him?
+                                                    Storm still.
+     His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent!
+     He said it would be thus- poor banish'd man!
+     Thou say'st the King grows mad: I'll tell thee, friend,
+     I am almost mad myself. I had a son,
+     Now outlaw'd from my blood. He sought my life
+     But lately, very late. I lov'd him, friend-
+     No father his son dearer. True to tell thee,
+     The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night 's this!
+     I do beseech your Grace-
+  Lear. O, cry you mercy, sir.  
+     Noble philosopher, your company.
+  Edg. Tom's acold.
+  Glou. In, fellow, there, into th' hovel; keep thee warm.
+  Lear. Come, let's in all.
+  Kent. This way, my lord.
+  Lear. With him!
+     I will keep still with my philosopher.
+  Kent. Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
+  Glou. Take him you on.
+  Kent. Sirrah, come on; go along with us.
+  Lear. Come, good Athenian.
+  Glou. No words, no words! hush.
+  Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came;
+     His word was still
+
+          Fie, foh, and fum!
+          I smell the blood of a British man.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+Scene V.
+Gloucester's Castle.
+
+Enter Cornwall and Edmund.
+
+  Corn. I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.
+  Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to
+     loyalty, something fears me to think of.
+  Corn. I now perceive it was not altogether your brother's evil
+     disposition made him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set
+     awork by a reproveable badness in himself.
+  Edm. How malicious is my fortune that I must repent to be just!
+     This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an
+     intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens! that
+     this treason were not- or not I the detector!
+  Corn. Go with me to the Duchess.
+  Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty
+     business in hand.
+  Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester.
+     Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our
+     apprehension.
+  Edm. [aside] If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his  
+     suspicion more fully.- I will persever in my course of loyalty,
+     though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
+  Corn. I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer
+     father in my love.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene VI.
+A farmhouse near Gloucester's Castle.
+
+Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar.
+
+  Glou. Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will
+     piece out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be
+     long from you.
+  Kent. All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience.
+     The gods reward your kindness!
+                                              Exit [Gloucester].
+  Edg. Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the
+     lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.
+  Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a
+     yeoman.
+  Lear. A king, a king!
+  Fool. No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he's a
+     mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.
+  Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits
+     Come hizzing in upon 'em-
+  Edg. The foul fiend bites my back.
+  Fool. He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's
+     health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.  
+  Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.
+     [To Edgar] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer.
+     [To the Fool] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes!
+  Edg. Look, where he stands and glares! Want'st thou eyes at trial,
+     madam?
+
+             Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me.
+
+  Fool.      Her boat hath a leak,
+             And she must not speak
+           Why she dares not come over to thee.
+
+  Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale.
+     Hoppedance cries in Tom's belly for two white herring. Croak
+     not, black angel; I have no food for thee.
+  Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd.
+     Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?
+  Lear. I'll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence.
+     [To Edgar] Thou, robed man of justice, take thy place.
+     [To the Fool] And thou, his yokefellow of equity,  
+     Bench by his side. [To Kent] You are o' th' commission,
+     Sit you too.
+  Edg. Let us deal justly.
+
+          Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?
+            Thy sheep be in the corn;
+          And for one blast of thy minikin mouth
+            Thy sheep shall take no harm.
+
+     Purr! the cat is gray.
+  Lear. Arraign her first. 'Tis Goneril. I here take my oath before
+     this honourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father.
+  Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?
+  Lear. She cannot deny it.
+  Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.
+  Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim
+     What store her heart is made on. Stop her there!
+     Arms, arms! sword! fire! Corruption in the place!
+     False justicer, why hast thou let her scape?
+  Edg. Bless thy five wits!  
+  Kent. O pity! Sir, where is the patience now
+     That you so oft have boasted to retain?
+  Edg. [aside] My tears begin to take his part so much
+     They'll mar my counterfeiting.
+  Lear. The little dogs and all,
+     Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.
+  Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs!
+           Be thy mouth or black or white,
+           Tooth that poisons if it bite;
+           Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim,
+           Hound or spaniel, brach or lym,
+           Bobtail tyke or trundle-tall-
+           Tom will make them weep and wail;
+           For, with throwing thus my head,
+           Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.
+     Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market
+     towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
+  Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan. See what breeds about her
+     heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard
+     hearts? [To Edgar] You, sir- I entertain you for one of my  
+     hundred; only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You'll
+     say they are Persian attire; but let them be chang'd.
+  Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.
+  Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains.
+     So, so, so. We'll go to supper i' th' morning. So, so, so.
+  Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon.
+
+                          Enter Gloucester.
+
+  Glou. Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master?
+  Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not; his wits are gone.
+  Glou. Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms.
+     I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him.
+     There is a litter ready; lay him in't
+     And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet
+     Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master.
+     If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,
+     With thine, and all that offer to defend him,
+     Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up!
+     And follow me, that will to some provision  
+     Give thee quick conduct.
+  Kent. Oppressed nature sleeps.
+     This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses,
+     Which, if convenience will not allow,
+     Stand in hard cure. [To the Fool] Come, help to bear thy master.
+     Thou must not stay behind.
+  Glou. Come, come, away!
+                                         Exeunt [all but Edgar].
+  Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes,
+     We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
+     Who alone suffers suffers most i' th' mind,
+     Leaving free things and happy shows behind;
+     But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip
+     When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
+     How light and portable my pain seems now,
+     When that which makes me bend makes the King bow,
+     He childed as I fathered! Tom, away!
+     Mark the high noises, and thyself bewray
+     When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee,
+     In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee.  
+     What will hap more to-night, safe scape the King!
+     Lurk, lurk.                                         [Exit.]
+
+
+
+
+Scene VII.
+Gloucester's Castle.
+
+Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, [Edmund the] Bastard, and Servants.
+
+  Corn. [to Goneril] Post speedily to my lord your husband, show him
+     this letter. The army of France is landed.- Seek out the traitor
+     Gloucester.
+                                  [Exeunt some of the Servants.]
+  Reg. Hang him instantly.
+  Gon. Pluck out his eyes.
+  Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister
+     company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous
+     father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the Duke where you
+     are going, to a most festinate preparation. We are bound to the
+     like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us.
+     Farewell, dear sister; farewell, my Lord of Gloucester.
+
+                     Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+     How now? Where's the King?  
+  Osw. My Lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence.
+     Some five or six and thirty of his knights,
+     Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;
+     Who, with some other of the lord's dependants,
+     Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast
+     To have well-armed friends.
+  Corn. Get horses for your mistress.
+  Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
+  Corn. Edmund, farewell.
+                           Exeunt Goneril, [Edmund, and Oswald].
+     Go seek the traitor Gloucester,
+     Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.
+                                        [Exeunt other Servants.]
+     Though well we may not pass upon his life
+     Without the form of justice, yet our power
+     Shall do a court'sy to our wrath, which men
+     May blame, but not control.
+
+            Enter Gloucester, brought in by two or three.
+  
+     Who's there? the traitor?
+  Reg. Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.
+  Corn. Bind fast his corky arms.
+  Glou. What mean, your Graces? Good my friends, consider
+     You are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.
+  Corn. Bind him, I say.
+                                            [Servants bind him.]
+  Reg. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!
+  Glou. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none.
+  Corn. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find-
+                                       [Regan plucks his beard.]
+  Glou. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done
+     To pluck me by the beard.
+  Reg. So white, and such a traitor!
+  Glou. Naughty lady,
+     These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin
+     Will quicken, and accuse thee. I am your host.
+     With robber's hands my hospitable favours
+     You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
+  Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?  
+  Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth.
+  Corn. And what confederacy have you with the traitors
+     Late footed in the kingdom?
+  Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic King?
+     Speak.
+  Glou. I have a letter guessingly set down,
+     Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
+     And not from one oppos'd.
+  Corn. Cunning.
+  Reg. And false.
+  Corn. Where hast thou sent the King?
+  Glou. To Dover.
+  Reg. Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg'd at peril-
+  Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.
+  Glou. I am tied to th' stake, and I must stand the course.
+  Reg. Wherefore to Dover, sir?
+  Glou. Because I would not see thy cruel nails
+     Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister
+     In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.
+     The sea, with such a storm as his bare head  
+     In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up
+     And quench'd the steeled fires.
+     Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.
+     If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,
+     Thou shouldst have said, 'Good porter, turn the key.'
+     All cruels else subscrib'd. But I shall see
+     The winged vengeance overtake such children.
+  Corn. See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.
+     Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.
+  Glou. He that will think to live till he be old,
+     Give me some help!- O cruel! O ye gods!
+  Reg. One side will mock another. Th' other too!
+  Corn. If you see vengeance-
+  1. Serv. Hold your hand, my lord!
+     I have serv'd you ever since I was a child;
+     But better service have I never done you
+     Than now to bid you hold.
+  Reg. How now, you dog?
+  1. Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin,
+     I'ld shake it on this quarrel.  
+  Reg. What do you mean?
+  Corn. My villain!                               Draw and fight.
+  1. Serv. Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.
+  Reg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus?
+                        She takes a sword and runs at him behind.
+  1. Serv. O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left
+     To see some mischief on him. O!                     He dies.
+  Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
+     Where is thy lustre now?
+  Glou. All dark and comfortless! Where's my son Edmund?
+     Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature
+     To quit this horrid act.
+  Reg. Out, treacherous villain!
+     Thou call'st on him that hates thee. It was he
+     That made the overture of thy treasons to us;
+     Who is too good to pity thee.
+  Glou. O my follies! Then Edgar was abus'd.
+     Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
+  Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
+     His way to Dover.  
+                                     Exit [one] with Gloucester.
+     How is't, my lord? How look you?
+  Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt. Follow me, lady.
+     Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave
+     Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace.
+     Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
+                                  Exit [Cornwall, led by Regan].
+  2. Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do,
+     If this man come to good.
+  3. Serv. If she live long,
+     And in the end meet the old course of death,
+     Women will all turn monsters.
+  2. Serv. Let's follow the old Earl, and get the bedlam
+     To lead him where he would. His roguish madness
+     Allows itself to anything.
+  3. Serv. Go thou. I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs
+     To apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him!
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. Scene I.
+The heath.
+
+Enter Edgar.
+
+  Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
+     Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
+     The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,
+     Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear.
+     The lamentable change is from the best;
+     The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
+     Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
+     The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst
+     Owes nothing to thy blasts.
+
+                 Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man.
+
+     But who comes here?
+     My father, poorly led? World, world, O world!
+     But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
+     Life would not yield to age.
+  Old Man. O my good lord,  
+     I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant,
+     These fourscore years.
+  Glou. Away, get thee away! Good friend, be gone.
+     Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
+     Thee they may hurt.
+  Old Man. You cannot see your way.
+  Glou. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
+     I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen
+     Our means secure us, and our mere defects
+     Prove our commodities. Ah dear son Edgar,
+     The food of thy abused father's wrath!
+     Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
+     I'ld say I had eyes again!
+  Old Man. How now? Who's there?
+  Edg. [aside] O gods! Who is't can say 'I am at the worst'?
+     I am worse than e'er I was.
+  Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.
+  Edg. [aside] And worse I may be yet. The worst is not
+     So long as we can say 'This is the worst.'
+  Old Man. Fellow, where goest?  
+  Glou. Is it a beggarman?
+  Old Man. Madman and beggar too.
+  Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg.
+     I' th' last night's storm I such a fellow saw,
+     Which made me think a man a worm. My son
+     Came then into my mind, and yet my mind
+     Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since.
+     As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods.
+     They kill us for their sport.
+  Edg. [aside] How should this be?
+     Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
+     Ang'ring itself and others.- Bless thee, master!
+  Glou. Is that the naked fellow?
+  Old Man. Ay, my lord.
+  Glou. Then prithee get thee gone. If for my sake
+     Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain
+     I' th' way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
+     And bring some covering for this naked soul,
+     Who I'll entreat to lead me.
+  Old Man. Alack, sir, he is mad!  
+  Glou. 'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind.
+     Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure.
+     Above the rest, be gone.
+  Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
+     Come on't what will.                                  Exit.
+  Glou. Sirrah naked fellow-
+  Edg. Poor Tom's acold. [Aside] I cannot daub it further.
+  Glou. Come hither, fellow.
+  Edg. [aside] And yet I must.- Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
+  Glou. Know'st thou the way to Dover?
+  Edg. Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been
+     scar'd out of his good wits. Bless thee, good man's son, from
+     the foul fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once: of
+     lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of
+     stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and
+     mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So,
+     bless thee, master!
+  Glou. Here, take this Purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues
+     Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched
+     Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still!  
+     Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,
+     That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
+     Because he does not feel, feel your pow'r quickly;
+     So distribution should undo excess,
+     And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
+  Edg. Ay, master.
+  Glou. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
+     Looks fearfully in the confined deep.
+     Bring me but to the very brim of it,
+     And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear
+     With something rich about me. From that place
+     I shall no leading need.
+  Edg. Give me thy arm.
+     Poor Tom shall lead thee.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Before the Duke of Albany's Palace.
+
+Enter Goneril and [Edmund the] Bastard.
+
+  Gon. Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband
+     Not met us on the way.
+
+                     Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+     Now, where's your master?
+  Osw. Madam, within, but never man so chang'd.
+     I told him of the army that was landed:
+     He smil'd at it. I told him you were coming:
+     His answer was, 'The worse.' Of Gloucester's treachery
+     And of the loyal service of his son
+     When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot
+     And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out.
+     What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;
+     What like, offensive.
+  Gon. [to Edmund] Then shall you go no further.
+     It is the cowish terror of his spirit,  
+     That dares not undertake. He'll not feel wrongs
+     Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way
+     May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother.
+     Hasten his musters and conduct his pow'rs.
+     I must change arms at home and give the distaff
+     Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
+     Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear
+     (If you dare venture in your own behalf)
+     A mistress's command. Wear this.          [Gives a favour.]
+     Spare speech.
+     Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak,
+     Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.
+     Conceive, and fare thee well.
+  Edm. Yours in the ranks of death!                        Exit.
+  Gon. My most dear Gloucester!
+     O, the difference of man and man!
+     To thee a woman's services are due;
+     My fool usurps my body.
+  Osw. Madam, here comes my lord.                          Exit.
+  
+                            Enter Albany.
+
+  Gon. I have been worth the whistle.
+  Alb. O Goneril,
+     You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
+     Blows in your face! I fear your disposition.
+     That nature which contemns it origin
+     Cannot be bordered certain in itself.
+     She that herself will sliver and disbranch
+     From her material sap, perforce must wither
+     And come to deadly use.
+  Gon. No more! The text is foolish.
+  Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;
+     Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?
+     Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
+     A father, and a gracious aged man,
+     Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear would lick,
+     Most barbarous, most degenerate, have you madded.
+     Could my good brother suffer you to do it?
+     A man, a prince, by him so benefited!  
+     If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
+     Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,
+     It will come,
+     Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
+     Like monsters of the deep.
+  Gon. Milk-liver'd man!
+     That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
+     Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
+     Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st
+     Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd
+     Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
+     France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,
+     With plumed helm thy state begins to threat,
+     Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest
+     'Alack, why does he so?'
+  Alb. See thyself, devil!
+     Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
+     So horrid as in woman.
+  Gon. O vain fool!
+  Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame!  
+     Bemonster not thy feature! Were't my fitness
+     To let these hands obey my blood,
+     They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
+     Thy flesh and bones. Howe'er thou art a fiend,
+     A woman's shape doth shield thee.
+  Gon. Marry, your manhood mew!
+
+                          Enter a Gentleman.
+
+  Alb. What news?
+  Gent. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall 's dead,
+     Slain by his servant, going to put out
+     The other eye of Gloucester.
+  Alb. Gloucester's eyes?
+  Gent. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
+     Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword
+     To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd,
+     Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;
+     But not without that harmful stroke which since
+     Hath pluck'd him after.  
+  Alb. This shows you are above,
+     You justicers, that these our nether crimes
+     So speedily can venge! But O poor Gloucester!
+     Lose he his other eye?
+  Gent. Both, both, my lord.
+     This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer.
+     'Tis from your sister.
+  Gon. [aside] One way I like this well;
+     But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,
+     May all the building in my fancy pluck
+     Upon my hateful life. Another way
+     The news is not so tart.- I'll read, and answer.
+Exit.
+  Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
+  Gent. Come with my lady hither.
+  Alb. He is not here.
+  Gent. No, my good lord; I met him back again.
+  Alb. Knows he the wickedness?
+  Gent. Ay, my good lord. 'Twas he inform'd against him,
+     And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment  
+     Might have the freer course.
+  Alb. Gloucester, I live
+     To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the King,
+     And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend.
+     Tell me what more thou know'st.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+The French camp near Dover.
+
+Enter Kent and a Gentleman.
+
+  Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you the
+     reason?
+  Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, which since his
+     coming forth is thought of, which imports to the kingdom so much
+     fear and danger that his personal return was most required and
+     necessary.
+  Kent. Who hath he left behind him general?
+  Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far.
+  Kent. Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of
+     grief?
+  Gent. Ay, sir. She took them, read them in my presence,
+     And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
+     Her delicate cheek. It seem'd she was a queen
+     Over her passion, who, most rebel-like,
+     Sought to be king o'er her.
+  Kent. O, then it mov'd her?
+  Gent. Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove  
+     Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
+     Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
+     Were like, a better way. Those happy smilets
+     That play'd on her ripe lip seem'd not to know
+     What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence
+     As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,
+     Sorrow would be a rarity most belov'd,
+     If all could so become it.
+  Kent. Made she no verbal question?
+  Gent. Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of father
+     Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart;
+     Cried 'Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! Sisters!
+     Kent! father! sisters! What, i' th' storm? i' th' night?
+     Let pity not be believ'd!' There she shook
+     The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
+     And clamour moisten'd. Then away she started
+     To deal with grief alone.
+  Kent. It is the stars,
+     The stars above us, govern our conditions;
+     Else one self mate and mate could not beget  
+     Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?
+  Gent. No.
+  Kent. Was this before the King return'd?
+  Gent. No, since.
+  Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' th' town;
+     Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
+     What we are come about, and by no means
+     Will yield to see his daughter.
+  Gent. Why, good sir?
+  Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him; his own unkindness,
+     That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
+     To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
+     To his dog-hearted daughters- these things sting
+     His mind so venomously that burning shame
+     Detains him from Cordelia.
+  Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!
+  Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?
+  Gent. 'Tis so; they are afoot.
+  Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear
+     And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause  
+     Will in concealment wrap me up awhile.
+     When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
+     Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go
+     Along with me.                                      Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+The French camp.
+
+Enter, with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Doctor, and Soldiers.
+
+  Cor. Alack, 'tis he! Why, he was met even now
+     As mad as the vex'd sea, singing aloud,
+     Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow weeds,
+     With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo flow'rs,
+     Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
+     In our sustaining corn. A century send forth.
+     Search every acre in the high-grown field
+     And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] What can man's
+        wisdom
+     In the restoring his bereaved sense?
+     He that helps him take all my outward worth.
+  Doct. There is means, madam.
+     Our foster nurse of nature is repose,
+     The which he lacks. That to provoke in him
+     Are many simples operative, whose power
+     Will close the eye of anguish.
+  Cor. All blest secrets,  
+     All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
+     Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate
+     In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him!
+     Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
+     That wants the means to lead it.
+
+                           Enter Messenger.
+
+  Mess. News, madam.
+     The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.
+  Cor. 'Tis known before. Our preparation stands
+     In expectation of them. O dear father,
+     It is thy business that I go about.
+     Therefore great France
+     My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
+     No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
+     But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right.
+     Soon may I hear and see him!
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Gloucester's Castle.
+
+Enter Regan and [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+  Reg. But are my brother's pow'rs set forth?
+  Osw. Ay, madam.
+  Reg. Himself in person there?
+  Osw. Madam, with much ado.
+     Your sister is the better soldier.
+  Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?
+  Osw. No, madam.
+  Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him?
+  Osw. I know not, lady.
+  Reg. Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
+     It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out,
+     To let him live. Where he arrives he moves
+     All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone,
+     In pity of his misery, to dispatch
+     His nighted life; moreover, to descry
+     The strength o' th' enemy.
+  Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.  
+  Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow. Stay with us.
+     The ways are dangerous.
+  Osw. I may not, madam.
+     My lady charg'd my duty in this business.
+  Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you
+     Transport her purposes by word? Belike,
+     Something- I know not what- I'll love thee much-
+     Let me unseal the letter.
+  Osw. Madam, I had rather-
+  Reg. I know your lady does not love her husband;
+     I am sure of that; and at her late being here
+     She gave strange eliads and most speaking looks
+     To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.
+  Osw. I, madam?
+  Reg. I speak in understanding. Y'are! I know't.
+     Therefore I do advise you take this note.
+     My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd,
+     And more convenient is he for my hand
+     Than for your lady's. You may gather more.
+     If you do find him, pray you give him this;  
+     And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
+     I pray desire her call her wisdom to her.
+     So farewell.
+     If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
+     Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
+  Osw. Would I could meet him, madam! I should show
+     What party I do follow.
+  Reg. Fare thee well.                                   Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene VI.
+The country near Dover.
+
+Enter Gloucester, and Edgar [like a Peasant].
+
+  Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill?
+  Edg. You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.
+  Glou. Methinks the ground is even.
+  Edg. Horrible steep.
+     Hark, do you hear the sea?
+  Glou. No, truly.
+  Edg. Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect
+     By your eyes' anguish.
+  Glou. So may it be indeed.
+     Methinks thy voice is alter'd, and thou speak'st
+     In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
+  Edg. Y'are much deceiv'd. In nothing am I chang'd
+     But in my garments.
+  Glou. Methinks y'are better spoken.
+  Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place. Stand still. How fearful
+     And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!
+     The crows and choughs that wing the midway air  
+     Show scarce so gross as beetles. Halfway down
+     Hangs one that gathers sampire- dreadful trade!
+     Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
+     The fishermen that walk upon the beach
+     Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
+     Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
+     Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge
+     That on th' unnumb'red idle pebble chafes
+     Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more,
+     Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
+     Topple down headlong.
+  Glou. Set me where you stand.
+  Edg. Give me your hand. You are now within a foot
+     Of th' extreme verge. For all beneath the moon
+     Would I not leap upright.
+  Glou. Let go my hand.
+     Here, friend, is another purse; in it a jewel
+     Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies and gods
+     Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off;
+     Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.  
+  Edg. Now fare ye well, good sir.
+  Glou. With all my heart.
+  Edg. [aside]. Why I do trifle thus with his despair
+     Is done to cure it.
+  Glou. O you mighty gods!                            He kneels.
+     This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,
+     Shake patiently my great affliction off.
+     If I could bear it longer and not fall
+     To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
+     My snuff and loathed part of nature should
+     Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!
+     Now, fellow, fare thee well.
+                                  He falls [forward and swoons].
+  Edg. Gone, sir, farewell.-
+     And yet I know not how conceit may rob
+     The treasury of life when life itself
+     Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,
+     By this had thought been past.- Alive or dead?
+     Ho you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir? Speak!-
+     Thus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives.  
+     What are you, sir?
+  Glou. Away, and let me die.
+  Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,
+     So many fadom down precipitating,
+     Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg; but thou dost breathe;
+     Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound.
+     Ten masts at each make not the altitude
+     Which thou hast perpendicularly fell.
+     Thy life is a miracle. Speak yet again.
+  Glou. But have I fall'n, or no?
+  Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
+     Look up a-height. The shrill-gorg'd lark so far
+     Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
+  Glou. Alack, I have no eyes!
+     Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit
+     To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort
+     When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage
+     And frustrate his proud will.
+  Edg. Give me your arm.
+     Up- so. How is't? Feel you your legs? You stand.  
+  Glou. Too well, too well.
+  Edg. This is above all strangeness.
+     Upon the crown o' th' cliff what thing was that
+     Which parted from you?
+  Glou. A poor unfortunate beggar.
+  Edg. As I stood here below, methought his eyes
+     Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
+     Horns whelk'd and wav'd like the enridged sea.
+     It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
+     Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours
+     Of men's impossibility, have preserv'd thee.
+  Glou. I do remember now. Henceforth I'll bear
+     Affliction till it do cry out itself
+     'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you speak of,
+     I took it for a man. Often 'twould say
+     'The fiend, the fiend'- he led me to that place.
+  Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts.
+
+         Enter Lear, mad, [fantastically dressed with weeds].
+  
+     But who comes here?
+     The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
+     His master thus.
+  Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coming;
+     I am the King himself.
+  Edg. O thou side-piercing sight!
+  Lear. Nature 's above art in that respect. There's your press
+     money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me
+     a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece
+     of toasted cheese will do't. There's my gauntlet; I'll prove it
+     on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird! i'
+     th' clout, i' th' clout! Hewgh! Give the word.
+  Edg. Sweet marjoram.
+  Lear. Pass.
+  Glou. I know that voice.
+  Lear. Ha! Goneril with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a dog,
+     and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones
+     were there. To say 'ay' and 'no' to everything I said! 'Ay' and
+     'no' too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me
+     once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would  
+     not peace at my bidding; there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em
+     out. Go to, they are not men o' their words! They told me I was
+     everything. 'Tis a lie- I am not ague-proof.
+  Glou. The trick of that voice I do well remember.
+     Is't not the King?
+  Lear. Ay, every inch a king!
+     When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
+     I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause?
+     Adultery?
+     Thou shalt not die. Die for adultery? No.
+     The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly
+     Does lecher in my sight.
+     Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard son
+     Was kinder to his father than my daughters
+     Got 'tween the lawful sheets.
+     To't, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.
+     Behold yond simp'ring dame,
+     Whose face between her forks presageth snow,
+     That minces virtue, and does shake the head
+     To hear of pleasure's name.  
+     The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to't
+     With a more riotous appetite.
+     Down from the waist they are Centaurs,
+     Though women all above.
+     But to the girdle do the gods inherit,
+     Beneath is all the fiend's.
+     There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit;
+     burning, scalding, stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie! pah, pah!
+     Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my
+     imagination. There's money for thee.
+  Glou. O, let me kiss that hand!
+  Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
+  Glou. O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
+     Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me?
+  Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me?
+     No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! I'll not love. Read thou this
+     challenge; mark but the penning of it.
+  Glou. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
+  Edg. [aside] I would not take this from report. It is,
+     And my heart breaks at it.  
+  Lear. Read.
+  Glou. What, with the case of eyes?
+  Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no
+     money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse
+     in a light. Yet you see how this world goes.
+  Glou. I see it feelingly.
+  Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes.
+     Look with thine ears. See how yond justice rails upon yond
+     simple thief. Hark in thine ear. Change places and, handy-dandy,
+     which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a
+     farmer's dog bark at a beggar?
+  Glou. Ay, sir.
+  Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold
+     the great image of authority: a dog's obeyed in office.
+     Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
+     Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back.
+     Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind
+     For which thou whip'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
+     Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
+     Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,  
+     And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;
+     Arm it in rags, a pygmy's straw does pierce it.
+     None does offend, none- I say none! I'll able 'em.
+     Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
+     To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes
+     And, like a scurvy politician, seem
+     To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now!
+     Pull off my boots. Harder, harder! So.
+  Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd!
+     Reason, in madness!
+  Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
+     I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester.
+     Thou must be patient. We came crying hither;
+     Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air
+     We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark.
+  Glou. Alack, alack the day!
+  Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are come
+     To this great stage of fools. This' a good block.
+     It were a delicate stratagem to shoe
+     A troop of horse with felt. I'll put't in proof,  
+     And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law,
+     Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
+
+                 Enter a Gentleman [with Attendants].
+
+  Gent. O, here he is! Lay hand upon him.- Sir,
+     Your most dear daughter-
+  Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even
+     The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;
+     You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon;
+     I am cut to th' brains.
+  Gent. You shall have anything.
+  Lear. No seconds? All myself?
+     Why, this would make a man a man of salt,
+     To use his eyes for garden waterpots,
+     Ay, and laying autumn's dust.
+  Gent. Good sir-
+  Lear. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What!
+     I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king;
+     My masters, know you that?  
+  Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you.
+  Lear. Then there's life in't. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it
+     by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!
+                              Exit running. [Attendants follow.]
+  Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
+     Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter
+     Who redeems nature from the general curse
+     Which twain have brought her to.
+  Edg. Hail, gentle sir.
+  Gent. Sir, speed you. What's your will?
+  Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
+  Gent. Most sure and vulgar. Every one hears that
+     Which can distinguish sound.
+  Edg. But, by your favour,
+     How near's the other army?
+  Gent. Near and on speedy foot. The main descry
+     Stands on the hourly thought.
+  Edg. I thank you sir. That's all.
+  Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here,
+     Her army is mov'd on.  
+  Edg. I thank you, sir
+                                               Exit [Gentleman].
+  Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;
+     Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
+     To die before you please!
+  Edg. Well pray you, father.
+  Glou. Now, good sir, what are you?
+  Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows,
+     Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
+     Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand;
+     I'll lead you to some biding.
+  Glou. Hearty thanks.
+     The bounty and the benison of heaven
+     To boot, and boot!
+
+                     Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
+
+  Osw. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
+     That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
+     To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,  
+     Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out
+     That must destroy thee.
+  Glou. Now let thy friendly hand
+     Put strength enough to't.
+                                             [Edgar interposes.]
+  Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant,
+     Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence!
+     Lest that th' infection of his fortune take
+     Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
+  Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'cagion.
+  Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest!
+  Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor voke pass. An chud
+     ha' bin zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as
+     'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man. Keep out,
+     che vore ye, or Ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the
+     harder. Chill be plain with you.
+  Osw. Out, dunghill!
+                                                     They fight.
+  Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.
+                                                 [Oswald falls.]  
+  Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse.
+     If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body,
+     And give the letters which thou find'st about me
+     To Edmund Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out
+     Upon the British party. O, untimely death! Death!
+                                                        He dies.
+  Edg. I know thee well. A serviceable villain,
+     As duteous to the vices of thy mistress
+     As badness would desire.
+  Glou. What, is he dead?
+  Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.
+     Let's see his pockets; these letters that he speaks of
+     May be my friends. He's dead. I am only sorry
+     He had no other deathsman. Let us see.
+     Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not.
+     To know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their hearts;
+     Their papers, is more lawful.             Reads the letter.
+
+       'Let our reciprocal vows be rememb'red. You have many
+     opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and
+     place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done, if he  
+     return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my
+     jail; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the
+     place for your labour.
+           'Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant,
+                                                          'Goneril.'
+
+     O indistinguish'd space of woman's will!
+     A plot upon her virtuous husband's life,
+     And the exchange my brother! Here in the sands
+     Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
+     Of murtherous lechers; and in the mature time
+     With this ungracious paper strike the sight
+     Of the death-practis'd Duke, For him 'tis well
+     That of thy death and business I can tell.
+  Glou. The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense,
+     That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
+     Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract.
+     So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
+     And woes by wrong imaginations lose  
+     The knowledge of themselves.
+                                                A drum afar off.
+  Edg. Give me your hand.
+     Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum.
+     Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.        Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene VII.
+A tent in the French camp.
+
+Enter Cordelia, Kent, Doctor, and Gentleman.
+
+  Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work
+     To match thy goodness? My life will be too short
+     And every measure fail me.
+  Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid.
+     All my reports go with the modest truth;
+     Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.
+  Cor. Be better suited.
+     These weeds are memories of those worser hours.
+     I prithee put them off.
+  Kent. Pardon, dear madam.
+     Yet to be known shortens my made intent.
+     My boon I make it that you know me not
+     Till time and I think meet.
+  Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. [To the Doctor] How, does the King?
+  Doct. Madam, sleeps still.
+  Cor. O you kind gods,
+     Cure this great breach in his abused nature!  
+     Th' untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
+     Of this child-changed father!
+  Doct. So please your Majesty
+     That we may wake the King? He hath slept long.
+  Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
+     I' th' sway of your own will. Is he array'd?
+
+              Enter Lear in a chair carried by Servants.
+
+  Gent. Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep
+     We put fresh garments on him.
+  Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him.
+     I doubt not of his temperance.
+  Cor. Very well.
+                                                          Music.
+  Doct. Please you draw near. Louder the music there!
+  Cor. O my dear father, restoration hang
+     Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss
+     Repair those violent harms that my two sisters
+     Have in thy reverence made!  
+  Kent. Kind and dear princess!
+  Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes
+     Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
+     To be oppos'd against the warring winds?
+     To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
+     In the most terrible and nimble stroke
+     Of quick cross lightning? to watch- poor perdu!-
+     With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,
+     Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
+     Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
+     To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn,
+     In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
+     'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
+     Had not concluded all.- He wakes. Speak to him.
+  Doct. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.
+  Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your Majesty?
+  Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave.
+     Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
+     Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
+     Do scald like molten lead.  
+  Cor. Sir, do you know me?
+  Lear. You are a spirit, I know. When did you die?
+  Cor. Still, still, far wide!
+  Doct. He's scarce awake. Let him alone awhile.
+  Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight,
+     I am mightily abus'd. I should e'en die with pity,
+     To see another thus. I know not what to say.
+     I will not swear these are my hands. Let's see.
+     I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur'd
+     Of my condition!
+  Cor. O, look upon me, sir,
+     And hold your hands in benediction o'er me.
+     No, sir, you must not kneel.
+  Lear. Pray, do not mock me.
+     I am a very foolish fond old man,
+     Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;
+     And, to deal plainly,
+     I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
+     Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
+     Yet I am doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant  
+     What place this is; and all the skill I have
+     Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
+     Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
+     For (as I am a man) I think this lady
+     To be my child Cordelia.
+  Cor. And so I am! I am!
+  Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray weep not.
+     If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
+     I know you do not love me; for your sisters
+     Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
+     You have some cause, they have not.
+  Cor. No cause, no cause.
+  Lear. Am I in France?
+  Kent. In your own kingdom, sir.
+  Lear. Do not abuse me.
+  Doct. Be comforted, good madam. The great rage
+     You see is kill'd in him; and yet it is danger
+     To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
+     Desire him to go in. Trouble him no more
+     Till further settling.  
+  Cor. Will't please your Highness walk?
+  Lear. You must bear with me.
+     Pray you now, forget and forgive. I am old and foolish.
+                              Exeunt. Manent Kent and Gentleman.
+  Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?
+  Kent. Most certain, sir.
+  Gent. Who is conductor of his people?
+  Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.
+  Gent. They say Edgar, his banish'd son, is with the Earl of Kent
+     in Germany.
+  Kent. Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look about; the powers of
+     the kingdom approach apace.
+  Gent. The arbitrement is like to be bloody.
+     Fare you well, sir.                                 [Exit.]
+  Kent. My point and period will be throughly wrought,
+     Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought.        Exit.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT V. Scene I.
+The British camp near Dover.
+
+Enter, with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Regan, Gentleman, and Soldiers.
+
+  Edm. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold,
+     Or whether since he is advis'd by aught
+     To change the course. He's full of alteration
+     And self-reproving. Bring his constant pleasure.
+                                              [Exit an Officer.]
+  Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.
+  Edm. Tis to be doubted, madam.
+  Reg. Now, sweet lord,
+     You know the goodness I intend upon you.
+     Tell me- but truly- but then speak the truth-
+     Do you not love my sister?
+  Edm. In honour'd love.
+  Reg. But have you never found my brother's way
+     To the forfended place?
+  Edm. That thought abuses you.
+  Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct  
+     And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers.
+  Edm. No, by mine honour, madam.
+  Reg. I never shall endure her. Dear my lord,
+     Be not familiar with her.
+  Edm. Fear me not.
+     She and the Duke her husband!
+
+       Enter, with Drum and Colours, Albany, Goneril, Soldiers.
+
+  Gon. [aside] I had rather lose the battle than that sister
+     Should loosen him and me.
+  Alb. Our very loving sister, well bemet.
+     Sir, this I hear: the King is come to his daughter,
+     With others whom the rigour of our state
+     Forc'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest,
+     I never yet was valiant. For this business,
+     It toucheth us as France invades our land,
+     Not bolds the King, with others whom, I fear,
+     Most just and heavy causes make oppose.
+  Edm. Sir, you speak nobly.  
+  Reg. Why is this reason'd?
+  Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy;
+     For these domestic and particular broils
+     Are not the question here.
+  Alb. Let's then determine
+     With th' ancient of war on our proceeding.
+  Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent.
+  Reg. Sister, you'll go with us?
+  Gon. No.
+  Reg. 'Tis most convenient. Pray you go with us.
+  Gon. [aside] O, ho, I know the riddle.- I will go.
+
+          [As they are going out,] enter Edgar [disguised].
+
+  Edg. If e'er your Grace had speech with man so poor,
+     Hear me one word.
+  Alb. I'll overtake you.- Speak.
+                              Exeunt [all but Albany and Edgar].
+  Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
+     If you have victory, let the trumpet sound  
+     For him that brought it. Wretched though I seem,
+     I can produce a champion that will prove
+     What is avouched there. If you miscarry,
+     Your business of the world hath so an end,
+     And machination ceases. Fortune love you!
+  Alb. Stay till I have read the letter.
+  Edg. I was forbid it.
+     When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,
+     And I'll appear again.
+  Alb. Why, fare thee well. I will o'erlook thy paper.
+                                                   Exit [Edgar].
+
+                            Enter Edmund.
+
+  Edm. The enemy 's in view; draw up your powers.
+     Here is the guess of their true strength and forces
+     By diligent discovery; but your haste
+     Is now urg'd on you.
+  Alb. We will greet the time.                             Exit.
+  Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love;  
+     Each jealous of the other, as the stung
+     Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?
+     Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd,
+     If both remain alive. To take the widow
+     Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;
+     And hardly shall I carry out my side,
+     Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use
+     His countenance for the battle, which being done,
+     Let her who would be rid of him devise
+     His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
+     Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia-
+     The battle done, and they within our power,
+     Shall never see his pardon; for my state
+     Stands on me to defend, not to debate.                Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+A field between the two camps.
+
+Alarum within. Enter, with Drum and Colours, the Powers of France
+over the stage, Cordelia with her Father in her hand, and exeunt.
+
+Enter Edgar and Gloucester.
+
+  Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree
+     For your good host. Pray that the right may thrive.
+     If ever I return to you again,
+     I'll bring you comfort.
+  Glou. Grace go with you, sir!
+                                                   Exit [Edgar].
+
+               Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar,
+
+  Edg. Away, old man! give me thy hand! away!
+     King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en.
+     Give me thy hand! come on!
+  Glou. No further, sir. A man may rot even here.  
+  Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure
+     Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
+     Ripeness is all. Come on.
+  Glou. And that's true too.                             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+The British camp, near Dover.
+
+Enter, in conquest, with Drum and Colours, Edmund; Lear and Cordelia
+as prisoners; Soldiers, Captain.
+
+  Edm. Some officers take them away. Good guard
+     Until their greater pleasures first be known
+     That are to censure them.
+  Cor. We are not the first
+     Who with best meaning have incurr'd the worst.
+     For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
+     Myself could else outfrown false Fortune's frown.
+     Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
+  Lear. No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison.
+     We two alone will sing like birds i' th' cage.
+     When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down
+     And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live,
+     And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
+     At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
+     Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too-
+     Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out-  
+     And take upon 's the mystery of things,
+     As if we were God's spies; and we'll wear out,
+     In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones
+     That ebb and flow by th' moon.
+  Edm. Take them away.
+  Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
+     The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?
+     He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven
+     And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes.
+     The goodyears shall devour 'em, flesh and fell,
+     Ere they shall make us weep! We'll see 'em starv'd first.
+     Come.                  Exeunt [Lear and Cordelia, guarded].
+  Edm. Come hither, Captain; hark.
+     Take thou this note [gives a paper]. Go follow them to prison.
+     One step I have advanc'd thee. If thou dost
+     As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way
+     To noble fortunes. Know thou this, that men
+     Are as the time is. To be tender-minded
+     Does not become a sword. Thy great employment
+     Will not bear question. Either say thou'lt do't,  
+     Or thrive by other means.
+  Capt. I'll do't, my lord.
+  Edm. About it! and write happy when th' hast done.
+     Mark- I say, instantly; and carry it so
+     As I have set it down.
+  Capt. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;
+     If it be man's work, I'll do't.                       Exit.
+
+          Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Soldiers.
+
+  Alb. Sir, you have show'd to-day your valiant strain,
+     And fortune led you well. You have the captives
+     Who were the opposites of this day's strife.
+     We do require them of you, so to use them
+     As we shall find their merits and our safety
+     May equally determine.
+  Edm. Sir, I thought it fit
+     To send the old and miserable King
+     To some retention and appointed guard;
+     Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,  
+     To pluck the common bosom on his side
+     And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes
+     Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen,
+     My reason all the same; and they are ready
+     To-morrow, or at further space, t' appear
+     Where you shall hold your session. At this time
+     We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;
+     And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd
+     By those that feel their sharpness.
+     The question of Cordelia and her father
+     Requires a fitter place.
+  Alb. Sir, by your patience,
+     I hold you but a subject of this war,
+     Not as a brother.
+  Reg. That's as we list to grace him.
+     Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded
+     Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers,
+     Bore the commission of my place and person,
+     The which immediacy may well stand up
+     And call itself your brother.  
+  Gon. Not so hot!
+     In his own grace he doth exalt himself
+     More than in your addition.
+  Reg. In my rights
+     By me invested, he compeers the best.
+  Gon. That were the most if he should husband you.
+  Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets.
+  Gon. Holla, holla!
+     That eye that told you so look'd but asquint.
+  Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should answer
+     From a full-flowing stomach. General,
+     Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;
+     Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine.
+     Witness the world that I create thee here
+     My lord and master.
+  Gon. Mean you to enjoy him?
+  Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will.
+  Edm. Nor in thine, lord.
+  Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes.
+  Reg. [to Edmund] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.  
+  Alb. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee
+     On capital treason; and, in thine attaint,
+     This gilded serpent [points to Goneril]. For your claim, fair
+        sister,
+     I bar it in the interest of my wife.
+     'Tis she is subcontracted to this lord,
+     And I, her husband, contradict your banes.
+     If you will marry, make your loves to me;
+     My lady is bespoke.
+  Gon. An interlude!
+  Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound.
+     If none appear to prove upon thy person
+     Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
+     There is my pledge [throws down a glove]! I'll prove it on thy
+        heart,
+     Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less
+     Than I have here proclaim'd thee.
+  Reg. Sick, O, sick!
+  Gon. [aside] If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.
+  Edm. There's my exchange [throws down a glove]. What in the world  
+        he is
+     That names me traitor, villain-like he lies.
+     Call by thy trumpet. He that dares approach,
+     On him, on you, who not? I will maintain
+     My truth and honour firmly.
+  Alb. A herald, ho!
+  Edm. A herald, ho, a herald!
+  Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,
+     All levied in my name, have in my name
+     Took their discharge.
+  Reg. My sickness grows upon me.
+  Alb. She is not well. Convey her to my tent.
+                                              [Exit Regan, led.]
+
+                           Enter a Herald.
+
+     Come hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound,
+     And read out this.
+  Capt. Sound, trumpet!                        A trumpet sounds.
+  
+  Her. (reads) 'If any man of quality or degree within the lists of
+     the army will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester,
+     that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound
+     of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence.'
+
+  Edm. Sound!                                     First trumpet.
+  Her. Again!                                    Second trumpet.
+  Her. Again!                                     Third trumpet.
+                                         Trumpet answers within.
+
+    Enter Edgar, armed, at the third sound, a Trumpet before him.
+
+  Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears
+     Upon this call o' th' trumpet.
+  Her. What are you?
+     Your name, your quality? and why you answer
+     This present summons?
+  Edg. Know my name is lost;
+     By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit.
+     Yet am I noble as the adversary  
+     I come to cope.
+  Alb. Which is that adversary?
+  Edg. What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?
+  Edm. Himself. What say'st thou to him?
+  Edg. Draw thy sword,
+     That, if my speech offend a noble heart,
+     Thy arm may do thee justice. Here is mine.
+     Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,
+     My oath, and my profession. I protest-
+     Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
+     Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,
+     Thy valour and thy heart- thou art a traitor;
+     False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
+     Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince;
+     And from th' extremest upward of thy head
+     To the descent and dust beneath thy foot,
+     A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'no,'
+     This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent
+     To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
+     Thou liest.  
+  Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name;
+     But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,
+     And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,
+     What safe and nicely I might well delay
+     By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn.
+     Back do I toss those treasons to thy head;
+     With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart;
+     Which- for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise-
+     This sword of mine shall give them instant way
+     Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!
+                                 Alarums. Fight. [Edmund falls.]
+  Alb. Save him, save him!
+  Gon. This is mere practice, Gloucester.
+     By th' law of arms thou wast not bound to answer
+     An unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquish'd,
+     But cozen'd and beguil'd.
+  Alb. Shut your mouth, dame,
+     Or with this paper shall I stop it. [Shows her her letter to
+     Edmund.]- [To Edmund]. Hold, sir.
+     [To Goneril] Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil.  
+     No tearing, lady! I perceive you know it.
+  Gon. Say if I do- the laws are mine, not thine.
+     Who can arraign me for't?
+  Alb. Most monstrous!
+     Know'st thou this paper?
+  Gon. Ask me not what I know.                             Exit.
+  Alb. Go after her. She's desperate; govern her.
+                                              [Exit an Officer.]
+  Edm. What, you have charg'd me with, that have I done,
+     And more, much more. The time will bring it out.
+     'Tis past, and so am I.- But what art thou
+     That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble,
+     I do forgive thee.
+  Edg. Let's exchange charity.
+     I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
+     If more, the more th' hast wrong'd me.
+     My name is Edgar and thy father's son.
+     The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
+     Make instruments to scourge us.
+     The dark and vicious place where thee he got  
+     Cost him his eyes.
+  Edm. Th' hast spoken right; 'tis true.
+     The wheel is come full circle; I am here.
+  Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy
+     A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee.
+     Let sorrow split my heart if ever I
+     Did hate thee, or thy father!
+  Edg. Worthy prince, I know't.
+  Alb. Where have you hid yourself?
+     How have you known the miseries of your father?
+  Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;
+     And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst!
+     The bloody proclamation to escape
+     That follow'd me so near (O, our lives' sweetness!
+     That with the pain of death would hourly die
+     Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift
+     Into a madman's rags, t' assume a semblance
+     That very dogs disdain'd; and in this habit
+     Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
+     Their precious stones new lost; became his guide,  
+     Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair;
+     Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him
+     Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd,
+     Not sure, though hoping of this good success,
+     I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
+     Told him my pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart
+     (Alack, too weak the conflict to support!)
+     'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
+     Burst smilingly.
+  Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me,
+     And shall perchance do good; but speak you on;
+     You look as you had something more to say.
+  Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in;
+     For I am almost ready to dissolve,
+     Hearing of this.
+  Edg. This would have seem'd a period
+     To such as love not sorrow; but another,
+     To amplify too much, would make much more,
+     And top extremity.
+     Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man,  
+     Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
+     Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
+     Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
+     He fastened on my neck, and bellowed out
+     As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
+     Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
+     That ever ear receiv'd; which in recounting
+     His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
+     Began to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded,
+     And there I left him tranc'd.
+  Alb. But who was this?
+  Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise
+     Followed his enemy king and did him service
+     Improper for a slave.
+
+                Enter a Gentleman with a bloody knife.
+
+  Gent. Help, help! O, help!
+  Edg. What kind of help?
+  Alb. Speak, man.  
+  Edg. What means that bloody knife?
+  Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes.
+     It came even from the heart of- O! she's dead!
+  Alb. Who dead? Speak, man.
+  Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady! and her sister
+     By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it.
+  Edm. I was contracted to them both. All three
+     Now marry in an instant.
+
+                             Enter Kent.
+
+  Edg. Here comes Kent.
+  Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead.
+                                               [Exit Gentleman.]
+     This judgement of the heavens, that makes us tremble
+     Touches us not with pity. O, is this he?
+     The time will not allow the compliment
+     That very manners urges.
+  Kent. I am come
+     To bid my king and master aye good night.  
+     Is he not here?
+  Alb. Great thing of us forgot!
+     Speak, Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia?
+                 The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in.
+     Seest thou this object, Kent?
+  Kent. Alack, why thus?
+  Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd.
+     The one the other poisoned for my sake,
+     And after slew herself.
+  Alb. Even so. Cover their faces.
+  Edm. I pant for life. Some good I mean to do,
+     Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send
+     (Be brief in't) to the castle; for my writ
+     Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia.
+     Nay, send in time.
+  Alb. Run, run, O, run!
+  Edg. To who, my lord? Who has the office? Send
+     Thy token of reprieve.
+  Edm. Well thought on. Take my sword;
+     Give it the Captain.  
+  Alb. Haste thee for thy life.                    [Exit Edgar.]
+  Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me
+     To hang Cordelia in the prison and
+     To lay the blame upon her own despair
+     That she fordid herself.
+  Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.
+                                          [Edmund is borne off.]
+
+    Enter Lear, with Cordelia [dead] in his arms, [Edgar, Captain,
+                        and others following].
+
+  Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone.
+     Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so
+     That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!
+     I know when one is dead, and when one lives.
+     She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass.
+     If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
+     Why, then she lives.
+  Kent. Is this the promis'd end?
+  Edg. Or image of that horror?  
+  Alb. Fall and cease!
+  Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so,
+     It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
+     That ever I have felt.
+  Kent. O my good master!
+  Lear. Prithee away!
+  Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend.
+  Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
+     I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever!
+     Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
+     What is't thou say'st, Her voice was ever soft,
+     Gentle, and low- an excellent thing in woman.
+     I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.
+  Capt. 'Tis true, my lords, he did.
+  Lear. Did I not, fellow?
+     I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion
+     I would have made them skip. I am old now,
+     And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
+     Mine eyes are not o' th' best. I'll tell you straight.
+  Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated,  
+     One of them we behold.
+  Lear. This' a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
+  Kent. The same-
+     Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?
+  Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that.
+     He'll strike, and quickly too. He's dead and rotten.
+  Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man-
+  Lear. I'll see that straight.
+  Kent. That from your first of difference and decay
+     Have followed your sad steps.
+  Lear. You're welcome hither.
+  Kent. Nor no man else! All's cheerless, dark, and deadly.
+     Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves,
+     And desperately are dead.
+  Lear. Ay, so I think.
+  Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain is it
+     That we present us to him.
+  Edg. Very bootless.
+
+                           Enter a Captain.  
+
+  Capt. Edmund is dead, my lord.
+  Alb. That's but a trifle here.
+     You lords and noble friends, know our intent.
+     What comfort to this great decay may come
+     Shall be applied. For us, we will resign,
+     During the life of this old Majesty,
+     To him our absolute power; [to Edgar and Kent] you to your
+        rights;
+     With boot, and Such addition as your honours
+     Have more than merited.- All friends shall taste
+     The wages of their virtue, and all foes
+     The cup of their deservings.- O, see, see!
+  Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!
+     Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
+     And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
+     Never, never, never, never, never!
+     Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir.
+     Do you see this? Look on her! look! her lips!
+     Look there, look there!                            He dies.  
+  Edg. He faints! My lord, my lord!
+  Kent. Break, heart; I prithee break!
+  Edg. Look up, my lord.
+  Kent. Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass! He hates him
+     That would upon the rack of this tough world
+     Stretch him out longer.
+  Edg. He is gone indeed.
+  Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long.
+     He but usurp'd his life.
+  Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present business
+     Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar] Friends of my soul, you
+        twain
+     Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain.
+  Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go.
+     My master calls me; I must not say no.
+  Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey,
+     Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
+     The oldest have borne most; we that are young
+     Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
+                                       Exeunt with a dead march.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+1595
+
+LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae.
+
+  FERDINAND, King of Navarre
+  BEROWNE,    lord attending on the King
+  LONGAVILLE,  "      "      "   "   "
+  DUMAIN,      "      "      "   "   "
+  BOYET,   lord attending on the Princess of France
+  MARCADE,   "     "       "  "     "      "    "
+  DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, fantastical Spaniard
+  SIR NATHANIEL, a curate
+  HOLOFERNES, a schoolmaster
+  DULL, a constable
+  COSTARD, a clown
+  MOTH, page to Armado
+  A FORESTER
+
+  THE PRINCESS OF FRANCE
+  ROSALINE, lady attending on the Princess
+  MARIA,      "     "       "  "     "
+  KATHARINE, lady attending on the Princess
+  JAQUENETTA, a country wench
+  
+  Lords, Attendants, etc.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Navarre
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Navarre. The King's park
+
+Enter the King, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN
+
+  KING. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
+    Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs,
+    And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
+    When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
+    Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy
+    That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge,
+    And make us heirs of all eternity.
+    Therefore, brave conquerors- for so you are
+    That war against your own affections
+    And the huge army of the world's desires-
+    Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
+    Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
+    Our court shall be a little Academe,
+    Still and contemplative in living art.
+    You three, Berowne, Dumain, and Longaville,
+    Have sworn for three years' term to live with me
+    My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes  
+    That are recorded in this schedule here.
+    Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names,
+    That his own hand may strike his honour down
+    That violates the smallest branch herein.
+    If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do,
+    Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.
+  LONGAVILLE. I am resolv'd; 'tis but a three years' fast.
+    The mind shall banquet, though the body pine.
+    Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits
+    Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.
+  DUMAIN. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified.
+    The grosser manner of these world's delights
+    He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves;
+    To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die,
+    With all these living in philosophy.
+  BEROWNE. I can but say their protestation over;
+    So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
+    That is, to live and study here three years.
+    But there are other strict observances,
+    As: not to see a woman in that term,  
+    Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
+    And one day in a week to touch no food,
+    And but one meal on every day beside,
+    The which I hope is not enrolled there;
+    And then to sleep but three hours in the night
+    And not be seen to wink of all the day-
+    When I was wont to think no harm all night,
+    And make a dark night too of half the day-
+    Which I hope well is not enrolled there.
+    O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
+    Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!
+  KING. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.
+  BEROWNE. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:
+    I only swore to study with your Grace,
+    And stay here in your court for three years' space.
+  LONGAVILLE. You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest.
+  BEROWNE. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
+    What is the end of study, let me know.
+  KING. Why, that to know which else we should not know.
+  BEROWNE. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense?  
+  KING. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense.
+  BEROWNE. Come on, then; I will swear to study so,
+    To know the thing I am forbid to know,
+    As thus: to study where I well may dine,
+    When I to feast expressly am forbid;
+    Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
+    When mistresses from common sense are hid;
+    Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,
+    Study to break it, and not break my troth.
+    If study's gain be thus, and this be so,
+    Study knows that which yet it doth not know.
+    Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.
+  KING. These be the stops that hinder study quite,
+    And train our intellects to vain delight.
+  BEROWNE. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain
+    Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain,
+    As painfully to pore upon a book
+    To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
+    Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.
+    Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile;  
+    So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
+    Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
+    Study me how to please the eye indeed,
+    By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
+    Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,
+    And give him light that it was blinded by.
+    Study is like the heaven's glorious sun,
+    That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks;
+    Small have continual plodders ever won,
+    Save base authority from others' books.
+    These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
+    That give a name to every fixed star
+    Have no more profit of their shining nights
+    Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
+    Too much to know is to know nought but fame;
+    And every godfather can give a name.
+  KING. How well he's read, to reason against reading!
+  DUMAIN. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!
+  LONGAVILLE. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.
+  BEROWNE. The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding.  
+  DUMAIN. How follows that?
+  BEROWNE. Fit in his place and time.
+  DUMAIN. In reason nothing.
+  BEROWNE. Something then in rhyme.
+  LONGAVILLE. Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost
+    That bites the first-born infants of the spring.
+  BEROWNE. Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast
+    Before the birds have any cause to sing?
+    Why should I joy in any abortive birth?
+    At Christmas I no more desire a rose
+    Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows;
+    But like of each thing that in season grows;
+    So you, to study now it is too late,
+    Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.
+  KING. Well, sit out; go home, Berowne; adieu.
+  BEROWNE. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you;
+    And though I have for barbarism spoke more
+    Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
+    Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore,
+    And bide the penance of each three years' day.  
+    Give me the paper; let me read the same;
+    And to the strictest decrees I'll write my name.
+  KING. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!
+  BEROWNE. [Reads] 'Item. That no woman shall come within a mile of
+    my court'- Hath this been proclaimed?
+  LONGAVILLE. Four days ago.
+  BEROWNE. Let's see the penalty. [Reads] '-on pain of losing her
+    tongue.' Who devis'd this penalty?
+  LONGAVILLE. Marry, that did I.
+  BEROWNE. Sweet lord, and why?
+  LONGAVILLE. To fright them hence with that dread penalty.
+  BEROWNE. A dangerous law against gentility.
+    [Reads] 'Item. If any man be seen to talk with a woman within
+    the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the
+    rest of the court can possibly devise.'
+    This article, my liege, yourself must break;
+    For well you know here comes in embassy
+    The French king's daughter, with yourself to speak-
+    A mild of grace and complete majesty-
+    About surrender up of Aquitaine  
+    To her decrepit, sick, and bedrid father;
+    Therefore this article is made in vain,
+    Or vainly comes th' admired princess hither.
+  KING. What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.
+  BEROWNE. So study evermore is over-shot.
+    While it doth study to have what it would,
+    It doth forget to do the thing it should;
+    And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
+    'Tis won as towns with fire- so won, so lost.
+  KING. We must of force dispense with this decree;
+    She must lie here on mere necessity.
+  BEROWNE. Necessity will make us all forsworn
+    Three thousand times within this three years' space;
+    For every man with his affects is born,
+    Not by might mast'red, but by special grace.
+    If I break faith, this word shall speak for me:
+    I am forsworn on mere necessity.
+    So to the laws at large I write my name;        [Subscribes]
+    And he that breaks them in the least degree
+    Stands in attainder of eternal shame.  
+    Suggestions are to other as to me;
+    But I believe, although I seem so loath,
+    I am the last that will last keep his oath.
+    But is there no quick recreation granted?
+  KING. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted
+    With a refined traveller of Spain,
+    A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
+    That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
+    One who the music of his own vain tongue
+    Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
+    A man of complements, whom right and wrong
+    Have chose as umpire of their mutiny.
+    This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
+    For interim to our studies shall relate,
+    In high-born words, the worth of many a knight
+    From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate.
+    How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
+    But I protest I love to hear him lie,
+    And I will use him for my minstrelsy.
+  BEROWNE. Armado is a most illustrious wight,  
+    A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight.
+  LONGAVILLE. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;
+    And so to study three years is but short.
+
+      Enter DULL, a constable, with a letter, and COSTARD
+
+  DULL. Which is the Duke's own person?
+  BEROWNE. This, fellow. What wouldst?
+  DULL. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his Grace's
+    farborough; but I would see his own person in flesh and blood.
+  BEROWNE. This is he.
+  DULL. Signior Arme- Arme- commends you. There's villainy abroad;
+    this letter will tell you more.
+  COSTARD. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.
+  KING. A letter from the magnificent Armado.
+  BEROWNE. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words.
+  LONGAVILLE. A high hope for a low heaven. God grant us patience!
+  BEROWNE. To hear, or forbear hearing?
+  LONGAVILLE. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or, to
+    forbear both.  
+  BEROWNE. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb
+    in the merriness.
+  COSTARD. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.
+    The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.
+  BEROWNE. In what manner?
+  COSTARD. In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was
+    seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form,
+    and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is in
+    manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner- it is the
+    manner of a man to speak to a woman. For the form- in some form.
+  BEROWNE. For the following, sir?
+  COSTARD. As it shall follow in my correction; and God defend the
+    right!
+  KING. Will you hear this letter with attention?
+  BEROWNE. As we would hear an oracle.
+  COSTARD. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh.
+  KING. [Reads] 'Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent and sole
+    dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's god and body's fost'ring
+    patron'-
+  COSTARD. Not a word of Costard yet.  
+  KING. [Reads] 'So it is'-
+  COSTARD. It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in telling
+    true, but so.
+  KING. Peace!
+  COSTARD. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight!
+  KING. No words!
+  COSTARD. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you.
+  KING. [Reads] 'So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I
+    did commend the black oppressing humour to the most wholesome
+    physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook
+    myself to walk. The time When? About the sixth hour; when beasts
+    most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment
+    which is called supper. So much for the time When. Now for the
+    ground Which? which, I mean, I upon; it is ycleped thy park. Then
+    for the place Where? where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene
+    and most prepost'rous event that draweth from my snow-white pen
+    the ebon-coloured ink which here thou viewest, beholdest,
+    surveyest, or seest. But to the place Where? It standeth
+    north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy
+    curious-knotted garden. There did I see that low-spirited swain,  
+    that base minnow of thy mirth,'
+  COSTARD. Me?
+  KING. 'that unlettered small-knowing soul,'
+  COSTARD. Me?
+  KING. 'that shallow vassal,'
+  COSTARD. Still me?
+  KING. 'which, as I remember, hight Costard,'
+  COSTARD. O, me!
+  KING. 'sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed
+    edict and continent canon; which, with, O, with- but with this I
+    passion to say wherewith-'
+  COSTARD. With a wench.
+    King. 'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy
+    more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed
+    duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of
+    punishment, by thy sweet Grace's officer, Antony Dull, a man of
+    good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation.'
+  DULL. Me, an't shall please you; I am Antony Dull.
+  KING. 'For Jaquenetta- so is the weaker vessel called, which I
+    apprehended with the aforesaid swain- I keep her as a vessel of  
+    thy law's fury; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice,
+    bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and
+    heart-burning heat of duty,
+                                         DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.'
+
+  BEROWNE. This is not so well as I look'd for, but the best that
+    ever I heard.
+  KING. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to
+    this?
+  COSTARD. Sir, I confess the wench.
+  KING. Did you hear the proclamation?
+  COSTARD. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the
+    marking of it.
+  KING. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to be taken with a
+    wench.
+  COSTARD. I was taken with none, sir; I was taken with a damsel.
+  KING. Well, it was proclaimed damsel.
+  COSTARD. This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin.
+  KING. It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed virgin.
+  COSTARD. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was taken with a maid.  
+  KING. This 'maid' not serve your turn, sir.
+  COSTARD. This maid will serve my turn, sir.
+  KING. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week
+    with bran and water.
+  COSTARD. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.
+  KING. And Don Armado shall be your keeper.
+    My Lord Berowne, see him delivered o'er;
+    And go we, lords, to put in practice that
+    Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.
+                             Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN
+  BEROWNE. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat
+    These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
+    Sirrah, come on.
+  COSTARD. I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is I was taken
+    with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore
+    welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile
+    again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The park
+
+Enter ARMADO and MOTH, his page
+
+  ARMADO. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows
+    melancholy?
+  MOTH. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.
+  ARMADO. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.
+  MOTH. No, no; O Lord, sir, no!
+  ARMADO. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender
+    juvenal?
+  MOTH. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signior.
+  ARMADO. Why tough signior? Why tough signior?
+  MOTH. Why tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal?
+  ARMADO. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton
+    appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.
+  MOTH. And I, tough signior, as an appertinent title to your old
+    time, which we may name tough.
+  ARMADO. Pretty and apt.
+  MOTH. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and
+    my saying pretty?  
+  ARMADO. Thou pretty, because little.
+  MOTH. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?
+  ARMADO. And therefore apt, because quick.
+  MOTH. Speak you this in my praise, master?
+  ARMADO. In thy condign praise.
+  MOTH. I will praise an eel with the same praise.
+  ARMADO. that an eel is ingenious?
+  MOTH. That an eel is quick.
+  ARMADO. I do say thou art quick in answers; thou heat'st my blood.
+  MOTH. I am answer'd, sir.
+  ARMADO. I love not to be cross'd.
+  MOTH. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love not him.
+  ARMADO. I have promised to study three years with the Duke.
+  MOTH. You may do it in an hour, sir.
+  ARMADO. Impossible.
+  MOTH. How many is one thrice told?
+  ARMADO. I am ill at reck'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.
+  MOTH. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.
+  ARMADO. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete
+    man.  
+  MOTH. Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace
+    amounts to.
+  ARMADO. It doth amount to one more than two.
+  MOTH. Which the base vulgar do call three.
+  ARMADO. True.
+  MOTH. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three
+    studied ere ye'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put 'years'
+    to the word 'three,' and study three years in two words, the
+    dancing horse will tell you.
+  ARMADO. A most fine figure!
+  MOTH. [Aside] To prove you a cipher.
+  ARMADO. I will hereupon confess I am in love. And as it is base for
+    a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing
+    my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from
+    the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and
+    ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devis'd curtsy. I
+    think scorn to sigh; methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort
+    me, boy; what great men have been in love?
+  MOTH. Hercules, master.
+  ARMADO. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more;  
+    and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.
+  MOTH. Samson, master; he was a man of good carriage, great
+    carriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a
+    porter; and he was in love.
+  ARMADO. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee
+    in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in
+    love too. Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth?
+  MOTH. A woman, master.
+  ARMADO. Of what complexion?
+  MOTH. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the
+    four.
+  ARMADO. Tell me precisely of what complexion.
+  MOTH. Of the sea-water green, sir.
+  ARMADO. Is that one of the four complexions?
+  MOTH. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.
+  ARMADO. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love
+    of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He
+    surely affected her for her wit.
+  MOTH. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.
+  ARMADO. My love is most immaculate white and red.  
+  MOTH. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd under such
+    colours.
+  ARMADO. Define, define, well-educated infant.
+  MOTH. My father's wit my mother's tongue assist me!
+  ARMADO. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical!
+  MOTH.      If she be made of white and red,
+               Her faults will ne'er be known;
+             For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
+               And fears by pale white shown.
+             Then if she fear, or be to blame,
+               By this you shall not know;
+             For still her cheeks possess the same
+               Which native she doth owe.
+    A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red.
+  ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?
+  MOTH. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages
+    since; but I think now 'tis not to be found; or if it were, it
+    would neither serve for the writing nor the tune.
+  ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may
+    example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love  
+    that country girl that I took in the park with the rational hind
+    Costard; she deserves well.
+  MOTH. [Aside] To be whipt; and yet a better love than my master.
+  ARMADO. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.
+  MOTH. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.
+  ARMADO. I say, sing.
+  MOTH. Forbear till this company be past.
+
+                Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA
+
+  DULL. Sir, the Duke's pleasure is that you keep Costard safe; and
+    you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but 'a
+    must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at
+    the park; she is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well.
+  ARMADO. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!
+  JAQUENETTA. Man!
+  ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge.
+  JAQUENETTA. That's hereby.
+  ARMADO. I know where it is situate.
+  JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are!  
+  ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders.
+  JAQUENETTA. With that face?
+  ARMADO. I love thee.
+  JAQUENETTA. So I heard you say.
+  ARMADO. And so, farewell.
+  JAQUENETTA. Fair weather after you!
+  DULL. Come, Jaquenetta, away.             Exit with JAQUENETTA
+  ARMADO. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be
+    pardoned.
+  COSTARD. Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full
+    stomach.
+  ARMADO. Thou shalt be heavily punished.
+  COSTARD. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but
+    lightly rewarded.
+  ARMADO. Take away this villain; shut him up.
+  MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave, away.
+  COSTARD. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose.
+  MOTH. No, sir; that were fast, and loose. Thou shalt to prison.
+  COSTARD. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I
+    have seen, some shall see.  
+  MOTH. What shall some see?
+  COSTARD. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon. It is
+    not for prisoners to be too silent in their words, and therefore
+    I will say nothing. I thank God I have as little patience as
+    another man, and therefore I can be quiet.
+                                         Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD
+  ARMADO. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe,
+    which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread.
+    I shall be forsworn- which is a great argument of falsehood- if I
+    love. And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted?
+    Love is a familiar; Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but
+    Love. Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent
+    strength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit.
+    Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore
+    too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause
+    will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello
+    he regards not; his disgrace is to be called boy, but his glory
+    is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rust, rapier; be still, drum;
+    for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some
+    extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet.  
+    Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE II.
+The park
+
+Enter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, with three attending ladies,
+ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, and two other LORDS
+
+  BOYET. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits.
+    Consider who the King your father sends,
+    To whom he sends, and what's his embassy:
+    Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
+    To parley with the sole inheritor
+    Of all perfections that a man may owe,
+    Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
+    Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.
+    Be now as prodigal of all dear grace
+    As Nature was in making graces dear,
+    When she did starve the general world beside
+    And prodigally gave them all to you.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
+    Needs not the painted flourish of your praise.
+    Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
+    Not utt'red by base sale of chapmen's tongues;  
+    I am less proud to hear you tell my worth
+    Than you much willing to be counted wise
+    In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
+    But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,
+    You are not ignorant all-telling fame
+    Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow,
+    Till painful study shall outwear three years,
+    No woman may approach his silent court.
+    Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course,
+    Before we enter his forbidden gates,
+    To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
+    Bold of your worthiness, we single you
+    As our best-moving fair solicitor.
+    Tell him the daughter of the King of France,
+    On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
+    Importunes personal conference with his Grace.
+    Haste, signify so much; while we attend,
+    Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.
+  BOYET. Proud of employment, willingly I go.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.  
+                                                      Exit BOYET
+    Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
+    That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?
+  FIRST LORD. Lord Longaville is one.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Know you the man?
+  MARIA. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast,
+    Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
+    Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized
+    In Normandy, saw I this Longaville.
+    A man of sovereign parts, peerless esteem'd,
+    Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms;
+    Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
+    The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
+    If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,
+    Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will,
+    Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
+    It should none spare that come within his power.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?
+  MARIA. They say so most that most his humours know.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.  
+    Who are the rest?
+  KATHARINE. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth,
+    Of all that virtue love for virtue loved;
+    Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill,
+    For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
+    And shape to win grace though he had no wit.
+    I saw him at the Duke Alencon's once;
+    And much too little of that good I saw
+    Is my report to his great worthiness.
+  ROSALINE. Another of these students at that time
+    Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.
+    Berowne they call him; but a merrier man,
+    Within the limit of becoming mirth,
+    I never spent an hour's talk withal.
+    His eye begets occasion for his wit,
+    For every object that the one doth catch
+    The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
+    Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor,
+    Delivers in such apt and gracious words
+    That aged ears play truant at his tales,  
+    And younger hearings are quite ravished;
+    So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God bless my ladies! Are they all in love,
+    That every one her own hath garnished
+    With such bedecking ornaments of praise?
+  FIRST LORD. Here comes Boyet.
+
+                       Re-enter BOYET
+
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Now, what admittance, lord?
+  BOYET. Navarre had notice of your fair approach,
+    And he and his competitors in oath
+    Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady,
+    Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:
+    He rather means to lodge you in the field,
+    Like one that comes here to besiege his court,
+    Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
+    To let you enter his unpeopled house.
+                                    [The LADIES-IN-WAITING mask]
+  
+             Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BEROWNE,
+                         and ATTENDANTS
+
+    Here comes Navarre.
+  KING. Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'Fair' I give you back again; and 'welcome' I
+    have not yet. The roof of this court is too high to be yours, and
+    welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.
+  KING. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither.
+  KING. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath-
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Our Lady help my lord! He'll be forsworn.
+  KING. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing
+    else.
+  KING. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,
+    Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
+    I hear your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping.
+    'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,  
+    And sin to break it.
+    But pardon me, I am too sudden bold;
+    To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
+    Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,
+    And suddenly resolve me in my suit.         [Giving a paper]
+  KING. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. YOU Will the sooner that I were away,
+    For you'll prove perjur'd if you make me stay.
+  BEROWNE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
+  KATHARINE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
+  BEROWNE. I know you did.
+  KATHARINE. How needless was it then to ask the question!
+  BEROWNE. You must not be so quick.
+  KATHARINE. 'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions.
+  BEROWNE. Your wit 's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.
+  KATHARINE. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.
+  BEROWNE. What time o' day?
+  KATHARINE. The hour that fools should ask.
+  BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask!
+  KATHARINE. Fair fall the face it covers!  
+  BEROWNE. And send you many lovers!
+  KATHARINE. Amen, so you be none.
+  BEROWNE. Nay, then will I be gone.
+  KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate
+    The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
+    Being but the one half of an entire sum
+    Disbursed by my father in his wars.
+    But say that he or we, as neither have,
+    Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid
+    A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which,
+    One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,
+    Although not valued to the money's worth.
+    If then the King your father will restore
+    But that one half which is unsatisfied,
+    We will give up our right in Aquitaine,
+    And hold fair friendship with his Majesty.
+    But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
+    For here he doth demand to have repaid
+    A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
+    On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,  
+    To have his title live in Aquitaine;
+    Which we much rather had depart withal,
+    And have the money by our father lent,
+    Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.
+    Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
+    From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
+    A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast,
+    And go well satisfied to France again.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You do the King my father too much wrong,
+    And wrong the reputation of your name,
+    In so unseeming to confess receipt
+    Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.
+  KING. I do protest I never heard of it;
+    And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back
+    Or yield up Aquitaine.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We arrest your word.
+    Boyet, you can produce acquittances
+    For such a sum from special officers
+    Of Charles his father.
+  KING. Satisfy me so.  
+  BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come,
+    Where that and other specialties are bound;
+    To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.
+  KING. It shall suffice me; at which interview
+    All liberal reason I will yield unto.
+    Meantime receive such welcome at my hand
+    As honour, without breach of honour, may
+    Make tender of to thy true worthiness.
+    You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates;
+    But here without you shall be so receiv'd
+    As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart,
+    Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
+    Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell.
+    To-morrow shall we visit you again.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet health and fair desires consort your
+    Grace!
+  KING. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place.
+                                            Exit with attendants
+  BEROWNE. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.
+  ROSALINE. Pray you, do my commendations;  
+    I would be glad to see it.
+  BEROWNE. I would you heard it groan.
+  ROSALINE. Is the fool sick?
+  BEROWNE. Sick at the heart.
+  ROSALINE. Alack, let it blood.
+  BEROWNE. Would that do it good?
+  ROSALINE. My physic says 'ay.'
+  BEROWNE. Will YOU prick't with your eye?
+  ROSALINE. No point, with my knife.
+  BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life!
+  ROSALINE. And yours from long living!
+  BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving.                [Retiring]
+  DUMAIN. Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?
+  BOYET. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.
+  DUMAIN. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well.          Exit
+  LONGAVILLE. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?
+  BOYET. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.
+  LONGAVILLE. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.
+  BOYET. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.
+  LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?  
+  BOYET. Her mother's, I have heard.
+  LONGAVILLE. God's blessing on your beard!
+  BOYET. Good sir, be not offended;
+    She is an heir of Falconbridge.
+  LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended.
+    She is a most sweet lady.
+  BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be.           Exit LONGAVILLE
+  BEROWNE. What's her name in the cap?
+  BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap.
+  BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no?
+  BOYET. To her will, sir, or so.
+  BEROWNE. You are welcome, sir; adieu!
+  BOYET. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
+                                     Exit BEROWNE. LADIES Unmask
+  MARIA. That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord;
+    Not a word with him but a jest.
+  BOYET. And every jest but a word.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. It was well done of you to take him at his
+    word.
+  BOYET. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.  
+  KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry!
+  BOYET. And wherefore not ships?
+    No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.
+  KATHARINE. You sheep and I pasture- shall that finish the jest?
+  BOYET. So you grant pasture for me.     [Offering to kiss her]
+  KATHARINE. Not so, gentle beast;
+    My lips are no common, though several they be.
+  BOYET. Belonging to whom?
+  KATHARINE. To my fortunes and me.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,
+      agree;
+    This civil war of wits were much better used
+    On Navarre and his book-men, for here 'tis abused.
+  BOYET. If my observation, which very seldom lies,
+    By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,
+    Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. With what?
+  BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle 'affected.'
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Your reason?
+  BOYET. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire  
+    To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire.
+    His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
+    Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed;
+    His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
+    Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
+    All senses to that sense did make their repair,
+    To feel only looking on fairest of fair.
+    Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
+    As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
+    Who, tend'ring their own worth from where they were glass'd,
+    Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
+    His face's own margent did quote such amazes
+    That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
+    I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,
+    An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is dispos'd.
+  BOYET. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos'd;
+    I only have made a mouth of his eye,
+    By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
+  MARIA. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.  
+  KATHARINE. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.
+  ROSALINE. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but
+    grim.
+  BOYET. Do you hear, my mad wenches?
+  MARIA. No.
+  BOYET. What, then; do you see?
+  MARIA. Ay, our way to be gone.
+  BOYET. You are too hard for me.                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+The park
+
+Enter ARMADO and MOTH
+
+  ARMADO. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.
+                                         [MOTH sings Concolinel]
+  ARMADO. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give
+    enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must
+    employ him in a letter to my love.
+  MOTH. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?
+  ARMADO. How meanest thou? Brawling in French?
+  MOTH. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's
+    end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your
+    eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the
+    throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime
+    through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love,
+    with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes, with
+    your arms cross'd on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit on a
+    spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old
+    painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.
+    These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice  
+    wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men
+    of note- do you note me?- that most are affected to these.
+  ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience?
+  MOTH. By my penny of observation.
+  ARMADO. But O- but O-
+  MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot.
+  ARMADO. Call'st thou my love 'hobby-horse'?
+  MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love
+    perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?
+  ARMADO. Almost I had.
+  MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart.
+  ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy.
+  MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove.
+  ARMADO. What wilt thou prove?
+  MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the
+    instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by
+    her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with
+    her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you
+    cannot enjoy her.
+  ARMADO. I am all these three.  
+  MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.
+  ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.
+  MOTH. A message well sympathiz'd- a horse to be ambassador for an
+    ass.
+  ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou?
+  MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is
+    very slow-gaited. But I go.
+  ARMADO. The way is but short; away.
+  MOTH. As swift as lead, sir.
+  ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious?
+    Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
+  MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.
+  ARMADO. I say lead is slow.
+  MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so:
+    Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?
+  ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
+    He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he;
+    I shoot thee at the swain.
+  MOTH. Thump, then, and I flee.                            Exit
+  ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!  
+    By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face;
+    Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
+    My herald is return'd.
+
+                       Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD
+
+  MOTH. A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin.
+  ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy; begin.
+  COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir.
+    O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no
+    salve, sir, but a plantain!
+  ARMADO. By virtue thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my
+    spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous
+    smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take
+    salve for l'envoy, and the word 'l'envoy' for a salve?
+  MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not l'envoy a salve?
+  ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain
+    Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
+    I will example it:
+           The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,  
+           Were still at odds, being but three.
+    There's the moral. Now the l'envoy.
+  MOTH. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again.
+  ARMADO.  The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
+           Were still at odds, being but three.
+  MOTH.    Until the goose came out of door,
+           And stay'd the odds by adding four.
+    Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.
+           The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
+           Were still at odds, being but three.
+  ARMADO.  Until the goose came out of door,
+           Staying the odds by adding four.
+  MOTH. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more?
+  COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat.
+    Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.
+    To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose;
+    Let me see: a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.
+  ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?
+  MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
+    Then call'd you for the l'envoy.  
+  COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in;
+    Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;
+    And he ended the market.
+  ARMADO. But tell me: how was there a costard broken in a shin?
+  MOTH. I will tell you sensibly.
+  COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that
+      l'envoy.
+    I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,
+    Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.
+  ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter.
+  COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin.
+  ARMADO. Sirrah Costard. I will enfranchise thee.
+  COSTARD. O, Marry me to one Frances! I smell some l'envoy, some
+    goose, in this.
+  ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,
+    enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained,
+    captivated, bound.
+  COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me
+    loose.
+  ARMADO. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in  
+    lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this
+    significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta;
+    there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honour is
+    rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.                  Exit
+  MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.
+  COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my incony Jew!
+                                                       Exit MOTH
+    Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the
+    Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings- remuneration.
+    'What's the price of this inkle?'- 'One penny.'- 'No, I'll give
+    you a remuneration.' Why, it carries it. Remuneration! Why, it is
+    a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of
+    this word.
+
+                          Enter BEROWNE
+
+  BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!
+  COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for
+    a remuneration?
+  BEROWNE. What is a remuneration?  
+  COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
+  BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.
+  COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi' you!
+  BEROWNE. Stay, slave; I must employ thee.
+    As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
+    Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.
+  COSTARD. When would you have it done, sir?
+  BEROWNE. This afternoon.
+  COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir; fare you well.
+  BEROWNE. Thou knowest not what it is.
+  COSTARD. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
+  BEROWNE. Why, villain, thou must know first.
+  COSTARD. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.
+  BEROWNE. It must be done this afternoon.
+    Hark, slave, it is but this:
+    The Princess comes to hunt here in the park,
+    And in her train there is a gentle lady;
+    When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
+    And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her,
+    And to her white hand see thou do commend  
+    This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.
+                                         [Giving him a shilling]
+  COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a
+    'leven-pence farthing better; most sweet gardon! I will do it,
+    sir, in print. Gardon- remuneration!                    Exit
+  BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love; I, that have been love's whip;
+    A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
+    A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;
+    A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
+    Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
+    This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
+    This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
+    Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
+    Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
+    Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
+    Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
+    Sole imperator, and great general
+    Of trotting paritors. O my little heart!
+    And I to be a corporal of his field,
+    And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!  
+    What! I love, I sue, I seek a wife-
+    A woman, that is like a German clock,
+    Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
+    And never going aright, being a watch,
+    But being watch'd that it may still go right!
+    Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all;
+    And, among three, to love the worst of all,
+    A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,
+    With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;
+    Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,
+    Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard.
+    And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
+    To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
+    That Cupid will impose for my neglect
+    Of his almighty dreadful little might.
+    Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan:
+    Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.              Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+The park
+
+Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS, ATTENDANTS,
+and a FORESTER
+
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was that the King that spurr'd his horse so
+      hard
+    Against the steep uprising of the hill?
+  BOYET. I know not; but I think it was not he.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whoe'er 'a was, 'a show'd a mounting mind.
+    Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;
+    On Saturday we will return to France.
+    Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
+    That we must stand and play the murderer in?
+  FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
+    A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I thank my beauty I am fair that shoot,
+    And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.
+  FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What, what? First praise me, and again say no?
+    O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!  
+  FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, never paint me now;
+    Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
+    Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
+                                             [ Giving him money]
+    Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
+  FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
+    O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
+    A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
+    But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill,
+    And shooting well is then accounted ill;
+    Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
+    Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
+    If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
+    That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
+    And, out of question, so it is sometimes:
+    Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
+    When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
+    We bend to that the working of the heart;  
+    As I for praise alone now seek to spill
+    The poor deer's blood that my heart means no ill.
+  BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
+    Only for praise sake, when they strive to be
+    Lords o'er their lords?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Only for praise; and praise we may afford
+    To any lady that subdues a lord.
+
+                       Enter COSTARD
+
+  BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
+  COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that
+    have no heads.
+  COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The thickest and the tallest.
+  COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth.
+    An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
+    One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.
+    Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.  
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What's your will, sir? What's your will?
+  COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one
+    Lady Rosaline.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O, thy letter, thy letter! He's a good friend
+      of mine.
+    Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve.
+    Break up this capon.
+  BOYET. I am bound to serve.
+    This letter is mistook; it importeth none here.
+    It is writ to Jaquenetta.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We will read it, I swear.
+    Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
+  BOYET. [Reads] 'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible;
+    true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely.
+    More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth
+    itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The
+    magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the
+    pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that
+    might rightly say, 'Veni, vidi, vici'; which to annothanize in
+    the vulgar,- O base and obscure vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw,  
+    and overcame. He came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?-
+    the king. Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome.
+    To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar. Who
+    overcame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose
+    side?- the king's. The captive is enrich'd; on whose side?- the
+    beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side?- the
+    king's. No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so
+    stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy
+    lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy
+    love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou
+    exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles, for thyself?
+    -me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my
+    eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.
+                  Thine in the dearest design of industry,
+                                           DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.
+
+    'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
+    'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;
+    Submissive fall his princely feet before,
+    And he from forage will incline to play.  
+    But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then?
+    Food for his rage, repasture for his den.'
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What plume of feathers is he that indited this
+      letter?
+    What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better?
+  BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it
+    erewhile.
+  BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
+    A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
+    To the Prince and his book-mates.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word.
+    Who gave thee this letter?
+  COSTARD. I told you: my lord.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it?
+  COSTARD. From my lord to my lady.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady?
+  COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine,
+    To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords,  
+      away.
+    [To ROSALINE] Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another
+      day.                             Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN
+  BOYET. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?
+  ROSALINE. Shall I teach you to know?
+  BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty.
+  ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow.
+    Finely put off!
+  BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
+    Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
+    Finely put on!
+  ROSALINE. Well then, I am the shooter.
+  BOYET. And who is your deer?
+  ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
+    Finely put on indeed!
+  MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the
+    brow.
+  BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?
+  ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man
+    when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit  
+    it?
+  BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when
+    Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit
+    it.
+  ROSALINE. [Singing]
+            Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
+            Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
+  BOYET.    An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
+            An I cannot, another can.
+                                   Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE
+  COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it!
+  MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.
+  BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
+    Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.
+  MARIA. Wide o' the bow-hand! I' faith, your hand is out.
+  COSTARD. Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the
+    clout.
+  BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
+  COSTARD. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.
+  MARIA. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.  
+  COSTARD. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to
+    bowl.
+  BOYET. I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl.
+                                          Exeunt BOYET and MARIA
+  COSTARD. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown!
+    Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!
+    O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit!
+    When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.
+    Armado a th' t'one side- O, a most dainty man!
+    To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!
+    To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly 'a will swear!
+    And his page a t' other side, that handful of wit!
+    Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
+    Sola, sola!                                     Exit COSTARD
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The park
+
+From the shooting within, enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL
+
+  NATHANIEL. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of
+    a good conscience.
+  HOLOFERNES. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as
+    the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo,
+    the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on
+    the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.
+  NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly
+    varied, like a scholar at the least; but, sir, I assure ye it was
+    a buck of the first head.
+  HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
+  DULL. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.
+  HOLOFERNES. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation,
+    as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were,
+    replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his
+    inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated,
+    unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest  
+    unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.
+  DULL. I Said the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.
+  HOLOFERNES. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!
+    O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!
+  NATHANIEL. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in
+      a book;
+    He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his
+    intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible
+    in the duller parts;
+    And such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should
+      be-
+    Which we of taste and feeling are- for those parts that do
+      fructify in us more than he.
+    For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,
+    So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school.
+    But, omne bene, say I, being of an old father's mind:
+    Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
+  DULL. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit
+    What was a month old at Cain's birth that's not five weeks old as
+      yet?  
+  HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.
+  DULL. What is Dictynna?
+  NATHANIEL. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.
+  HOLOFERNES. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,
+    And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.
+    Th' allusion holds in the exchange.
+  DULL. 'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.
+  HOLOFERNES. God comfort thy capacity! I say th' allusion holds in
+    the exchange.
+  DULL. And I say the polusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is
+    never but a month old; and I say, beside, that 'twas a pricket
+    that the Princess kill'd.
+  HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on
+    the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call the deer
+    the Princess kill'd a pricket.
+  NATHANIEL. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please
+    you to abrogate scurrility.
+  HOLOFERNES. I Will something affect the letter, for it argues
+    facility.
+  
+    The preyful Princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing
+      pricket.
+    Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting.
+    The dogs did yell; put el to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket-
+    Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.
+    If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o' sorel.
+    Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.
+
+  NATHANIEL. A rare talent!
+  DULL. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a
+    talent.
+  HOLOFERNES. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish
+    extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects,
+    ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in
+    the ventricle of memory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater, and
+    delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in
+    those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.
+  NATHANIEL. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my
+    parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by you, and their
+    daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of  
+    the commonwealth.
+  HOLOFERNES. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want
+    no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to
+    them; but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth
+    us.
+
+                    Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD
+
+  JAQUENETTA. God give you good morrow, Master Person.
+  HOLOFERNES. Master Person, quasi pers-one. And if one should be
+    pierc'd which is the one?
+  COSTARD. Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likest to a
+    hogshead.
+  HOLOFERNES. Piercing a hogshead! A good lustre of conceit in a turf
+    of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine; 'tis
+    pretty; it is well.
+  JAQUENETTA. Good Master Parson, be so good as read me this letter;
+    it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I
+    beseech you read it.
+  HOLOFERNES. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra  
+    Ruminat-
+    and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as
+    the traveller doth of Venice:
+                   Venetia, Venetia,
+                   Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia.
+    Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not,
+    loves thee not-
+                      Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.
+    Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather as
+    Horace says in his- What, my soul, verses?
+  NATHANIEL. Ay, sir, and very learned.
+  HOLOFERNES. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.
+  NATHANIEL. [Reads] 'If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to
+      love?
+    Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed!
+    Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;
+    Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed.
+    Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
+    Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend.
+    If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;  
+    Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
+    All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
+    Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire.
+    Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
+    Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
+    Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong,
+    That singes heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.'
+  HOLOFERNES. You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the accent:
+    let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified;
+    but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy,
+    caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, 'Naso' but for
+    smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of
+    invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the
+    ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin,
+    was this directed to you?
+  JAQUENETTA. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one of the strange
+    queen's lords.
+  HOLOFERNES. I will overglance the superscript: 'To the snow-white
+    hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.' I will look again on
+    the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party  
+    writing to the person written unto: 'Your Ladyship's in all
+    desired employment, Berowne.' Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one
+    of the votaries with the King; and here he hath framed a letter
+    to a sequent of the stranger queen's which accidentally, or by
+    the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet;
+    deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King; it may
+    concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty. Adieu.
+  JAQUENETTA. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!
+  COSTARD. Have with thee, my girl.
+                                   Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA
+  NATHANIEL. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very
+    religiously; and, as a certain father saith-
+  HOLOFERNES. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable
+    colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir
+    Nathaniel?
+  NATHANIEL. Marvellous well for the pen.
+  HOLOFERNES. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of
+    mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify
+    the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the
+    parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben  
+    venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned,
+    neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your
+    society.
+  NATHANIEL. And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the
+    happiness of life.
+  HOLOFERNES. And certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.
+    [To DULL] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay:
+    pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to
+    our recreation.                                       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The park
+
+Enter BEROWNE, with a paper his band, alone
+
+  BEROWNE. The King he is hunting the deer: I am coursing myself.
+    They have pitch'd a toil: I am tolling in a pitch- pitch that
+    defiles. Defile! a foul word. Well, 'set thee down, sorrow!' for
+    so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I am the fool. Well
+    proved, wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills
+    sheep; it kills me- I a sheep. Well proved again o' my side. I
+    will not love; if I do, hang me. I' faith, I will not. O, but her
+    eye! By this light, but for her eye, I would not love her- yes,
+    for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and
+    lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and it hath taught me to
+    rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and
+    here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the
+    clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet
+    clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not
+    care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a
+    paper; God give him grace to groan!
+                                            [Climbs into a tree]  
+
+                      Enter the KING, with a paper
+
+  KING. Ay me!
+  BEROWNE. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd
+    him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!
+  KING. [Reads]
+      'So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
+      To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
+      As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
+      The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows;
+      Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
+      Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
+      As doth thy face through tears of mine give light.
+      Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep;
+      No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;
+      So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
+      Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
+      And they thy glory through my grief will show.
+      But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep  
+      My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
+      O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel
+      No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.'
+    How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper-
+    Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
+                                                   [Steps aside]
+
+                  Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper
+
+    What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, car.
+  BEROWNE. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!
+  LONGAVILLE. Ay me, I am forsworn!
+  BEROWNE. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.
+  KING. In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame!
+  BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name.
+  LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so?
+  BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;
+    Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
+    The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.
+  LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.  
+    O sweet Maria, empress of my love!
+    These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
+  BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
+    Disfigure not his slop.
+  LONGAVILLE. This same shall go.          [He reads the sonnet]
+      'Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
+      'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
+      Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
+      Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
+      A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
+      Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
+      My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
+      Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
+      Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is;
+      Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
+      Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is.
+      If broken, then it is no fault of mine;
+      If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
+      To lose an oath to win a paradise?'
+  BEROWNE. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity,  
+    A green goose a goddess- pure, pure idolatry.
+    God amend us, God amend! We are much out o' th' way.
+
+                      Enter DUMAIN, with a paper
+
+  LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?- Company! Stay.
+                                                   [Steps aside]
+  BEROWNE. 'All hid, all hid'- an old infant play.
+    Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,
+    And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye.
+    More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!
+    Dumain transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish!
+  DUMAIN. O most divine Kate!
+  BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb!
+  DUMAIN. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!
+  BEROWNE. By earth, she is not, corporal: there you lie.
+  DUMAIN. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.
+  BEROWNE. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.
+  DUMAIN. As upright as the cedar.
+  BEROWNE. Stoop, I say;  
+    Her shoulder is with child.
+  DUMAIN. As fair as day.
+  BEROWNE. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.
+  DUMAIN. O that I had my wish!
+  LONGAVILLE. And I had mine!
+  KING. And I mine too,.good Lord!
+  BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?
+  DUMAIN. I would forget her; but a fever she
+    Reigns in my blood, and will rememb'red be.
+  BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision
+    Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision!
+  DUMAIN. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.
+  BEROWNE. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.
+  DUMAIN. [Reads]
+        'On a day-alack the day!-
+        Love, whose month is ever May,
+        Spied a blossom passing fair
+        Playing in the wanton air.
+        Through the velvet leaves the wind,
+        All unseen, can passage find;  
+        That the lover, sick to death,
+        Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
+        "Air," quoth he "thy cheeks may blow;
+        Air, would I might triumph so!
+        But, alack, my hand is sworn
+        Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn;
+        Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
+        Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
+        Do not call it sin in me
+        That I am forsworn for thee;
+        Thou for whom Jove would swear
+        Juno but an Ethiope were;
+        And deny himself for Jove,
+        Turning mortal for thy love."'
+    This will I send; and something else more plain
+    That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
+    O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville,
+    Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,
+    Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
+    For none offend where all alike do dote.  
+  LONGAVILLE. [Advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
+    That in love's grief desir'st society;
+    You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
+    To be o'erheard and taken napping so.
+  KING. [Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his, your case is such.
+    You chide at him, offending twice as much:
+    You do not love Maria! Longaville
+    Did never sonnet for her sake compile;
+    Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
+    His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
+    I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
+    And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
+    I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion,
+    Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.
+    'Ay me!' says one. 'O Jove!' the other cries.
+    One, her hairs were gold; crystal the other's eyes.
+    [To LONGAVILLE] You would for paradise break faith and troth;
+    [To Dumain] And Jove for your love would infringe an oath.
+    What will Berowne say when that he shall hear
+    Faith infringed which such zeal did swear?  
+    How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit!
+    How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it!
+    For all the wealth that ever I did see,
+    I would not have him know so much by me.
+  BEROWNE. [Descending] Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy,
+    Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me.
+    Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove
+    These worms for loving, that art most in love?
+    Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears
+    There is no certain princess that appears;
+    You'll not be perjur'd; 'tis a hateful thing;
+    Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.
+    But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not,
+    All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?
+    You found his mote; the King your mote did see;
+    But I a beam do find in each of three.
+    O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen,
+    Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!
+    O, me, with what strict patience have I sat,
+    To see a king transformed to a gnat!  
+    To see great Hercules whipping a gig,
+    And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
+    And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
+    And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!
+    Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?
+    And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
+    And where my liege's? All about the breast.
+    A caudle, ho!
+  KING. Too bitter is thy jest.
+    Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view?
+  BEROWNE. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you.
+    I that am honest, I that hold it sin
+    To break the vow I am engaged in;
+    I am betrayed by keeping company
+    With men like you, men of inconstancy.
+    When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
+    Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
+    In pruning me? When shall you hear that I
+    Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
+    A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,  
+    A leg, a limb-
+  KING. Soft! whither away so fast?
+    A true man or a thief that gallops so?
+  BEROWNE. I post from love; good lover, let me go.
+
+                 Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD
+
+  JAQUENETTA. God bless the King!
+  KING. What present hast thou there?
+  COSTARD. Some certain treason.
+  KING. What makes treason here?
+  COSTARD. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
+  KING. If it mar nothing neither,
+    The treason and you go in peace away together.
+  JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read;
+    Our person misdoubts it: 'twas treason, he said.
+  KING. Berowne, read it over.        [BEROWNE reads the letter]
+    Where hadst thou it?
+  JAQUENETTA. Of Costard.
+  KING. Where hadst thou it?  
+  COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
+                                      [BEROWNE tears the letter]
+  KING. How now! What is in you? Why dost thou tear it?
+  BEROWNE. A toy, my liege, a toy! Your Grace needs not fear it.
+  LONGAVILLE. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear
+     it.
+  DUMAIN. It is Berowne's writing, and here is his name.
+                                       [Gathering up the pieces]
+  BEROWNE. [ To COSTARD] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born
+      to do me shame.
+    Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.
+  KING. What?
+  BEROWNE. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess;
+    He, he, and you- and you, my liege!- and I
+    Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
+    O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
+    DUMAIN. Now the number is even.
+  BEROWNE. True, true, we are four.
+    Will these turtles be gone?
+  KING. Hence, sirs, away.  
+  COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
+                                   Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA
+  BEROWNE. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace!
+    As true we are as flesh and blood can be.
+    The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;
+    Young blood doth not obey an old decree.
+    We cannot cross the cause why we were born,
+    Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.
+  KING. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?
+  BEROWNE. 'Did they?' quoth you. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline
+    That, like a rude and savage man of Inde
+    At the first op'ning of the gorgeous east,
+    Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,
+    Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
+    What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
+    Dares look upon the heaven of her brow
+    That is not blinded by her majesty?
+  KING. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now?
+    My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
+    She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.  
+  BEROWNE. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne.
+    O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
+    Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty
+    Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek,
+    Where several worthies make one dignity,
+    Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
+    Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues-
+    Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not!
+    To things of sale a seller's praise belongs:
+    She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.
+    A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
+    Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.
+    Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
+    And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.
+    O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine!
+  KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
+  BEROWNE. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
+    A wife of such wood were felicity.
+    O, who can give an oath? Where is a book?
+    That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,  
+    If that she learn not of her eye to look.
+    No face is fair that is not full so black.
+  KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
+    The hue of dungeons, and the school of night;
+    And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.
+  BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
+    O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt,
+    It mourns that painting and usurping hair
+    Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
+    And therefore is she born to make black fair.
+    Her favour turns the fashion of the days;
+    For native blood is counted painting now;
+    And therefore red that would avoid dispraise
+    Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.
+  DUMAIN. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.
+  LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright.
+  KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.
+  DUMAIN. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
+  BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain
+    For fear their colours should be wash'd away.  
+  KING. 'Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,
+    I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.
+  BEROWNE. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.
+  KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she.
+  DUMAIN. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.
+  LONGAVILLE. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her face see.
+                                              [Showing his shoe]
+  BEROWNE. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
+    Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!
+  DUMAIN. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies
+    The street should see as she walk'd overhead.
+  KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love?
+  BEROWNE. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.
+  KING. Then leave this chat; and, good Berowne, now prove
+    Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
+  DUMAIN. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.
+  LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed;
+    Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil!
+  DUMAIN. Some salve for perjury.
+  BEROWNE. 'Tis more than need.  
+    Have at you, then, affection's men-at-arms.
+    Consider what you first did swear unto:
+    To fast, to study, and to see no woman-
+    Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
+    Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young,
+    And abstinence engenders maladies.
+    And, where that you you have vow'd to study, lords,
+    In that each of you have forsworn his book,
+    Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?
+    For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,
+    Have found the ground of study's excellence
+    Without the beauty of a woman's face?
+    From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
+    They are the ground, the books, the academes,
+    From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.
+    Why, universal plodding poisons up
+    The nimble spirits in the arteries,
+    As motion and long-during action tires
+    The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
+    Now, for not looking on a woman's face,  
+    You have in that forsworn the use of eyes,
+    And study too, the causer of your vow;
+    For where is author in the world
+    Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
+    Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,
+    And where we are our learning likewise is;
+    Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,
+    With ourselves.
+    Do we not likewise see our learning there?
+    O, we have made a vow to study, lords,
+    And in that vow we have forsworn our books.
+    For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
+    In leaden contemplation have found out
+    Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes
+    Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?
+    Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;
+    And therefore, finding barren practisers,
+    Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil;
+    But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,
+    Lives not alone immured in the brain,  
+    But with the motion of all elements
+    Courses as swift as thought in every power,
+    And gives to every power a double power,
+    Above their functions and their offices.
+    It adds a precious seeing to the eye:
+    A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind.
+    A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,
+    When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd.
+    Love's feeling is more soft and sensible
+    Than are the tender horns of cockled snails:
+    Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.
+    For valour, is not Love a Hercules,
+    Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
+    Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
+    As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair.
+    And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods
+    Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.
+    Never durst poet touch a pen to write
+    Until his ink were temp'red with Love's sighs;
+    O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,  
+    And plant in tyrants mild humility.
+    From women's eyes this doctrine I derive.
+    They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
+    They are the books, the arts, the academes,
+    That show, contain, and nourish, all the world,
+    Else none at all in aught proves excellent.
+    Then fools you were these women to forswear;
+    Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
+    For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love;
+    Or for Love's sake, a word that loves all men;
+    Or for men's sake, the authors of these women;
+    Or women's sake, by whom we men are men-
+    Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,
+    Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.
+    It is religion to be thus forsworn;
+    For charity itself fulfils the law,
+    And who can sever love from charity?
+  KING. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!
+  BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords;
+    Pell-mell, down with them! be first advis'd,  
+    In conflict, that you get the sun of them.
+  LONGAVILLE. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by.
+    Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?
+  KING. And win them too; therefore let us devise
+    Some entertainment for them in their tents.
+  BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither;
+    Then homeward every man attach the hand
+    Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon
+    We will with some strange pastime solace them,
+    Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
+    For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,
+    Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.
+  KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted
+    That will betime, and may by us be fitted.
+  BEROWNE. Allons! allons! Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn,
+    And justice always whirls in equal measure.
+    Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
+    If so, our copper buys no better treasure.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+The park
+
+Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL
+
+  HOLOFERNES. Satis quod sufficit.
+  NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have
+    been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty
+    without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without
+    opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam
+    day with a companion of the King's who is intituled, nominated,
+    or called, Don Adriano de Armado.
+  HOLOFERNES. Novi hominem tanquam te. His humour is lofty, his
+    discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his
+    gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and
+    thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd,
+    as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.
+  NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet.
+                                      [Draws out his table-book]
+  HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than
+    the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes,
+    such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of  
+    orthography, as to speak 'dout' fine, when he should say 'doubt';
+    'det' when he should pronounce 'debt'- d, e, b, t, not d, e, t.
+    He clepeth a calf 'cauf,' half 'hauf'; neighbour vocatur
+    'nebour'; 'neigh' abbreviated 'ne.' This is abhominable- which he
+    would call 'abbominable.' It insinuateth me of insanie: ne
+    intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.
+  NATHANIEL. Laus Deo, bone intelligo.
+  HOLOFERNES. 'Bone'?- 'bone' for 'bene.' Priscian a little
+    scratch'd; 'twill serve.
+
+                 Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD
+
+  NATHANIEL. Videsne quis venit?
+  HOLOFERNES. Video, et gaudeo.
+  ARMADO. [To MOTH] Chirrah!
+  HOLOFERNES. Quare 'chirrah,' not 'sirrah'?
+  ARMADO. Men of peace, well encount'red.
+  HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation.
+  MOTH. [Aside to COSTARD] They have been at a great feast of
+    languages and stol'n the scraps.  
+  COSTARD. O, they have liv'd long on the alms-basket of words. I
+    marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou are
+    not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus; thou art
+    easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.
+  MOTH. Peace! the peal begins.
+  ARMADO. [To HOLOFERNES] Monsieur, are you not lett'red?
+  MOTH. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a, b, spelt
+    backward with the horn on his head?
+  HOLOFERNES. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.
+  MOTH. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.
+  HOLOFERNES. Quis, quis, thou consonant?
+  MOTH. The third of the five vowels, if You repeat them; or the
+    fifth, if I.
+  HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: a, e, I-
+  MOTH. The sheep; the other two concludes it: o, U.
+  ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch,
+    a quick venue of wit- snip, snap, quick and home. It rejoiceth my
+    intellect. True wit!
+  MOTH. Offer'd by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.
+  HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure?  
+  MOTH. Horns.
+  HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant; go whip thy gig.
+  MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your
+    infamy circum circa- a gig of a cuckold's horn.
+  COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it
+    to buy ginger-bread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had
+    of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of
+    discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but
+    my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to;
+    thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say.
+  HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin; 'dunghill' for unguem.
+  ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate; we will be singuled from the
+    barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the
+    top of the mountain?
+  HOLOFERNES. Or mons, the hill.
+  ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.
+  HOLOFERNES. I do, sans question.
+  ARMADO. Sir, it is the King's most sweet pleasure and affection to
+    congratulate the Princess at her pavilion, in the posteriors of
+    this day; which the rude multitude call the afternoon.  
+  HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable,
+    congruent, and measurable, for the afternoon. The word is well
+    cull'd, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure.
+  ARMADO. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do
+    assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let
+    it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy. I beseech
+    thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most
+    serious designs, and of great import indeed, too- but let that
+    pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the
+    world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal
+    finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but,
+    sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable:
+    some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart
+    to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world;
+    but let that pass. The very all of all is- but, sweet heart, I do
+    implore secrecy- that the King would have me present the
+    Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show,
+    or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the
+    curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden
+    breaking-out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal,  
+    to the end to crave your assistance.
+  HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies.
+    Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some
+    show in the posterior of this day, to be rend'red by our
+    assistance, the King's command, and this most gallant,
+    illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess- I say
+    none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.
+  NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?
+  HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself, Alexander; this gallant
+    gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great
+    limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules.
+  ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for that
+    Worthy's thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club.
+  HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in
+    minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I
+    will have an apology for that purpose.
+  MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may
+    cry 'Well done, Hercules; now thou crushest the snake!' That is
+    the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to
+    do it.  
+  ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies?
+  HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself.
+  MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman!
+  ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing?
+  HOLOFERNES. We attend.
+  ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you,
+    follow.
+  HOLOFERNES. Via, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this
+    while.
+  DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir.
+  HOLOFERNES. Allons! we will employ thee.
+  DULL. I'll make one in a dance, or so, or I will play
+    On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.
+  HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The park
+
+Enter the PRINCESS, MARIA, KATHARINE, and ROSALINE
+
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
+    If fairings come thus plentifully in.
+    A lady wall'd about with diamonds!
+    Look you what I have from the loving King.
+  ROSALINE. Madam, came nothing else along with that?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nothing but this! Yes, as much love in rhyme
+    As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper
+    Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all,
+    That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.
+  ROSALINE. That was the way to make his godhead wax;
+    For he hath been five thousand year a boy.
+  KATHARINE. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.
+  ROSALINE. You'll ne'er be friends with him: 'a kill'd your sister.
+  KATHARINE. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;
+    And so she died. Had she been light, like you,
+    Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
+    She might 'a been a grandam ere she died.  
+    And so may you; for a light heart lives long.
+  ROSALINE. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?
+  KATHARINE. A light condition in a beauty dark.
+  ROSALINE. We need more light to find your meaning out.
+  KATHARINE. You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff;
+    Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.
+  ROSALINE. Look what you do, you do it still i' th' dark.
+  KATHARINE. So do not you; for you are a light wench.
+  ROSALINE. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.
+  KATHARINE. You weigh me not? O, that's you care not for me.
+  ROSALINE. Great reason; for 'past cure is still past care.'
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd.
+    But, Rosaline, you have a favour too?
+    Who sent it? and what is it?
+  ROSALINE. I would you knew.
+    An if my face were but as fair as yours,
+    My favour were as great: be witness this.
+    Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne;
+    The numbers true, and, were the numb'ring too,
+    I were the fairest goddess on the ground.  
+    I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
+    O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Anything like?
+  ROSALINE. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Beauteous as ink- a good conclusion.
+  KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
+  ROSALINE. Ware pencils, ho! Let me not die your debtor,
+    My red dominical, my golden letter:
+    O that your face were not so full of O's!
+  KATHARINE. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows!
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair
+    Dumain?
+  KATHARINE. Madam, this glove.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Did he not send you twain?
+  KATHARINE. Yes, madam; and, moreover,
+    Some thousand verses of a faithful lover;
+    A huge translation of hypocrisy,
+    Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity.
+  MARIA. This, and these pearl, to me sent Longaville;
+    The letter is too long by half a mile.  
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart
+    The chain were longer and the letter short?
+  MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.
+  ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
+    That same Berowne I'll torture ere I go.
+    O that I knew he were but in by th' week!
+    How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
+    And wait the season, and observe the times,
+    And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes,
+    And shape his service wholly to my hests,
+    And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
+    So pertaunt-like would I o'ersway his state
+    That he should be my fool, and I his fate.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. None are so surely caught, when they are
+      catch'd,
+    As wit turn'd fool; folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
+    Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school,
+    And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.
+  ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess  
+    As gravity's revolt to wantonness.
+  MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note
+    As fool'ry in the wise when wit doth dote,
+    Since all the power thereof it doth apply
+    To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
+
+                          Enter BOYET
+
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
+  BOYET. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her Grace?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thy news, Boyet?
+  BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare!
+    Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are
+    Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis'd,
+    Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd.
+    Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
+    Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they
+    That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say.
+  BOYET. Under the cool shade of a sycamore  
+    I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;
+    When, lo, to interrupt my purpos'd rest,
+    Toward that shade I might behold addrest
+    The King and his companions; warily
+    I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
+    And overheard what you shall overhear-
+    That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
+    Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
+    That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage.
+    Action and accent did they teach him there:
+    'Thus must thou speak' and 'thus thy body bear,'
+    And ever and anon they made a doubt
+    Presence majestical would put him out;
+    'For' quoth the King 'an angel shalt thou see;
+    Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.'
+    The boy replied 'An angel is not evil;
+    I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.'
+    With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder,
+    Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
+    One rubb'd his elbow, thus, and fleer'd, and swore  
+    A better speech was never spoke before.
+    Another with his finger and his thumb
+    Cried 'Via! we will do't, come what will come.'
+    The third he caper'd, and cried 'All goes well.'
+    The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
+    With that they all did tumble on the ground,
+    With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
+    That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
+    To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But what, but what, come they to visit us?
+  BOYET. They do, they do, and are apparell'd thus,
+    Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.
+    Their purpose is to parley, court, and dance;
+    And every one his love-feat will advance
+    Unto his several mistress; which they'll know
+    By favours several which they did bestow.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And will they so? The gallants shall be task'd,
+    For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd;
+    And not a man of them shall have the grace,
+    Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.  
+    Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear,
+    And then the King will court thee for his dear;
+    Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,
+    So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline.
+    And change you favours too; so shall your loves
+    Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.
+  ROSALINE. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight.
+  KATHARINE. But, in this changing, what is your intent?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs.
+    They do it but in mocking merriment,
+    And mock for mock is only my intent.
+    Their several counsels they unbosom shall
+    To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal
+    Upon the next occasion that we meet
+    With visages display'd to talk and greet.
+  ROSALINE. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, to the death, we will not move a foot,
+    Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace;
+    But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face.
+  BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart,  
+    And quite divorce his memory from his part.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
+    The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
+    There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown,
+    To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;
+    So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
+    And they well mock'd depart away with shame.
+                                         [Trumpet sounds within]
+  BOYET. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd; the maskers come.
+                                               [The LADIES mask]
+
+          Enter BLACKAMOORS music, MOTH as Prologue, the
+     KING and his LORDS as maskers, in the guise of Russians
+
+  MOTH. All hail, the richest heauties on the earth!
+  BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.
+  MOTH. A holy parcel of the fairest dames
+                            [The LADIES turn their backs to him]
+    That ever turn'd their- backs- to mortal views!
+  BEROWNE. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.  
+  MOTH. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views!
+    Out-
+  BOYET. True; out indeed.
+  MOTH. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe
+    Not to behold-
+  BEROWNE. Once to behold, rogue.
+  MOTH. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes- with your
+    sun-beamed eyes-
+  BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet;
+    You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.'
+  MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
+  BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue.
+                                                       Exit MOTH
+  ROSALINE. What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet.
+    If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
+    That some plain man recount their purposes.
+    Know what they would.
+  BOYET. What would you with the Princess?
+  BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
+  ROSALINE. What would they, say they?  
+  BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
+  ROSALINE. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.
+  BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone.
+  KING. Say to her we have measur'd many miles
+    To tread a measure with her on this grass.
+  BOYET. They say that they have measur'd many a mile
+    To tread a measure with you on this grass.
+  ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches
+    Is in one mile? If they have measured many,
+    The measure, then, of one is eas'ly told.
+  BOYET. If to come hither you have measur'd miles,
+    And many miles, the Princess bids you tell
+    How many inches doth fill up one mile.
+  BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps.
+  BOYET. She hears herself.
+  ROSALINE. How many weary steps
+    Of many weary miles you have o'ergone
+    Are numb'red in the travel of one mile?
+  BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you;
+    Our duty is so rich, so infinite,  
+    That we may do it still without accompt.
+    Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
+    That we, like savages, may worship it.
+  ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
+  KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.
+    Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,
+    Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.
+  ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
+    Thou now requests but moonshine in the water.
+  KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.
+    Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange.
+  ROSALINE. Play, music, then. Nay, you must do it soon.
+    Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon.
+  KING. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?
+  ROSALINE. You took the moon at full; but now she's changed.
+  KING. Yet still she is the Moon, and I the Man.
+    The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.
+  ROSALINE. Our ears vouchsafe it.
+  KING. But your legs should do it.
+  ROSALINE. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,  
+    We'll not be nice; take hands. We will not dance.
+  KING. Why take we hands then?
+  ROSALINE. Only to part friends.
+    Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.
+  KING. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
+  ROSALINE. We can afford no more at such a price.
+  KING. Price you yourselves. What buys your company?
+  ROSALINE. Your absence only.
+  KING. That can never be.
+  ROSALINE. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu-
+    Twice to your visor and half once to you.
+  KING. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
+  ROSALINE. In private then.
+  KING. I am best pleas'd with that.       [They converse apart]
+  BEROWNE. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.
+  BEROWNE. Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice,
+    Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run dice!
+    There's half a dozen sweets.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Seventh sweet, adieu!  
+    Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
+  BEROWNE. One word in secret.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Let it not be sweet.
+  BEROWNE. Thou grievest my gall.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Gall! bitter.
+  BEROWNE. Therefore meet.                 [They converse apart]
+  DUMAIN. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?
+  MARIA. Name it.
+  DUMAIN. Fair lady-
+  MARIA. Say you so? Fair lord-
+    Take that for your fair lady.
+  DUMAIN. Please it you,
+    As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.
+                                           [They converse apart]
+  KATHARINE. What, was your vizard made without a tongue?
+  LONGAVILLE. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
+  KATHARINE. O for your reason! Quickly, sir; I long.
+  LONGAVILLE. You have a double tongue within your mask,
+    And would afford my speechless vizard half.
+  KATHARINE. 'Veal' quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf?  
+  LONGAVILLE. A calf, fair lady!
+  KATHARINE. No, a fair lord calf.
+  LONGAVILLE. Let's part the word.
+  KATHARINE. No, I'll not be your half.
+    Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox.
+  LONGAVILLE. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!
+    Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so.
+  KATHARINE. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
+  LONGAVILLE. One word in private with you ere I die.
+  KATHARINE. Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry.
+                                           [They converse apart]
+  BOYET. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
+    As is the razor's edge invisible,
+    Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,
+    Above the sense of sense; so sensible
+    Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings,
+    Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.
+  ROSALINE. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
+  BEROWNE. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!
+  KING. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.  
+                             Exeunt KING, LORDS, and BLACKAMOORS
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.
+    Are these the breed of wits so wondered at?
+  BOYET. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.
+  ROSALINE. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
+    Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?
+    Or ever but in vizards show their faces?
+    This pert Berowne was out of count'nance quite.
+  ROSALINE. They were all in lamentable cases!
+    The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit.
+  MARIA. Dumain was at my service, and his sword.
+    'No point' quoth I; my servant straight was mute.
+  KATHARINE. Lord Longaville said I came o'er his heart;
+    And trow you what he call'd me?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Qualm, perhaps.
+  KATHARINE. Yes, in good faith.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Go, sickness as thou art!
+  ROSALINE. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.  
+    But will you hear? The King is my love sworn.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me.
+  KATHARINE. And Longaville was for my service born.
+  MARIA. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
+  BOYET. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
+    Immediately they will again be here
+    In their own shapes; for it can never be
+    They will digest this harsh indignity.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Will they return?
+  BOYET. They will, they will, God knows,
+    And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows;
+    Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair,
+    Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood.
+  BOYET. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud:
+    Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,
+    Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do
+    If they return in their own shapes to woo?
+  ROSALINE. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,  
+    Let's mock them still, as well known as disguis'd.
+    Let us complain to them what fools were here,
+    Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
+    And wonder what they were, and to what end
+    Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd,
+    And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
+    Should be presented at our tent to us.
+  BOYET. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land.
+                 Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA
+
+         Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN,
+                        in their proper habits
+
+  KING. Fair sir, God save you! Where's the Princess?
+  BOYET. Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty
+    Command me any service to her thither?
+  KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
+  BOYET. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.          Exit
+  BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,  
+    And utters it again when God doth please.
+    He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares
+    At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;
+    And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
+    Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
+    This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
+    Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
+    'A can carve too, and lisp; why this is he
+    That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy;
+    This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice,
+    That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
+    In honourable terms; nay, he can sing
+    A mean most meanly; and in ushering,
+    Mend him who can. The ladies call him sweet;
+    The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
+    This is the flow'r that smiles on every one,
+    To show his teeth as white as whales-bone;
+    And consciences that will not die in debt
+    Pay him the due of 'honey-tongued Boyet.'
+  KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,  
+    That put Armado's page out of his part!
+
+        Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE,
+                      MARIA, and KATHARINE
+
+  BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou
+    Till this man show'd thee? And what art thou now?
+  KING. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive.
+  KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Then wish me better; I will give you leave.
+  KING. We came to visit you, and purpose now
+    To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow:
+    Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur'd men.
+  KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke.
+    The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You nickname virtue: vice you should have
+      spoke;
+    For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.  
+    Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure
+    As the unsullied lily, I protest,
+    A world of torments though I should endure,
+    I would not yield to be your house's guest;
+    So much I hate a breaking cause to be
+    Of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity.
+  KING. O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
+    Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
+    We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game;
+    A mess of Russians left us but of late.
+  KING. How, madam! Russians!
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Ay, in truth, my lord;
+    Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.
+  ROSALINE. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord.
+    My lady, to the manner of the days,
+    In courtesy gives undeserving praise.
+    We four indeed confronted were with four
+    In Russian habit; here they stayed an hour
+    And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,  
+    They did not bless us with one happy word.
+    I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
+    When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
+  BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet,
+    Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet,
+    With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye,
+    By light we lose light; your capacity
+    Is of that nature that to your huge store
+    Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.
+  ROSALINE. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye-
+  BEROWNE. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
+  ROSALINE. But that you take what doth to you belong,
+    It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
+  BEROWNE. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
+  ROSALINE. All the fool mine?
+  BEROWNE. I cannot give you less.
+  ROSALINE. Which of the vizards was it that you wore?
+  BEROWNE. Where? when? what vizard? Why demand you this?
+  ROSALINE. There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case
+    That hid the worse and show'd the better face.  
+  KING. We were descried; they'll mock us now downright.
+  DUMAIN. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad?
+  ROSALINE. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale?
+    Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
+  BEROWNE. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.
+    Can any face of brass hold longer out?
+    Here stand I, lady- dart thy skill at me,
+    Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout,
+    Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance,
+    Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
+    And I will wish thee never more to dance,
+    Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
+    O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
+    Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue,
+    Nor never come in vizard to my friend,
+    Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song.
+    Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
+    Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,
+    Figures pedantical- these summer-flies  
+    Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.
+    I do forswear them; and I here protest,
+    By this white glove- how white the hand, God knows!-
+    Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
+    In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes.
+    And, to begin, wench- so God help me, law!-
+    My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
+  ROSALINE. Sans 'sans,' I pray you.
+  BEROWNE. Yet I have a trick
+    Of the old rage; bear with me, I am sick;
+    I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see-
+    Write 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three;
+    They are infected; in their hearts it lies;
+    They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes.
+    These lords are visited; you are not free,
+    For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.
+  BEROWNE. Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us.
+  ROSALINE. It is not so; for how can this be true,
+    That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?  
+  BEROWNE. Peace; for I will not have to do with you.
+  ROSALINE. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
+  BEROWNE. Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.
+  KING. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
+    Some fair excuse.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The fairest is confession.
+    Were not you here but even now, disguis'd?
+  KING. Madam, I was.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And were you well advis'd?
+  KING. I was, fair madam.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When you then were here,
+    What did you whisper in your lady's ear?
+  KING. That more than all the world I did respect her.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When she shall challenge this, you will reject
+    her.
+  KING. Upon mine honour, no.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Peace, peace, forbear;
+    Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
+  KING. Despise me when I break this oath of mine.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline,  
+    What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
+  ROSALINE. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
+    As precious eyesight, and did value me
+    Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
+    That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord
+     Most honourably doth uphold his word.
+  KING. What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth,
+    I never swore this lady such an oath.
+  ROSALINE. By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain,
+    You gave me this; but take it, sir, again.
+  KING. My faith and this the Princess I did give;
+    I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
+    And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear.
+    What, will you have me, or your pearl again?
+ BEROWNE. Neither of either; I remit both twain.
+    I see the trick on't: here was a consent,
+    Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
+    To dash it like a Christmas comedy.
+    Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,  
+    Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
+    That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick
+    To make my lady laugh when she's dispos'd,
+    Told our intents before; which once disclos'd,
+    The ladies did change favours; and then we,
+    Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
+    Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
+    We are again forsworn in will and error.
+    Much upon this it is; [To BOYET] and might not you
+    Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
+    Do not you know my lady's foot by th' squier,
+    And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
+    And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
+    Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
+    You put our page out. Go, you are allow'd;
+    Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
+    You leer upon me, do you? There's an eye
+    Wounds like a leaden sword.
+  BOYET. Full merrily
+    Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.  
+  BEROWNE. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done.
+
+                          Enter COSTARD
+
+    Welcome, pure wit! Thou part'st a fair fray.
+  COSTARD. O Lord, sir, they would know
+     Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no?
+  BEROWNE. What, are there but three?
+  COSTARD. No, sir; but it is vara fine,
+    For every one pursents three.
+  BEROWNE. And three times thrice is nine.
+  COSTARD. Not so, sir; under correction, sir,
+    I hope it is not so.
+    You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we
+      know;
+    I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir-
+  BEROWNE. Is not nine.
+  COSTARD. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.
+  BEROWNE. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.
+  COSTARD. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by  
+    reck'ning, sir.
+  BEROWNE. How much is it?
+  COSTARD. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will
+    show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they
+    say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great,
+    sir.
+  BEROWNE. Art thou one of the Worthies?
+  COSTARD. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great;
+    for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am
+    to stand for him.
+  BEROWNE. Go, bid them prepare.
+  COSTARD. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.
+                                                    Exit COSTARD
+  KING. Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach.
+  BEROWNE. We are shame-proof, my lord, and 'tis some policy
+    To have one show worse than the King's and his company.
+  KING. I say they shall not come.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now.
+    That sport best pleases that doth least know how;
+    Where zeal strives to content, and the contents  
+    Dies in the zeal of that which it presents.
+    Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
+    When great things labouring perish in their birth.
+  BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord.
+
+                        Enter ARMADO
+
+  ARMADO. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet
+    breath as will utter a brace of words.
+           [Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper]
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Doth this man serve God?
+  BEROWNE. Why ask you?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'A speaks not like a man of God his making.
+  ARMADO. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I
+    protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain,
+    too too vain; but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la
+    guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!
+                                                     Exit ARMADO
+  KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents
+    Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate,  
+    Alexander; Arinado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas
+    Maccabaeus.
+    And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
+    These four will change habits and present the other five.
+  BEROWNE. There is five in the first show.
+  KING. You are deceived, 'tis not so.
+  BEROWNE. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and
+    the boy:
+    Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again
+    Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.
+  KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.
+
+                   Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY
+
+  COSTARD. I Pompey am-
+  BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he.
+  COSTARD. I Pompey am-
+  BOYET. With libbard's head on knee.
+  BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee.
+  COSTARD. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big-  
+   DUMAIN. The Great.
+  COSTARD. It is Great, sir.
+    Pompey surnam'd the Great,
+    That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to
+      sweat;
+    And travelling along this coast, I bere am come by chance,
+    And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.
+
+    If your ladyship would say 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Great thanks, great Pompey.
+  COSTARD. 'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect.
+    I made a little fault in Great.
+  BEROWNE. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.
+
+                 Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for ALEXANDER
+
+  NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander;
+    By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might.
+    My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander-
+  BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right.  
+  BEROWNE. Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling
+    knight.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good
+    Alexander.
+  NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander-
+  BOYET. Most true, 'tis right, you were so, Alisander.
+  BEROWNE. Pompey the Great!
+  COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard.
+  BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.
+  COSTARD. [To Sir Nathaniel] O, Sir, you have overthrown Alisander
+    the conqueror! You will be scrap'd out of the painted cloth for
+    this. Your lion, that holds his poleaxe sitting on a close-stool,
+    will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror
+    and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander.
+    [Sir Nathaniel retires] There, an't shall please you, a foolish
+    mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd. He is a
+    marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for
+    Alisander- alas! you see how 'tis- a little o'erparted. But there
+    are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Stand aside, good Pompey.  
+
+         Enter HOLOFERNES, for JUDAS; and MOTH, for HERCULES
+
+  HOLOFERNES. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
+    Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus;
+    And when be was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
+    Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
+    Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
+    Ergo I come with this apology.
+    Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.      [MOTH retires]
+    Judas I am-
+  DUMAIN. A Judas!
+  HOLOFERNES. Not Iscariot, sir.
+    Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.
+  DUMAIN. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.
+  BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas?
+  HOLOFERNES. Judas I am-
+  DUMAIN. The more shame for you, Judas!
+  HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir?
+  BOYET. To make Judas hang himself.  
+  HOLOFERNES. Begin, sir; you are my elder.
+  BEROWNE. Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.
+  HOLOFERNES. I will not be put out of countenance.
+  BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face.
+  HOLOFERNES. What is this?
+  BOYET. A cittern-head.
+  DUMAIN. The head of a bodkin.
+  BEROWNE. A death's face in a ring.
+  LONGAVILLE. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
+  BOYET. The pommel of Coesar's falchion.
+  DUMAIN. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.
+  BEROWNE. Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch.
+  DUMAIN. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
+  BEROWNE. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now,
+    forward; for we have put thee in countenance.
+  HOLOFERNES. You have put me out of countenance.
+  BEROWNE. False: we have given thee faces.
+  HOLOFERNES. But you have outfac'd them all.
+  BEROWNE. An thou wert a lion we would do so.
+  BOYET. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.  
+    And so adieu, sweet Jude! Nay, why dost thou stay?
+  DUMAIN. For the latter end of his name.
+  BEROWNE. For the ass to the Jude; give it him- Jud-as, away.
+  HOLOFERNES. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
+  BOYET. A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble.
+                                            [HOLOFERNES retires]
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!
+
+                   Enter ARMADO, for HECTOR
+
+  BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms.
+  DUMAIN. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
+  KING. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.
+  BOYET. But is this Hector?
+  DUMAIN. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd.
+  LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector's.
+  DUMAIN. More calf, certain.
+  BOYET. No; he is best indued in the small.
+  BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector.
+  DUMAIN. He's a god or a painter, for he makes faces.  
+  ARMADO. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
+    Gave Hector a gift-
+  DUMAIN. A gilt nutmeg.
+  BEROWNE. A lemon.
+  LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves.
+  DUMAIN. No, cloven.
+  ARMADO. Peace!
+    The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
+    Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
+    A man so breathed that certain he would fight ye,
+    From morn till night out of his pavilion.
+    I am that flower-
+  DUMAIN. That mint.
+  LONGAVILLE. That columbine.
+  ARMADO. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
+  LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against
+    Hector.
+  DUMAIN. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.
+  ARMADO. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat
+    not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man. But  
+    I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS] Sweet royalty,
+    bestow on me the sense of hearing.
+
+          [BEROWNE steps forth, and speaks to COSTARD]
+
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.
+  ARMADO. I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper.
+  BOYET. [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot.
+  DUMAIN. [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard.
+  ARMADO. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal-
+  COSTARD. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two
+    months on her way.
+  ARMADO. What meanest thou?
+  COSTARD. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench
+    is cast away. She's quick; the child brags in her belly already;
+    'tis yours.
+  ARMADO. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.
+  COSTARD. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by
+    him, and hang'd for Pompey that is dead by him.
+  DUMAIN. Most rare Pompey!  
+  BOYET. Renowned Pompey!
+  BEROWNE. Greater than Great! Great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the
+    Huge!
+  DUMAIN. Hector trembles.
+  BEROWNE. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on! stir
+    them on!
+  DUMAIN. Hector will challenge him.
+  BEROWNE. Ay, if 'a have no more man's blood in his belly than will
+    sup a flea.
+  ARMADO. By the North Pole, I do challenge thee.
+  COSTARD. I will not fight with a pole, like a Northern man; I'll
+    slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my
+    arms again.
+  DUMAIN. Room for the incensed Worthies!
+  COSTARD. I'll do it in my shirt.
+  DUMAIN. Most resolute Pompey!
+  MOTH. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see
+    Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose
+    your reputation.
+  ARMADO. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my  
+    shirt.
+  DUMAIN. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.
+  ARMADO. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
+  BEROWNE. What reason have you for 't?
+  ARMADO. The naked truth of it is: I have no shirt; I go woolward
+    for penance.
+  BOYET. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen;
+    since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of
+    Jaquenetta's, and that 'a wears next his heart for a favour.
+
+                 Enter as messenger, MONSIEUR MARCADE
+
+  MARCADE. God save you, madam!
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Welcome, Marcade;
+    But that thou interruptest our merriment.
+  MARCADE. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
+    Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father-
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Dead, for my life!
+  MARCADE. Even so; my tale is told.
+  BEROWNE. WOrthies away; the scene begins to cloud.  
+  ARMADO. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the
+    day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will
+    right myself like a soldier.                 Exeunt WORTHIES
+  KING. How fares your Majesty?
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
+  KING. Madam, not so; I do beseech you stay.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
+    For all your fair endeavours, and entreat,
+    Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
+    In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
+    The liberal opposition of our spirits,
+    If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
+    In the converse of breath- your gentleness
+    Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord.
+    A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.
+    Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
+    For my great suit so easily obtain'd.
+  KING. The extreme parts of time extremely forms
+    All causes to the purpose of his speed;
+    And often at his very loose decides  
+    That which long process could not arbitrate.
+    And though the mourning brow of progeny
+    Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
+    The holy suit which fain it would convince,
+    Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
+    Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
+    From what it purpos'd; since to wail friends lost
+    Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
+    As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I understand you not; my griefs are double.
+  BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
+    And by these badges understand the King.
+    For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
+    Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
+    Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours
+    Even to the opposed end of our intents;
+    And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,
+    As love is full of unbefitting strains,
+    All wanton as a child, skipping and vain;
+    Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye,  
+    Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
+    Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
+    To every varied object in his glance;
+    Which parti-coated presence of loose love
+    Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes
+    Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
+    Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults
+    Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
+    Our love being yours, the error that love makes
+    Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false,
+    By being once false for ever to be true
+    To those that make us both- fair ladies, you;
+    And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
+    Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
+    Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
+    And, in our maiden council, rated them
+    At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
+    As bombast and as lining to the time;
+    But more devout than this in our respects  
+    Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
+    In their own fashion, like a merriment.
+  DUMAIN. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest.
+  LONGAVILLE. So did our looks.
+  ROSALINE. We did not quote them so.
+  KING. Now, at the latest minute of the hour,
+    Grant us your loves.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. A time, methinks, too short
+    To make a world-without-end bargain in.
+    No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much,
+    Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this,
+    If for my love, as there is no such cause,
+    You will do aught- this shall you do for me:
+    Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
+    To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
+    Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
+    There stay until the twelve celestial signs
+    Have brought about the annual reckoning.
+    If this austere insociable life
+    Change not your offer made in heat of blood,  
+    If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds,
+    Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
+    But that it bear this trial, and last love,
+    Then, at the expiration of the year,
+    Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts;
+    And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,
+    I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut
+    My woeful self up in a mournful house,
+    Raining the tears of lamentation
+    For the remembrance of my father's death.
+    If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
+    Neither intitled in the other's heart.
+  KING. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
+    To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
+    The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
+    Hence hermit then, my heart is in thy breast.
+  BEROWNE. And what to me, my love? and what to me?
+  ROSALINE. You must he purged too, your sins are rack'd;
+    You are attaint with faults and perjury;
+    Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,  
+    A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
+    But seek the weary beds of people sick.
+  DUMAIN. But what to me, my love? but what to me?
+    A wife?
+  KATHARINE. A beard, fair health, and honesty;
+    With threefold love I wish you all these three.
+  DUMAIN. O, shall I say I thank you, gentle wife?
+  KATHARINE. No so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day
+    I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say.
+    Come when the King doth to my lady come;
+    Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.
+  DUMAIN. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
+  KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.
+  LONGAVILLE. What says Maria?
+  MARIA. At the twelvemonth's end
+    I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
+  LONGAVILLE. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
+  MARIA. The liker you; few taller are so young.
+  BEROWNE. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me;
+    Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,  
+    What humble suit attends thy answer there.
+    Impose some service on me for thy love.
+  ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne,
+    Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
+    Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,
+    Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
+    Which you on all estates will execute
+    That lie within the mercy of your wit.
+    To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
+    And therewithal to win me, if you please,
+    Without the which I am not to be won,
+    You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
+    Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
+    With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
+    With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
+    To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
+  BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
+    It cannot be; it is impossible;
+    Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
+  ROSALINE. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,  
+    Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
+    Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools.
+    A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
+    Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
+    Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears,
+    Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans,
+    Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
+    And I will have you and that fault withal.
+    But if they will not, throw away that spirit,
+    And I shall find you empty of that fault,
+    Right joyful of your reformation.
+  BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall,
+    I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. [ To the King] Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take
+    my leave.
+  KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way.
+  BEROWNE. Our wooing doth not end like an old play:
+    Jack hath not Jill. These ladies' courtesy
+    Might well have made our sport a comedy.
+  KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth an' a day,  
+    And then 'twill end.
+  BEROWNE. That's too long for a play.
+
+                          Re-enter ARMADO
+
+  ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me-
+  PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was not that not Hector?
+  DUMAIN. The worthy knight of Troy.
+  ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a
+    votary: I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her
+    sweet love three year. But, most esteemed greatness, will you
+    hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in
+    praise of the Owl and the Cuckoo? It should have followed in the
+    end of our show.
+  KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so.
+  ARMADO. Holla! approach.
+
+                            Enter All
+
+    This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring- the one  
+    maintained by the Owl, th' other by the Cuckoo. Ver, begin.
+
+                      SPRING
+         When daisies pied and violets blue
+         And lady-smocks all silver-white
+         And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
+         Do paint the meadows with delight,
+         The cuckoo then on every tree
+         Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
+              'Cuckoo;
+         Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear,
+         Unpleasing to a married ear!
+
+         When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
+         And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks;
+         When turtles tread, and rooks and daws,
+         And maidens bleach their summer smocks;
+         The cuckoo then on every tree
+         Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
+              'Cuckoo;  
+         Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear,
+         Unpleasing to a married ear!
+
+
+                    WINTER
+
+         When icicles hang by the wall,
+         And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
+         And Tom bears logs into the hall,
+         And milk comes frozen home in pail,
+         When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
+         Then nightly sings the staring owl:
+              'Tu-who;
+         Tu-whit, Tu-who'- A merry note,
+         While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
+
+         When all aloud the wind doth blow,
+         And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
+         And birds sit brooding in the snow,
+         And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
+         When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,  
+         Then nightly sings the staring owl:
+              'Tu-who;
+         Tu-whit, To-who'- A merry note,
+         While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
+
+  ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
+    You that way: we this way.                            Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
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+1606
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH
+
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  DUNCAN, King of Scotland
+  MACBETH, Thane of Glamis and Cawdor, a general in the King's army
+  LADY MACBETH, his wife
+  MACDUFF, Thane of Fife, a nobleman of Scotland
+  LADY MACDUFF, his wife
+  MALCOLM, elder son of Duncan
+  DONALBAIN, younger son of Duncan
+  BANQUO, Thane of Lochaber, a general in the King's army
+  FLEANCE, his son
+  LENNOX, nobleman of Scotland
+  ROSS, nobleman of Scotland
+  MENTEITH nobleman of Scotland
+  ANGUS, nobleman of Scotland
+  CAITHNESS, nobleman of Scotland
+  SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces
+  YOUNG SIWARD, his son
+  SEYTON, attendant to Macbeth
+  HECATE, Queen of the Witches
+  The Three Witches
+  Boy, Son of Macduff  
+  Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth
+  An English Doctor
+  A Scottish Doctor
+  A Sergeant
+  A Porter
+  An Old Man
+  The Ghost of Banquo and other Apparitions
+  Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murtherers, Attendants,
+     and Messengers
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
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+
+
+
+SCENE: Scotland and England
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+A desert place. Thunder and lightning.
+
+Enter three Witches.
+
+  FIRST WITCH. When shall we three meet again?
+    In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
+  SECOND WITCH. When the hurlyburly's done,
+    When the battle's lost and won.
+  THIRD WITCH. That will be ere the set of sun.
+  FIRST WITCH. Where the place?
+  SECOND WITCH. Upon the heath.
+  THIRD WITCH. There to meet with Macbeth.
+  FIRST WITCH. I come, Graymalkin.
+  ALL. Paddock calls. Anon!
+    Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
+    Hover through the fog and filthy air.                Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A camp near Forres. Alarum within.
+
+Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with Attendants,
+meeting a bleeding Sergeant.
+
+  DUNCAN. What bloody man is that? He can report,
+    As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
+    The newest state.
+  MALCOLM. This is the sergeant
+    Who like a good and hardy soldier fought
+    'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!
+    Say to the King the knowledge of the broil
+    As thou didst leave it.
+  SERGEANT. Doubtful it stood,
+    As two spent swimmers that do cling together
+    And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-
+    Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
+    The multiplying villainies of nature
+    Do swarm upon him -from the Western Isles
+    Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;
+    And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,  
+    Show'd like a rebel's whore. But all's too weak;
+    For brave Macbeth -well he deserves that name-
+    Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
+    Which smoked with bloody execution,
+    Like Valor's minion carved out his passage
+    Till he faced the slave,
+    Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
+    Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
+    And fix'd his head upon our battlements.
+  DUNCAN. O valiant cousin! Worthy gentleman!
+  SERGEANT. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
+    Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,
+    So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come
+    Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark.
+    No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd,
+    Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
+    But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
+    With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men,
+    Began a fresh assault.
+  DUNCAN. Dismay'd not this  
+    Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo.?
+  SERGEANT. Yes,
+    As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
+    If I say sooth, I must report they were
+    As cannons overcharged with double cracks,
+    So they
+    Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe.
+    Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
+    Or memorize another Golgotha,
+    I cannot tell-
+    But I am faint; my gashes cry for help.
+  DUNCAN. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
+    They smack of honor both. Go get him surgeons.
+                                        Exit Sergeant, attended.
+    Who comes here?
+
+                       Enter Ross.
+
+  MALCOLM The worthy Thane of Ross.
+  LENNOX. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look  
+    That seems to speak things strange.
+  ROSS. God save the King!
+  DUNCAN. Whence camest thou, worthy Thane?
+  ROSS. From Fife, great King,
+    Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
+    And fan our people cold.
+    Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
+    Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
+    The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict,
+    Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
+    Confronted him with self-comparisons,
+    Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
+    Curbing his lavish spirit; and, to conclude,
+    The victory fell on us.
+  DUNCAN. Great happiness!
+  ROSS. That now
+    Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
+    Nor would we deign him burial of his men
+    Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's Inch,
+    Ten thousand dollars to our general use.  
+  DUNCAN. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive
+    Our bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death,
+    And with his former title greet Macbeth.
+  ROSS. I'll see it done.
+  DUNCAN. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A heath. Thunder.
+
+Enter the three Witches.
+
+  FIRST WITCH. Where hast thou been, sister?
+  SECOND WITCH. Killing swine.
+  THIRD WITCH. Sister, where thou?
+  FIRST WITCH. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
+    And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd. "Give me," quoth I.
+    "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries.
+    Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master the Tiger;
+    But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
+    And, like a rat without a tail,
+    I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.
+  SECOND WITCH. I'll give thee a wind.
+  FIRST WITCH. Thou'rt kind.
+  THIRD WITCH. And I another.
+  FIRST WITCH. I myself have all the other,
+    And the very ports they blow,
+    All the quarters that they know
+    I' the shipman's card.  
+    I will drain him dry as hay:
+    Sleep shall neither night nor day
+    Hang upon his penthouse lid;
+    He shall live a man forbid.
+    Weary se'nnights nine times nine
+    Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine;
+    Though his bark cannot be lost,
+    Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.
+    Look what I have.
+  SECOND WITCH. Show me, show me.
+  FIRST WITCH. Here I have a pilot's thumb,
+    Wreck'd as homeward he did come.                Drum within.
+  THIRD WITCH. A drum, a drum!
+    Macbeth doth come.
+  ALL. The weird sisters, hand in hand,
+    Posters of the sea and land,
+    Thus do go about, about,
+    Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
+    And thrice again, to make up nine.
+    Peace! The charm's wound up.  
+
+                 Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
+
+  MACBETH. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
+  BANQUO. How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these
+    So wither'd and so wild in their attire,
+    That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
+    And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
+    That man may question? You seem to understand me,
+    By each at once her choppy finger laying
+    Upon her skinny lips. You should be women,
+    And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
+    That you are so.
+  MACBETH. Speak, if you can. What are you?
+  FIRST WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!
+  SECOND WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!
+  THIRD WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter!
+  BANQUO. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
+    Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,
+    Are ye fantastical or that indeed  
+    Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
+    You greet with present grace and great prediction
+    Of noble having and of royal hope,
+    That he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not.
+    If you can look into the seeds of time,
+    And say which grain will grow and which will not,
+    Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
+    Your favors nor your hate.
+  FIRST WITCH. Hail!
+  SECOND WITCH. Hail!
+  THIRD WITCH. Hail!
+  FIRST WITCH. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
+  SECOND WITCH. Not so happy, yet much happier.
+  THIRD WITCH. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none.
+    So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!
+  FIRST WITCH. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!
+  MACBETH. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more.
+    By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis;
+    But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives,
+    A prosperous gentleman; and to be King  
+    Stands not within the prospect of belief,
+    No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
+    You owe this strange intelligence, or why
+    Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
+    With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.
+                                                 Witches vanish.
+  BANQUO. The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
+    And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?
+  MACBETH. Into the air, and what seem'd corporal melted
+    As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!
+  BANQUO. Were such things here as we do speak about?
+    Or have we eaten on the insane root
+    That takes the reason prisoner?
+  MACBETH. Your children shall be kings.
+  BANQUO. You shall be King.
+  MACBETH. And Thane of Cawdor too. Went it not so?
+  BANQUO. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?
+
+                Enter Ross and Angus.
+  
+  ROSS. The King hath happily received, Macbeth,
+    The news of thy success; and when he reads
+    Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
+    His wonders and his praises do contend
+    Which should be thine or his. Silenced with that,
+    In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day,
+    He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
+    Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
+    Strange images of death. As thick as hail
+    Came post with post, and every one did bear
+    Thy praises in his kingdom's great defense,
+    And pour'd them down before him.
+  ANGUS. We are sent
+    To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
+    Only to herald thee into his sight,
+    Not pay thee.
+  ROSS. And for an earnest of a greater honor,
+    He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor.
+    In which addition, hail, most worthy Thane,
+    For it is thine.  
+  BANQUO. What, can the devil speak true?
+  MACBETH. The Thane of Cawdor lives. Why do you dress me
+    In borrow'd robes?
+  ANGUS. Who was the Thane lives yet,
+    But under heavy judgement bears that life
+    Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined
+    With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
+    With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
+    He labor'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
+    But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
+    Have overthrown him.
+  MACBETH. [Aside.] Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!
+    The greatest is behind. [To Ross and Angus] Thanks for your
+      pains.
+    [Aside to Banquo] Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
+    When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me
+    Promised no less to them?
+  BANQUO. [Aside to Macbeth.] That, trusted home,
+    Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
+    Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange;  
+    And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
+    The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
+    Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
+    In deepest consequence-
+    Cousins, a word, I pray you.
+  MACBETH. [Aside.] Two truths are told,
+    As happy prologues to the swelling act
+    Of the imperial theme-I thank you, gentlemen.
+    [Aside.] This supernatural soliciting
+    Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill,
+    Why hath it given me earnest of success,
+    Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.
+    If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
+    Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
+    And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
+    Against the use of nature? Present fears
+    Are less than horrible imaginings:
+    My thought, whose murther yet is but fantastical,
+    Shakes so my single state of man that function
+    Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is  
+    But what is not.
+  BANQUO. Look, how our partner's rapt.
+  MACBETH. [Aside.] If chance will have me King, why, chance may
+      crown me
+    Without my stir.
+  BANQUO. New honors come upon him,
+    Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould
+    But with the aid of use.
+  MACBETH. [Aside.] Come what come may,
+    Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
+  BANQUO. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
+  MACBETH. Give me your favor; my dull brain was wrought
+    With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains
+    Are register'd where every day I turn
+    The leaf to read them. Let us toward the King.
+    Think upon what hath chanced, and at more time,
+    The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
+    Our free hearts each to other.
+  BANQUO. Very gladly.
+  MACBETH. Till then, enough. Come, friends.             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Forres. The palace.
+
+Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, and Attendants.
+
+  DUNCAN. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
+    Those in commission yet return'd?
+  MALCOLM. My liege,
+    They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
+    With one that saw him die, who did report
+    That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,
+    Implored your Highness' pardon, and set forth
+    A deep repentance. Nothing in his life
+    Became him like the leaving it; he died
+    As one that had been studied in his death,
+    To throw away the dearest thing he owed
+    As 'twere a careless trifle.
+  DUNCAN. There's no art
+    To find the mind's construction in the face:
+    He was a gentleman on whom I built
+    An absolute trust.  
+
+             Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus.
+
+    O worthiest cousin!
+    The sin of my ingratitude even now
+    Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before,
+    That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
+    To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,
+    That the proportion both of thanks and payment
+    Might have been mine! Only I have left to say,
+    More is thy due than more than all can pay.
+  MACBETH. The service and the loyalty lowe,
+    In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness' part
+    Is to receive our duties, and our duties
+    Are to your throne and state, children and servants,
+    Which do but what they should, by doing everything
+    Safe toward your love and honor.
+  DUNCAN. Welcome hither.
+    I have begun to plant thee, and will labor
+    To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,  
+    That hast no less deserved, nor must be known
+    No less to have done so; let me infold thee
+    And hold thee to my heart.
+  BANQUO. There if I grow,
+    The harvest is your own.
+  DUNCAN. My plenteous joys,
+    Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves
+    In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
+    And you whose places are the nearest, know
+    We will establish our estate upon
+    Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter
+    The Prince of Cumberland; which honor must
+    Not unaccompanied invest him only,
+    But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
+    On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,
+    And bind us further to you.
+  MACBETH. The rest is labor, which is not used for you.
+    I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
+    The hearing of my wife with your approach;
+    So humbly take my leave.  
+  DUNCAN. My worthy Cawdor!
+  MACBETH. [Aside.] The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step
+    On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,
+    For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;
+    Let not light see my black and deep desires.
+    The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be
+    Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.          Exit.
+  DUNCAN. True, worthy Banquo! He is full so valiant,
+    And in his commendations I am fed;
+    It is a banquet to me. Let's after him,
+    Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome.
+    It is a peerless kinsman.                  Flourish. Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Inverness. Macbeth's castle.
+
+Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.
+
+  LADY MACBETH. "They met me in the day of success, and I have
+    learned by the perfectest report they have more in them than
+    mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them
+    further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished.
+    Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the
+    King, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor'; by which title,
+    before, these weird sisters saluted me and referred me to the
+    coming on of time with 'Hail, King that shalt be!' This have I
+    thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness,
+    that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being
+    ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart,
+    and farewell."
+
+    Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be
+    What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature.
+    It is too full o' the milk of human kindness
+    To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;  
+    Art not without ambition, but without
+    The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,
+    That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
+    And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'ldst have, great Glamis,
+    That which cries, "Thus thou must do, if thou have it;
+    And that which rather thou dost fear to do
+    Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee hither,
+    That I may pour my spirits in thine ear,
+    And chastise with the valor of my tongue
+    All that impedes thee from the golden round,
+    Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
+    To have thee crown'd withal.
+
+                     Enter a Messenger.
+
+    What is your tidings?
+  MESSENGER. The King comes here tonight.
+  LADY MACBETH. Thou'rt mad to say it!
+    Is not thy master with him? who, were't so,
+    Would have inform'd for preparation.  
+  MESSENGER. So please you, it is true; our Thane is coming.
+    One of my fellows had the speed of him,
+    Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
+    Than would make up his message.
+  LADY MACBETH. Give him tending;
+    He brings great news.                        Exit Messenger.
+    The raven himself is hoarse
+    That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
+    Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
+    That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here
+    And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
+    Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood,
+    Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
+    That no compunctious visitings of nature
+    Shake my fell purpose nor keep peace between
+    The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
+    And take my milk for gall, your murthering ministers,
+    Wherever in your sightless substances
+    You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
+    And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell  
+    That my keen knife see not the wound it makes
+    Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
+    To cry, "Hold, hold!"
+
+                    Enter Macbeth.
+
+    Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor!
+    Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
+    Thy letters have transported me beyond
+    This ignorant present, and I feel now
+    The future in the instant.
+  MACBETH. My dearest love,
+    Duncan comes here tonight.
+  LADY MACBETH. And when goes hence?
+  MACBETH. Tomorrow, as he purposes.
+  LADY MACBETH. O, never
+    Shall sun that morrow see!
+    Your face, my Thane, is as a book where men
+    May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
+    Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,  
+    Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower,
+    But be the serpent under it. He that's coming
+    Must be provided for; and you shall put
+    This night's great business into my dispatch,
+    Which shall to all our nights and days to come
+    Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
+  MACBETH. We will speak further.
+  LADY MACBETH. Only look up clear;
+    To alter favor ever is to fear.
+    Leave all the rest to me.                            Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Before Macbeth's castle.  Hautboys and torches.
+
+Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, Ross, Angus,
+and Attendants.
+
+  DUNCAN. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
+    Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
+    Unto our gentle senses.
+  BANQUO. This guest of summer,
+    The temple-haunting martlet, does approve
+    By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath
+    Smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze,
+    Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird
+    Hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle;
+    Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed
+    The air is delicate.
+
+                     Enter Lady Macbeth.
+
+  DUNCAN. See, see, our honor'd hostess!
+    The love that follows us sometime is our trouble,  
+    Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you
+    How you shall bid God 'ield us for your pains,
+    And thank us for your trouble.
+  LADY MACBETH. All our service
+    In every point twice done, and then done double,
+    Were poor and single business to contend
+    Against those honors deep and broad wherewith
+    Your Majesty loads our house. For those of old,
+    And the late dignities heap'd up to them,
+    We rest your hermits.
+  DUNCAN. Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
+    We coursed him at the heels and had a purpose
+    To be his purveyor; but he rides well,
+    And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him
+    To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,
+    We are your guest tonight.
+  LADY MACBETH. Your servants ever
+    Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,
+    To make their audit at your Highness' pleasure,
+    Still to return your own.  
+  DUNCAN. Give me your hand;
+    Conduct me to mine host. We love him highly,
+    And shall continue our graces towards him.
+    By your leave, hostess.                              Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII
+Macbeth's castle.  Hautboys and torches.
+
+Enter a Sewer and divers Servants with dishes and service, who pass over
+the stage.  Then enter Macbeth.
+
+  MACBETH. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well
+    It were done quickly. If the assassination
+    Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
+    With his surcease, success; that but this blow
+    Might be the be-all and the end-all -here,
+    But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
+    We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases
+    We still have judgement here, that we but teach
+    Bloody instructions, which being taught return
+    To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice
+    Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
+    To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
+    First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
+    Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
+    Who should against his murtherer shut the door,  
+    Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
+    Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
+    So clear in his great office, that his virtues
+    Will plead like angels trumpet-tongued against
+    The deep damnation of his taking-off,
+    And pity, like a naked new-born babe
+    Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin horsed
+    Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
+    Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
+    That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
+    To prick the sides of my intent, but only
+    Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
+    And falls on the other.
+
+                 Enter Lady Macbeth.
+
+    How now, what news?
+  LADY MACBETH. He has almost supp'd. Why have you left the chamber?
+  MACBETH. Hath he ask'd for me?
+  LADY MACBETH. Know you not he has?  
+  MACBETH. We will proceed no further in this business:
+    He hath honor'd me of late, and I have bought
+    Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
+    Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
+    Not cast aside so soon.
+  LADY MACBETH. Was the hope drunk
+    Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since?
+    And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
+    At what it did so freely? From this time
+    Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
+    To be the same in thine own act and valor
+    As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
+    Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life
+    And live a coward in thine own esteem,
+    Letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would"
+    Like the poor cat i' the adage?
+  MACBETH. Prithee, peace!
+    I dare do all that may become a man;
+    Who dares do more is none.
+  LADY MACBETH. What beast wast then  
+    That made you break this enterprise to me?
+    When you durst do it, then you were a man,
+    And, to be more than what you were, you would
+    Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place
+    Did then adhere, and yet you would make both.
+    They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
+    Does unmake you. I have given suck and know
+    How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me-
+    I would, while it was smiling in my face,
+    Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums
+    And dash'd the brains out had I so sworn as you
+    Have done to this.
+  MACBETH. If we should fail?
+  LADY MACBETH. We fail?
+    But screw your courage to the sticking-place
+    And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep-
+    Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
+    Soundly invite him- his two chamberlains
+    Will I with wine and wassail so convince
+    That memory, the warder of the brain,  
+    Shall be a fume and the receipt of reason
+    A limbeck only. When in swinish sleep
+    Their drenched natures lie as in a death,
+    What cannot you and I perform upon
+    The unguarded Duncan? What not put upon
+    His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt
+    Of our great quell?
+  MACBETH. Bring forth men-children only,
+    For thy undaunted mettle should compose
+    Nothing but males. Will it not be received,
+    When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two
+    Of his own chamber and used their very daggers,
+    That they have done't?
+  LADY MACBETH. Who dares receive it other,
+    As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar
+    Upon his death?
+  MACBETH. I am settled and bend up
+    Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.
+    Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
+    False face must hide what the false heart doth know.  
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Inverness. Court of Macbeth's castle.
+
+Enter Banquo and Fleance, bearing a torch before him.
+
+  BANQUO. How goes the night, boy?
+  FLEANCE. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.
+  BANQUO. And she goes down at twelve.
+  FLEANCE. I take't 'tis later, sir.
+  BANQUO. Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven,
+    Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.
+    A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
+    And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers,
+    Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
+    Gives way to in repose!
+
+           Enter Macbeth and a Servant with a torch.
+
+    Give me my sword.
+    Who's there?
+  MACBETH. A friend.
+  BANQUO. What, sir, not yet at rest? The King's abed.  
+    He hath been in unusual pleasure and
+    Sent forth great largess to your offices.
+    This diamond he greets your wife withal,
+    By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up
+    In measureless content.
+  MACBETH. Being unprepared,
+    Our will became the servant to defect,
+    Which else should free have wrought.
+  BANQUO. All's well.
+    I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:
+    To you they have show'd some truth.
+  MACBETH. I think not of them;
+    Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
+    We would spend it in some words upon that business,
+    If you would grant the time.
+  BANQUO. At your kind'st leisure.
+  MACBETH. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
+    It shall make honor for you.
+  BANQUO. So I lose none
+    In seeking to augment it, but still keep  
+    My bosom franchised and allegiance clear,
+    I shall be counsel'd.
+  MACBETH. Good repose the while.
+  BANQUO. Thanks, sir, the like to you.
+                                     Exeunt Banquo. and Fleance.
+  MACBETH. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
+    She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.     Exit Servant.
+    Is this a dagger which I see before me,
+    The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
+    I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
+    Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
+    To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
+    A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
+    Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
+    I see thee yet, in form as palpable
+    As this which now I draw.
+    Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going,
+    And such an instrument I was to use.
+    Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
+    Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still,  
+    And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
+    Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
+    It is the bloody business which informs
+    Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world
+    Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
+    The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates
+    Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murther,
+    Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
+    Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
+    With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
+    Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
+    Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
+    Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
+    And take the present horror from the time,
+    Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;
+    Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
+                                                   A bell rings.
+    I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
+    Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
+    That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.               Exit.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The same.
+
+Enter Lady Macbeth.
+
+  LADY MACBETH. That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold;
+    What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace!
+    It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,
+    Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it:
+    The doors are open, and the surfeited grooms
+    Do mock their charge with snores. I have drugg'd their possets
+    That death and nature do contend about them,
+    Whether they live or die.
+  MACBETH. [Within.] Who's there' what, ho!
+  LADY MACBETH. Alack, I am afraid they have awaked
+    And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed
+    Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;
+    He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled
+    My father as he slept, I had done't.
+
+                      Enter Macbeth,
+  
+    My husband!
+  MACBETH. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?
+  LADY MACBETH. I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.
+    Did not you speak?
+  MACBETH. When?
+  LADY MACBETH. Now.
+  MACBETH. As I descended?
+  LADY MACBETH. Ay.
+  MACBETH. Hark!
+    Who lies i' the second chamber?
+  LADY MACBETH. Donalbain.
+  MACBETH. This is a sorry sight.           [Looks on his hands.
+  LADY MACBETH. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
+  MACBETH. There's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one cried,
+      "Murther!"
+    That they did wake each other. I stood and heard them,
+    But they did say their prayers and address'd them
+    Again to sleep.
+  LADY MACBETH. There are two lodged together.
+  MACBETH. One cried, "God bless us!" and "Amen" the other,  
+    As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
+    Listening their fear, I could not say "Amen,"
+    When they did say, "God bless us!"
+  LADY MACBETH. Consider it not so deeply.
+  MACBETH. But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen"?
+    I had most need of blessing, and "Amen"
+    Stuck in my throat.
+  LADY MACBETH. These deeds must not be thought
+    After these ways; so, it will make us mad.
+  MACBETH. I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more!
+    Macbeth does murther sleep" -the innocent sleep,
+    Sleep that knits up the ravel'd sleave of care,
+    The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
+    Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
+    Chief nourisher in life's feast-
+  LADY MACBETH. What do you mean?
+  MACBETH. Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to all the house;
+    "Glamis hath murther'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor
+    Shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more."
+  LADY MACBETH. Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy Thane,  
+    You do unbend your noble strength, to think
+    So brainsickly of things. Go, get some water
+    And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
+    Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
+    They must lie there. Go carry them, and smear
+    The sleepy grooms with blood.
+  MACBETH. I'll go no more.
+    I am afraid to think what I have done;
+    Look on't again I dare not.
+  LADY MACBETH. Infirm of purpose!
+    Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead
+    Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood
+    That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
+    I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
+    For it must seem their guilt.         Exit. Knocking within.
+  MACBETH. Whence is that knocking?
+    How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
+    What hands are here? Ha, they pluck out mine eyes!
+    Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
+    Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather  
+    The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
+    Making the green one red.
+
+                   Re-enter Lady Macbeth.
+
+  LADY MACBETH. My hands are of your color, but I shame
+    To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within.] I hear knocking
+    At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber.
+    A little water clears us of this deed.
+    How easy is it then! Your constancy
+    Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.] Hark, more knocking.
+    Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us
+    And show us to be watchers. Be not lost
+    So poorly in your thoughts.
+  MACBETH. To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself.
+                                                Knocking within.
+    Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The same.
+
+Enter a Porter. Knocking within.
+
+  PORTER. Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of Hell
+    Gate, he should have old turning the key. [Knocking within.]
+    Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Belzebub? Here's
+    a farmer that hanged himself on th' expectation of plenty. Come
+    in time! Have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat fort.
+    [Knocking within.] Knock, knock! Who's there, in th' other
+    devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator that could swear in
+    both the scales against either scale, who committed treason
+    enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven. O,
+    come in, equivocator. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock, knock!
+    Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for
+    stealing out of a French hose. Come in, tailor; here you may
+    roast your goose. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock! Never at
+    quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll
+    devil-porter it no further. I had thought to have let in some of
+    all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting
+    bonfire. [Knocking within.] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the  
+    porter.
+                                                 Opens the gate.
+
+                       Enter Macduff and Lennox.
+
+  MACDUFF. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
+    That you do lie so late?
+  PORTER. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock; and
+    drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.
+  MACDUFF. What three things does drink especially provoke?
+  PORTER. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir,
+    it provokes and unprovokes: it provokes the desire, but it takes
+    away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an
+    equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets
+    him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him and disheartens
+    him; makes him stand to and not stand to; in conclusion,
+    equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him the lie, leaves him.
+  MACDUFF. I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.
+  PORTER. That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me; but requited
+    him for his lie, and, I think, being too strong for him, though  
+    he took up my legs sometime, yet I made shift to cast him.
+  MACDUFF. Is thy master stirring?
+
+                             Enter Macbeth.
+
+    Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes.
+  LENNOX. Good morrow, noble sir.
+  MACBETH. morrow, both.
+  MACDUFF. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane?
+  MACBETH. Not yet.
+  MACDUFF. He did command me to call timely on him;
+    I have almost slipp'd the hour.
+  MACBETH. I'll bring you to him.
+  MACDUFF. I know this is a joyful trouble to you,
+    But yet 'tis one.
+  MACBETH. The labor we delight in physics pain.
+    This is the door.
+  MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call,
+    For 'tis my limited service.                           Exit.
+  LENNOX. Goes the King hence today?  
+  MACBETH. He does; he did appoint so.
+  LENNOX. The night has been unruly. Where we lay,
+    Our chimneys were blown down, and, as they say,
+    Lamentings heard i' the air, strange screams of death,
+    And prophesying with accents terrible
+    Of dire combustion and confused events
+    New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird
+    Clamor'd the livelong night. Some say the earth
+    Was feverous and did shake.
+  MACBETH. 'Twas a rough fight.
+  LENNOX. My young remembrance cannot parallel
+    A fellow to it.
+
+                      Re-enter Macduff.
+
+  MACDUFF. O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart
+    Cannot conceive nor name thee.
+  MACBETH. LENNOX. What's the matter?
+  MACDUFF. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
+    Most sacrilegious murther hath broke ope  
+    The Lord's anointed temple and stole thence
+    The life o' the building.
+  MACBETH. What is't you say? the life?
+  LENNOX. Mean you his Majesty?
+  MACDUFF. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
+    With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak;
+    See, and then speak yourselves.
+                                      Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox.
+    Awake, awake!
+    Ring the alarum bell. Murther and treason!
+    Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm, awake!
+    Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
+    And look on death itself! Up, up, and see
+    The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo!
+    As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites
+    To countenance this horror! Ring the bell.       Bell rings.
+
+                     Enter Lady Macbeth.
+
+  LADY MACBETH. What's the business,  
+    That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
+    The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!
+  MACDUFF. O gentle lady,
+    'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:
+    The repetition in a woman's ear
+    Would murther as it fell.
+
+                     Enter Banquo.
+
+    O Banquo, Banquo!
+    Our royal master's murther'd.
+  LADY MACBETH. Woe, alas!
+    What, in our house?
+  BANQUO. Too cruel anywhere.
+    Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself,
+    And say it is not so.
+
+          Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox, with Ross.
+
+  MACBETH. Had I but died an hour before this chance,  
+    I had lived a blessed time, for from this instant
+    There's nothing serious in mortality.
+    All is but toys; renown and grace is dead,
+    The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
+    Is left this vault to brag of.
+
+                Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.
+
+  DONALBAIN. What is amiss?
+  MACBETH. You are, and do not know't.
+    The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
+    Is stopped, the very source of it is stopp'd.
+  MACDUFF. Your royal father's murther'd.
+   MALCOLM. O, by whom?
+  LENNOX. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't.
+    Their hands and faces were all badged with blood;
+    So were their daggers, which unwiped we found
+    Upon their pillows.
+    They stared, and were distracted; no man's life
+    Was to be trusted with them.  
+  MACBETH. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
+    That I did kill them.
+  MACDUFF. Wherefore did you so?
+  MACBETH. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,
+    Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
+    The expedition of my violent love
+    Outrun the pauser reason. Here lay Duncan,
+    His silver skin laced with his golden blood,
+    And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature
+    For ruin's wasteful entrance; there, the murtherers,
+    Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their daggers
+    Unmannerly breech'd with gore. Who could refrain,
+    That had a heart to love, and in that heart
+    Courage to make 's love known?
+  LADY MACBETH. Help me hence, ho!
+  MACDUFF. Look to the lady.
+  MALCOLM. [Aside to Donalbain.] Why do we hold our tongues,
+    That most may claim this argument for ours?
+  DONALBAIN. [Aside to Malcolm.] What should be spoken here, where
+      our fate,  
+    Hid in an auger hole, may rush and seize us?
+    Let's away,
+    Our tears are not yet brew'd.
+  MALCOLM. [Aside to Donalbain.] Nor our strong sorrow
+    Upon the foot of motion.
+  BANQUO. Look to the lady.
+                                    Lady Macbeth is carried out.
+    And when we have our naked frailties hid,
+    That suffer in exposure, let us meet
+    And question this most bloody piece of work
+    To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us.
+    In the great hand of God I stand, and thence
+    Against the undivulged pretense I fight
+    Of treasonous malice.
+  MACDUFF. And so do I.
+  ALL. So all.
+  MACBETH. Let's briefly put on manly readiness
+    And meet i' the hall together.
+  ALL. Well contented.
+                           Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain.  
+  MALCOLM. What will you do? Let's not consort with them.
+    To show an unfelt sorrow is an office
+    Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.
+  DONALBAIN. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune
+    Shall keep us both the safer. Where we are
+    There's daggers in men's smiles; the near in blood,
+    The nearer bloody.
+  MALCOLM. This murtherous shaft that's shot
+    Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way
+    Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse;
+    And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,
+    But shift away. There's warrant in that theft
+    Which steals itself when there's no mercy left.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Outside Macbeth's castle.
+
+Enter Ross with an Old Man.
+
+  OLD MAN. Threescore and ten I can remember well,
+    Within the volume of which time I have seen
+    Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night
+    Hath trifled former knowings.
+  ROSS. Ah, good father,
+    Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's act,
+    Threaten his bloody stage. By the clock 'tis day,
+    And yet dark night strangles the traveling lamp.
+    Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,
+    That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
+    When living light should kiss it?
+  OLD MAN. 'Tis unnatural,
+    Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last
+    A falcon towering in her pride of place
+    Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.
+  ROSS. And Duncan's horses-a thing most strange and certain-
+    Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,  
+    Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
+    Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
+    War with mankind.
+  OLD MAN. 'Tis said they eat each other.
+  ROSS. They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes
+    That look'd upon't.
+
+                     Enter Macduff.
+
+    Here comes the good Macduff.
+    How goes the world, sir, now?
+  MACDUFF. Why, see you not?
+  ROSS. Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?
+  MACDUFF. Those that Macbeth hath slain.
+  ROSS. Alas, the day!
+    What good could they pretend?
+  MACDUFF. They were suborn'd:
+    Malcolm and Donalbain, the King's two sons,
+    Are stol'n away and fled, which puts upon them
+    Suspicion of the deed.  
+  ROSS. 'Gainst nature still!
+    Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
+    Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like
+    The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.
+  MACDUFF. He is already named, and gone to Scone
+    To be invested.
+  ROSS. Where is Duncan's body?
+  MACDUFF. Carried to Colmekill,
+    The sacred storehouse of his predecessors
+    And guardian of their bones.
+  ROSS. Will you to Scone?
+  MACDUFF. No, cousin, I'll to Fife.
+  ROSS. Well, I will thither.
+  MACDUFF. Well, may you see things well done there.
+    Adieu,
+    Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!
+  ROSS. Farewell, father.
+  OLD MAN. God's benison go with you and with those
+    That would make good of bad and friends of foes!
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Forres. The palace.
+
+Enter Banquo.
+
+  BANQUO. Thou hast it now: King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
+    As the weird women promised, and I fear
+    Thou play'dst most foully for't; yet it was said
+    It should not stand in thy posterity,
+    But that myself should be the root and father
+    Of many kings. If there come truth from them
+    (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine)
+    Why, by the verities on thee made good,
+    May they not be my oracles as well
+    And set me up in hope? But hush, no more.
+
+      Sennet sounds. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth
+    as Queen, Lennox, Ross, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants.
+
+  MACBETH. Here's our chief guest.
+  LADY MACBETH. If he had been forgotten,
+    It had been as a gap in our great feast  
+    And all thing unbecoming.
+  MACBETH. Tonight we hold a solemn supper, sir,
+    And I'll request your presence.
+  BANQUO. Let your Highness
+    Command upon me, to the which my duties
+    Are with a most indissoluble tie
+    Forever knit.
+  MACBETH. Ride you this afternoon?
+  BANQUO. Ay, my good lord.
+  MACBETH. We should have else desired your good advice,
+    Which still hath been both grave and prosperous
+    In this day's council; but we'll take tomorrow.
+    Is't far you ride'!
+  BANQUO. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
+    'Twixt this and supper. Go not my horse the better,
+    I must become a borrower of the night
+    For a dark hour or twain.
+  MACBETH. Fail not our feast.
+  BANQUO. My lord, I will not.
+  MACBETH. We hear our bloody cousins are bestow'd  
+    In England and in Ireland, not confessing
+    Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
+    With strange invention. But of that tomorrow,
+    When therewithal we shall have cause of state
+    Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse; adieu,
+    Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?
+  BANQUO. Ay, my good lord. Our time does call upon 's.
+  MACBETH. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot,
+    And so I do commend you to their backs.
+    Farewell.                                       Exit Banquo.
+    Let every man be master of his time
+    Till seven at night; to make society
+    The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself
+    Till supper time alone. While then, God be with you!
+                        Exeunt all but Macbeth and an Attendant.
+    Sirrah, a word with you. Attend those men
+    Our pleasure?
+  ATTENDANT. They are, my lord, without the palace gate.
+  MACBETH. Bring them before us.                 Exit Attendant.
+    To be thus is nothing,  
+    But to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo.
+    Stick deep, and in his royalty of nature
+    Reigns that which would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares,
+    And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
+    He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor
+    To act in safety. There is none but he
+    Whose being I do fear; and under him
+    My genius is rebuked, as it is said
+    Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters
+    When first they put the name of King upon me
+    And bade them speak to him; then prophet-like
+    They hail'd him father to a line of kings.
+    Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown
+    And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
+    Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
+    No son of mine succeeding. If't be so,
+    For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind,
+    For them the gracious Duncan have I murther'd,
+    Put rancors in the vessel of my peace
+    Only for them, and mine eternal jewel  
+    Given to the common enemy of man,
+    To make them kings -the seed of Banquo kings!
+    Rather than so, come, Fate, into the list,
+    And champion me to the utterance! Who's there?
+
+        Re-enter Attendant, with two Murtherers.
+
+    Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.
+                                                 Exit Attendant.
+    Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
+  FIRST MURTHERER. It was, so please your Highness.
+  MACBETH. Well then, now
+    Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know
+    That it was he in the times past which held you
+    So under fortune, which you thought had been
+    Our innocent self? This I made good to you
+    In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you:
+    How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments,
+    Who wrought with them, and all things else that might
+    To half a soul and to a notion crazed  
+    Say, "Thus did Banquo."
+  FIRST MURTHERER. You made it known to us.
+  MACBETH. I did so, and went further, which is now
+    Our point of second meeting. Do you find
+    Your patience so predominant in your nature,
+    That you can let this go? Are you so gospel'd,
+    To pray for this good man and for his issue,
+    Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave
+    And beggar'd yours forever?
+  FIRST MURTHERER. We are men, my liege.
+  MACBETH. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men,
+    As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,
+    Shoughs, waterrugs, and demi-wolves are clept
+    All by the name of dogs. The valued file
+    Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
+    The housekeeper, the hunter, every one
+    According to the gift which bounteous nature
+    Hath in him closed, whereby he does receive
+    Particular addition, from the bill
+    That writes them all alike; and so of men.  
+    Now if you have a station in the file,
+    Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it,
+    And I will put that business in your bosoms
+    Whose execution takes your enemy off,
+    Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
+    Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
+    Which in his death were perfect.
+  SECOND MURTHERER. I am one, my liege,
+    Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
+    Have so incensed that I am reckless what
+    I do to spite the world.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. And I another
+    So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,
+    That I would set my life on any chance,
+    To mend it or be rid on't.
+  MACBETH. Both of you
+    Know Banquo was your enemy.
+  BOTH MURTHERERS. True, my lord.
+  MACBETH. So is he mine, and in such bloody distance
+    That every minute of his being thrusts  
+    Against my near'st of life; and though I could
+    With barefaced power sweep him from my sight
+    And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,
+    For certain friends that are both his and mine,
+    Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
+    Who I myself struck down. And thence it is
+    That I to your assistance do make love,
+    Masking the business from the common eye
+    For sundry weighty reasons.
+  SECOND MURTHERER. We shall, my lord,
+    Perform what you command us.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. Though our lives-
+  MACBETH. Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most
+    I will advise you where to plant yourselves,
+    Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,
+    The moment on't; fort must be done tonight
+    And something from the palace (always thought
+    That I require a clearness); and with him-
+    To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-
+    Fleance his son, that keeps him company,  
+    Whose absence is no less material to me
+    Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
+    Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart;
+    I'll come to you anon.
+  BOTH MURTHERERS. We are resolved, my lord.
+  MACBETH. I'll call upon you straight. Abide within.
+                                              Exeunt Murtherers.
+    It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight,
+    If it find heaven, must find it out tonight.           Exit.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The palace.
+
+Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.
+
+  LADY MACBETH. Is Banquo gone from court?
+  SERVANT. Ay, madam, but returns again tonight.
+  LADY MACBETH. Say to the King I would attend his leisure
+    For a few words.
+  SERVANT. Madam, I will.                                  Exit.
+  LADY MACBETH. Nought's had, all's spent,
+    Where our desire is got without content.
+    'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
+    Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
+
+                    Enter Macbeth.
+
+    How now, my lord? Why do you keep alone,
+    Of sorriest fancies your companions making,
+    Using those thoughts which should indeed have died
+    With them they think on? Things without all remedy
+    Should be without regard. What's done is done.  
+  MACBETH. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it.
+    She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice
+    Remains in danger of her former tooth.
+    But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,
+    Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep
+    In the affliction of these terrible dreams
+    That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,
+    Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
+    Than on the torture of the mind to lie
+    In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
+    After life's fitful fever he sleeps well.
+    Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,
+    Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
+    Can touch him further.
+  LADY MACBETH. Come on,
+    Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
+    Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight.
+  MACBETH. So shall I, love, and so, I pray, be you.
+    Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;
+    Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:  
+    Unsafe the while, that we
+    Must lave our honors in these flattering streams,
+    And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
+    Disguising what they are.
+  LADY MACBETH. You must leave this.
+  MACBETH. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
+    Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance lives.
+  LADY MACBETH. But in them nature's copy's not eterne.
+  MACBETH. There's comfort yet; they are assailable.
+    Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
+    His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons
+    The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums
+    Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
+    A deed of dreadful note.
+  LADY MACBETH. What's to be done?
+  MACBETH. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
+    Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,
+    Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,
+    And with thy bloody and invisible hand
+    Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond  
+    Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the crow
+    Makes wing to the rooky wood;
+    Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
+    Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
+    Thou marvel'st at my words, but hold thee still:
+    Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
+    So, prithee, go with me.                             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A park near the palace.
+
+Enter three Murtherers.
+
+  FIRST MURTHERER. But who did bid thee join with us?
+  THIRD MURTHERER. Macbeth.
+  SECOND MURTHERER. He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers
+    Our offices and what we have to do
+    To the direction just.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. Then stand with us.
+    The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day;
+    Now spurs the lated traveler apace
+    To gain the timely inn, and near approaches
+    The subject of our watch.
+  THIRD MURTHERER. Hark! I hear horses.
+  BANQUO. [Within.] Give us a light there, ho!
+  SECOND MURTHERER. Then 'tis he; the rest
+    That are within the note of expectation
+    Already are i' the court.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. His horses go about.
+  THIRD MURTHERER. Almost a mile, but he does usually-  
+    So all men do -from hence to the palace gate
+    Make it their walk.
+  SECOND MURTHERER. A light, a light!
+
+              Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch.
+
+  THIRD MURTHERER. 'Tis he.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. Stand to't.
+  BANQUO. It will be rain tonight.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. Let it come down.
+                                           They set upon Banquo.
+  BANQUO. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
+    Thou mayst revenge. O slave!          Dies. Fleance escapes.
+  THIRD MURTHERER. Who did strike out the light?
+  FIRST MURTHERER. Wast not the way?
+  THIRD MURTHERER. There's but one down; the son is fled.
+  SECOND MURTHERER. We have lost
+    Best half of our affair.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. Well, let's away and say how much is done.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+A Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared.
+
+Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and Attendants.
+
+  MACBETH. You know your own degrees; sit down. At first
+    And last the hearty welcome.
+  LORDS. Thanks to your Majesty.
+  MACBETH. Ourself will mingle with society
+    And play the humble host.
+    Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time
+    We will require her welcome.
+  LADY MACBETH. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends,
+    For my heart speaks they are welcome.
+
+                Enter first Murtherer to the door.
+
+  MACBETH. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.
+    Both sides are even; here I'll sit i' the midst.
+    Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure
+    The table round. [Approaches the door.] There's blood upon thy  
+      face.
+  MURTHERER. 'Tis Banquo's then.
+  MACBETH. 'Tis better thee without than he within.
+    Is he dispatch'd?
+  MURTHERER. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.
+  MACBETH. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats! Yet he's good
+    That did the like for Fleance. If thou didst it,
+    Thou art the nonpareil.
+  MURTHERER. Most royal sir,
+    Fleance is 'scaped.
+  MACBETH. [Aside.] Then comes my fit again. I had else been perfect,
+    Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,
+    As broad and general as the casing air;
+    But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
+    To saucy doubts and fears -But Banquo's safe?
+  MURTHERER. Ay, my good lord. Safe in a ditch he bides,
+    With twenty trenched gashes on his head,
+    The least a death to nature.
+  MACBETH. Thanks for that.
+    There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled  
+    Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
+    No teeth for the present. Get thee gone. Tomorrow
+    We'll hear ourselves again.
+                                                 Exit Murtherer.
+  LADY MACBETH. My royal lord,
+    You do not give the cheer. The feast is sold
+    That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis amaking,
+    'Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home;
+    From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;
+    Meeting were bare without it.
+  MACBETH. Sweet remembrancer!
+    Now good digestion wait on appetite,
+    And health on both!
+  LENNOX. May't please your Highness sit.
+
+      The Ghost of Banquo enters and sits in Macbeth's place.
+
+  MACBETH. Here had we now our country's honor roof'd,
+    Were the graced person of our Banquo present,
+    Who may I rather challenge for unkindness  
+    Than pity for mischance!
+  ROSS. His absence, sir,
+    Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your Highness
+    To grace us with your royal company?
+  MACBETH. The table's full.
+  LENNOX. Here is a place reserved, sir.
+  MACBETH. Where?
+  LENNOX. Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your Highness?
+  MACBETH. Which of you have done this?
+  LORDS. What, my good lord?
+  MACBETH. Thou canst not say I did it; never shake
+    Thy gory locks at me.
+  ROSS. Gentlemen, rise; his Highness is well.
+  LADY MACBETH. Sit, worthy friends; my lord is often thus,
+    And hath been from his youth. Pray you, keep seat.
+    The fit is momentary; upon a thought
+    He will again be well. If much you note him,
+    You shall offend him and extend his passion.
+    Feed, and regard him not-Are you a man?
+  MACBETH. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that  
+    Which might appal the devil.
+  LADY MACBETH. O proper stuff!
+    This is the very painting of your fear;
+    This is the air-drawn dagger which you said
+    Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts,
+    Impostors to true fear, would well become
+    A woman's story at a winter's fire,
+    Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!
+    Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
+    You look but on a stool.
+  MACBETH. Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you?
+    Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.
+    If charnel houses and our graves must send
+    Those that we bury back, our monuments
+    Shall be the maws of kites.                      Exit Ghost.
+  LADY MACBETH. What, quite unmann'd in folly?
+  MACBETH. If I stand here, I saw him.
+  LADY MACBETH. Fie, for shame!
+  MACBETH. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,
+    Ere humane statute purged the gentle weal;  
+    Ay, and since too, murthers have been perform'd
+    Too terrible for the ear. The time has been,
+    That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
+    And there an end; but now they rise again,
+    With twenty mortal murthers on their crowns,
+    And push us from our stools. This is more strange
+    Than such a murther is.
+  LADY MACBETH. My worthy lord,
+    Your noble friends do lack you.
+  MACBETH. I do forget.
+    Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends.
+    I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
+    To those that know me. Come, love and health to all;
+    Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine, fill full.
+    I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,
+    And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss.
+    Would he were here! To all and him we thirst,
+    And all to all.
+  LORDS. Our duties and the pledge.
+  
+                     Re-enter Ghost.
+
+  MACBETH. Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
+    Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
+    Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
+    Which thou dost glare with.
+  LADY MACBETH. Think of this, good peers,
+    But as a thing of custom. 'Tis no other,
+    Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
+  MACBETH. What man dare, I dare.
+    Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
+    The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger;
+    Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
+    Shall never tremble. Or be alive again,
+    And dare me to the desert with thy sword.
+    If trembling I inhabit then, protest me
+    The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
+    Unreal mockery, hence!                           Exit Ghost.
+    Why, so, being gone,
+    I am a man again. Pray you sit still.  
+  LADY MACBETH. You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,
+    With most admired disorder.
+  MACBETH. Can such things be,
+    And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
+    Without our special wonder? You make me strange
+    Even to the disposition that I owe
+    When now I think you can behold such sights
+    And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks
+    When mine is blanch'd with fear.
+  ROSS. What sights, my lord?
+  LADY MACBETH. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;
+    Question enrages him. At once, good night.
+    Stand not upon the order of your going,
+    But go at once.
+  LENNOX. Good night, and better health
+    Attend his Majesty!
+  LADY MACBETH. A kind good night to all!
+                        Exeunt all but Macbeth and Lady Macbeth.
+  MACBETH. will have blood; they say blood will have blood.
+    Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;  
+    Augures and understood relations have
+    By maggot pies and choughs and rooks brought forth
+    The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?
+  LADY MACBETH. Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
+  MACBETH. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person
+    At our great bidding?
+  LADY MACBETH. Did you send to him, sir?
+  MACBETH. I hear it by the way, but I will send.
+    There's not a one of them but in his house
+    I keep a servant feed. I will tomorrow,
+    And betimes I will, to the weird sisters.
+    More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,
+    By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good
+    All causes shall give way. I am in blood
+    Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
+    Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
+    Strange things I have in head that will to hand,
+    Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.
+  LADY MACBETH. You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
+  MACBETH. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse  
+    Is the initiate fear that wants hard use.
+    We are yet but young in deed.                       Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+A heath. Thunder.
+
+Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate.
+
+  FIRST WITCH. Why, how now, Hecate? You look angerly.
+  HECATE. Have I not reason, beldams as you are,
+    Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
+    To trade and traffic with Macbeth
+    In riddles and affairs of death,
+    And I, the mistress of your charms,
+    The close contriver of all harms,
+    Was never call'd to bear my part,
+    Or show the glory of our art?
+    And, which is worse, all you have done
+    Hath been but for a wayward son,
+    Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,
+    Loves for his own ends, not for you.
+    But make amends now. Get you gone,
+    And at the pit of Acheron
+    Meet me i' the morning. Thither he
+    Will come to know his destiny.  
+    Your vessels and your spells provide,
+    Your charms and everything beside.
+    I am for the air; this night I'll spend
+    Unto a dismal and a fatal end.
+    Great business must be wrought ere noon:
+    Upon the corner of the moon
+    There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
+    I'll catch it ere it come to ground.
+    And that distill'd by magic sleights
+    Shall raise such artificial sprites
+    As by the strength of their illusion
+    Shall draw him on to his confusion.
+    He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
+    His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear.
+    And you all know security
+    Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
+                                        Music and a song within,
+                                         "Come away, come away."
+    Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,
+    Sits in a foggy cloud and stays for me.                Exit.  
+  FIRST WITCH. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Forres. The palace.
+
+Enter Lennox and another Lord.
+
+  LENNOX. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,
+    Which can interpret farther; only I say
+    Thing's have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan
+    Was pitied of Macbeth; marry, he was dead.
+    And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late,
+    Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd,
+    For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
+    Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
+    It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
+    To kill their gracious father? Damned fact!
+    How it did grieve Macbeth! Did he not straight,
+    In pious rage, the two delinquents tear
+    That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?
+    Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too,
+    For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive
+    To hear the men deny't. So that, I say,
+    He has borne all things well; and I do think  
+    That, had he Duncan's sons under his key-
+    As, an't please heaven, he shall not -they should find
+    What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.
+    But, peace! For from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd
+    His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
+    Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
+    Where he bestows himself?
+  LORD. The son of Duncan,
+    From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,
+    Lives in the English court and is received
+    Of the most pious Edward with such grace
+    That the malevolence of fortune nothing
+    Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff
+    Is gone to pray the holy King, upon his aid
+    To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward;
+    That by the help of these, with Him above
+    To ratify the work, we may again
+    Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights,
+    Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,
+    Do faithful homage, and receive free honors-  
+    All which we pine for now. And this report
+    Hath so exasperate the King that he
+    Prepares for some attempt of war.
+  LENNOX. Sent he to Macduff?
+  LORD. He did, and with an absolute "Sir, not I,"
+    The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
+    And hums, as who should say, "You'll rue the time
+    That clogs me with this answer."
+  LENNOX. And that well might
+    Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance
+    His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
+    Fly to the court of England and unfold
+    His message ere he come, that a swift blessing
+    May soon return to this our suffering country
+    Under a hand accursed!
+  LORD. I'll send my prayers with him.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder.
+
+Enter the three Witches.
+  FIRST WITCH. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.
+  SECOND WITCH. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.
+  THIRD WITCH. Harpier cries, "'Tis time, 'tis time."
+  FIRST WITCH. Round about the cauldron go;
+    In the poison'd entrails throw.
+    Toad, that under cold stone
+    Days and nights has thirty-one
+    Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
+    Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.
+  ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble;
+    Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
+  SECOND WITCH. Fillet of a fenny snake,
+    In the cauldron boil and bake;
+    Eye of newt and toe of frog,
+    Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
+    Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
+    Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
+    For a charm of powerful trouble,  
+    Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
+  ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble;
+    Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
+  THIRD WITCH. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
+    Witch's mummy, maw and gulf
+    Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
+    Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
+    Liver of blaspheming Jew,
+    Gall of goat and slips of yew
+    Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse,
+    Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,
+    Finger of birth-strangled babe
+    Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
+    Make the gruel thick and slab.
+    Add thereto a tiger's chawdron,
+    For the ingredients of our cawdron.
+  ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble;
+    Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
+  SECOND WITCH. Cool it with a baboon's blood,
+    Then the charm is firm and good.  
+
+            Enter Hecate to the other three Witches.
+
+  HECATE. O, well done! I commend your pains,
+    And everyone shall share i' the gains.
+    And now about the cauldron sing,
+    Like elves and fairies in a ring,
+    Enchanting all that you put in.
+                              Music and a song, "Black spirits."
+                                                 Hecate retires.
+  SECOND WITCH. By the pricking of my thumbs,
+    Something wicked this way comes.
+    Open, locks,
+    Whoever knocks!
+
+                      Enter Macbeth.
+
+  MACBETH. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?
+    What is't you do?
+  ALL. A deed without a name.  
+  MACBETH. I conjure you, by that which you profess
+    (Howeer you come to know it) answer me:
+    Though you untie the winds and let them fight
+    Against the churches, though the yesty waves
+    Confound and swallow navigation up,
+    Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down,
+    Though castles topple on their warders' heads,
+    Though palaces and pyramids do slope
+    Their heads to their foundations, though the treasure
+    Of nature's germaines tumble all together
+    Even till destruction sicken, answer me
+    To what I ask you.
+  FIRST WITCH. Speak.
+  SECOND WITCH. Demand.
+  THIRD WITCH. We'll answer.
+  FIRST WITCH. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths,
+    Or from our masters'?
+  MACBETH. Call 'em, let me see 'em.
+  FIRST WITCH. Pour in sow's blood that hath eaten
+    Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten  
+    From the murtherer's gibbet throw
+    Into the flame.
+  ALL. Come, high or low;
+    Thyself and office deftly show!
+
+            Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head.
+
+  MACBETH. Tell me, thou unknown power-
+  FIRST WITCH. He knows thy thought:
+    Hear his speech, but say thou nought.
+  FIRST APPARITION. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff,
+    Beware the Thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough.
+                                                       Descends.
+  MACBETH. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;
+    Thou hast harp'd my fear aright. But one word more-
+  FIRST WITCH. He will not be commanded. Here's another,
+    More potent than the first.
+
+          Thunder. Second Apparition: a bloody Child.
+  
+  SECOND APPARITION. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!
+  MACBETH. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.
+  SECOND APPARITION. Be bloody, bold, and resolute: laugh to scorn
+    The power of man, for none of woman born
+    Shall harm Macbeth.                                Descends.
+  MACBETH. Then live, Macduff. What need I fear of thee?
+    But yet I'll make assurance double sure,
+    And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live,
+    That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,
+    And sleep in spite of thunder.
+
+       Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned,
+               with a tree in his hand.
+
+    What is this,
+    That rises like the issue of a king,
+    And wears upon his baby brow the round
+    And top of sovereignty?
+  ALL. Listen, but speak not to't.
+  THIRD APPARITION. Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care  
+    Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are.
+    Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until
+    Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill
+    Shall come against him.                            Descends.
+  MACBETH. That will never be.
+    Who can impress the forest, bid the tree
+    Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements, good!
+    Rebellion's head, rise never till the Wood
+    Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth
+    Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
+    To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart
+    Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art
+    Can tell so much, shall Banquo's issue ever
+    Reign in this kingdom?
+  ALL. Seek to know no more.
+  MACBETH. I will be satisfied! Deny me this,
+    And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.
+    Why sinks that cauldron, and what noise is this?
+                                                       Hautboys.
+  FIRST WITCH. Show!  
+  SECOND WITCH. Show!
+  THIRD. WITCH. Show!
+  ALL. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
+    Come like shadows, so depart!
+
+    A show of eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand;
+                   Banquo's Ghost following.
+
+  MACBETH. Thou are too like the spirit of Banquo Down!
+    Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs. And thy hair,
+    Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.
+    A third is like the former. Filthy hags!
+    Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes!
+    What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
+    Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more!
+    And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
+    Which shows me many more; and some I see
+    That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry.
+    Horrible sight! Now I see 'tis true;
+    For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,  
+    And points at them for his. What, is this so?
+  FIRST WITCH. Ay, sir, all this is so. But why
+    Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
+    Come,sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
+    And show the best of our delights.
+    I'll charm the air to give a sound,
+    While you perform your antic round,
+    That this great King may kindly say
+    Our duties did his welcome pay.
+                                    Music. The Witches dance and
+                                        then vanish with Hecate.
+  MACBETH. are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour
+    Stand ay accursed in the calendar!
+    Come in, without there!
+
+                    Enter Lennox.
+
+  LENNOX. What's your Grace's will?
+  MACBETH. Saw you the weird sisters?
+  LENNOX. No, my lord.  
+  MACBETH. Came they not by you?
+  LENNOX. No indeed, my lord.
+  MACBETH. Infected be the 'air whereon they ride,
+    And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear
+    The galloping of horse. Who wast came by?
+  LENNOX. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word
+    Macduff is fled to England.
+  MACBETH. Fled to England?
+  LENNOX. Ay, my good lord.
+  MACBETH. [Aside.] Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits.
+    The flighty purpose never is o'ertook
+    Unless the deed go with it. From this moment
+    The very firstlings of my heart shall be
+    The firstlings of my hand. And even now,
+    To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:
+    The castle of Macduff I will surprise,
+    Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' the sword
+    His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
+    That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;
+    This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.  
+    But no more sights! -Where are these gentlemen?
+    Come, bring me where they are.                       Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Fife. Macduff's castle.
+
+Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross.
+
+  LADY MACDUFF. What had he done, to make him fly the land?
+  ROSS. You must have patience, madam.
+  LADY MACDUFF. He had none;
+    His flight was madness. When our actions do not,
+    Our fears do make us traitors.
+  ROSS. You know not
+    Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Wisdom? To leave his wife, to leave his babes,
+    His mansion, and his titles, in a place
+    From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
+    He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,
+    The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
+    Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
+    All is the fear and nothing is the love;
+    As little is the wisdom, where the flight
+    So runs against all reason.
+  ROSS. My dearest coz,  
+    I pray you, school yourself. But for your husband,
+    He is noble, wise, Judicious, and best knows
+    The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further;
+    But cruel are the times when we are traitors
+    And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumor
+    From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,
+    But float upon a wild and violent sea
+    Each way and move. I take my leave of you;
+    Shall not be long but I'll be here again.
+    Things at the worst will cease or else climb upward
+    To what they were before. My pretty cousin,
+    Blessing upon you!
+  LADY MACDUFF. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.
+  ROSS. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
+    It would be my disgrace and your discomfort.
+    I take my leave at once.                               Exit.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Sirrah, your father's dead.
+    And what will you do now? How will you live?
+  SON. As birds do, Mother.
+  LADY MACDUFF. What, with worms and flies?  
+  SON. With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Poor bird! Thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime,
+    The pitfall nor the gin.
+  SON. Why should I, Mother? Poor birds they are not set for.
+    My father is not dead, for all your saying.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Yes, he is dead. How wilt thou do for father?
+  SON. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
+  LADY MACDUFF. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.
+  SON. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Thou speak'st with all thy wit, and yet, i' faith,
+    With wit enough for thee.
+  SON. Was my father a traitor, Mother?
+  LADY MACDUFF. Ay, that he was.
+  SON. What is a traitor?
+  LADY MACDUFF. Why one that swears and lies.
+  SON. And be all traitors that do so?
+  LADY MACDUFF. Everyone that does so is a traitor and must be
+     hanged.
+  SON. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?
+  LADY MACDUFF. Everyone.  
+  SON. Who must hang them?
+  LADY MACDUFF. Why, the honest men.
+  SON. Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and
+    swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do
+    for a father?
+  SON. If he were dead, you'ld weep for him; if you would not, it
+    were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!
+
+                    Enter a Messenger.
+
+  MESSENGER. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
+    Though in your state of honor I am perfect.
+    I doubt some danger does approach you nearly.
+    If you will take a homely man's advice,
+    Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
+    To fright you thus, methinks I am too savage;
+    To do worse to you were fell cruelty,
+    Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!  
+    I dare abide no longer.                                Exit.
+  LADY MACDUFF. Whither should I fly?
+    I have done no harm. But I remember now
+    I am in this earthly world, where to do harm
+    Is often laudable, to do good sometime
+    Accounted dangerous folly. Why then, alas,
+    Do I put up that womanly defense,
+    To say I have done no harm -What are these faces?
+
+                      Enter Murtherers.
+
+  FIRST MURTHERER. Where is your husband?
+  LADY MACDUFF. I hope, in no place so unsanctified
+    Where such as thou mayst find him.
+  FIRST MURTHERER. He's a traitor.
+  SON. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain!
+  FIRST MURTHERER. What, you egg!
+                                                      Stabs him.
+    Young fry of treachery!
+  SON. He has kill'd me, Mother.  
+    Run away, I pray you!                                  Dies.
+                            Exit Lady Macduff, crying "Murther!"
+                               Exeunt Murtherers, following her.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+England. Before the King's palace.
+
+Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
+
+  MALCOLM. Let us seek out some desolate shade and there
+    Weep our sad bosoms empty.
+  MACDUFF. Let us rather
+    Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
+    Bestride our downfall'n birthdom. Each new morn
+    New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
+    Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
+    As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out
+    Like syllable of dolor.
+  MALCOLM. What I believe, I'll wall;
+    What know, believe; and what I can redress,
+    As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
+    What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.
+    This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
+    Was once thought honest. You have loved him well;
+    He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but something
+    You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom  
+    To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
+    To appease an angry god.
+  MACDUFF. I am not treacherous.
+  MALCOLM. But Macbeth is.
+    A good and virtuous nature may recoil
+    In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;
+    That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.
+    Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
+    Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
+    Yet grace must still look so.
+  MACDUFF. I have lost my hopes.
+  MALCOLM. Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.
+    Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
+    Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,
+    Without leave-taking? I pray you,
+    Let not my jealousies be your dishonors,
+    But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
+    Whatever I shall think.
+  MACDUFF. Bleed, bleed, poor country!
+    Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,  
+    For goodness dare not check thee. Wear thou thy wrongs;
+    The title is affeer'd. Fare thee well, lord.
+    I would not be the villain that thou think'st
+    For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp
+    And the rich East to boot.
+  MALCOLM. Be not offended;
+    I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
+    I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
+    It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
+    Is added to her wounds. I think withal
+    There would be hands uplifted in my right;
+    And here from gracious England have I offer
+    Of goodly thousands. But for all this,
+    When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
+    Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
+    Shall have more vices than it had before,
+    More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,
+    By him that shall succeed.
+  MACDUFF. What should he be?
+  MALCOLM. It is myself I mean, in whom I know  
+    All the particulars of vice so grafted
+    That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
+    Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state
+    Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
+    With my confineless harms.
+  MACDUFF. Not in the legions
+    Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
+    In evils to top Macbeth.
+  MALCOLM. I grant him bloody,
+    Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
+    Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
+    That has a name. But there's no bottom, none,
+    In my voluptuousness. Your wives, your daughters,
+    Your matrons, and your maids could not fill up
+    The cestern of my lust, and my desire
+    All continent impediments would o'erbear
+    That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth
+    Than such an one to reign.
+  MACDUFF. Boundless intemperance
+    In nature is a tyranny; it hath been  
+    The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
+    And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
+    To take upon you what is yours. You may
+    Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty
+    And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.
+    We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
+    That vulture in you to devour so many
+    As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
+    Finding it so inclined.
+  MALCOLM. With this there grows
+    In my most ill-composed affection such
+    A stanchless avarice that, were I King,
+    I should cut off the nobles for their lands,
+    Desire his jewels and this other's house,
+    And my more-having would be as a sauce
+    To make me hunger more, that I should forge
+    Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
+    Destroying them for wealth.
+  MACDUFF. This avarice
+    Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root  
+    Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been
+    The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not fear;
+    Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will
+    Of your mere own. All these are portable,
+    With other graces weigh'd.
+  MALCOLM. But I have none. The king-becoming graces,
+    As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
+    Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
+    Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
+    I have no relish of them, but abound
+    In the division of each several crime,
+    Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
+    Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
+    Uproar the universal peace, confound
+    All unity on earth.
+  MACDUFF. O Scotland, Scotland!
+  MALCOLM. If such a one be fit to govern, speak.
+    I am as I have spoken.
+  MACDUFF. Fit to govern?
+    No, not to live. O nation miserable!  
+    With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,
+    When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
+    Since that the truest issue of thy throne
+    By his own interdiction stands accursed
+    And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father
+    Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore thee,
+    Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
+    Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
+    These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
+    Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,
+    Thy hope ends here!
+  MALCOLM. Macduff, this noble passion,
+    Child of integrity, hath from my soul
+    Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts
+    To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Macbeth
+    By many of these trains hath sought to win me
+    Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me
+    From over-credulous haste. But God above
+    Deal between thee and me! For even now
+    I put myself to thy direction and  
+    Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
+    The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
+    For strangers to my nature. I am yet
+    Unknown to woman, never was forsworn,
+    Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,
+    At no time broke my faith, would not betray
+    The devil to his fellow, and delight
+    No less in truth than life. My first false speaking
+    Was this upon myself. What I am truly
+    Is thine and my poor country's to command.
+    Whither indeed, before thy here-approach,
+    Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men
+    Already at a point, was setting forth.
+    Now we'll together, and the chance of goodness
+    Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
+  MACDUFF. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
+    'Tis hard to reconcile.
+
+                     Enter a Doctor.
+  
+  MALCOLM. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth, I pray you?
+  DOCTOR. Ay, sir, there are a crew of wretched souls
+    That stay his cure. Their malady convinces
+    The great assay of art, but at his touch,
+    Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,
+    They presently amend.
+  MALCOLM. I thank you, Doctor.                     Exit Doctor.
+  MACDUFF. What's the disease he means?
+  MALCOLM. 'Tis call'd the evil:
+    A most miraculous work in this good King,
+    Which often, since my here-remain in England,
+    I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
+    Himself best knows; but strangely-visited people,
+    All swol'n and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
+    The mere despair of surgery, he cures,
+    Hanging a golden stamp about their necks
+    Put on with holy prayers; and 'tis spoken,
+    To the succeeding royalty he leaves
+    The healing benediction. With this strange virtue
+    He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy,  
+    And sundry blessings hang about his throne
+    That speak him full of grace.
+
+                    Enter Ross.
+
+  MACDUFF. See, who comes here?
+  MALCOLM. My countryman, but yet I know him not.
+  MACDUFF. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither.
+  MALCOLM. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove
+    The means that makes us strangers!
+  ROSS. Sir, amen.
+  MACDUFF. Stands Scotland where it did?
+  ROSS. Alas, poor country,
+    Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
+    Be call'd our mother, but our grave. Where nothing,
+    But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
+    Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air,
+    Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
+    A modern ecstasy. The dead man's knell
+    Is there scarce ask'd for who, and good men's lives  
+    Expire before the flowers in their caps,
+    Dying or ere they sicken.
+  MACDUFF. O, relation
+    Too nice, and yet too true!
+  MALCOLM. What's the newest grief?
+  ROSS. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
+    Each minute teems a new one.
+  MACDUFF. How does my wife?
+  ROSS. Why, well.
+  MACDUFF. And all my children?
+  ROSS. Well too.
+  MACDUFF. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?
+  ROSS. No, they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.
+  MACDUFF. Be not a niggard of your speech. How goest?
+  ROSS. When I came hither to transport the tidings,
+    Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor
+    Of many worthy fellows that were out,
+    Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
+    For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot.
+    Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland  
+    Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
+    To doff their dire distresses.
+  MALCOLM. Be't their comfort
+    We are coming thither. Gracious England hath
+    Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
+    An older and a better soldier none
+    That Christendom gives out.
+  ROSS. Would I could answer
+    This comfort with the like! But I have words
+    That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
+    Where hearing should not latch them.
+  MACDUFF. What concern they?
+    The general cause? Or is it a fee-grief
+    Due to some single breast?
+  ROSS. No mind that's honest
+    But in it shares some woe, though the main part
+    Pertains to you alone.
+  MACDUFF. If it be mine,
+    Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
+  ROSS. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever,  
+    Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
+    That ever yet they heard.
+  MACDUFF. Humh! I guess at it.
+  ROSS. Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes
+    Savagely slaughter'd. To relate the manner
+    Were, on the quarry of these murther'd deer,
+    To add the death of you.
+  MALCOLM. Merciful heaven!
+    What, man! Neer pull your hat upon your brows;
+    Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak
+    Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.
+  MACDUFF. My children too?
+  ROSS. Wife, children, servants, all
+    That could be found.
+  MACDUFF. And I must be from thence!
+    My wife kill'd too?
+  ROSS. I have said.
+  MALCOLM. Be comforted.
+    Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
+    To cure this deadly grief.  
+  MACDUFF. He has no children. All my pretty ones?
+    Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?
+    What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
+    At one fell swoop?
+  MALCOLM. Dispute it like a man.
+  MACDUFF. I shall do so,
+    But I must also feel it as a man.
+    I cannot but remember such things were
+    That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on,
+    And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
+    They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am,
+    Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
+    Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!
+  MALCOLM. Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief
+    Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
+  MACDUFF. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes
+    And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens,
+    Cut short all intermission; front to front
+    Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
+    Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,  
+    Heaven forgive him too!
+  MALCOLM. This tune goes manly.
+    Come, go we to the King; our power is ready,
+    Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth
+    Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
+    Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may,
+    The night is long that never finds the day.          Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Dunsinane. Anteroom in the castle.
+
+Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting Gentlewoman.
+
+  DOCTOR. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no
+    truth in your report. When was it she last walked?
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Since his Majesty went into the field, have seen her
+    rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her
+    closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it,
+    afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while
+    in a most fast sleep.
+  DOCTOR. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the
+    benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery
+    agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances,
+    what, at any time, have you heard her say?
+  GENTLEWOMAN. That, sir, which I will not report after her.
+  DOCTOR. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should.
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Neither to you nor anyone, having no witness to
+    confirm my speech.
+
+                Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper.  
+
+    Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise, and, upon my
+    life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.
+  DOCTOR. How came she by that light?
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Why, it stood by her. She has light by her
+     continually; 'tis her command.
+  DOCTOR. You see, her eyes are open.
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Ay, but their sense is shut.
+  DOCTOR. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.
+  GENTLEWOMAN. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus
+    washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of
+    an hour.
+  LADY MACBETH. Yet here's a spot.
+  DOCTOR. Hark, she speaks! I will set down what comes from her, to
+    satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
+  LADY MACBETH. Out, damned spot! Out, I say! One- two -why then 'tis
+    time to do't. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and
+    afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our
+    power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have
+    had so much blood in him?  
+  DOCTOR. Do you mark that?
+  LADY MACBETH. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What,
+    will these hands neer be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more
+    o' that. You mar all with this starting.
+  DOCTOR. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
+  GENTLEWOMAN. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that.
+    Heaven knows what she has known.
+  LADY MACBETH. Here's the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes
+    of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!
+  DOCTOR. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
+  GENTLEWOMAN. I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the
+    dignity of the whole body.
+  DOCTOR. Well, well, well-
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Pray God it be, sir.
+  DOCTOR. This disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known those
+    which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their
+    beds.
+  LADY MACBETH. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look not so
+    pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out
+    on's grave.  
+  DOCTOR. Even so?
+  LADY MACBETH. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come,
+    come, come, come, give me your hand.What's done cannot be undone.
+    To bed, to bed, to bed.
+Exit.
+  DOCTOR. Will she go now to bed?
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Directly.
+  DOCTOR. Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds
+    Do breed unnatural troubles; infected minds
+    To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
+    More needs she the divine than the physician.
+    God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
+    Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
+    And still keep eyes upon her. So good night.
+    My mind she has mated and amazed my sight.
+    I think, but dare not speak.
+  GENTLEWOMAN. Good night, good doctor.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The country near Dunsinane. Drum and colors.
+
+Enter Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers.
+
+  MENTEITH. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,
+    His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
+    Revenges burn in them, for their dear causes
+    Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm
+    Excite the mortified man.
+  ANGUS. Near Birnam Wood
+    Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
+  CAITHNESS. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?
+  LENNOX. For certain, sir, he is not; I have a file
+    Of all the gentry. There is Seward's son
+    And many unrough youths that even now
+    Protest their first of manhood.
+  MENTEITH. What does the tyrant?
+  CAITHNESS. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.
+    Some say he's mad; others, that lesser hate him,
+    Do call it valiant fury; but, for certain,
+    He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause  
+    Within the belt of rule.
+  ANGUS. Now does he feel
+    His secret murthers sticking on his hands,
+    Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
+    Those he commands move only in command,
+    Nothing in love. Now does he feel his title
+    Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
+    Upon a dwarfish thief.
+  MENTEITH. Who then shall blame
+    His pester'd senses to recoil and start,
+    When all that is within him does condemn
+    Itself for being there?
+  CAITHNESS. Well, march we on
+    To give obedience where 'tis truly owed.
+    Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal,
+    And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
+    Each drop of us.
+  LENNOX. Or so much as it needs
+    To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds.
+    Make we our march towards Birnam.           Exeunt marching.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Dunsinane. A room in the castle.
+
+Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
+
+  MACBETH. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all!
+    Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane
+    I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
+    Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
+    All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus:
+    "Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman
+    Shall e'er have power upon thee." Then fly, false Thanes,
+    And mingle with the English epicures!
+    The mind I sway by and the heart I bear
+    Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.
+
+                       Enter a Servant.
+
+    The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
+    Where got'st thou that goose look?
+  SERVANT. There is ten thousand-
+  MACBETH. Geese, villain?  
+  SERVANT. Soldiers, sir.
+  MACBETH. Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear,
+    Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
+    Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine
+    Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
+  SERVANT. The English force, so please you.
+  MACBETH. Take thy face hence.                    Exit Servant.
+    Seyton-I am sick at heart,
+    When I behold- Seyton, I say!- This push
+    Will cheer me ever or disseat me now.
+    I have lived long enough. My way of life
+    Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf,
+    And that which should accompany old age,
+    As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
+    I must not look to have; but in their stead,
+    Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath,
+    Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.
+    Seyton!
+
+                       Enter Seyton.  
+
+  SEYTON. What's your gracious pleasure?
+  MACBETH. What news more?
+  SEYTON. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.
+  MACBETH. I'll fight, 'til from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
+    Give me my armor.
+  SEYTON. 'Tis not needed yet.
+  MACBETH. I'll put it on.
+    Send out more horses, skirr the country round,
+    Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armor.
+    How does your patient, doctor?
+  DOCTOR. Not so sick, my lord,
+    As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
+    That keep her from her rest.
+  MACBETH. Cure her of that.
+    Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
+    Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
+    Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
+    And with some sweet oblivious antidote
+    Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff  
+    Which weighs upon the heart?
+  DOCTOR. Therein the patient
+    Must minister to himself.
+  MACBETH. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.
+    Come, put mine armor on; give me my staff.
+    Seyton, send out. Doctor, the Thanes fly from me.
+    Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast
+    The water of my land, find her disease
+    And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
+    I would applaud thee to the very echo,
+    That should applaud again. Pull't off, I say.
+    What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug
+    Would scour these English hence? Hearst thou of them?
+  DOCTOR. Ay, my good lord, your royal preparation
+    Makes us hear something.
+  MACBETH. Bring it after me.
+    I will not be afraid of death and bane
+    Till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane.
+  DOCTOR. [Aside.] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
+    Profit again should hardly draw me here.             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Country near Birnam Wood. Drum and colors.
+
+Enter Malcolm, old Seward and his Son, Macduff, Menteith, Caithness,
+Angus, Lennox, Ross, and Soldiers, marching.
+
+  MALCOLM. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand
+    That chambers will be safe.
+  MENTEITH. We doubt it nothing.
+  SIWARD. What wood is this before us?
+  MENTEITH. The Wood of Birnam.
+  MALCOLM. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,
+    And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow
+    The numbers of our host, and make discovery
+    Err in report of us.
+  SOLDIERS. It shall be done.
+  SIWARD. We learn no other but the confident tyrant
+    Keeps still in Dunsinane and will endure
+    Our setting down before't.
+  MALCOLM. 'Tis his main hope;
+    For where there is advantage to be given,
+    Both more and less have given him the revolt,  
+    And none serve with him but constrained things
+    Whose hearts are absent too.
+  MACDUFF. Let our just censures
+    Attend the true event, and put we on
+    Industrious soldiership.
+  SIWARD. The time approaches
+    That will with due decision make us know
+    What we shall say we have and what we owe.
+    Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,
+    But certain issue strokes must arbitrate.
+    Towards which advance the war.
+                                                Exeunt Marching.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Dunsinane. Within the castle.
+
+Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with drum and colors.
+
+  MACBETH. Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
+    The cry is still, "They come!" Our castle's strength
+    Will laugh a siege to scorn. Here let them lie
+    Till famine and the ague eat them up.
+    Were they not forced with those that should be ours,
+    We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
+    And beat them backward home.
+                                          A cry of women within.
+    What is that noise?
+  SEYTON. It is the cry of women, my good lord.            Exit.
+  MACBETH. I have almost forgot the taste of fears:
+    The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
+    To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair
+    Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
+    As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors;
+    Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
+    Cannot once start me.  
+
+                  Re-enter Seyton.
+     Wherefore was that cry?
+  SEYTON. The Queen, my lord, is dead.
+  MACBETH. She should have died hereafter;
+    There would have been a time for such a word.
+    Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
+    Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
+    To the last syllable of recorded time;
+    And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
+    The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
+    Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
+    That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
+    And then is heard no more. It is a tale
+    Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
+    Signifying nothing.
+
+                 Enter a Messenger.
+
+    Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.  
+  MESSENGER. Gracious my lord,
+    I should report that which I say I saw,
+    But know not how to do it.
+  MACBETH. Well, say, sir.
+  MESSENGER. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
+    I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
+    The Wood began to move.
+  MACBETH. Liar and slave!
+  MESSENGER. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so.
+    Within this three mile may you see it coming;
+    I say, a moving grove.
+  MACBETH. If thou speak'st false,
+    Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
+    Till famine cling thee; if thy speech be sooth,
+    I care not if thou dost for me as much.
+    I pull in resolution and begin
+    To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
+    That lies like truth. "Fear not, till Birnam Wood
+    Do come to Dunsinane," and now a wood
+    Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!  
+    If this which he avouches does appear,
+    There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
+    I 'gin to be aweary of the sun
+    And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.
+    Ring the alarum bell! Blow, wind! Come, wrack!
+    At least we'll die with harness on our back.         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Dunsinane.  Before the castle.
+
+Enter Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, and their Army, with boughs.
+Drum and colors.
+
+  MALCOLM. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down,
+    And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle,
+    Shall with my cousin, your right noble son,
+    Lead our first battle. Worthy Macduff and we
+    Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,
+    According to our order.
+  SIWARD. Fare you well.
+    Do we but find the tyrant's power tonight,
+    Let us be beaten if we cannot fight.
+  MACDUFF. Make all our trumpets speak, give them all breath,
+    Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+Dunsinane.  Before the castle.  Alarums.
+
+Enter Macbeth.
+
+  MACBETH. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
+    But bear-like I must fight the course. What's he
+    That was not born of woman? Such a one
+    Am I to fear, or none.
+
+                     Enter young Siward.
+
+  YOUNG SIWARD. What is thy name?
+  MACBETH. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
+  YOUNG SIWARD. No, though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
+    Than any is in hell.
+  MACBETH. My name's Macbeth.
+  YOUNG SIWARD. The devil himself could not pronounce a title
+    More hateful to mine ear.
+  MACBETH. No, nor more fearful.
+  YOUNG SIWARD O Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
+    I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.  
+                          They fight, and young Seward is slain.
+  MACBETH. Thou wast born of woman.
+    But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
+    Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.              Exit.
+
+                Alarums. Enter Macduff.
+
+  MACDUFF. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face!
+    If thou best slain and with no stroke of mine,
+    My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
+    I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms
+    Are hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth,
+    Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
+    I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;
+    By this great clatter, one of greatest note
+    Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune!
+    And more I beg not.                           Exit. Alarums.
+
+                Enter Malcolm and old Siward.
+  
+  SIWARD. This way, my lord; the castle's gently render'd.
+    The tyrant's people on both sides do fight,
+    The noble Thanes do bravely in the war,
+    The day almost itself professes yours,
+    And little is to do.
+  MALCOLM. We have met with foes
+    That strike beside us.
+  SIWARD. Enter, sir, the castle.
+                                                 Exeunt. Alarum.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+Another part of the field.
+
+Enter Macbeth.
+
+  MACBETH. Why should I play the Roman fool and die
+    On mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes
+    Do better upon them.
+
+                      Enter Macduff.
+
+  MACDUFF. Turn, hell hound, turn!
+  MACBETH. Of all men else I have avoided thee.
+    But get thee back, my soul is too much charged
+    With blood of thine already.
+  MACDUFF. I have no words.
+    My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain
+    Than terms can give thee out!                    They fight.
+  MACBETH. Thou losest labor.
+    As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
+    With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed.
+    Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;  
+    I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
+    To one of woman born.
+  MACDUFF. Despair thy charm,
+    And let the angel whom thou still hast served
+    Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
+    Untimely ripp'd.
+  MACBETH. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
+    For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
+    And be these juggling fiends no more believed
+    That patter with us in a double sense,
+    That keep the word of promise to our ear
+    And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.
+  MACDUFF. Then yield thee, coward,
+    And live to be the show and gaze o' the time.
+    We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
+    Painted upon a pole, and underwrit,
+    "Here may you see the tyrant."
+  MACBETH. I will not yield,
+    To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
+    And to be baited with the rabble's curse.  
+    Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane,
+    And thou opposed, being of no woman born,
+    Yet I will try the last. Before my body
+    I throw my warlike shield! Lay on, Macduff,
+    And damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"
+                                       Exeunt fighting. Alarums.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colors, Malcolm, old Siward, Ross,
+the other Thanes, and Soldiers.
+
+  MALCOLM. I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.
+  SIWARD. Some must go off, and yet, by these I see,
+    So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
+  MALCOLM. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
+  ROSS. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt.
+    He only lived but till he was a man,
+    The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd
+    In the unshrinking station where he fought,
+    But like a man he died.
+  SIWARD. Then he is dead?
+  ROSS. Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow
+    Must not be measured by his worth, for then
+    It hath no end.
+  SIWARD. Had he his hurts before?
+  ROSS. Ay, on the front.
+  SIWARD. Why then, God's soldier be he!
+    Had I as many sons as I have hairs,  
+    I would not wish them to a fairer death.
+    And so his knell is knoll'd.
+  MALCOLM. He's worth more sorrow,
+    And that I'll spend for him.
+  SIWARD. He's worth no more:
+    They say he parted well and paid his score,
+    And so God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.
+
+             Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.
+
+  MACDUFF. Hail, King, for so thou art. Behold where stands
+    The usurper's cursed head. The time is free.
+    I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl
+    That speak my salutation in their minds,
+    Whose voices I desire aloud with mine-
+    Hail, King of Scotland!
+  ALL. Hail, King of Scotland!                         Flourish.
+  MALCOLM. We shall not spend a large expense of time
+    Before we reckon with your several loves
+    And make us even with you. My Thanes and kinsmen,  
+    Henceforth be Earls, the first that ever Scotland
+    In such an honor named. What's more to do,
+    Which would be planted newly with the time,
+    As calling home our exiled friends abroad
+    That fled the snares of watchful tyranny,
+    Producing forth the cruel ministers
+    Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen,
+    Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
+    Took off her life; this, and what needful else
+    That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace
+    We will perform in measure, time, and place.
+    So thanks to all at once and to each one,
+    Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.
+                                               Flourish. Exeunt.
+                 -THE END-
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1605
+
+
+MEASURE FOR MEASURE
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  VINCENTIO, the Duke
+  ANGELO, the Deputy
+  ESCALUS, an ancient Lord
+  CLAUDIO, a young gentleman
+  LUCIO, a fantastic
+  Two other like Gentlemen
+  VARRIUS, a gentleman, servant to the Duke
+  PROVOST
+  THOMAS, friar
+  PETER, friar
+  A JUSTICE
+  ELBOW, a simple constable
+  FROTH, a foolish gentleman
+  POMPEY, a clown and servant to Mistress Overdone
+  ABHORSON, an executioner
+  BARNARDINE, a dissolute prisoner
+
+  ISABELLA, sister to Claudio
+  MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo
+  JULIET, beloved of Claudio  
+  FRANCISCA, a nun
+  MISTRESS OVERDONE, a bawd
+
+  Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Vienna
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter DUKE, ESCALUS, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  DUKE. Escalus!
+  ESCALUS. My lord.
+  DUKE. Of government the properties to unfold
+    Would seem in me t' affect speech and discourse,
+    Since I am put to know that your own science
+    Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
+    My strength can give you; then no more remains
+    But that to your sufficiency- as your worth is able-
+    And let them work. The nature of our people,
+    Our city's institutions, and the terms
+    For common justice, y'are as pregnant in
+    As art and practice hath enriched any
+    That we remember. There is our commission,
+    From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
+    I say, bid come before us, Angelo.         Exit an ATTENDANT
+    What figure of us think you he will bear?
+    For you must know we have with special soul  
+    Elected him our absence to supply;
+    Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,
+    And given his deputation all the organs
+    Of our own power. What think you of it?
+  ESCALUS. If any in Vienna be of worth
+    To undergo such ample grace and honour,
+    It is Lord Angelo.
+
+                          Enter ANGELO
+
+  DUKE. Look where he comes.
+  ANGELO. Always obedient to your Grace's will,
+    I come to know your pleasure.
+  DUKE. Angelo,
+    There is a kind of character in thy life
+    That to th' observer doth thy history
+    Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings
+    Are not thine own so proper as to waste
+    Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
+    Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,  
+    Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
+    Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
+    As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
+    But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends
+    The smallest scruple of her excellence
+    But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
+    Herself the glory of a creditor,
+    Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech
+    To one that can my part in him advertise.
+    Hold, therefore, Angelo-
+    In our remove be thou at full ourself;
+    Mortality and mercy in Vienna
+    Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus,
+    Though first in question, is thy secondary.
+    Take thy commission.
+  ANGELO. Now, good my lord,
+    Let there be some more test made of my metal,
+    Before so noble and so great a figure
+    Be stamp'd upon it.
+  DUKE. No more evasion!  
+    We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
+    Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
+    Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
+    That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd
+    Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
+    As time and our concernings shall importune,
+    How it goes with us, and do look to know
+    What doth befall you here. So, fare you well.
+    To th' hopeful execution do I leave you
+    Of your commissions.
+  ANGELO. Yet give leave, my lord,
+    That we may bring you something on the way.
+  DUKE. My haste may not admit it;
+    Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
+    With any scruple: your scope is as mine own,
+    So to enforce or qualify the laws
+    As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand;
+    I'll privily away. I love the people,
+    But do not like to stage me to their eyes;
+    Though it do well, I do not relish well  
+    Their loud applause and Aves vehement;
+    Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
+    That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.
+  ANGELO. The heavens give safety to your purposes!
+  ESCALUS. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!
+  DUKE. I thank you. Fare you well.                         Exit
+  ESCALUS. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
+    To have free speech with you; and it concerns me
+    To look into the bottom of my place:
+    A pow'r I have, but of what strength and nature
+    I am not yet instructed.
+  ANGELO. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,
+    And we may soon our satisfaction have
+    Touching that point.
+  ESCALUS. I'll wait upon your honour.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A street
+
+Enter Lucio and two other GENTLEMEN
+
+  LUCIO. If the Duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition
+    with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the
+    King.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of
+    Hungary's!
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Amen.
+  LUCIO. Thou conclud'st like the sanctimonious pirate that went to
+    sea with the Ten Commandments, but scrap'd one out of the table.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Thou shalt not steal'?
+  LUCIO. Ay, that he raz'd.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain
+    and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal.
+    There's not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving before
+    meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I never heard any soldier dislike it.
+  LUCIO. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was
+    said.  
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. No? A dozen times at least.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. What, in metre?
+  LUCIO. In any proportion or in any language.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think, or in any religion.
+  LUCIO. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy; as,
+    for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all
+    grace.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.
+  LUCIO. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet.
+    Thou art the list.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet; thou'rt
+    a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of
+    an English kersey as be pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French
+    velvet. Do I speak feelingly now?
+  LUCIO. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of
+    thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin
+    thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or
+    free.  
+
+                        Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE
+
+  LUCIO. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have
+    purchas'd as many diseases under her roof as come to-
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. To what, I pray?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Judge.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. To three thousand dolours a year.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, and more.
+  LUCIO. A French crown more.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but thou
+    art full of error; I am sound.
+  LUCIO. Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things
+    that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast
+    of thee.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. How now! which of your hips has the most profound
+    sciatica?
+  MRS. OVERDONE. Well, well! there's one yonder arrested and carried
+    to prison was worth five thousand of you all.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who's that, I pray thee?  
+  MRS. OVERDONE. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Claudio to prison? 'Tis not so.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested; saw him
+    carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his
+    head to be chopp'd off.
+  LUCIO. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art
+    thou sure of this?
+  MRS. OVERDONE. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam
+    Julietta with child.
+  LUCIO. Believe me, this may be; he promis'd to meet me two hours
+    since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the
+    speech we had to such a purpose.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. But most of all agreeing with the proclamation.
+  LUCIO. Away; let's go learn the truth of it.
+                                      Exeunt Lucio and GENTLEMEN
+  MRS. OVERDONE. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what
+    with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk.
+
+                               Enter POMPEY  
+
+    How now! what's the news with you?
+  POMPEY. Yonder man is carried to prison.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. Well, what has he done?
+  POMPEY. A woman.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. But what's his offence?
+  POMPEY. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. What! is there a maid with child by him?
+  POMPEY. No; but there's a woman with maid by him. You have not
+   heard of the proclamation, have you?
+  MRS. OVERDONE. What proclamation, man?
+  POMPEY. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck'd down.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. And what shall become of those in the city?
+  POMPEY. They shall stand for seed; they had gone down too, but that
+    a wise burgher put in for them.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be
+    pull'd down?
+  POMPEY. To the ground, mistress.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth!
+    What shall become of me?  
+  POMPEY. Come, fear not you: good counsellors lack no clients.
+    Though you change your place you need not change your trade; I'll
+    be your tapster still. Courage, there will be pity taken on you;
+    you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will
+    be considered.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's withdraw.
+  POMPEY. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison;
+    and there's Madam Juliet.                             Exeunt
+
+            Enter PROVOST, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and OFFICERS;
+                            LUCIO following
+
+  CLAUDIO. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th' world?
+    Bear me to prison, where I am committed.
+  PROVOST. I do it not in evil disposition,
+    But from Lord Angelo by special charge.
+  CLAUDIO. Thus can the demigod Authority
+    Make us pay down for our offence by weight
+    The words of heaven: on whom it will, it will;
+    On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.  
+  LUCIO. Why, how now, Claudio, whence comes this restraint?
+  CLAUDIO. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty;
+    As surfeit is the father of much fast,
+    So every scope by the immoderate use
+    Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,
+    Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,
+    A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.
+  LUCIO. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for
+    certain of my creditors; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief
+    have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment.
+    What's thy offence, Claudio?
+  CLAUDIO. What but to speak of would offend again.
+  LUCIO. What, is't murder?
+  CLAUDIO. No.
+  LUCIO. Lechery?
+  CLAUDIO. Call it so.
+  PROVOST. Away, sir; you must go.
+  CLAUDIO. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.
+  LUCIO. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is lechery so look'd
+    after?  
+  CLAUDIO. Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract
+    I got possession of Julietta's bed.
+    You know the lady; she is fast my wife,
+    Save that we do the denunciation lack
+    Of outward order; this we came not to,
+    Only for propagation of a dow'r
+    Remaining in the coffer of her friends.
+    From whom we thought it meet to hide our love
+    Till time had made them for us. But it chances
+    The stealth of our most mutual entertainment,
+    With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.
+  LUCIO. With child, perhaps?
+  CLAUDIO. Unhappily, even so.
+    And the new deputy now for the Duke-
+    Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,
+    Or whether that the body public be
+    A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
+    Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
+    He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;
+    Whether the tyranny be in his place,  
+    Or in his eminence that fills it up,
+    I stagger in. But this new governor
+    Awakes me all the enrolled penalties
+    Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by th' wall
+    So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round
+    And none of them been worn; and, for a name,
+    Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
+    Freshly on me. 'Tis surely for a name.
+  LUCIO. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy
+    shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off.
+    Send after the Duke, and appeal to him.
+  CLAUDIO. I have done so, but he's not to be found.
+    I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
+    This day my sister should the cloister enter,
+    And there receive her approbation;
+    Acquaint her with the danger of my state;
+    Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
+    To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him.
+    I have great hope in that; for in her youth
+    There is a prone and speechless dialect  
+    Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art
+    When she will play with reason and discourse,
+    And well she can persuade.
+  LUCIO. I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like,
+    which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the
+    enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus
+    foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her.
+  CLAUDIO. I thank you, good friend Lucio.
+  LUCIO. Within two hours.
+  CLAUDIO. Come, officer, away.                           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A monastery
+
+Enter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS
+
+  DUKE. No, holy father; throw away that thought;
+    Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
+    Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee
+    To give me secret harbour hath a purpose
+    More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
+    Of burning youth.
+  FRIAR. May your Grace speak of it?
+  DUKE. My holy sir, none better knows than you
+    How I have ever lov'd the life removed,
+    And held in idle price to haunt assemblies
+    Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps.
+    I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,
+    A man of stricture and firm abstinence,
+    My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
+    And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;
+    For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
+    And so it is received. Now, pious sir,  
+    You will demand of me why I do this.
+  FRIAR. Gladly, my lord.
+  DUKE. We have strict statutes and most biting laws,
+    The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,
+    Which for this fourteen years we have let slip;
+    Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
+    That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,
+    Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch,
+    Only to stick it in their children's sight
+    For terror, not to use, in time the rod
+    Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,
+    Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
+    And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
+    The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
+    Goes all decorum.
+  FRIAR. It rested in your Grace
+    To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd;
+    And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd
+    Than in Lord Angelo.
+  DUKE. I do fear, too dreadful.  
+    Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
+    'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
+    For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done,
+    When evil deeds have their permissive pass
+    And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father,
+    I have on Angelo impos'd the office;
+    Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home,
+    And yet my nature never in the fight
+    To do in slander. And to behold his sway,
+    I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
+    Visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee,
+    Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
+    How I may formally in person bear me
+    Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action
+    At our more leisure shall I render you.
+    Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;
+    Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
+    That his blood flows, or that his appetite
+    Is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see,
+    If power change purpose, what our seemers be.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+A nunnery
+
+Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA
+
+  ISABELLA. And have you nuns no farther privileges?
+  FRANCISCA. Are not these large enough?
+  ISABELLA. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more,
+    But rather wishing a more strict restraint
+    Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.
+  LUCIO. [ Within] Ho! Peace be in this place!
+  ISABELLA. Who's that which calls?
+  FRANCISCA. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,
+    Turn you the key, and know his business of him:
+    You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn;
+    When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men
+    But in the presence of the prioress;
+    Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,
+    Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
+    He calls again; I pray you answer him.        Exit FRANCISCA
+  ISABELLA. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls?
+  
+                           Enter LUCIO
+
+  LUCIO. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses
+    Proclaim you are no less. Can you so stead me
+    As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
+    A novice of this place, and the fair sister
+    To her unhappy brother Claudio?
+  ISABELLA. Why her 'unhappy brother'? Let me ask
+    The rather, for I now must make you know
+    I am that Isabella, and his sister.
+  LUCIO. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you.
+    Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.
+  ISABELLA. Woe me! For what?
+  LUCIO. For that which, if myself might be his judge,
+    He should receive his punishment in thanks:
+    He hath got his friend with child.
+  ISABELLA. Sir, make me not your story.
+  LUCIO. It is true.
+    I would not- though 'tis my familiar sin
+    With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,  
+    Tongue far from heart- play with all virgins so:
+    I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted,
+    By your renouncement an immortal spirit,
+    And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
+    As with a saint.
+  ISABELLA. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.
+  LUCIO. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
+    Your brother and his lover have embrac'd.
+    As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time
+    That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
+    To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
+    Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.
+  ISABELLA. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?
+  LUCIO. Is she your cousin?
+  ISABELLA. Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names
+    By vain though apt affection.
+  LUCIO. She it is.
+  ISABELLA. O, let him marry her!
+  LUCIO. This is the point.
+    The Duke is very strangely gone from hence;  
+    Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
+    In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn,
+    By those that know the very nerves of state,
+    His givings-out were of an infinite distance
+    From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
+    And with full line of his authority,
+    Governs Lord Angelo, a man whose blood
+    Is very snow-broth, one who never feels
+    The wanton stings and motions of the sense,
+    But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
+    With profits of the mind, study and fast.
+    He- to give fear to use and liberty,
+    Which have for long run by the hideous law,
+    As mice by lions- hath pick'd out an act
+    Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
+    Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it,
+    And follows close the rigour of the statute
+    To make him an example. All hope is gone,
+    Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
+    To soften Angelo. And that's my pith of business  
+    'Twixt you and your poor brother.
+  ISABELLA. Doth he so seek his life?
+  LUCIO. Has censur'd him
+    Already, and, as I hear, the Provost hath
+    A warrant for his execution.
+  ISABELLA. Alas! what poor ability's in me
+    To do him good?
+  LUCIO. Assay the pow'r you have.
+  ISABELLA. My power, alas, I doubt!
+  LUCIO. Our doubts are traitors,
+    And make us lose the good we oft might win
+    By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,
+    And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
+    Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,
+    All their petitions are as freely theirs
+    As they themselves would owe them.
+  ISABELLA. I'll see what I can do.
+  LUCIO. But speedily.
+  ISABELLA. I will about it straight;
+    No longer staying but to give the Mother  
+    Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you.
+    Commend me to my brother; soon at night
+    I'll send him certain word of my success.
+  LUCIO. I take my leave of you.
+  ISABELLA. Good sir, adieu.                              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. Scene I.
+A hall in ANGELO'S house
+
+Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a JUSTICE, PROVOST, OFFICERS, and other ATTENDANTS
+
+  ANGELO. We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
+    Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
+    And let it keep one shape till custom make it
+    Their perch, and not their terror.
+  ESCALUS. Ay, but yet
+    Let us be keen, and rather cut a little
+    Than fall and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman,
+    Whom I would save, had a most noble father.
+    Let but your honour know,
+    Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,
+    That, in the working of your own affections,
+    Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing,
+    Or that the resolute acting of our blood
+    Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose
+    Whether you had not sometime in your life
+    Err'd in this point which now you censure him,  
+    And pull'd the law upon you.
+  ANGELO. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
+    Another thing to fall. I not deny
+    The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
+    May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
+    Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice,
+    That justice seizes. What knows the laws
+    That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant,
+    The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't,
+    Because we see it; but what we do not see
+    We tread upon, and never think of it.
+    You may not so extenuate his offence
+    For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,
+    When I, that censure him, do so offend,
+    Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
+    And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.
+  ESCALUS. Be it as your wisdom will.
+  ANGELO. Where is the Provost?
+  PROVOST. Here, if it like your honour.
+  ANGELO. See that Claudio  
+    Be executed by nine to-morrow morning;
+    Bring him his confessor; let him be prepar'd;
+    For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.        Exit PROVOST
+  ESCALUS. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!
+    Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall;
+    Some run from breaks of ice, and answer none,
+    And some condemned for a fault alone.
+
+         Enter ELBOW and OFFICERS with FROTH and POMPEY
+
+  ELBOW. Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a
+    commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses,
+    I know no law; bring them away.
+  ANGELO. How now, sir! What's your name, and what's the matter?
+  ELBOW. If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke's constable,
+    and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring
+    in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors.
+  ANGELO. Benefactors! Well- what benefactors are they? Are they not
+    malefactors?
+  ELBOW. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are; but  
+    precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all
+    profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have.
+  ESCALUS. This comes off well; here's a wise officer.
+  ANGELO. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why
+    dost thou not speak, Elbow?
+  POMPEY. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.
+  ANGELO. What are you, sir?
+  ELBOW. He, sir? A tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad
+    woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, pluck'd down in the
+    suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a
+    very ill house too.
+  ESCALUS. How know you that?
+  ELBOW. My Wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour-
+  ESCALUS. How! thy wife!
+  ELBOW. Ay, sir; whom I thank heaven, is an honest woman-
+  ESCALUS. Dost thou detest her therefore?
+  ELBOW. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that
+    this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life,
+    for it is a naughty house.
+  ESCALUS. How dost thou know that, constable?  
+  ELBOW. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman
+    cardinally given, might have been accus'd in fornication,
+    adultery, and all uncleanliness there.
+  ESCALUS. By the woman's means?
+  ELBOW. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means; but as she spit in
+    his face, so she defied him.
+  POMPEY. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.
+  ELBOW. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man,
+    prove it.
+  ESCALUS. Do you hear how he misplaces?
+  POMPEY. Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your
+    honour's reverence, for stew'd prunes. Sir, we had but two in the
+    house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a
+    fruit dish, a dish of some three pence; your honours have seen
+    such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes.
+  ESCALUS. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir.
+  POMPEY. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the
+    right; but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as
+    I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I
+    said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said,  
+    Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I
+    said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you
+    know, Master Froth, I could not give you three pence again-
+  FROTH. No, indeed.
+  POMPEY. Very well; you being then, if you be rememb'red, cracking
+    the stones of the foresaid prunes-
+  FROTH. Ay, so I did indeed.
+  POMPEY. Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be rememb'red,
+    that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you
+    wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you-
+  FROTH. All this is true.
+  POMPEY. Why, very well then-
+  ESCALUS. Come, you are a tedious fool. To the purpose: what was
+    done to Elbow's wife that he hath cause to complain of? Come me
+    to what was done to her.
+  POMPEY. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.
+  ESCALUS. No, sir, nor I mean it not.
+  POMPEY. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And,
+    I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir, a man of
+    fourscore pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas- was't not  
+    at Hallowmas, Master Froth?
+  FROTH. All-hallond eve.
+  POMPEY. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as
+    I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes,
+    where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not?
+  FROTH. I have so; because it is an open room, and good for winter.
+  POMPEY. Why, very well then; I hope here be truths.
+  ANGELO. This will last out a night in Russia,
+    When nights are longest there; I'll take my leave,
+    And leave you to the hearing of the cause,
+    Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.
+  ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.
+    [Exit ANGELO] Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow's wife,
+    once more?
+  POMPEY. Once?- sir. There was nothing done to her once.
+  ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.
+  POMPEY. I beseech your honour, ask me.
+  ESCALUS. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her?
+  POMPEY. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good
+    Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth  
+    your honour mark his face?
+  ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well.
+  POMPEY. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.
+  ESCALUS. Well, I do so.
+  POMPEY. Doth your honour see any harm in his face?
+  ESCALUS. Why, no.
+  POMPEY. I'll be suppos'd upon a book his face is the worst thing
+    about him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him,
+    how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would
+    know that of your honour.
+  ESCALUS. He's in the right, constable; what say you to it?
+  ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next,
+    this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected
+    woman.
+  POMPEY. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than
+    any of us all.
+  ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicket varlet; the time is
+    yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or
+    child.
+  POMPEY. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.  
+  ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity? Is this
+    true?
+  ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I
+    respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was
+    respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me
+    the poor Duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or
+    I'll have mine action of batt'ry on thee.
+  ESCALUS. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might have your
+    action of slander too.
+  ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your
+    worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?
+  ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that
+    thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his
+    courses till thou know'st what they are.
+  ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked
+    varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art to continue now,
+    thou varlet; thou art to continue.
+  ESCALUS. Where were you born, friend?
+  FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir.
+  ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?  
+  FROTH. Yes, an't please you, sir.
+  ESCALUS. So. What trade are you of, sir?
+  POMPEY. A tapster, a poor widow's tapster.
+  ESCALUS. Your mistress' name?
+  POMPEY. Mistress Overdone.
+  ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband?
+  POMPEY. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.
+  ESCALUS. Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I
+    would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you,
+    Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me
+    hear no more of you.
+  FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into
+    any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in.
+  ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth; farewell. [Exit FROTH]
+    Come you hither to me, Master Tapster; what's your name, Master
+    Tapster?
+  POMPEY. Pompey.
+  ESCALUS. What else?
+  POMPEY. Bum, sir.
+  ESCALUS. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so  
+    that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey,
+    you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a
+    tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true; it shall be the better
+    for you.
+  POMPEY. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.
+  ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey- by being a bawd? What do you
+    think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade?
+  POMPEY. If the law would allow it, sir.
+  ESCALUS. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be
+    allowed in Vienna.
+  POMPEY. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of
+    the city?
+  ESCALUS. No, Pompey.
+  POMPEY. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If
+    your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you
+    need not to fear the bawds.
+  ESCALUS. There is pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: but it
+    is but heading and hanging.
+  POMPEY. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten
+    year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more  
+    heads; if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest
+    house in it, after threepence a bay. If you live to see this come
+    to pass, say Pompey told you so.
+  ESCALUS. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy,
+    hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon
+    any complaint whatsoever- no, not for dwelling where you do; if I
+    do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd
+    Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt.
+    So for this time, Pompey, fare you well.
+  POMPEY. I thank your worship for your good counsel; [Aside] but I
+    shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.
+    Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade;
+    The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade.         Exit
+  ESCALUS. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master
+    Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?
+  ELBOW. Seven year and a half, sir.
+  ESCALUS. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had
+    continued in it some time. You say seven years together?
+  ELBOW. And a half, sir.
+  ESCALUS. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong  
+    to put you so oft upon't. Are there not men in your ward
+    sufficient to serve it?
+  ELBOW. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are
+    chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some
+    piece of money, and go through with all.
+  ESCALUS. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the
+    most sufficient of your parish.
+  ELBOW. To your worship's house, sir?
+  ESCALUS. To my house. Fare you well.              [Exit ELBOW]
+    What's o'clock, think you?
+  JUSTICE. Eleven, sir.
+  ESCALUS. I pray you home to dinner with me.
+  JUSTICE. I humbly thank you.
+  ESCALUS. It grieves me for the death of Claudio;
+    But there's no remedy.
+  JUSTICE. Lord Angelo is severe.
+  ESCALUS. It is but needful:
+    Mercy is not itself that oft looks so;
+    Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.
+    But yet, poor Claudio! There is no remedy.  
+    Come, sir.                                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Another room in ANGELO'S house
+
+Enter PROVOST and a SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight.
+    I'll tell him of you.
+  PROVOST. Pray you do. [Exit SERVANT] I'll know
+    His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas,
+    He hath but as offended in a dream!
+    All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he
+    To die for 't!
+
+                            Enter ANGELO
+
+  ANGELO. Now, what's the matter, Provost?
+  PROVOST. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?
+  ANGELO. Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order?
+    Why dost thou ask again?
+  PROVOST. Lest I might be too rash;
+    Under your good correction, I have seen
+    When, after execution, judgment hath  
+    Repented o'er his doom.
+  ANGELO. Go to; let that be mine.
+    Do you your office, or give up your place,
+    And you shall well be spar'd.
+  PROVOST. I crave your honour's pardon.
+    What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
+    She's very near her hour.
+  ANGELO. Dispose of her
+    To some more fitter place, and that with speed.
+
+                           Re-enter SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd
+    Desires access to you.
+  ANGELO. Hath he a sister?
+  PROVOST. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,
+    And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
+    If not already.
+  ANGELO. Well, let her be admitted.                Exit SERVANT
+    See you the fornicatress be remov'd;  
+    Let her have needful but not lavish means;
+    There shall be order for't.
+
+                         Enter Lucio and ISABELLA
+
+  PROVOST. [Going] Save your honour!
+  ANGELO. Stay a little while. [To ISABELLA] Y'are welcome; what's
+    your will?
+  ISABELLA. I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
+    Please but your honour hear me.
+  ANGELO. Well; what's your suit?
+  ISABELLA. There is a vice that most I do abhor,
+    And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
+    For which I would not plead, but that I must;
+    For which I must not plead, but that I am
+    At war 'twixt will and will not.
+  ANGELO. Well; the matter?
+  ISABELLA. I have a brother is condemn'd to die;
+    I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
+    And not my brother.  
+  PROVOST. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces.
+  ANGELO. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it!
+    Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done;
+    Mine were the very cipher of a function,
+    To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,
+    And let go by the actor.
+  ISABELLA. O just but severe law!
+    I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Give't not o'er so; to him again, entreat him,
+    Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
+    You are too cold: if you should need a pin,
+    You could not with more tame a tongue desire it.
+    To him, I say.
+  ISABELLA. Must he needs die?
+  ANGELO. Maiden, no remedy.
+  ISABELLA. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him.
+    And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.
+  ANGELO. I will not do't.
+  ISABELLA. But can you, if you would?
+  ANGELO. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.  
+  ISABELLA. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
+    If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse
+    As mine is to him?
+  ANGELO. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] You are too cold.
+  ISABELLA. Too late? Why, no; I, that do speak a word,
+    May call it back again. Well, believe this:
+    No ceremony that to great ones longs,
+    Not the king's crown nor the deputed sword,
+    The marshal's truncheon nor the judge's robe,
+    Become them with one half so good a grace
+    As mercy does.
+    If he had been as you, and you as he,
+    You would have slipp'd like him; but he, like you,
+    Would not have been so stern.
+  ANGELO. Pray you be gone.
+  ISABELLA. I would to heaven I had your potency,
+    And you were Isabel! Should it then be thus?
+    No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge
+    And what a prisoner.  
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Ay, touch him; there's the vein.
+  ANGELO. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
+    And you but waste your words.
+  ISABELLA. Alas! Alas!
+    Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
+    And He that might the vantage best have took
+    Found out the remedy. How would you be
+    If He, which is the top of judgment, should
+    But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
+    And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
+    Like man new made.
+  ANGELO. Be you content, fair maid.
+    It is the law, not I condemn your brother.
+    Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
+    It should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow.
+  ISABELLA. To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him.
+    He's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens
+    We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven
+    With less respect than we do minister
+    To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you.  
+    Who is it that hath died for this offence?
+    There's many have committed it.
+  LUCIO. [Aside] Ay, well said.
+  ANGELO. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
+    Those many had not dar'd to do that evil
+    If the first that did th' edict infringe
+    Had answer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake,
+    Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet,
+    Looks in a glass that shows what future evils-
+    Either now or by remissness new conceiv'd,
+    And so in progress to be hatch'd and born-
+    Are now to have no successive degrees,
+    But here they live to end.
+  ISABELLA. Yet show some pity.
+  ANGELO. I show it most of all when I show justice;
+    For then I pity those I do not know,
+    Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall,
+    And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,
+    Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;
+    Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.  
+  ISABELLA. So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
+    And he that suffers. O, it is excellent
+    To have a giant's strength! But it is tyrannous
+    To use it like a giant.
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] That's well said.
+  ISABELLA. Could great men thunder
+    As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,
+    For every pelting petty officer
+    Would use his heaven for thunder,
+    Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven,
+    Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
+    Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
+    Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,
+    Dress'd in a little brief authority,
+    Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
+    His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
+    Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
+    As makes the angels weep; who, with our speens,
+    Would all themselves laugh mortal.
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent;  
+    He's coming; I perceive 't.
+  PROVOST. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him.
+  ISABELLA. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself.
+    Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them;
+    But in the less foul profanation.
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Thou'rt i' th' right, girl; more o' that.
+  ISABELLA. That in the captain's but a choleric word
+    Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Art avis'd o' that? More on't.
+  ANGELO. Why do you put these sayings upon me?
+  ISABELLA. Because authority, though it err like others,
+    Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself
+    That skins the vice o' th' top. Go to your bosom,
+    Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
+    That's like my brother's fault. If it confess
+    A natural guiltiness such as is his,
+    Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
+    Against my brother's life.
+  ANGELO. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis
+    Such sense that my sense breeds with it.- Fare you well.  
+  ISABELLA. Gentle my lord, turn back.
+  ANGELO. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow.
+  ISABELLA. Hark how I'll bribe you; good my lord, turn back.
+  ANGELO. How, bribe me?
+  ISABELLA. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA) You had marr'd all else.
+  ISABELLA. Not with fond sicles of the tested gold,
+    Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor
+    As fancy values them; but with true prayers
+    That shall be up at heaven and enter there
+    Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls,
+    From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate
+    To nothing temporal.
+  ANGELO. Well; come to me to-morrow.
+  LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Go to; 'tis well; away.
+  ISABELLA. Heaven keep your honour safe!
+  ANGELO. [Aside] Amen; for I
+    Am that way going to temptation
+    Where prayers cross.
+  ISABELLA. At what hour to-morrow  
+    Shall I attend your lordship?
+  ANGELO. At any time 'fore noon.
+  ISABELLA. Save your honour!              Exeunt all but ANGELO
+  ANGELO. From thee; even from thy virtue!
+    What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?
+    The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
+    Ha!
+    Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I
+    That, lying by the violet in the sun,
+    Do as the carrion does, not as the flow'r,
+    Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
+    That modesty may more betray our sense
+    Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
+    Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
+    And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!
+    What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
+    Dost thou desire her foully for those things
+    That make her good? O, let her brother live!
+    Thieves for their robbery have authority
+    When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,  
+    That I desire to hear her speak again,
+    And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
+    O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
+    With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
+    Is that temptation that doth goad us on
+    To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet,
+    With all her double vigour, art and nature,
+    Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
+    Subdues me quite. Ever till now,
+    When men were fond, I smil'd and wond'red how.          Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A prison
+
+Enter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST
+
+  DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are.
+  PROVOST. I am the Provost. What's your will, good friar?
+  DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest order,
+    I come to visit the afflicted spirits
+    Here in the prison. Do me the common right
+    To let me see them, and to make me know
+    The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
+    To them accordingly.
+  PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful.
+
+                          Enter JULIET
+
+    Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
+    Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,
+    Hath blister'd her report. She is with child;
+    And he that got it, sentenc'd- a young man
+    More fit to do another such offence  
+    Than die for this.
+  DUKE. When must he die?
+  PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow.
+    [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile
+    And you shall be conducted.
+  DUKE. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?
+  JULIET. I do; and bear the shame most patiently.
+  DUKE. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
+    And try your penitence, if it be sound
+    Or hollowly put on.
+  JULIET. I'll gladly learn.
+  DUKE. Love you the man that wrong'd you?
+  JULIET. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.
+  DUKE. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act
+    Was mutually committed.
+  JULIET. Mutually.
+  DUKE. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
+  JULIET. I do confess it, and repent it, father.
+  DUKE. 'Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent
+    As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,  
+    Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,
+    Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,
+    But as we stand in fear-
+  JULIET. I do repent me as it is an evil,
+    And take the shame with joy.
+  DUKE. There rest.
+    Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
+    And I am going with instruction to him.
+    Grace go with you! Benedicite!                          Exit
+  JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law,
+    That respites me a life whose very comfort
+    Is still a dying horror!
+  PROVOST. 'Tis pity of him.                              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+ANGELO'S house
+
+Enter ANGELO
+
+  ANGELO. When I would pray and think, I think and pray
+    To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words,
+    Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
+    Anchors on Isabel. Heaven in my mouth,
+    As if I did but only chew his name,
+    And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
+    Of my conception. The state whereon I studied
+    Is, like a good thing being often read,
+    Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity,
+    Wherein- let no man hear me- I take pride,
+    Could I with boot change for an idle plume
+    Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,
+    How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
+    Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
+    To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood.
+    Let's write 'good angel' on the devil's horn;
+    'Tis not the devil's crest.  
+
+                           Enter SERVANT
+
+    How now, who's there?
+  SERVANT. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.
+  ANGELO. Teach her the way. [Exit SERVANT] O heavens!
+    Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
+    Making both it unable for itself
+    And dispossessing all my other parts
+    Of necessary fitness?
+    So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
+    Come all to help him, and so stop the air
+    By which he should revive; and even so
+    The general subject to a well-wish'd king
+    Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
+    Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
+    Must needs appear offence.
+
+                            Enter ISABELLA
+  
+    How now, fair maid?
+  ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure.
+  ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me
+    Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.
+  ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour!
+  ANGELO. Yet may he live awhile, and, it may be,
+    As long as you or I; yet he must die.
+  ISABELLA. Under your sentence?
+  ANGELO. Yea.
+  ISABELLA. When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve,
+    Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted
+    That his soul sicken not.
+  ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good
+    To pardon him that hath from nature stol'n
+    A man already made, as to remit
+    Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image
+    In stamps that are forbid; 'tis all as easy
+    Falsely to take away a life true made
+    As to put metal in restrained means
+    To make a false one.  
+  ISABELLA. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.
+  ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly.
+    Which had you rather- that the most just law
+    Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,
+    Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness
+    As she that he hath stain'd?
+  ISABELLA. Sir, believe this:
+    I had rather give my body than my soul.
+  ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins
+    Stand more for number than for accompt.
+  ISABELLA. How say you?
+  ANGELO. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
+    Against the thing I say. Answer to this:
+    I, now the voice of the recorded law,
+    Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life;
+    Might there not be a charity in sin
+    To save this brother's life?
+  ISABELLA. Please you to do't,
+    I'll take it as a peril to my soul
+    It is no sin at all, but charity.  
+  ANGELO. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your soul,
+    Were equal poise of sin and charity.
+  ISABELLA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
+    Heaven let me bear it! You granting of my suit,
+    If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
+    To have it added to the faults of mine,
+    And nothing of your answer.
+  ANGELO. Nay, but hear me;
+    Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant
+    Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good.
+  ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good
+    But graciously to know I am no better.
+  ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright
+    When it doth tax itself; as these black masks
+    Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder
+    Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me:
+    To be received plain, I'll speak more gross-
+    Your brother is to die.
+  ISABELLA. So.
+  ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears,  
+    Accountant to the law upon that pain.
+  ISABELLA. True.
+  ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life,
+    As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
+    But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister,
+    Finding yourself desir'd of such a person
+    Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
+    Could fetch your brother from the manacles
+    Of the all-binding law; and that there were
+    No earthly mean to save him but that either
+    You must lay down the treasures of your body
+    To this supposed, or else to let him suffer-
+    What would you do?
+  ISABELLA. As much for my poor brother as myself;
+    That is, were I under the terms of death,
+    Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
+    And strip myself to death as to a bed
+    That longing have been sick for, ere I'd yield
+    My body up to shame.
+  ANGELO. Then must your brother die.  
+  ISABELLA. And 'twere the cheaper way:
+    Better it were a brother died at once
+    Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
+    Should die for ever.
+  ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence
+    That you have slander'd so?
+  ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon
+    Are of two houses: lawful mercy
+    Is nothing kin to foul redemption.
+  ANGELO. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;
+    And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother
+    A merriment than a vice.
+  ISABELLA. O, pardon me, my lord! It oft falls out,
+    To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:
+    I something do excuse the thing I hate
+    For his advantage that I dearly love.
+  ANGELO. We are all frail.
+  ISABELLA. Else let my brother die,
+    If not a fedary but only he
+    Owe and succeed thy weakness.  
+  ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too.
+  ISABELLA. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves,
+    Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
+    Women, help heaven! Men their creation mar
+    In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;
+    For we are soft as our complexions are,
+    And credulous to false prints.
+  ANGELO. I think it well;
+    And from this testimony of your own sex,
+    Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger
+    Than faults may shake our frames, let me be bold.
+    I do arrest your words. Be that you are,
+    That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;
+    If you be one, as you are well express'd
+    By all external warrants, show it now
+    By putting on the destin'd livery.
+  ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord,
+    Let me intreat you speak the former language.
+  ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you.
+  ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet,  
+    And you tell me that he shall die for't.
+  ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.
+  ISABELLA. I know your virtue hath a license in't,
+    Which seems a little fouler than it is,
+    To pluck on others.
+  ANGELO. Believe me, on mine honour,
+    My words express my purpose.
+  ISABELLA. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd,
+    And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!
+    I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for't.
+    Sign me a present pardon for my brother
+    Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world aloud
+    What man thou art.
+  ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel?
+    My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life,
+    My vouch against you, and my place i' th' state,
+    Will so your accusation overweigh
+    That you shall stifle in your own report,
+    And smell of calumny. I have begun,
+    And now I give my sensual race the rein:  
+    Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
+    Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes
+    That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother
+    By yielding up thy body to my will;
+    Or else he must not only die the death,
+    But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
+    To ling'ring sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,
+    Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
+    I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
+    Say what you can: my false o'erweighs your true.        Exit
+  ISABELLA. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,
+    Who would believe me? O perilous mouths
+    That bear in them one and the self-same tongue
+    Either of condemnation or approof,
+    Bidding the law make curtsy to their will;
+    Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite,
+    To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother.
+    Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood,
+    Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour
+    That, had he twenty heads to tender down  
+    On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up
+    Before his sister should her body stoop
+    To such abhorr'd pollution.
+    Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:
+    More than our brother is our chastity.
+    I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,
+    And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+The prison
+
+Enter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST
+
+  DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?
+  CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine
+    But only hope:
+    I have hope to Eve, and am prepar'd to die.
+  DUKE. Be absolute for death; either death or life
+    Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life.
+    If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
+    That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art,
+    Servile to all the skyey influences,
+    That dost this habitation where thou keep'st
+    Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death's fool;
+    For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun
+    And yet run'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;
+    For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st
+    Are nurs'd by baseness. Thou 'rt by no means valiant;
+    For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
+    Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,  
+    And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st
+    Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
+    For thou exists on many a thousand grains
+    That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
+    For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get,
+    And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain;
+    For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
+    After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
+    For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
+    Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
+    And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
+    For thine own bowels which do call thee sire,
+    The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
+    Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
+    For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,
+    But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
+    Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
+    Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
+    Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,
+    Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,  
+    To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
+    That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
+    Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
+    That makes these odds all even.
+  CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you.
+    To sue to live, I find I seek to die;
+    And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on.
+  ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!
+  PROVOST. Who's there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome.
+  DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.
+  CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you.
+
+                        Enter ISABELLA
+
+  ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio.
+  PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister.
+  DUKE. Provost, a word with you.
+  PROVOST. As many as you please.
+  DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd.
+                                         Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST  
+  CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort?
+  ISABELLA. Why,
+    As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed.
+    Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
+    Intends you for his swift ambassador,
+    Where you shall be an everlasting leiger.
+    Therefore, your best appointment make with speed;
+    To-morrow you set on.
+  CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy?
+  ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head,
+    To cleave a heart in twain.
+  CLAUDIO. But is there any?
+  ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live:
+    There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
+    If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
+    But fetter you till death.
+  CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance?
+  ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,
+    Though all the world's vastidity you had,
+    To a determin'd scope.  
+  CLAUDIO. But in what nature?
+  ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to't,
+    Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
+    And leave you naked.
+  CLAUDIO. Let me know the point.
+  ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
+    Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,
+    And six or seven winters more respect
+    Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?
+    The sense of death is most in apprehension;
+    And the poor beetle that we tread upon
+    In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
+    As when a giant dies.
+  CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame?
+    Think you I can a resolution fetch
+    From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die,
+    I will encounter darkness as a bride
+    And hug it in mine arms.
+  ISABELLA. There spake my brother; there my father's grave
+    Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:  
+    Thou art too noble to conserve a life
+    In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,
+    Whose settled visage and deliberate word
+    Nips youth i' th' head, and follies doth enew
+    As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;
+    His filth within being cast, he would appear
+    A pond as deep as hell.
+  CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo!
+  ISABELLA. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell
+    The damned'st body to invest and cover
+    In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio,
+    If I would yield him my virginity
+    Thou mightst be freed?
+  CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be.
+  ISABELLA. Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence,
+    So to offend him still. This night's the time
+    That I should do what I abhor to name,
+    Or else thou diest to-morrow.
+  CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do't.
+  ISABELLA. O, were it but my life!  
+    I'd throw it down for your deliverance
+    As frankly as a pin.
+  CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel.
+  ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.
+  CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him
+    That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose
+    When he would force it? Sure it is no sin;
+    Or of the deadly seven it is the least.
+  ISABELLA. Which is the least?
+  CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise,
+    Why would he for the momentary trick
+    Be perdurably fin'd?- O Isabel!
+  ISABELLA. What says my brother?
+  CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing.
+  ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful.
+  CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
+    To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;
+    This sensible warm motion to become
+    A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
+    To bathe in fiery floods or to reside  
+    In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
+    To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
+    And blown with restless violence round about
+    The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
+    Of those that lawless and incertain thought
+    Imagine howling- 'tis too horrible.
+    The weariest and most loathed worldly life
+    That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment,
+    Can lay on nature is a paradise
+    To what we fear of death.
+  ISABELLA. Alas, alas!
+  CLAUDIO. Sweet sister, let me live.
+    What sin you do to save a brother's life,
+    Nature dispenses with the deed so far
+    That it becomes a virtue.
+  ISABELLA. O you beast!
+    O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!
+    Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
+    Is't not a kind of incest to take life
+    From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?  
+    Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair!
+    For such a warped slip of wilderness
+    Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance;
+    Die; perish. Might but my bending down
+    Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.
+    I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
+    No word to save thee.
+  CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel.
+  ISABELLA. O fie, fie, fie!
+    Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade.
+    Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd;
+    'Tis best that thou diest quickly.
+  CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella.
+
+                            Re-enter DUKE
+
+  DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.
+  ISABELLA. What is your will?
+  DUKE. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have
+    some speech with you; the satisfaction I would require is  
+    likewise your own benefit.
+  ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out
+    of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.
+                                                   [Walks apart]
+  DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass'd between you and your
+    sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath
+    made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the
+    disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her,
+    hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to
+    receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true;
+    therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your
+    resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die;
+    go to your knees and make ready.
+  CLAUDIO. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life
+    that I will sue to be rid of it.
+  DUKE. Hold you there. Farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO] Provost, a word with
+    you.
+
+                          Re-enter PROVOST
+  
+  PROVOST. What's your will, father?
+  DUKE. That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while
+    with the maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch
+    her by my company.
+  PROVOST. In good time.                            Exit PROVOST
+  DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the
+    goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness;
+    but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body
+    of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,
+    fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty
+    hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How
+    will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?
+  ISABELLA. I am now going to resolve him; I had rather my brother
+    die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how
+    much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo! If ever he return, and
+    I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his
+    government.
+  DUKE. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands,
+    he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only.
+    Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in  
+    doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe
+    that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited
+    benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to
+    your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if
+    peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this
+    business.
+  ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do
+    anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.
+  DUKE. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not
+    heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great
+    soldier who miscarried at sea?
+  ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her
+    name.
+  DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by
+    oath, and the nuptial appointed; between which time of the
+    contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was
+    wreck'd at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his
+    sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman:
+    there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward
+    her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of  
+    her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate
+    husband, this well-seeming Angelo.
+  ISABELLA. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?
+  DUKE. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his
+    comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries
+    of dishonour; in few, bestow'd her on her own lamentation, which
+    she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is
+    washed with them, but relents not.
+  ISABELLA. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from
+    the world! What corruption in this life that it will let this man
+    live! But how out of this can she avail?
+  DUKE. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it
+    not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in
+    doing it.
+  ISABELLA. Show me how, good father.
+  DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her
+    first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should
+    have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current,
+    made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his
+    requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to  
+    the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that
+    your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all
+    shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.
+    This being granted in course- and now follows all: we shall
+    advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your
+    place. If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may
+    compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother
+    saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and
+    the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for
+    his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the
+    doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What
+    think you of it?
+  ISABELLA. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it
+    will grow to a most prosperous perfection.
+  DUKE. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to
+    Angelo; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him
+    promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's; there,
+    at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that
+    place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be
+    quickly.  
+  ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.
+                                                Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+The street before the prison
+
+Enter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW,
+and OFFICERS with POMPEY
+
+  ELBOW. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs
+    buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the
+    world drink brown and white bastard.
+  DUKE. O heavens! what stuff is here?
+  POMPEY. 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest
+    was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd
+    gown to keep him warm; and furr'd with fox on lamb-skins too, to
+    signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the
+    facing.
+  ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar.
+  DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made
+    you, sir?
+  ELBOW. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and, sir, we take him
+    to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a
+    strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.
+  DUKE. Fie, sirrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd!  
+    The evil that thou causest to be done,
+    That is thy means to live. Do thou but think
+    What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back
+    From such a filthy vice; say to thyself
+    'From their abominable and beastly touches
+    I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.'
+    Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
+    So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.
+  POMPEY. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir,
+    I would prove-
+  DUKE. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,
+    Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer;
+    Correction and instruction must both work
+    Ere this rude beast will profit.
+  ELBOW. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning.
+    The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster; if he be a whoremonger,
+    and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.
+  DUKE. That we were all, as some would seem to be,
+    From our faults, as his faults from seeming, free.
+  ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir.  
+
+                          Enter LUCIO
+
+  POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman, and a friend
+    of mine.
+  LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art
+    thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images,
+    newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the
+    pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What say'st
+    thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is't not drown'd i' th'
+    last rain, ha? What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was,
+    man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The
+    trick of it?
+  DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse!
+  LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still,
+    ha?
+  POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is
+    herself in the tub.
+  LUCIO. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever
+    your fresh whore and your powder'd bawd- an unshunn'd  
+    consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?
+  POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir.
+  LUCIO. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee
+    thither. For debt, Pompey- or how?
+  ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.
+  LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a
+    bawd, why, 'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of
+    antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to
+    the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you
+    will keep the house.
+  POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.
+  LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will
+    pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not
+    patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey.
+    Bless you, friar.
+  DUKE. And you.
+  LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?
+  ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.
+  POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir?
+  LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news?  
+  ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.
+  LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go.
+
+                               Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS
+
+    What news, friar, of the Duke?
+  DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any?
+  LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is
+    in Rome; but where is he, think you?
+  DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.
+  LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the
+    state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo
+    dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't.
+  DUKE. He does well in't.
+  LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him;
+    something too crabbed that way, friar.
+  DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.
+  LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is
+    well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till
+    eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not  
+    made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it
+    true, think you?
+  DUKE. How should he be made, then?
+  LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, that he was begot
+    between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes
+    water his urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true. And he
+    is a motion generative; that's infallible.
+  DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.
+  LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion
+    of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that
+    is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the
+    getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a
+    thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service,
+    and that instructed him to mercy.
+  DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was
+    not inclin'd that way.
+  LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv'd.
+  DUKE. 'Tis not possible.
+  LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use
+    was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in  
+    him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you.
+  DUKE. You do him wrong, surely.
+  LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and
+    I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.
+  DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause?
+  LUCIO. No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be lock'd within the teeth
+    and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file
+    of the subject held the Duke to be wise.
+  DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was.
+  LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.
+  DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very
+    stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a
+    warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but
+    testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to
+    the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you
+    speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much
+    dark'ned in your malice.
+  LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him.
+  DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer
+    love.  
+  LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know.
+  DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak.
+    But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me
+    desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you
+    have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call
+    upon you; and I pray you your name?
+  LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke.
+  DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.
+  LUCIO. I fear you not.
+  DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me
+    too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm:
+    you'll forswear this again.
+  LUCIO. I'll be hang'd first. Thou art deceiv'd in me, friar. But no
+    more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no?
+  DUKE. Why should he die, sir?
+  LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke
+    we talk of were return'd again. This ungenitur'd agent will
+    unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in
+    his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would
+    have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to  
+    light. Would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned
+    for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The
+    Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not
+    past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar
+    though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so.
+    Farewell.                                               Exit
+  DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality
+    Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny
+    The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong
+    Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?
+    But who comes here?
+
+             Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with
+                           MISTRESS OVERDONE
+
+  ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is
+    accounted a merciful man; good my lord.
+  ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the
+    same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.  
+  PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your
+    honour.
+  MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me.
+    Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke's time;
+    he promis'd her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old
+    come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes
+    about to abuse me.
+  ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call'd
+    before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt
+    OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE]  Provost, my brother Angelo will
+    not be alter'd: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish'd
+    with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother
+    wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.
+  PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis'd
+    him for th' entertainment of death.
+  ESCALUS. Good even, good father.
+  DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you!
+  ESCALUS. Of whence are you?
+  DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now
+    To use it for my time. I am a brother  
+    Of gracious order, late come from the See
+    In special business from his Holiness.
+  ESCALUS. What news abroad i' th' world?
+  DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the
+    dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and,
+    as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is
+    virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce
+    truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough
+    to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the
+    wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every
+    day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke?
+  ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to
+    know himself.
+  DUKE. What pleasure was he given to?
+  ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at
+    anything which profess'd to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all
+    temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they
+    may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find
+    Claudio prepar'd. I am made to understand that you have lent him
+    visitation.  
+  DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his
+    judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of
+    justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his
+    frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good
+    leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv'd to die.
+  ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner
+    the very debt of your calling. I have labour'd for the poor
+    gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother
+    justice have I found so severe that he hath forc'd me to tell him
+    he is indeed Justice.
+  DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it
+    shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath
+    sentenc'd himself.
+  ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.
+  DUKE. Peace be with you!            Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST
+
+         He who the sword of heaven will bear
+         Should be as holy as severe;
+         Pattern in himself to know,
+         Grace to stand, and virtue go;  
+         More nor less to others paying
+         Than by self-offences weighing.
+         Shame to him whose cruel striking
+         Kills for faults of his own liking!
+         Twice treble shame on Angelo,
+         To weed my vice and let his grow!
+         O, what may man within him hide,
+         Though angel on the outward side!
+         How may likeness, made in crimes,
+         Make a practice on the times,
+         To draw with idle spiders' strings
+         Most ponderous and substantial things!
+         Craft against vice I must apply.
+         With Angelo to-night shall lie
+         His old betrothed but despised;
+         So disguise shall, by th' disguised,
+         Pay with falsehood false exacting,
+         And perform an old contracting.                    Exit
+
+
+
+
+Act IV. Scene I.
+The moated grange at Saint Duke's
+
+Enter MARIANA; and BOY singing
+
+                             SONG
+
+           Take, O, take those lips away,
+             That so sweetly were forsworn;
+           And those eyes, the break of day,
+             Lights that do mislead the morn;
+           But my kisses bring again, bring again;
+           Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain.
+
+                  Enter DUKE, disguised as before
+
+  MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away;
+    Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
+    Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.          Exit BOY
+    I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish
+    You had not found me here so musical.
+    Let me excuse me, and believe me so,  
+    My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.
+  DUKE. 'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm
+    To make bad good and good provoke to harm.
+    I pray you tell me hath anybody inquir'd for me here to-day. Much
+    upon this time have I promis'd here to meet.
+  MARIANA. You have not been inquir'd after; I have sat here all day.
+
+                         Enter ISABELLA
+
+  DUKE. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I
+    shall crave your forbearance a little. May be I will call upon
+    you anon, for some advantage to yourself.
+  MARIANA. I am always bound to you.                        Exit
+  DUKE. Very well met, and well come.
+    What is the news from this good deputy?
+  ISABELLA. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick,
+    Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;
+    And to that vineyard is a planched gate
+    That makes his opening with this bigger key;
+    This other doth command a little door  
+    Which from the vineyard to the garden leads.
+    There have I made my promise
+    Upon the heavy middle of the night
+    To call upon him.
+  DUKE. But shall you on your knowledge find this way?
+  ISABELLA. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't;
+    With whispering and most guilty diligence,
+    In action all of precept, he did show me
+    The way twice o'er.
+  DUKE. Are there no other tokens
+    Between you 'greed concerning her observance?
+  ISABELLA. No, none, but only a repair i' th' dark;
+    And that I have possess'd him my most stay
+    Can be but brief; for I have made him know
+    I have a servant comes with me along,
+    That stays upon me; whose persuasion is
+    I come about my brother.
+  DUKE. 'Tis well borne up.
+    I have not yet made known to Mariana
+    A word of this. What ho, within! come forth.  
+
+                       Re-enter MARIANA
+
+    I pray you be acquainted with this maid;
+    She comes to do you good.
+  ISABELLA. I do desire the like.
+  DUKE. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?
+  MARIANA. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.
+  DUKE. Take, then, this your companion by the hand,
+    Who hath a story ready for your ear.
+    I shall attend your leisure; but make haste;
+    The vaporous night approaches.
+  MARIANA. Will't please you walk aside?
+                                     Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA
+  DUKE. O place and greatness! Millions of false eyes
+    Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report
+    Run with these false, and most contrarious quest
+    Upon thy doings. Thousand escapes of wit
+    Make thee the father of their idle dream,
+    And rack thee in their fancies.  
+
+                 Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA
+
+    Welcome, how agreed?
+  ISABELLA. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,
+    If you advise it.
+  DUKE. It is not my consent,
+    But my entreaty too.
+  ISABELLA. Little have you to say,
+    When you depart from him, but, soft and low,
+    'Remember now my brother.'
+  MARIANA. Fear me not.
+  DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.
+    He is your husband on a pre-contract.
+    To bring you thus together 'tis no sin,
+    Sith that the justice of your title to him
+    Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go;
+    Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The prison
+
+Enter PROVOST and POMPEY
+
+  PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head?
+  POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a
+    married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never cut of a
+    woman's head.
+  PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct
+    answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here
+    is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a
+    helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem
+    you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of
+    imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for
+    you have been a notorious bawd.
+  POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet
+    I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to
+    receive some instructions from my fellow partner.
+  PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson there?
+
+                          Enter ABHORSON  
+
+  ABHORSON. Do you call, sir?
+  PROVOST. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your
+    execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year,
+    and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present,
+    and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath
+    been a bawd.
+  ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery.
+  PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the
+    scale.                                                  Exit
+  POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good
+    favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call,
+    sir, your occupation a mystery?
+  ABHORSON. Ay, sir; a mystery.
+  POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your
+    whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do
+    prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be
+    in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine.
+  ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery.
+  POMPEY. Proof?  
+  ABHORSON. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too
+    little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it
+    be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so
+    every true man's apparel fits your thief.
+
+                          Re-enter PROVOST
+
+  PROVOST. Are you agreed?
+  POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more
+    penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness.
+  PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow
+    four o'clock.
+  ABHORSON. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.
+  POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion
+    to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly,
+    sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.
+  PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.
+                                      Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY
+    Th' one has my pity; not a jot the other,
+    Being a murderer, though he were my brother.  
+
+                           Enter CLAUDIO
+
+    Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death;
+    'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow
+    Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?
+  CLAUDIO. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour
+    When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones.
+    He will not wake.
+  PROVOST. Who can do good on him?
+    Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within] But hark, what
+      noise?
+    Heaven give your spirits comfort!               Exit CLAUDIO
+    [Knocking continues] By and by.
+    I hope it is some pardon or reprieve
+    For the most gentle Claudio.
+
+                 Enter DUKE, disguised as before
+
+    Welcome, father.  
+  DUKE. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night
+    Envelop you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late?
+  PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung.
+  DUKE. Not Isabel?
+  PROVOST. No.
+  DUKE. They will then, ere't be long.
+  PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio?
+  DUKE. There's some in hope.
+  PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy.
+  DUKE. Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd
+    Even with the stroke and line of his great justice;
+    He doth with holy abstinence subdue
+    That in himself which he spurs on his pow'r
+    To qualify in others. Were he meal'd with that
+    Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;
+    But this being so, he's just. [Knocking within] Now are they
+      come.                                         Exit PROVOST
+    This is a gentle provost; seldom when
+    The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within]
+    How now, what noise! That spirit's possess'd with haste  
+    That wounds th' unsisting postern with these strokes.
+
+                        Re-enter PROVOST
+
+  PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer
+    Arise to let him in; he is call'd up.
+  DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet
+    But he must die to-morrow?
+  PROVOST. None, sir, none.
+  DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is,
+    You shall hear more ere morning.
+  PROVOST. Happily
+    You something know; yet I believe there comes
+    No countermand; no such example have we.
+    Besides, upon the very siege of justice,
+    Lord Angelo hath to the public ear
+    Profess'd the contrary.
+
+                         Enter a MESSENGER  
+    This is his lordship's man.
+  DUKE. And here comes Claudio's pardon.
+  MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further
+    charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it,
+    neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for
+    as I take it, it is almost day.
+  PROVOST. I shall obey him.                      Exit MESSENGER
+  DUKE. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchas'd by such sin
+    For which the pardoner himself is in;
+    Hence hath offence his quick celerity,
+    When it is borne in high authority.
+    When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended
+    That for the fault's love is th' offender friended.
+    Now, sir, what news?
+  PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine
+    office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks
+    strangely, for he hath not us'd it before.
+  DUKE. Pray you, let's hear.
+  PROVOST. [Reads] 'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let
+    Claudio be executed by four of the clock, and, in the afternoon,  
+    Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's
+    head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought
+    that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not
+    to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.'
+    What say you to this, sir?
+  DUKE. What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in th'
+    afternoon?
+  PROVOST. A Bohemian born; but here nurs'd up and bred.
+    One that is a prisoner nine years old.
+  DUKE. How came it that the absent Duke had not either deliver'd him
+    to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his
+    manner to do so.
+  PROVOST. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed,
+    his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to
+    an undoubted proof.
+  DUKE. It is now apparent?
+  PROVOST. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.
+  DUKE. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to
+    be touch'd?
+  PROVOST. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a  
+    drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless, of what's past,
+    present, or to come; insensible of mortality and desperately
+    mortal.
+  DUKE. He wants advice.
+  PROVOST. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the
+    prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not; drunk many
+    times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft
+    awak'd him, as if to carry him to execution, and show'd him a
+    seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all.
+  DUKE. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost,
+    honesty and constancy. If I read it not truly, my ancient skill
+    beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself
+    in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no
+    greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenc'd him. To
+    make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four
+    days' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and
+    a dangerous courtesy.
+  PROVOST. Pray, sir, in what?
+  DUKE. In the delaying death.
+  PROVOST. Alack! How may I do it, having the hour limited, and an  
+    express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view
+    of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the
+    smallest.
+  DUKE. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions
+    may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed,
+    and his head borne to Angelo.
+  PROVOST. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.
+  DUKE. O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave
+    the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the
+    penitent to be so bar'd before his death. You know the course is
+    common. If anything fall to you upon this more than thanks and
+    good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against
+    it with my life.
+  PROVOST. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.
+  DUKE. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the deputy?
+  PROVOST. To him and to his substitutes.
+  DUKE. You will think you have made no offence if the Duke avouch
+    the justice of your dealing?
+  PROVOST. But what likelihood is in that?
+  DUKE. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you  
+    fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can
+    with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck
+    all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of
+    the Duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is
+    not strange to you.
+  PROVOST. I know them both.
+  DUKE. The contents of this is the return of the Duke; you shall
+    anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within
+    these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows
+    not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour,
+    perchance of the Duke's death, perchance entering into some
+    monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, th'
+    unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into
+    amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but
+    easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with
+    Barnardine's head. I will give him a present shrift, and advise
+    him for a better place. Yet you are amaz'd, but this shall
+    absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The prison
+
+Enter POMPEY
+
+  POMPEY. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of
+    profession; one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own
+    house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young
+    Master Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old
+    ginger, nine score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five
+    marks ready money. Marry, then ginger was not much in request,
+    for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master
+    Caper, at the suit of Master Threepile the mercer, for some four
+    suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him a beggar.
+    Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deepvow, and
+    Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey, the rapier and dagger
+    man, and young Dropheir that kill'd lusty Pudding, and Master
+    Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shootie the great
+    traveller, and wild Halfcan that stabb'd Pots, and, I think,
+    forty more- all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the
+    Lord's sake.'
+  
+                            Enter ABHORSON
+
+  ABHORSON. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.
+  POMPEY. Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang'd, Master
+    Barnardine!
+  ABHORSON. What ho, Barnardine!
+  BARNARDINE. [Within] A pox o' your throats! Who makes that noise
+    there? What are you?
+  POMPEY. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir,
+    to rise and be put to death.
+  BARNARDINE. [ Within ] Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy.
+  ABHORSON. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.
+  POMPEY. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and
+    sleep afterwards.
+  ABHORSON. Go in to him, and fetch him out.
+  POMPEY. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.
+
+                             Enter BARNARDINE
+
+  ABHORSON. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?  
+  POMPEY. Very ready, sir.
+  BARNARDINE. How now, Abhorson, what's the news with you?
+  ABHORSON. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers;
+    for, look you, the warrant's come.
+  BARNARDINE. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not
+    fitted for't.
+  POMPEY. O, the better, sir! For he that drinks all night and is
+    hanged betimes in the morning may sleep the sounder all the next
+    day.
+
+                  Enter DUKE, disguised as before
+
+  ABHORSON. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father.
+    Do we jest now, think you?
+  DUKE. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are
+    to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with
+    you.
+  BARNARDINE. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and
+    I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my
+    brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that's  
+    certain.
+  DUKE. O, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you
+    Look forward on the journey you shall go.
+  BARNARDINE. I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion.
+  DUKE. But hear you-
+  BARNARDINE. Not a word; if you have anything to say to me, come to
+    my ward; for thence will not I to-day.                  Exit
+  DUKE. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart!
+    After him, fellows; bring him to the block.
+                                      Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY
+
+                            Enter PROVOST
+
+  PROVOST. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?
+  DUKE. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death;
+    And to transport him in the mind he is
+    Were damnable.
+  PROVOST. Here in the prison, father,
+    There died this morning of a cruel fever
+    One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,  
+    A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head
+    Just of his colour. What if we do omit
+    This reprobate till he were well inclin'd,
+    And satisfy the deputy with the visage
+    Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?
+  DUKE. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides!
+    Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on
+    Prefix'd by Angelo. See this be done,
+    And sent according to command; whiles I
+    Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.
+  PROVOST. This shall be done, good father, presently.
+    But Barnardine must die this afternoon;
+    And how shall we continue Claudio,
+    To save me from the danger that might come
+    If he were known alive?
+  DUKE. Let this be done:
+    Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio.
+    Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting
+    To the under generation, you shall find
+    Your safety manifested.  
+  PROVOST. I am your free dependant.
+  DUKE. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.
+                                                    Exit PROVOST
+    Now will I write letters to Angelo-
+    The Provost, he shall bear them- whose contents
+    Shall witness to him I am near at home,
+    And that, by great injunctions, I am bound
+    To enter publicly. Him I'll desire
+    To meet me at the consecrated fount,
+    A league below the city; and from thence,
+    By cold gradation and well-balanc'd form.
+    We shall proceed with Angelo.
+
+                         Re-enter PROVOST
+
+  PROVOST. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself.
+  DUKE. Convenient is it. Make a swift return;
+    For I would commune with you of such things
+    That want no ear but yours.
+  PROVOST. I'll make all speed.                             Exit  
+  ISABELLA. [ Within ] Peace, ho, be here!
+  DUKE. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know
+    If yet her brother's pardon be come hither;
+    But I will keep her ignorant of her good,
+    To make her heavenly comforts of despair
+    When it is least expected.
+
+                           Enter ISABELLA
+
+  ISABELLA. Ho, by your leave!
+  DUKE. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.
+  ISABELLA. The better, given me by so holy a man.
+    Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon?
+  DUKE. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world.
+    His head is off and sent to Angelo.
+  ISABELLA. Nay, but it is not so.
+  DUKE. It is no other.
+    Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience,
+  ISABELLA. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!
+  DUKE. You shall not be admitted to his sight.  
+  ISABELLA. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!
+    Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!
+  DUKE. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;
+    Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven.
+    Mark what I say, which you shall find
+    By every syllable a faithful verity.
+    The Duke comes home to-morrow. Nay, dry your eyes.
+    One of our covent, and his confessor,
+    Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried
+    Notice to Escalus and Angelo,
+    Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,
+    There to give up their pow'r. If you can, pace your wisdom
+    In that good path that I would wish it go,
+    And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,
+    Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,
+    And general honour.
+  ISABELLA. I am directed by you.
+  DUKE. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;
+    'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's return.
+    Say, by this token, I desire his company  
+    At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours
+    I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you
+    Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo
+    Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,
+    I am combined by a sacred vow,
+    And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter.
+    Command these fretting waters from your eyes
+    With a light heart; trust not my holy order,
+    If I pervert your course. Who's here?
+
+                           Enter LUCIO
+
+  LUCIO. Good even. Friar, where's the Provost?
+  DUKE. Not within, sir.
+  LUCIO. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes
+    so red. Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with
+    water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one
+    fruitful meal would set me to't. But they say the Duke will be
+    here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother. If the
+    old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had  
+    lived.                                         Exit ISABELLA
+  DUKE. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports;
+    but the best is, he lives not in them.
+  LUCIO. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he's a
+    better woodman than thou tak'st him for.
+  DUKE. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well.
+  LUCIO. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I can tell thee pretty
+    tales of the Duke.
+  DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be
+    true; if not true, none were enough.
+  LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with child.
+  DUKE. Did you such a thing?
+  LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would
+    else have married me to the rotten medlar.
+  DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.
+  LUCIO. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy
+    talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a
+    kind of burr; I shall stick.                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+ANGELO'S house
+
+Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS
+
+  ESCALUS. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd other.
+  ANGELO. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much
+    like to madness; pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why
+    meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there?
+  ESCALUS. I guess not.
+  ANGELO. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his
+    ent'ring that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should
+    exhibit their petitions in the street?
+  ESCALUS. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of
+     complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which
+    shall then have no power to stand against us.
+  ANGELO. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd;
+    Betimes i' th' morn I'll call you at your house;
+    Give notice to such men of sort and suit
+    As are to meet him.
+  ESCALUS. I shall, sir; fare you well.
+  ANGELO. Good night.                               Exit ESCALUS  
+    This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant
+    And dull to all proceedings. A deflow'red maid!
+    And by an eminent body that enforc'd
+    The law against it! But that her tender shame
+    Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,
+    How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;
+    For my authority bears a so credent bulk
+    That no particular scandal once can touch
+    But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd,
+    Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,
+    Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,
+    By so receiving a dishonour'd life
+    With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv'd!
+    Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,
+    Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Fields without the town
+
+Enter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER
+
+  DUKE. These letters at fit time deliver me.   [Giving letters]
+    The Provost knows our purpose and our plot.
+    The matter being afoot, keep your instruction
+    And hold you ever to our special drift;
+    Though sometimes you do blench from this to that
+    As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house,
+    And tell him where I stay; give the like notice
+    To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,
+    And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;
+    But send me Flavius first.
+    PETER. It shall be speeded well.                  Exit FRIAR
+
+                             Enter VARRIUS
+
+  DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste.
+    Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends
+    Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius!           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+A street near the city gate
+
+Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA
+
+  ISABELLA. To speak so indirectly I am loath;
+    I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,
+    That is your part. Yet I am advis'd to do it;
+    He says, to veil full purpose.
+  MARIANA. Be rul'd by him.
+  ISABELLA. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure
+    He speak against me on the adverse side,
+    I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic
+    That's bitter to sweet end.
+  MARIANA. I would Friar Peter-
+
+                         Enter FRIAR PETER
+
+  ISABELLA. O, peace! the friar is come.
+  PETER. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,
+    Where you may have such vantage on the Duke
+    He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;  
+    The generous and gravest citizens
+    Have hent the gates, and very near upon
+    The Duke is ent'ring; therefore, hence, away.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+The city gate
+
+Enter at several doors DUKE, VARRIUS, LORDS; ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio,
+PROVOST, OFFICERS, and CITIZENS
+
+  DUKE. My very worthy cousin, fairly met!
+    Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.
+  ANGELO, ESCALUS. Happy return be to your royal Grace!
+  DUKE. Many and hearty thankings to you both.
+    We have made inquiry of you, and we hear
+    Such goodness of your justice that our soul
+    Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,
+    Forerunning more requital.
+  ANGELO. You make my bonds still greater.
+  DUKE. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it
+    To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
+    When it deserves, with characters of brass,
+    A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time
+    And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand.
+    And let the subject see, to make them know
+    That outward courtesies would fain proclaim  
+    Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,
+    You must walk by us on our other hand,
+    And good supporters are you.
+
+                 Enter FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA
+
+  PETER. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel before him.
+  ISABELLA. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard
+    Upon a wrong'd- I would fain have said a maid!
+    O worthy Prince, dishonour not your eye
+    By throwing it on any other object
+    Till you have heard me in my true complaint,
+    And given me justice, justice, justice, justice.
+  DUKE. Relate your wrongs. In what? By whom? Be brief.
+    Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice;
+    Reveal yourself to him.
+  ISABELLA. O worthy Duke,
+    You bid me seek redemption of the devil!
+    Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak
+    Must either punish me, not being believ'd,  
+    Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O, hear me, here!
+  ANGELO. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm;
+    She hath been a suitor to me for her brother,
+    Cut off by course of justice-
+  ISABELLA. By course of justice!
+  ANGELO. And she will speak most bitterly and strange.
+  ISABELLA. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak.
+    That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange?
+    That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange?
+    That Angelo is an adulterous thief,
+    An hypocrite, a virgin-violator,
+    Is it not strange and strange?
+  DUKE. Nay, it is ten times strange.
+  ISABELLA. It is not truer he is Angelo
+    Than this is all as true as it is strange;
+    Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth
+    To th' end of reck'ning.
+  DUKE. Away with her. Poor soul,
+    She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense.
+  ISABELLA. O Prince! I conjure thee, as thou believ'st  
+    There is another comfort than this world,
+    That thou neglect me not with that opinion
+    That I am touch'd with madness. Make not impossible
+    That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible
+    But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
+    May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,
+    As Angelo; even so may Angelo,
+    In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,
+    Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal Prince,
+    If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more,
+    Had I more name for badness.
+  DUKE. By mine honesty,
+    If she be mad, as I believe no other,
+    Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,
+    Such a dependency of thing on thing,
+    As e'er I heard in madness.
+  ISABELLA. O gracious Duke,
+    Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason
+    For inequality; but let your reason serve
+    To make the truth appear where it seems hid,  
+    And hide the false seems true.
+  DUKE. Many that are not mad
+    Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?
+  ISABELLA. I am the sister of one Claudio,
+    Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
+    To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo.
+    I, in probation of a sisterhood,
+    Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio
+    As then the messenger-
+  LUCIO. That's I, an't like your Grace.
+    I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her
+    To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo
+    For her poor brother's pardon.
+  ISABELLA. That's he, indeed.
+  DUKE. You were not bid to speak.
+  LUCIO. No, my good lord;
+    Nor wish'd to hold my peace.
+  DUKE. I wish you now, then;
+    Pray you take note of it; and when you have
+    A business for yourself, pray heaven you then  
+    Be perfect.
+  LUCIO. I warrant your honour.
+  DUKE. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to't.
+  ISABELLA. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale.
+  LUCIO. Right.
+  DUKE. It may be right; but you are i' the wrong
+    To speak before your time. Proceed.
+  ISABELLA. I went
+    To this pernicious caitiff deputy.
+  DUKE. That's somewhat madly spoken.
+  ISABELLA. Pardon it;
+    The phrase is to the matter.
+  DUKE. Mended again. The matter- proceed.
+  ISABELLA. In brief- to set the needless process by,
+    How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd,
+    How he refell'd me, and how I replied,
+    For this was of much length- the vile conclusion
+    I now begin with grief and shame to utter:
+    He would not, but by gift of my chaste body
+    To his concupiscible intemperate lust,  
+    Release my brother; and, after much debatement,
+    My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,
+    And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes,
+    His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
+    For my poor brother's head.
+  DUKE. This is most likely!
+  ISABELLA. O that it were as like as it is true!
+  DUKE. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st,
+    Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour
+    In hateful practice. First, his integrity
+    Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason
+    That with such vehemency he should pursue
+    Faults proper to himself. If he had so offended,
+    He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,
+    And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on;
+    Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
+    Thou cam'st here to complain.
+  ISABELLA. And is this all?
+    Then, O you blessed ministers above,
+    Keep me in patience; and, with ripened time,  
+    Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
+    In countenance! Heaven shield your Grace from woe,
+    As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!
+  DUKE. I know you'd fain be gone. An officer!
+    To prison with her! Shall we thus permit
+    A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
+    On him so near us? This needs must be a practice.
+    Who knew of your intent and coming hither?
+  ISABELLA. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.
+  DUKE. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?
+  LUCIO. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar.
+    I do not like the man; had he been lay, my lord,
+    For certain words he spake against your Grace
+    In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly.
+  DUKE. Words against me? This's a good friar, belike!
+    And to set on this wretched woman here
+    Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.
+  LUCIO. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,
+    I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar,
+    A very scurvy fellow.  
+  PETER. Blessed be your royal Grace!
+    I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
+    Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman
+    Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute;
+    Who is as free from touch or soil with her
+    As she from one ungot.
+  DUKE. We did believe no less.
+    Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?
+  PETER. I know him for a man divine and holy;
+    Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,
+    As he's reported by this gentleman;
+    And, on my trust, a man that never yet
+    Did, as he vouches, misreport your Grace.
+  LUCIO. My lord, most villainously; believe it.
+  PETER. Well, he in time may come to clear himself;
+    But at this instant he is sick, my lord,
+    Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request-
+    Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
+    Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo- came I hither
+    To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know  
+    Is true and false; and what he, with his oath
+    And all probation, will make up full clear,
+    Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman-
+    To justify this worthy nobleman,
+    So vulgarly and personally accus'd-
+    Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
+    Till she herself confess it.
+  DUKE. Good friar, let's hear it.         Exit ISABELLA guarded
+    Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?
+    O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!
+    Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;
+    In this I'll be impartial; be you judge
+    Of your own cause.
+
+                     Enter MARIANA veiled
+
+    Is this the witness, friar?
+  FIRST let her show her face, and after speak.
+  MARIANA. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face
+    Until my husband bid me.  
+  DUKE. What, are you married?
+  MARIANA. No, my lord.
+  DUKE. Are you a maid?
+  MARIANA. No, my lord.
+  DUKE. A widow, then?
+  MARIANA. Neither, my lord.
+  DUKE. Why, you are nothing then; neither maid, widow, nor wife.
+  LUCIO. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither
+    maid, widow, nor wife.
+  DUKE. Silence that fellow. I would he had some cause
+    To prattle for himself.
+  LUCIO. Well, my lord.
+  MARIANA. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married,
+    And I confess, besides, I am no maid.
+    I have known my husband; yet my husband
+    Knows not that ever he knew me.
+  LUCIO. He was drunk, then, my lord; it can be no better.
+  DUKE. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!
+  LUCIO. Well, my lord.
+  DUKE. This is no witness for Lord Angelo.  
+  MARIANA. Now I come to't, my lord:
+    She that accuses him of fornication,
+    In self-same manner doth accuse my husband;
+    And charges him, my lord, with such a time
+    When I'll depose I had him in mine arms,
+    With all th' effect of love.
+  ANGELO. Charges she moe than me?
+  MARIANA. Not that I know.
+  DUKE. No? You say your husband.
+  MARIANA. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,
+    Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body,
+    But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's.
+  ANGELO. This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face.
+  MARIANA. My husband bids me; now I will unmask.
+                                                     [Unveiling]
+    This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
+    Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on;
+    This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract,
+    Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body
+    That took away the match from Isabel,  
+    And did supply thee at thy garden-house
+    In her imagin'd person.
+  DUKE. Know you this woman?
+  LUCIO. Carnally, she says.
+  DUKE. Sirrah, no more.
+  LUCIO. Enough, my lord.
+  ANGELO. My lord, I must confess I know this woman;
+    And five years since there was some speech of marriage
+    Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,
+    Partly for that her promised proportions
+    Came short of composition; but in chief
+    For that her reputation was disvalued
+    In levity. Since which time of five years
+    I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,
+    Upon my faith and honour.
+  MARIANA. Noble Prince,
+    As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,
+    As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,
+    I am affianc'd this man's wife as strongly
+    As words could make up vows. And, my good lord,  
+    But Tuesday night last gone, in's garden-house,
+    He knew me as a wife. As this is true,
+    Let me in safety raise me from my knees,
+    Or else for ever be confixed here,
+    A marble monument!
+  ANGELO. I did but smile till now.
+    Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice;
+    My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive
+    These poor informal women are no more
+    But instruments of some more mightier member
+    That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord,
+    To find this practice out.
+  DUKE. Ay, with my heart;
+    And punish them to your height of pleasure.
+    Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,
+    Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths,
+    Though they would swear down each particular saint,
+    Were testimonies against his worth and credit,
+    That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,
+    Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains  
+    To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd.
+    There is another friar that set them on;
+    Let him be sent for.
+  PETER. Would lie were here, my lord! For he indeed
+    Hath set the women on to this complaint.
+    Your provost knows the place where he abides,
+    And he may fetch him.
+  DUKE. Go, do it instantly.                        Exit PROVOST
+    And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,
+    Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,
+    Do with your injuries as seems you best
+    In any chastisement. I for a while will leave you;
+    But stir not you till you have well determin'd
+    Upon these slanderers.
+  ESCALUS. My lord, we'll do it throughly.             Exit DUKE
+    Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be
+    a dishonest person?
+  LUCIO. 'Cucullus non facit monachum': honest in nothing but in his
+    clothes; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the
+    Duke.  
+  ESCALUS. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and
+    enforce them against him. We shall find this friar a notable
+    fellow.
+  LUCIO. As any in Vienna, on my word.
+  ESCALUS. Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with
+    her. [Exit an ATTENDANT] Pray you, my lord, give me leave to
+    question; you shall see how I'll handle her.
+  LUCIO. Not better than he, by her own report.
+  ESCALUS. Say you?
+  LUCIO. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would
+    sooner confess; perchance, publicly, she'll be asham'd.
+
+       Re-enter OFFICERS with ISABELLA; and PROVOST with the
+                    DUKE in his friar's habit
+
+  ESCALUS. I will go darkly to work with her.
+  LUCIO. That's the way; for women are light at midnight.
+  ESCALUS. Come on, mistress; here's a gentlewoman denies all that
+    you have said.
+  LUCIO. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of, here with the  
+    Provost.
+  ESCALUS. In very good time. Speak not you to him till we call upon
+    you.
+  LUCIO. Mum.
+  ESCALUS. Come, sir; did you set these women on to slander Lord
+    Angelo? They have confess'd you did.
+  DUKE. 'Tis false.
+  ESCALUS. How! Know you where you are?
+  DUKE. Respect to your great place! and let the devil
+    Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne!
+    Where is the Duke? 'Tis he should hear me speak.
+  ESCALUS. The Duke's in us; and we will hear you speak;
+    Look you speak justly.
+  DUKE. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls,
+    Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox,
+    Good night to your redress! Is the Duke gone?
+    Then is your cause gone too. The Duke's unjust
+    Thus to retort your manifest appeal,
+    And put your trial in the villain's mouth
+    Which here you come to accuse.  
+  LUCIO. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.
+  ESCALUS. Why, thou unreverend and unhallowed friar,
+    Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women
+    To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth,
+    And in the witness of his proper ear,
+    To call him villain; and then to glance from him
+    To th' Duke himself, to tax him with injustice?
+    Take him hence; to th' rack with him! We'll touze you
+    Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.
+    What, 'unjust'!
+  DUKE. Be not so hot; the Duke
+    Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he
+    Dare rack his own; his subject am I not,
+    Nor here provincial. My business in this state
+    Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,
+    Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble
+    Till it o'errun the stew: laws for all faults,
+    But faults so countenanc'd that the strong statutes
+    Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop,
+    As much in mock as mark.  
+  ESCALUS. Slander to th' state! Away with him to prison!
+  ANGELO. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?
+    Is this the man that you did tell us of?
+  LUCIO. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good-man bald-pate.
+    Do you know me?
+  DUKE. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice. I met you at
+    the prison, in the absence of the Duke.
+  LUCIO. O did you so? And do you remember what you said of the Duke?
+  DUKE. Most notedly, sir.
+  LUCIO. Do you so, sir? And was the Duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and
+    a coward, as you then reported him to be?
+  DUKE. You must, sir, change persons with me ere you make that my
+    report; you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse.
+  LUCIO. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for
+    thy speeches?
+  DUKE. I protest I love the Duke as I love myself.
+  ANGELO. Hark how the villain would close now, after his treasonable
+    abuses!
+  ESCALUS. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal. Away with him to
+    prison! Where is the Provost? Away with him to prison! Lay bolts  
+    enough upon him; let him speak no more. Away with those giglets
+    too, and with the other confederate companion!
+                            [The PROVOST lays bands on the DUKE]
+  DUKE. Stay, sir; stay awhile.
+  ANGELO. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio.
+  LUCIO. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you
+    bald-pated lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your
+    knave's visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face,
+    and be hang'd an hour! Will't not off?
+             [Pulls off the FRIAR'S bood and discovers the DUKE]
+  DUKE. Thou art the first knave that e'er mad'st a duke.
+    First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three.
+    [To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and you
+    Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him.
+  LUCIO. This may prove worse than hanging.
+  DUKE. [To ESCALUS] What you have spoke I pardon; sit you down.
+    We'll borrow place of him. [To ANGELO] Sir, by your leave.
+    Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
+    That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,
+    Rely upon it till my tale be heard,  
+    And hold no longer out.
+  ANGELO. O my dread lord,
+    I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
+    To think I can be undiscernible,
+    When I perceive your Grace, like pow'r divine,
+    Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good Prince,
+    No longer session hold upon my shame,
+    But let my trial be mine own confession;
+    Immediate sentence then, and sequent death,
+    Is all the grace I beg.
+  DUKE. Come hither, Mariana.
+    Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?
+  ANGELO. I was, my lord.
+  DUKE. Go, take her hence and marry her instantly.
+    Do you the office, friar; which consummate,
+    Return him here again. Go with him, Provost.
+                Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST
+  ESCALUS. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour
+    Than at the strangeness of it.
+  DUKE. Come hither, Isabel.  
+    Your friar is now your prince. As I was then
+    Advertising and holy to your business,
+    Not changing heart with habit, I am still
+    Attorney'd at your service.
+  ISABELLA. O, give me pardon,
+    That I, your vassal have employ'd and pain'd
+    Your unknown sovereignty.
+  DUKE. You are pardon'd, Isabel.
+    And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
+    Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart;
+    And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself,
+    Labouring to save his life, and would not rather
+    Make rash remonstrance of my hidden pow'r
+    Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,
+    It was the swift celerity of his death,
+    Which I did think with slower foot came on,
+    That brain'd my purpose. But peace be with him!
+    That life is better life, past fearing death,
+    Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort,
+    So happy is your brother.  
+  ISABELLA. I do, my lord.
+
+       Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST
+
+  DUKE. For this new-married man approaching here,
+    Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd
+    Your well-defended honour, you must pardon
+    For Mariana's sake; but as he adjudg'd your brother-
+    Being criminal in double violation
+    Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach,
+    Thereon dependent, for your brother's life-
+    The very mercy of the law cries out
+    Most audible, even from his proper tongue,
+    'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!'
+    Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;
+    Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure.
+    Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested,
+    Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.
+    We do condemn thee to the very block
+    Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.  
+    Away with him!
+  MARIANA. O my most gracious lord,
+    I hope you will not mock me with a husband.
+  DUKE. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband.
+    Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,
+    I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,
+    For that he knew you, might reproach your life,
+    And choke your good to come. For his possessions,
+    Although by confiscation they are ours,
+    We do instate and widow you withal
+    To buy you a better husband.
+  MARIANA. O my dear lord,
+    I crave no other, nor no better man.
+  DUKE. Never crave him; we are definitive.
+  MARIANA. Gentle my liege-                           [Kneeling]
+  DUKE. You do but lose your labour.
+    Away with him to death! [To LUCIO] Now, sir, to you.
+  MARIANA. O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;
+    Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
+    I'll lend you all my life to do you service.  
+  DUKE. Against all sense you do importune her.
+    Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,
+    Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break,
+    And take her hence in horror.
+  MARIANA. Isabel,
+    Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;
+    Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all.
+    They say best men moulded out of faults;
+    And, for the most, become much more the better
+    For being a little bad; so may my husband.
+    O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?
+  DUKE. He dies for Claudio's death.
+  ISABELLA. [Kneeling] Most bounteous sir,
+    Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd,
+    As if my brother liv'd. I partly think
+    A due sincerity govern'd his deeds
+    Till he did look on me; since it is so,
+    Let him not die. My brother had but justice,
+    In that he did the thing for which he died;
+    For Angelo,  
+    His act did not o'ertake his bad intent,
+    And must be buried but as an intent
+    That perish'd by the way. Thoughts are no subjects;
+    Intents but merely thoughts.
+  MARIANA. Merely, my lord.
+  DUKE. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say.
+    I have bethought me of another fault.
+    Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded
+    At an unusual hour?
+  PROVOST. It was commanded so.
+  DUKE. Had you a special warrant for the deed?
+  PROVOST. No, my good lord; it was by private message.
+  DUKE. For which I do discharge you of your office;
+    Give up your keys.
+  PROVOST. Pardon me, noble lord;
+    I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
+    Yet did repent me, after more advice;
+    For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
+    That should by private order else have died,
+    I have reserv'd alive.  
+  DUKE. What's he?
+  PROVOST. His name is Barnardine.
+  DUKE. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.
+    Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him.      Exit PROVOST
+  ESCALUS. I am sorry one so learned and so wise
+    As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd,
+    Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood
+    And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.
+  ANGELO. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure;
+    And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart
+    That I crave death more willingly than mercy;
+    'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.
+
+       Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO (muffled)
+                            and JULIET
+
+  DUKE. Which is that Barnardine?
+  PROVOST. This, my lord.
+  DUKE. There was a friar told me of this man.
+    Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul,  
+    That apprehends no further than this world,
+    And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd;
+    But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all,
+    And pray thee take this mercy to provide
+    For better times to come. Friar, advise him;
+    I leave him to your hand. What muffl'd fellow's that?
+  PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I sav'd,
+    Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;
+    As like almost to Claudio as himself.    [Unmuffles CLAUDIO]
+  DUKE. [To ISABELLA] If he be like your brother, for his sake
+    Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely sake,
+    Give me your hand and say you will be mine,
+    He is my brother too. But fitter time for that.
+    By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe;
+    Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye.
+    Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well.
+    Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.
+    I find an apt remission in myself;
+    And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.
+    To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,  
+    One all of luxury, an ass, a madman!
+    Wherein have I so deserv'd of you
+    That you extol me thus?
+  LUCIO. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick.
+    If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would
+    please you I might be whipt.
+  DUKE. Whipt first, sir, and hang'd after.
+    Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city,
+    If any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow-
+    As I have heard him swear himself there's one
+    Whom he begot with child, let her appear,
+    And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish'd,
+    Let him be whipt and hang'd.
+  LUCIO. I beseech your Highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your
+    Highness said even now I made you a duke; good my lord, do not
+    recompense me in making me a cuckold.
+  DUKE. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.
+    Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal
+    Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;
+    And see our pleasure herein executed.  
+  LUCIO. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping,
+    and hanging.
+  DUKE. Slandering a prince deserves it.
+                                      Exeunt OFFICERS with LUCIO
+    She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.
+    Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo;
+    I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue.
+    Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness;
+    There's more behind that is more gratulate.
+    Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy;
+    We shall employ thee in a worthier place.
+    Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
+    The head of Ragozine for Claudio's:
+    Th' offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,
+    I have a motion much imports your good;
+    Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
+    What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.
+    So, bring us to our palace, where we'll show
+    What's yet behind that's meet you all should know.
+                                                          Exeunt  
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1597
+
+THE MERCHANT OF VENICE
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  THE DUKE OF VENICE
+  THE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia
+  THE PRINCE OF ARRAGON,    "    "    "
+  ANTONIO, a merchant of Venice
+  BASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia
+  SOLANIO,   friend to Antonio and Bassanio
+  SALERIO,      "    "    "     "     "
+  GRATIANO,     "    "    "     "     "
+  LORENZO, in love with Jessica
+  SHYLOCK, a rich Jew
+  TUBAL, a Jew, his friend
+  LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock
+  OLD GOBBO, father to Launcelot
+  LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio
+  BALTHASAR, servant to Portia
+  STEPHANO,     "     "    "
+
+  PORTIA, a rich heiress
+  NERISSA, her waiting-maid
+  JESSICA, daughter to Shylock  
+
+  Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,
+    Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Venice, and PORTIA'S house at Belmont
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Venice. A street
+
+Enter ANTONIO, SALERIO, and SOLANIO
+
+  ANTONIO. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
+    It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
+    But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
+    What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
+    I am to learn;
+    And such a want-wit sadness makes of me
+    That I have much ado to know myself.
+  SALERIO. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
+    There where your argosies, with portly sail-
+    Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
+    Or as it were the pageants of the sea-
+    Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
+    That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
+    As they fly by them with their woven wings.
+  SOLANIO. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
+    The better part of my affections would
+    Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still  
+    Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind,
+    Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
+    And every object that might make me fear
+    Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
+    Would make me sad.
+  SALERIO. My wind, cooling my broth,
+    Would blow me to an ague when I thought
+    What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
+    I should not see the sandy hour-glass run
+    But I should think of shallows and of flats,
+    And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
+    Vailing her high top lower than her ribs
+    To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
+    And see the holy edifice of stone,
+    And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
+    Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side,
+    Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
+    Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
+    And, in a word, but even now worth this,
+    And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought  
+    To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
+    That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad?
+    But tell not me; I know Antonio
+    Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
+  ANTONIO. Believe me, no; I thank my fortune for it,
+    My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
+    Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
+    Upon the fortune of this present year;
+    Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.
+  SOLANIO. Why then you are in love.
+  ANTONIO. Fie, fie!
+  SOLANIO. Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad
+    Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy
+    For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
+    Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
+    Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
+    Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
+    And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper;
+    And other of such vinegar aspect
+    That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile  
+    Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
+
+               Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO
+
+    Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
+    Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well;
+    We leave you now with better company.
+  SALERIO. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
+    If worthier friends had not prevented me.
+  ANTONIO. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
+    I take it your own business calls on you,
+    And you embrace th' occasion to depart.
+  SALERIO. Good morrow, my good lords.
+  BASSANIO. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say when.
+    You grow exceeding strange; must it be so?
+  SALERIO. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
+                                      Exeunt SALERIO and SOLANIO
+  LORENZO. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
+    We two will leave you; but at dinner-time,
+    I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.  
+  BASSANIO. I will not fail you.
+  GRATIANO. You look not well, Signior Antonio;
+    You have too much respect upon the world;
+    They lose it that do buy it with much care.
+    Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
+  ANTONIO. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano-
+    A stage, where every man must play a part,
+    And mine a sad one.
+  GRATIANO. Let me play the fool.
+    With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
+    And let my liver rather heat with wine
+    Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
+    Why should a man whose blood is warm within
+    Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster,
+    Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
+    By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio-
+    I love thee, and 'tis my love that speaks-
+    There are a sort of men whose visages
+    Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
+    And do a wilful stillness entertain,  
+    With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
+    Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
+    As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
+    And when I ope my lips let no dog bark.'
+    O my Antonio, I do know of these
+    That therefore only are reputed wise
+    For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
+    If they should speak, would almost damn those ears
+    Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
+    I'll tell thee more of this another time.
+    But fish not with this melancholy bait
+    For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
+    Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile;
+    I'll end my exhortation after dinner.
+  LORENZO. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time.
+    I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
+    For Gratiano never lets me speak.
+  GRATIANO. Well, keep me company but two years moe,
+    Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
+  ANTONIO. Fare you well; I'll grow a talker for this gear.  
+  GRATIANO. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
+    In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
+                                     Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO
+  ANTONIO. Is that anything now?
+  BASSANIO. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than
+    any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid
+    in, two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find
+    them, and when you have them they are not worth the search.
+  ANTONIO. Well; tell me now what lady is the same
+    To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
+    That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?
+  BASSANIO. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
+    How much I have disabled mine estate
+    By something showing a more swelling port
+    Than my faint means would grant continuance;
+    Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
+    From such a noble rate; but my chief care
+    Is to come fairly off from the great debts
+    Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
+    Hath left me gag'd. To you, Antonio,  
+    I owe the most, in money and in love;
+    And from your love I have a warranty
+    To unburden all my plots and purposes
+    How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
+  ANTONIO. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
+    And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
+    Within the eye of honour, be assur'd
+    My purse, my person, my extremest means,
+    Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
+  BASSANIO. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
+    I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
+    The self-same way, with more advised watch,
+    To find the other forth; and by adventuring both
+    I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof,
+    Because what follows is pure innocence.
+    I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
+    That which I owe is lost; but if you please
+    To shoot another arrow that self way
+    Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
+    As I will watch the aim, or to find both,  
+    Or bring your latter hazard back again
+    And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
+  ANTONIO. You know me well, and herein spend but time
+    To wind about my love with circumstance;
+    And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
+    In making question of my uttermost
+    Than if you had made waste of all I have.
+    Then do but say to me what I should do
+    That in your knowledge may by me be done,
+    And I am prest unto it; therefore, speak.
+  BASSANIO. In Belmont is a lady richly left,
+    And she is fair and, fairer than that word,
+    Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes
+    I did receive fair speechless messages.
+    Her name is Portia- nothing undervalu'd
+    To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
+    Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
+    For the four winds blow in from every coast
+    Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
+    Hang on her temples like a golden fleece,  
+    Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strond,
+    And many Jasons come in quest of her.
+    O my Antonio, had I but the means
+    To hold a rival place with one of them,
+    I have a mind presages me such thrift
+    That I should questionless be fortunate.
+  ANTONIO. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;
+    Neither have I money nor commodity
+    To raise a present sum; therefore go forth,
+    Try what my credit can in Venice do;
+    That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
+    To furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia.
+    Go presently inquire, and so will I,
+    Where money is; and I no question make
+    To have it of my trust or for my sake.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Belmont. PORTIA'S house
+
+Enter PORTIA with her waiting-woman, NERISSA
+
+  PORTIA. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this
+    great world.
+  NERISSA. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the
+    same abundance as your good fortunes are; and yet, for aught I
+    see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that
+    starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be
+    seated in the mean: superfluity come sooner by white hairs, but
+    competency lives longer.
+  PORTIA. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd.
+  NERISSA. They would be better, if well followed.
+  PORTIA. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do,
+    chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes'
+    palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions; I
+    can easier teach twenty what were good to be done than to be one
+    of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise
+    laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree;
+    such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good  
+    counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to
+    choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose'! I may neither
+    choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a
+    living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father. Is it not
+    hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?
+  NERISSA. Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death
+    have good inspirations; therefore the lott'ry that he hath
+    devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead- whereof
+    who chooses his meaning chooses you- will no doubt never be
+    chosen by any rightly but one who you shall rightly love. But
+    what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these
+    princely suitors that are already come?
+  PORTIA. I pray thee over-name them; and as thou namest them, I will
+    describe them; and according to my description, level at my
+    affection.
+  NERISSA. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
+  PORTIA. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of
+    his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good
+    parts that he can shoe him himself; I am much afear'd my lady his
+    mother play'd false with a smith.  
+  NERISSA. Then is there the County Palatine.
+  PORTIA. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'An you will
+    not have me, choose.' He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear
+    he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so
+    full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married
+    to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth than to either of
+    these. God defend me from these two!
+  NERISSA. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?
+  PORTIA. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In
+    truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker, but he- why, he hath a
+    horse better than the Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of
+    frowning than the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man. If a
+    throstle sing he falls straight a-cap'ring; he will fence with
+    his own shadow; if I should marry him, I should marry twenty
+    husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he
+    love me to madness, I shall never requite him.
+  NERISSA. What say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of
+    England?
+  PORTIA. You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me,
+    nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you  
+    will come into the court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth
+    in the English. He is a proper man's picture; but alas, who can
+    converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited! I think he
+    bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet
+    in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.
+  NERISSA. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?
+  PORTIA. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed
+    a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him
+    again when he was able; I think the Frenchman became his surety,
+    and seal'd under for another.
+  NERISSA. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's
+    nephew?
+  PORTIA. Very vilely in the morning when he is sober; and most
+    vilely in the afternoon when he is drunk. When he is best, he is
+    a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little
+    better than a beast. An the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I
+    shall make shift to go without him.
+  NERISSA. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket,
+    you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should
+    refuse to accept him.  
+  PORTIA. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep
+    glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket; for if the devil be
+    within and that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I
+    will do anything, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.
+  NERISSA. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords;
+    they have acquainted me with their determinations, which is
+    indeed to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more
+    suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's
+    imposition, depending on the caskets.
+  PORTIA. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as
+    Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will. I
+    am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not
+    one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God
+    grant them a fair departure.
+  NERISSA. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a
+    Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither in company of
+    the Marquis of Montferrat?
+  PORTIA. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was he call'd.
+  NERISSA. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes
+    look'd upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.  
+  PORTIA. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy
+    praise.
+
+                         Enter a SERVINGMAN
+
+    How now! what news?
+  SERVINGMAN. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their
+    leave; and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of
+    Morocco, who brings word the Prince his master will be here
+    to-night.
+  PORTIA. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I
+    can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his
+    approach; if he have the condition of a saint and the complexion
+    of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me.
+    Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
+    Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the
+      door.                                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Venice. A public place
+
+Enter BASSANIO With SHYLOCK the Jew
+
+  SHYLOCK. Three thousand ducats- well.
+  BASSANIO. Ay, sir, for three months.
+  SHYLOCK. For three months- well.
+  BASSANIO. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.
+  SHYLOCK. Antonio shall become bound- well.
+  BASSANIO. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your
+    answer?
+  SHYLOCK. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound.
+  BASSANIO. Your answer to that.
+  SHYLOCK. Antonio is a good man.
+  BASSANIO. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?
+  SHYLOCK. Ho, no, no, no, no; my meaning in saying he is a good man
+    is to have you understand me that he is sufficient; yet his means
+    are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another
+    to the Indies; I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a
+    third at Mexico, a fourth for England- and other ventures he
+    hath, squand'red abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but  
+    men; there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and
+    land-thieves- I mean pirates; and then there is the peril of
+    waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding,
+    sufficient. Three thousand ducats- I think I may take his bond.
+  BASSANIO. Be assur'd you may.
+  SHYLOCK. I will be assur'd I may; and, that I may be assured, I
+    will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?
+  BASSANIO. If it please you to dine with us.
+  SHYLOCK. Yes, to smell pork, to eat of the habitation which your
+    prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into! I will buy with
+    you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so
+    following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray
+    with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is he comes here?
+
+                            Enter ANTONIO
+
+  BASSANIO. This is Signior Antonio.
+  SHYLOCK.  [Aside]  How like a fawning publican he looks!
+    I hate him for he is a Christian;
+    But more for that in low simplicity  
+    He lends out money gratis, and brings down
+    The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
+    If I can catch him once upon the hip,
+    I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
+    He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
+    Even there where merchants most do congregate,
+    On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
+    Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe
+    If I forgive him!
+  BASSANIO. Shylock, do you hear?
+  SHYLOCK. I am debating of my present store,
+    And, by the near guess of my memory,
+    I cannot instantly raise up the gross
+    Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
+    Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
+    Will furnish me. But soft! how many months
+    Do you desire?  [To ANTONIO]  Rest you fair, good signior;
+    Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
+  ANTONIO. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow
+    By taking nor by giving of excess,  
+    Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
+    I'll break a custom.  [To BASSANIO]  Is he yet possess'd
+    How much ye would?
+  SHYLOCK. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
+  ANTONIO. And for three months.
+  SHYLOCK. I had forgot- three months; you told me so.
+    Well then, your bond; and, let me see- but hear you,
+    Methoughts you said you neither lend nor borrow
+    Upon advantage.
+  ANTONIO. I do never use it.
+  SHYLOCK. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep-
+    This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
+    As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
+    The third possessor; ay, he was the third-
+  ANTONIO. And what of him? Did he take interest?
+  SHYLOCK. No, not take interest; not, as you would say,
+    Directly int'rest; mark what Jacob did:
+    When Laban and himself were compromis'd
+    That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied
+    Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,  
+    In end of autumn turned to the rams;
+    And when the work of generation was
+    Between these woolly breeders in the act,
+    The skilful shepherd pill'd me certain wands,
+    And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
+    He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,
+    Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time
+    Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
+    This was a way to thrive, and he was blest;
+    And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.
+  ANTONIO. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for;
+    A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
+    But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven.
+    Was this inserted to make interest good?
+    Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?
+  SHYLOCK. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast.
+    But note me, signior.
+  ANTONIO.  [Aside]  Mark you this, Bassanio,
+    The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
+    An evil soul producing holy witness  
+    Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
+    A goodly apple rotten at the heart.
+    O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
+  SHYLOCK. Three thousand ducats- 'tis a good round sum.
+    Three months from twelve; then let me see, the rate-
+  ANTONIO. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?
+  SHYLOCK. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
+    In the Rialto you have rated me
+    About my moneys and my usances;
+    Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
+    For suff'rance is the badge of all our tribe;
+    You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
+    And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
+    And all for use of that which is mine own.
+    Well then, it now appears you need my help;
+    Go to, then; you come to me, and you say
+    'Shylock, we would have moneys.' You say so-
+    You that did void your rheum upon my beard
+    And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
+    Over your threshold; moneys is your suit.  
+    What should I say to you? Should I not say
+    'Hath a dog money? Is it possible
+    A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or
+    Shall I bend low and, in a bondman's key,
+    With bated breath and whisp'ring humbleness,
+    Say this:
+    'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last,
+    You spurn'd me such a day; another time
+    You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies
+    I'll lend you thus much moneys'?
+  ANTONIO. I am as like to call thee so again,
+    To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
+    If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
+    As to thy friends- for when did friendship take
+    A breed for barren metal of his friend?-
+    But lend it rather to thine enemy,
+    Who if he break thou mayst with better face
+    Exact the penalty.
+  SHYLOCK. Why, look you, how you storm!
+    I would be friends with you, and have your love,  
+    Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,
+    Supply your present wants, and take no doit
+    Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me.
+    This is kind I offer.
+  BASSANIO. This were kindness.
+  SHYLOCK. This kindness will I show.
+    Go with me to a notary, seal me there
+    Your single bond, and, in a merry sport,
+    If you repay me not on such a day,
+    In such a place, such sum or sums as are
+    Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
+    Be nominated for an equal pound
+    Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
+    In what part of your body pleaseth me.
+  ANTONIO. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond,
+    And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
+  BASSANIO. You shall not seal to such a bond for me;
+    I'll rather dwell in my necessity.
+  ANTONIO. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it;
+    Within these two months- that's a month before  
+    This bond expires- I do expect return
+    Of thrice three times the value of this bond.
+  SHYLOCK. O father Abram, what these Christians are,
+    Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
+    The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this:
+    If he should break his day, what should I gain
+    By the exaction of the forfeiture?
+    A pound of man's flesh taken from a man
+    Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
+    As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
+    To buy his favour, I extend this friendship;
+    If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
+    And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.
+  ANTONIO. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
+  SHYLOCK. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
+    Give him direction for this merry bond,
+    And I will go and purse the ducats straight,
+    See to my house, left in the fearful guard
+    Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
+    I'll be with you.  
+  ANTONIO. Hie thee, gentle Jew.                    Exit SHYLOCK
+    The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.
+  BASSANIO. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.
+  ANTONIO. Come on; in this there can be no dismay;
+    My ships come home a month before the day.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Belmont. PORTIA'S house
+
+Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE of MOROCCO, a tawny Moor all in white,
+and three or four FOLLOWERS accordingly, with PORTIA, NERISSA, and train
+
+  PRINCE OF Morocco. Mislike me not for my complexion,
+    The shadowed livery of the burnish'd sun,
+    To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
+    Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
+    Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
+    And let us make incision for your love
+    To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
+    I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
+    Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love, I swear
+    The best-regarded virgins of our clime
+    Have lov'd it too. I would not change this hue,
+    Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
+  PORTIA. In terms of choice I am not solely led
+    By nice direction of a maiden's eyes;
+    Besides, the lott'ry of my destiny  
+    Bars me the right of voluntary choosing.
+    But, if my father had not scanted me,
+    And hedg'd me by his wit to yield myself
+    His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
+    Yourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair
+    As any comer I have look'd on yet
+    For my affection.
+  PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Even for that I thank you.
+    Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
+    To try my fortune. By this scimitar,
+    That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince,
+    That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
+    I would o'erstare the sternest eyes that look,
+    Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
+    Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
+    Yea, mock the lion when 'a roars for prey,
+    To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
+    If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
+    Which is the better man, the greater throw
+    May turn by fortune from the weaker band.  
+    So is Alcides beaten by his page;
+    And so may I, blind Fortune leading me,
+    Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
+    And die with grieving.
+  PORTIA. You must take your chance,
+    And either not attempt to choose at all,
+    Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong,
+    Never to speak to lady afterward
+    In way of marriage; therefore be advis'd.
+  PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance.
+  PORTIA. First, forward to the temple. After dinner
+    Your hazard shall be made.
+  PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Good fortune then,
+    To make me blest or cursed'st among men!
+                                           [Cornets, and exeunt]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Venice. A street
+
+Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO
+
+  LAUNCELOT. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this
+    Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying
+    to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot' or 'good Gobbo' or
+    'good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.'
+    My conscience says 'No; take heed, honest Launcelot, take heed,
+    honest Gobbo' or, as aforesaid, 'honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not
+    run; scorn running with thy heels.' Well, the most courageous
+    fiend bids me pack. 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the
+    fiend. 'For the heavens, rouse up a brave mind' says the fiend
+    'and run.' Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my
+    heart, says very wisely to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being
+    an honest man's son' or rather 'an honest woman's son'; for
+    indeed my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a
+    kind of taste- well, my conscience says 'Launcelot, budge not.'
+    'Budge,' says the fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.
+    'Conscience,' say I, (you counsel well.' 'Fiend,' say I, 'you
+    counsel well.' To be rul'd by my conscience, I should stay with  
+    the Jew my master, who- God bless the mark!- is a kind of devil;
+    and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend,
+    who- saving your reverence!- is the devil himself. Certainly the
+    Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my conscience, my
+    conscience is but a kind of hard conscience to offer to counsel
+    me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly
+    counsel. I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I
+    will run.
+
+                     Enter OLD GOBBO, with a basket
+
+  GOBBO. Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to
+    master Jew's?
+  LAUNCELOT.  [Aside]  O heavens! This is my true-begotten father,
+    who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not.
+    I will try confusions with him.
+  GOBBO. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to
+    master Jew's?
+  LAUNCELOT. Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, at
+    the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next  
+    turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's
+    house.
+  GOBBO. Be God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit! Can you tell
+    me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or
+    no?
+  LAUNCELOT. Talk you of young Master Launcelot?  [Aside]  Mark me
+    now; now will I raise the waters.- Talk you of young Master
+    Launcelot?
+  GOBBO. No master, sir, but a poor man's son; his father, though I
+    say't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well
+    to live.
+  LAUNCELOT. Well, let his father be what 'a will, we talk of young
+    Master Launcelot.
+  GOBBO. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir.
+  LAUNCELOT. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk
+    you of young Master Launcelot?
+  GOBBO. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
+  LAUNCELOT. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launcelot,
+    father; for the young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies
+    and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of  
+    learning, is indeed deceased; or, as you would say in plain
+    terms, gone to heaven.
+  GOBBO. Marry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my
+    very prop.
+  LAUNCELOT. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a
+    prop? Do you know me, father?
+  GOBBO. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but I pray
+    you tell me, is my boy- God rest his soul!- alive or dead?
+  LAUNCELOT. Do you not know me, father?
+  GOBBO. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.
+  LAUNCELOT. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the
+    knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well,
+    old man, I will tell you news of your son. Give me your blessing;
+    truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son
+    may, but in the end truth will out.
+  GOBBO. Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure you are not Launcelot my
+    boy.
+  LAUNCELOT. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give
+    me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son
+    that is, your child that shall be.  
+  GOBBO. I cannot think you are my son.
+  LAUNCELOT. I know not what I shall think of that; but I am
+    Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my
+    mother.
+  GOBBO. Her name is Margery, indeed. I'll be sworn, if thou be
+    Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipp'd
+    might he be, what a beard hast thou got! Thou hast got more hair
+    on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.
+  LAUNCELOT. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward;
+    I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have of my face
+    when I last saw him.
+  GOBBO. Lord, how art thou chang'd! How dost thou and thy master
+    agree? I have brought him a present. How 'gree you now?
+  LAUNCELOT. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have set up my
+    rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground.
+    My master's a very Jew. Give him a present! Give him a halter. I
+    am famish'd in his service; you may tell every finger I have with
+    my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to
+    one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries; if I
+    serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare  
+    fortune! Here comes the man. To him, father, for I am a Jew, if I
+    serve the Jew any longer.
+
+         Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, with a FOLLOWER or two
+
+  BASSANIO. You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper be
+    ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See these letters
+    delivered, put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to
+    come anon to my lodging.                      Exit a SERVANT
+  LAUNCELOT. To him, father.
+  GOBBO. God bless your worship!
+  BASSANIO. Gramercy; wouldst thou aught with me?
+  GOBBO. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy-
+  LAUNCELOT. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would,
+    sir, as my father shall specify-
+  GOBBO. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve-
+  LAUNCELOT. Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and
+    have a desire, as my father shall specify-
+  GOBBO. His master and he, saving your worship's reverence, are
+    scarce cater-cousins-  
+  LAUNCELOT. To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done
+    me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old man,
+    shall frutify unto you-
+  GOBBO. I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your
+    worship; and my suit is-
+  LAUNCELOT. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as
+    your worship shall know by this honest old man; and, though I say
+    it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.
+  BASSANIO. One speak for both. What would you?
+  LAUNCELOT. Serve you, sir.
+  GOBBO. That is the very defect of the matter, sir.
+  BASSANIO. I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit.
+    Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
+    And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
+    To leave a rich Jew's service to become
+    The follower of so poor a gentleman.
+  LAUNCELOT. The old proverb is very well parted between my master
+    Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath
+    enough.
+  BASSANIO. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son.  
+    Take leave of thy old master, and inquire
+    My lodging out.  [To a SERVANT]  Give him a livery
+    More guarded than his fellows'; see it done.
+  LAUNCELOT. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have ne'er a
+    tongue in my head!  [Looking on his palm]  Well; if any man in
+    Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book- I
+    shall have good fortune. Go to, here's a simple line of life;
+    here's a small trifle of wives; alas, fifteen wives is nothing;
+    a'leven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one man.
+    And then to scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life
+    with the edge of a feather-bed-here are simple scapes. Well, if
+    Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father,
+    come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling.
+                                  Exeunt LAUNCELOT and OLD GOBBO
+  BASSANIO. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.
+    These things being bought and orderly bestowed,
+    Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
+    My best esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go.
+  LEONARDO. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
+  
+                          Enter GRATIANO
+
+  GRATIANO. Where's your master?
+  LEONARDO. Yonder, sir, he walks.                          Exit
+  GRATIANO. Signior Bassanio!
+  BASSANIO. Gratiano!
+  GRATIANO. I have suit to you.
+  BASSANIO. You have obtain'd it.
+  GRATIANO. You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.
+  BASSANIO. Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano:
+    Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice-
+    Parts that become thee happily enough,
+    And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
+    But where thou art not known, why there they show
+    Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
+    To allay with some cold drops of modesty
+    Thy skipping spirit; lest through thy wild behaviour
+    I be misconst'red in the place I go to
+    And lose my hopes.
+  GRATIANO. Signior Bassanio, hear me:  
+    If I do not put on a sober habit,
+    Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
+    Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,
+    Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyes
+    Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen,
+    Use all the observance of civility
+    Like one well studied in a sad ostent
+    To please his grandam, never trust me more.
+  BASSANIO. Well, we shall see your bearing.
+  GRATIANO. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gauge me
+    By what we do to-night.
+  BASSANIO. No, that were pity;
+    I would entreat you rather to put on
+    Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
+    That purpose merriment. But fare you well;
+    I have some business.
+  GRATIANO. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest;
+    But we will visit you at supper-time.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Venice. SHYLOCK'S house
+
+Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT
+
+  JESSICA. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so.
+    Our house is hell; and thou, a merry devil,
+    Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
+    But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee;
+    And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
+    Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest.
+    Give him this letter; do it secretly.
+    And so farewell. I would not have my father
+    See me in talk with thee.
+  LAUNCELOT. Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan,
+    most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave and get
+    thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu! these foolish drops do
+    something drown my manly spirit; adieu!
+  JESSICA. Farewell, good Launcelot.              Exit LAUNCELOT
+    Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
+    To be asham'd to be my father's child!
+    But though I am a daughter to his blood,  
+    I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
+    If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
+    Become a Christian and thy loving wife.                 Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Venice. A street
+
+Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALERIO, and SOLANIO
+
+  LORENZO. Nay, we will slink away in suppertime,
+    Disguise us at my lodging, and return
+    All in an hour.
+  GRATIANO. We have not made good preparation.
+  SALERIO. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.
+  SOLANIO. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered;
+    And better in my mind not undertook.
+  LORENZO. 'Tis now but four o'clock; we have two hours
+    To furnish us.
+
+                 Enter LAUNCELOT, With a letter
+
+    Friend Launcelot, what's the news?
+  LAUNCELOT. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem
+    to signify.
+  LORENZO. I know the hand; in faith, 'tis a fair hand,
+    And whiter than the paper it writ on  
+    Is the fair hand that writ.
+  GRATIANO. Love-news, in faith!
+  LAUNCELOT. By your leave, sir.
+  LORENZO. Whither goest thou?
+  LAUNCELOT. Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to sup
+    to-night with my new master, the Christian.
+  LORENZO. Hold, here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica
+    I will not fail her; speak it privately.
+    Go, gentlemen,                                Exit LAUNCELOT
+    Will you prepare you for this masque to-night?
+    I am provided of a torch-bearer.
+  SALERIO. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.
+  SOLANIO. And so will I.
+  LORENZO. Meet me and Gratiano
+    At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.
+  SALERIO. 'Tis good we do so.        Exeunt SALERIO and SOLANIO
+  GRATIANO. Was not that letter from fair Jessica?
+  LORENZO. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
+    How I shall take her from her father's house;
+    What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with;  
+    What page's suit she hath in readiness.
+    If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
+    It will be for his gentle daughter's sake;
+    And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
+    Unless she do it under this excuse,
+    That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
+    Come, go with me, peruse this as thou goest;
+    Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Venice. Before SHYLOCK'S house
+
+Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT
+
+  SHYLOCK. Well, thou shalt see; thy eyes shall be thy judge,
+    The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.-
+    What, Jessica!- Thou shalt not gormandize
+    As thou hast done with me- What, Jessica!-
+    And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out-
+    Why, Jessica, I say!
+  LAUNCELOT. Why, Jessica!
+  SHYLOCK. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.
+  LAUNCELOT. Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing
+    without bidding.
+
+                          Enter JESSICA
+
+  JESSICA. Call you? What is your will?
+  SHYLOCK. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica;
+    There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
+    I am not bid for love; they flatter me;  
+    But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
+    The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
+    Look to my house. I am right loath to go;
+    There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
+    For I did dream of money-bags to-night.
+  LAUNCELOT. I beseech you, sir, go; my young master doth expect your
+    reproach.
+  SHYLOCK. So do I his.
+  LAUNCELOT. And they have conspired together; I will not say you
+    shall see a masque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing
+    that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black Monday last at six o'clock
+    i' th' morning, falling out that year on Ash Wednesday was four
+    year, in th' afternoon.
+  SHYLOCK. What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
+    Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum,
+    And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,
+    Clamber not you up to the casements then,
+    Nor thrust your head into the public street
+    To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces;
+    But stop my house's ears- I mean my casements;  
+    Let not the sound of shallow fopp'ry enter
+    My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear
+    I have no mind of feasting forth to-night;
+    But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
+    Say I will come.
+  LAUNCELOT. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window for
+    all this.
+        There will come a Christian by
+        Will be worth a Jewess' eye.                        Exit
+  SHYLOCK. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?
+  JESSICA. His words were 'Farewell, mistress'; nothing else.
+  SHYLOCK. The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder,
+    Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
+    More than the wild-cat; drones hive not with me,
+    Therefore I part with him; and part with him
+    To one that I would have him help to waste
+    His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in;
+    Perhaps I will return immediately.
+    Do as I bid you, shut doors after you.
+    Fast bind, fast find-  
+    A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.                  Exit
+  JESSICA. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
+    I have a father, you a daughter, lost.                  Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Venice. Before SHYLOCK'S house
+
+Enter the maskers, GRATIANO and SALERIO
+
+  GRATIANO. This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
+    Desired us to make stand.
+  SALERIO. His hour is almost past.
+  GRATIANO. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
+    For lovers ever run before the clock.
+  SALERIO. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
+    To seal love's bonds new made than they are wont
+    To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
+  GRATIANO. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
+    With that keen appetite that he sits down?
+    Where is the horse that doth untread again
+    His tedious measures with the unbated fire
+    That he did pace them first? All things that are
+    Are with more spirit chased than enjoyed.
+    How like a younker or a prodigal
+    The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
+    Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind;  
+    How like the prodigal doth she return,
+    With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
+    Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!
+
+                       Enter LORENZO
+
+  SALERIO. Here comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter.
+  LORENZO. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode!
+    Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait.
+    When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
+    I'll watch as long for you then. Approach;
+    Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?
+
+           Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes
+
+  JESSICA. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
+    Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.
+  LORENZO. Lorenzo, and thy love.
+  JESSICA. Lorenzo, certain; and my love indeed;
+    For who love I so much? And now who knows  
+    But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
+  LORENZO. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.
+  JESSICA. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
+    I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
+    For I am much asham'd of my exchange;
+    But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
+    The pretty follies that themselves commit,
+    For, if they could, Cupid himself would blush
+    To see me thus transformed to a boy.
+  LORENZO. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
+  JESSICA. What! must I hold a candle to my shames?
+    They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
+    Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love,
+    And I should be obscur'd.
+  LORENZO. So are you, sweet,
+    Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
+    But come at once,
+    For the close night doth play the runaway,
+    And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.
+  JESSICA. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself  
+    With some moe ducats, and be with you straight.
+                                                      Exit above
+
+  GRATIANO. Now, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew.
+  LORENZO. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily,
+    For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
+    And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
+    And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;
+    And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
+    Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
+
+                     Enter JESSICA, below
+
+    What, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away;
+    Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
+                                   Exit with JESSICA and SALERIO
+
+                        Enter ANTONIO
+
+  ANTONIO. Who's there?  
+  GRATIANO. Signior Antonio?
+  ANTONIO. Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?
+    'Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you;
+    No masque to-night; the wind is come about;
+    Bassanio presently will go aboard;
+    I have sent twenty out to seek for you.
+  GRATIANO. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight
+    Than to be under sail and gone to-night.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+Belmont. PORTIA's house
+
+Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the PRINCE OF MOROCCO,
+and their trains
+
+  PORTIA. Go draw aside the curtains and discover
+    The several caskets to this noble Prince.
+    Now make your choice.
+  PRINCE OF MOROCCO. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears:
+    'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
+    The second, silver, which this promise carries:
+    'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
+    This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt:
+    'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
+    How shall I know if I do choose the right?
+  PORTIA. The one of them contains my picture, Prince;
+    If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
+  PRINCE OF MOROCCO. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
+    I will survey th' inscriptions back again.
+    What says this leaden casket?
+    'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'  
+    Must give- for what? For lead? Hazard for lead!
+    This casket threatens; men that hazard all
+    Do it in hope of fair advantages.
+    A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
+    I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
+    What says the silver with her virgin hue?
+    'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
+    As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,
+    And weigh thy value with an even hand.
+    If thou beest rated by thy estimation,
+    Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough
+    May not extend so far as to the lady;
+    And yet to be afeard of my deserving
+    Were but a weak disabling of myself.
+    As much as I deserve? Why, that's the lady!
+    I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
+    In graces, and in qualities of breeding;
+    But more than these, in love I do deserve.
+    What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?
+    Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold:  
+    'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
+    Why, that's the lady! All the world desires her;
+    From the four corners of the earth they come
+    To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint.
+    The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
+    Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
+    For princes to come view fair Portia.
+    The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
+    Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
+    To stop the foreign spirits, but they come
+    As o'er a brook to see fair Portia.
+    One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
+    Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation
+    To think so base a thought; it were too gross
+    To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
+    Or shall I think in silver she's immur'd,
+    Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
+    O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
+    Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
+    A coin that bears the figure of an angel  
+    Stamp'd in gold; but that's insculp'd upon.
+    But here an angel in a golden bed
+    Lies all within. Deliver me the key;
+    Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!
+  PORTIA. There, take it, Prince, and if my form lie there,
+    Then I am yours.                [He opens the golden casket]
+  PRINCE OF MOROCCO. O hell! what have we here?
+    A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
+    There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
+         'All that glisters is not gold,
+         Often have you heard that told;
+         Many a man his life hath sold
+         But my outside to behold.
+         Gilded tombs do worms infold.
+         Had you been as wise as bold,
+         Young in limbs, in judgment old,
+         Your answer had not been inscroll'd.
+         Fare you well, your suit is cold.'
+      Cold indeed, and labour lost,
+      Then farewell, heat, and welcome, frost.  
+    Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart
+    To take a tedious leave; thus losers part.
+                        Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets
+  PORTIA. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
+    Let all of his complexion choose me so.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+Venice. A street
+
+Enter SALERIO and SOLANIO
+
+  SALERIO. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
+    With him is Gratiano gone along;
+    And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.
+  SOLANIO. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the Duke,
+    Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
+  SALERIO. He came too late, the ship was under sail;
+    But there the Duke was given to understand
+    That in a gondola were seen together
+    Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica;
+    Besides, Antonio certified the Duke
+    They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
+  SOLANIO. I never heard a passion so confus'd,
+    So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
+    As the dog Jew did utter in the streets.
+    'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!
+    Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!
+    Justice! the law! My ducats and my daughter!  
+    A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
+    Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!
+    And jewels- two stones, two rich and precious stones,
+    Stol'n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl;
+    She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.'
+  SALERIO. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
+    Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.
+  SOLANIO. Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
+    Or he shall pay for this.
+  SALERIO. Marry, well rememb'red;
+    I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
+    Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
+    The French and English, there miscarried
+    A vessel of our country richly fraught.
+    I thought upon Antonio when he told me,
+    And wish'd in silence that it were not his.
+  SOLANIO. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
+    Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
+  SALERIO. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
+    I saw Bassanio and Antonio part.  
+    Bassanio told him he would make some speed
+    Of his return. He answered 'Do not so;
+    Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
+    But stay the very riping of the time;
+    And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,
+    Let it not enter in your mind of love;
+    Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
+    To courtship, and such fair ostents of love
+    As shall conveniently become you there.'
+    And even there, his eye being big with tears,
+    Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
+    And with affection wondrous sensible
+    He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.
+  SOLANIO. I think he only loves the world for him.
+    I pray thee, let us go and find him out,
+    And quicken his embraced heaviness
+    With some delight or other.
+  SALERIO. Do we so.                                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+Belmont. PORTIA'S house
+
+Enter NERISSA, and a SERVITOR
+
+  NERISSA. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight;
+    The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
+    And comes to his election presently.
+
+       Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON,
+                    PORTIA, and their trains
+
+  PORTIA. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince.
+    If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
+    Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd;
+    But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
+    You must be gone from hence immediately.
+  ARRAGON. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
+    First, never to unfold to any one
+    Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
+    Of the right casket, never in my life
+    To woo a maid in way of marriage;  
+    Lastly,
+    If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
+    Immediately to leave you and be gone.
+  PORTIA. To these injunctions every one doth swear
+    That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
+  ARRAGON. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now
+    To my heart's hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.
+    'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
+    You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.
+    What says the golden chest? Ha! let me see:
+    'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
+    What many men desire- that 'many' may be meant
+    By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
+    Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
+    Which pries not to th' interior, but, like the martlet,
+    Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
+    Even in the force and road of casualty.
+    I will not choose what many men desire,
+    Because I will not jump with common spirits
+    And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.  
+    Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house!
+    Tell me once more what title thou dost bear.
+    'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
+    And well said too; for who shall go about
+    To cozen fortune, and be honourable
+    Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
+    To wear an undeserved dignity.
+    O that estates, degrees, and offices,
+    Were not deriv'd corruptly, and that clear honour
+    Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
+    How many then should cover that stand bare!
+    How many be commanded that command!
+    How much low peasantry would then be gleaned
+    From the true seed of honour! and how much honour
+    Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,
+    To be new varnish'd! Well, but to my choice.
+    'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
+    I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
+    And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
+                                    [He opens the silver casket]  
+  PORTIA.  [Aside]  Too long a pause for that which you find there.
+  ARRAGON. What's here? The portrait of a blinking idiot
+    Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.
+    How much unlike art thou to Portia!
+    How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!
+    'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'
+    Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
+    Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better?
+  PORTIA. To offend and judge are distinct offices
+    And of opposed natures.
+  ARRAGON. What is here?  [Reads]
+
+         'The fire seven times tried this;
+         Seven times tried that judgment is
+         That did never choose amiss.
+         Some there be that shadows kiss,
+         Such have but a shadow's bliss.
+         There be fools alive iwis
+         Silver'd o'er, and so was this.
+         Take what wife you will to bed,  
+         I will ever be your head.
+         So be gone; you are sped.'
+
+         Still more fool I shall appear
+         By the time I linger here.
+         With one fool's head I came to woo,
+         But I go away with two.
+         Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath,
+         Patiently to bear my wroth.         Exit with his train
+
+  PORTIA. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
+    O, these deliberate fools! When they do choose,
+    They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
+  NERISSA. The ancient saying is no heresy:
+    Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
+  PORTIA. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
+
+                       Enter a SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. Where is my lady?  
+  PORTIA. Here; what would my lord?
+  SERVANT. Madam, there is alighted at your gate
+    A young Venetian, one that comes before
+    To signify th' approaching of his lord,
+    From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;
+    To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,
+    Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
+    So likely an ambassador of love.
+    A day in April never came so sweet
+    To show how costly summer was at hand
+    As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
+  PORTIA. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard
+    Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
+    Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.
+    Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see
+    Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.
+  NERISSA. Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Venice. A street
+
+Enter SOLANIO and SALERIO
+
+  SOLANIO. Now, what news on the Rialto?
+  SALERIO. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath a ship
+    of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas; the Goodwins I think
+    they call the place, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the
+    carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my
+    gossip Report be an honest woman of her word.
+  SOLANIO. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapp'd
+    ginger or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a
+    third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or
+    crossing the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the
+    honest Antonio- O that I had a title good enough to keep his name
+    company!-
+  SALERIO. Come, the full stop.
+  SOLANIO. Ha! What sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a
+    ship.
+  SALERIO. I would it might prove the end of his losses.
+  SOLANIO. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer,  
+    for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.
+
+                             Enter SHYLOCK
+
+    How now, Shylock? What news among the merchants?
+  SHYLOCK. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my
+    daughter's flight.
+  SALERIO. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made
+    the wings she flew withal.
+  SOLANIO. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was flidge;
+    and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam.
+  SHYLOCK. She is damn'd for it.
+  SALERIO. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.
+  SHYLOCK. My own flesh and blood to rebel!
+  SOLANIO. Out upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years?
+  SHYLOCK. I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.
+  SALERIO. There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than
+    between jet and ivory; more between your bloods than there is
+    between red wine and Rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether
+    Antonio have had any loss at sea or no?  
+  SHYLOCK. There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a prodigal,
+    who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a beggar, that was
+    us'd to come so smug upon the mart. Let him look to his bond. He
+    was wont to call me usurer; let him look to his bond. He was wont
+    to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond.
+  SALERIO. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his
+    flesh. What's that good for?
+  SHYLOCK. To bait fish withal. If it will feed nothing else, it will
+    feed my revenge. He hath disgrac'd me and hind'red me half a
+    million; laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my
+    nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
+    enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes?
+    Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections,
+    passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
+    subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed
+    and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If
+    you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
+    If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we
+    not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you
+    in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility?  
+    Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance
+    be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me
+    I will execute; and itshall go hard but I will better the
+    instruction.
+
+                    Enter a MAN from ANTONIO
+
+  MAN. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to
+    speak with you both.
+  SALERIO. We have been up and down to seek him.
+
+                          Enter TUBAL
+
+  SOLANIO. Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be
+    match'd, unless the devil himself turn Jew.
+                                Exeunt SOLANIO, SALERIO, and MAN
+  SHYLOCK. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Hast thou found my
+    daughter?
+  TUBAL. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.
+  SHYLOCK. Why there, there, there, there! A diamond gone, cost me  
+    two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our
+    nation till now; I never felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in
+    that, and other precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter
+    were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear; would she were
+    hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin! No news of
+    them? Why, so- and I know not what's spent in the search. Why,
+    thou- loss upon loss! The thief gone with so much, and so much to
+    find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge; nor no ill luck
+    stirring but what lights o' my shoulders; no sighs but o' my
+    breathing; no tears but o' my shedding!
+  TUBAL. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I heard in
+    Genoa-
+  SHYLOCK. What, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck?
+  TUBAL. Hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.
+  SHYLOCK. I thank God, I thank God. Is it true, is it true?
+  TUBAL. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.
+  SHYLOCK. I thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news- ha, ha!-
+    heard in Genoa.
+  TUBAL. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night,
+    fourscore ducats.  
+  SHYLOCK. Thou stick'st a dagger in me- I shall never see my gold
+    again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting! Fourscore ducats!
+  TUBAL. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to
+    Venice that swear he cannot choose but break.
+  SHYLOCK. I am very glad of it; I'll plague him, I'll torture him; I
+    am glad of it.
+  TUBAL. One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter
+    for a monkey.
+  SHYLOCK. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my
+    turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor; I would not
+    have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.
+  TUBAL. But Antonio is certainly undone.
+  SHYLOCK. Nay, that's true; that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an
+    officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of
+    him, if he forfeit; for, were he out of Venice, I can make what
+    merchandise I will. Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go,
+    good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Belmont. PORTIA'S house
+
+Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and all their trains
+
+  PORTIA. I pray you tarry; pause a day or two
+    Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
+    I lose your company; therefore forbear a while.
+    There's something tells me- but it is not love-
+    I would not lose you; and you know yourself
+    Hate counsels not in such a quality.
+    But lest you should not understand me well-
+    And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought-
+    I would detain you here some month or two
+    Before you venture for me. I could teach you
+    How to choose right, but then I am forsworn;
+    So will I never be; so may you miss me;
+    But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
+    That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes!
+    They have o'erlook'd me and divided me;
+    One half of me is yours, the other half yours-  
+    Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
+    And so all yours. O! these naughty times
+    Puts bars between the owners and their rights;
+    And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,
+    Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.
+    I speak too long, but 'tis to peize the time,
+    To eke it, and to draw it out in length,
+    To stay you from election.
+  BASSANIO. Let me choose;
+    For as I am, I live upon the rack.
+  PORTIA. Upon the rack, Bassanio? Then confess
+    What treason there is mingled with your love.
+  BASSANIO. None but that ugly treason of mistrust
+    Which makes me fear th' enjoying of my love;
+    There may as well be amity and life
+    'Tween snow and fire as treason and my love.
+  PORTIA. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,
+    Where men enforced do speak anything.
+  BASSANIO. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.
+  PORTIA. Well then, confess and live.  
+  BASSANIO. 'Confess' and 'love'
+    Had been the very sum of my confession.
+    O happy torment, when my torturer
+    Doth teach me answers for deliverance!
+    But let me to my fortune and the caskets.
+  PORTIA. Away, then; I am lock'd in one of them.
+    If you do love me, you will find me out.
+    Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof;
+    Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
+    Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
+    Fading in music. That the comparison
+    May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream
+    And wat'ry death-bed for him. He may win;
+    And what is music then? Then music is
+    Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
+    To a new-crowned monarch; such it is
+    As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
+    That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear
+    And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
+    With no less presence, but with much more love,  
+    Than young Alcides when he did redeem
+    The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
+    To the sea-monster. I stand for sacrifice;
+    The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
+    With bleared visages come forth to view
+    The issue of th' exploit. Go, Hercules!
+    Live thou, I live. With much much more dismay
+    I view the fight than thou that mak'st the fray.
+
+                            A SONG
+
+      the whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself
+
+                 Tell me where is fancy bred,
+                 Or in the heart or in the head,
+                 How begot, how nourished?
+                   Reply, reply.
+                 It is engend'red in the eyes,
+                 With gazing fed; and fancy dies
+                 In the cradle where it lies.  
+                   Let us all ring fancy's knell:
+                   I'll begin it- Ding, dong, bell.
+  ALL.           Ding, dong, bell.
+
+  BASSANIO. So may the outward shows be least themselves;
+    The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.
+    In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt
+    But, being season'd with a gracious voice,
+    Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
+    What damned error but some sober brow
+    Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
+    Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
+    There is no vice so simple but assumes
+    Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
+    How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
+    As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
+    The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;
+    Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk!
+    And these assume but valour's excrement
+    To render them redoubted. Look on beauty  
+    And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight,
+    Which therein works a miracle in nature,
+    Making them lightest that wear most of it;
+    So are those crisped snaky golden locks
+    Which make such wanton gambols with the wind
+    Upon supposed fairness often known
+    To be the dowry of a second head-
+    The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
+    Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
+    To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
+    Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
+    The seeming truth which cunning times put on
+    To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
+    Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;
+    Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
+    'Tween man and man; but thou, thou meagre lead,
+    Which rather threaten'st than dost promise aught,
+    Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,
+    And here choose I. Joy be the consequence!
+  PORTIA.  [Aside]  How all the other passions fleet to air,  
+    As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair,
+    And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy!
+    O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,
+    In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!
+    I feel too much thy blessing. Make it less,
+    For fear I surfeit.
+  BASSANIO.  [Opening the leaden casket]  What find I here?
+    Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god
+    Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
+    Or whether riding on the balls of mine
+    Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,
+    Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar
+    Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
+    The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
+    A golden mesh t' entrap the hearts of men
+    Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes-
+    How could he see to do them? Having made one,
+    Methinks it should have power to steal both his,
+    And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look how far
+    The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow  
+    In underprizing it, so far this shadow
+    Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll,
+    The continent and summary of my fortune.
+         'You that choose not by the view,
+         Chance as fair and choose as true!
+         Since this fortune falls to you,
+         Be content and seek no new.
+         If you be well pleas'd with this,
+         And hold your fortune for your bliss,
+         Turn to where your lady is
+         And claim her with a loving kiss.'
+    A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;
+    I come by note, to give and to receive.
+    Like one of two contending in a prize,
+    That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
+    Hearing applause and universal shout,
+    Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
+    Whether those peals of praise be his or no;
+    So, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so,
+    As doubtful whether what I see be true,  
+    Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.
+  PORTIA. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
+    Such as I am. Though for myself alone
+    I would not be ambitious in my wish
+    To wish myself much better, yet for you
+    I would be trebled twenty times myself,
+    A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich,
+    That only to stand high in your account
+    I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
+    Exceed account. But the full sum of me
+    Is sum of something which, to term in gross,
+    Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd;
+    Happy in this, she is not yet so old
+    But she may learn; happier than this,
+    She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
+    Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit
+    Commits itself to yours to be directed,
+    As from her lord, her governor, her king.
+    Myself and what is mine to you and yours
+    Is now converted. But now I was the lord  
+    Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
+    Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,
+    This house, these servants, and this same myself,
+    Are yours- my lord's. I give them with this ring,
+    Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
+    Let it presage the ruin of your love,
+    And be my vantage to exclaim on you.
+  BASSANIO. Madam, you have bereft me of all words;
+    Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;
+    And there is such confusion in my powers
+    As, after some oration fairly spoke
+    By a beloved prince, there doth appear
+    Among the buzzing pleased multitude,
+    Where every something, being blent together,
+    Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy
+    Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring
+    Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence;
+    O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!
+  NERISSA. My lord and lady, it is now our time
+    That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper  
+    To cry 'Good joy.' Good joy, my lord and lady!
+  GRATIANO. My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,
+    I wish you all the joy that you can wish,
+    For I am sure you can wish none from me;
+    And, when your honours mean to solemnize
+    The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you
+    Even at that time I may be married too.
+  BASSANIO. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.
+  GRATIANO. I thank your lordship, you have got me one.
+    My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
+    You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
+    You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission
+    No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
+    Your fortune stood upon the caskets there,
+    And so did mine too, as the matter falls;
+    For wooing here until I sweat again,
+    And swearing till my very roof was dry
+    With oaths of love, at last- if promise last-
+    I got a promise of this fair one here
+    To have her love, provided that your fortune  
+    Achiev'd her mistress.
+  PORTIA. Is this true, Nerissa?
+  NERISSA. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal.
+  BASSANIO. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?
+  GRATIANO. Yes, faith, my lord.
+  BASSANIO. Our feast shall be much honoured in your marriage.
+  GRATIANO. We'll play with them: the first boy for a thousand
+    ducats.
+  NERISSA. What, and stake down?
+  GRATIANO. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down-
+    But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?
+    What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio!
+
+          Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a messenger
+                           from Venice
+
+  BASSANIO. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither,
+    If that the youth of my new int'rest here
+    Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,
+    I bid my very friends and countrymen,  
+    Sweet Portia, welcome.
+  PORTIA. So do I, my lord;
+    They are entirely welcome.
+  LORENZO. I thank your honour. For my part, my lord,
+    My purpose was not to have seen you here;
+    But meeting with Salerio by the way,
+    He did entreat me, past all saying nay,
+    To come with him along.
+  SALERIO. I did, my lord,
+    And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
+    Commends him to you.               [Gives BASSANIO a letter]
+  BASSANIO. Ere I ope his letter,
+    I pray you tell me how my good friend doth.
+  SALERIO. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
+    Nor well, unless in mind; his letter there
+    Will show you his estate.        [BASSANIO opens the letter]
+  GRATIANO. Nerissa, cheer yond stranger; bid her welcome.
+    Your hand, Salerio. What's the news from Venice?
+    How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
+    I know he will be glad of our success:  
+    We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.
+  SALERIO. I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.
+  PORTIA. There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper
+    That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek:
+    Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world
+    Could turn so much the constitution
+    Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!
+    With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself,
+    And I must freely have the half of anything
+    That this same paper brings you.
+  BASSANIO. O sweet Portia,
+    Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words
+    That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,
+    When I did first impart my love to you,
+    I freely told you all the wealth I had
+    Ran in my veins- I was a gentleman;
+    And then I told you true. And yet, dear lady,
+    Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
+    How much I was a braggart. When I told you
+    My state was nothing, I should then have told you  
+    That I was worse than nothing; for indeed
+    I have engag'd myself to a dear friend,
+    Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy,
+    To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady,
+    The paper as the body of my friend,
+    And every word in it a gaping wound
+    Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?
+    Hath all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
+    From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,
+    From Lisbon, Barbary, and India,
+    And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch
+    Of merchant-marring rocks?
+  SALERIO. Not one, my lord.
+    Besides, it should appear that, if he had
+    The present money to discharge the Jew,
+    He would not take it. Never did I know
+    A creature that did bear the shape of man
+    So keen and greedy to confound a man.
+    He plies the Duke at morning and at night,
+    And doth impeach the freedom of the state,  
+    If they deny him justice. Twenty merchants,
+    The Duke himself, and the magnificoes
+    Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
+    But none can drive him from the envious plea
+    Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.
+  JESSICA. When I was with him, I have heard him swear
+    To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,
+    That he would rather have Antonio's flesh
+    Than twenty times the value of the sum
+    That he did owe him; and I know, my lord,
+    If law, authority, and power, deny not,
+    It will go hard with poor Antonio.
+  PORTIA. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?
+  BASSANIO. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
+    The best condition'd and unwearied spirit
+    In doing courtesies; and one in whom
+    The ancient Roman honour more appears
+    Than any that draws breath in Italy.
+  PORTIA. What sum owes he the Jew?
+  BASSANIO. For me, three thousand ducats.  
+  PORTIA. What! no more?
+    Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
+    Double six thousand, and then treble that,
+    Before a friend of this description
+    Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
+    First go with me to church and call me wife,
+    And then away to Venice to your friend;
+    For never shall you lie by Portia's side
+    With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
+    To pay the petty debt twenty times over.
+    When it is paid, bring your true friend along.
+    My maid Nerissa and myself meantime
+    Will live as maids and widows. Come, away;
+    For you shall hence upon your wedding day.
+    Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;
+    Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
+    But let me hear the letter of your friend.
+  BASSANIO.  [Reads]  'Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried,
+    my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the
+    Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impossible I  
+    should live, all debts are clear'd between you and I, if I might
+    but see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if
+    your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter.'
+  PORTIA. O love, dispatch all business and be gone!
+  BASSANIO. Since I have your good leave to go away,
+    I will make haste; but, till I come again,
+    No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,
+    Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Venice. A street
+
+Enter SHYLOCK, SOLANIO, ANTONIO, and GAOLER
+
+  SHYLOCK. Gaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy-
+    This is the fool that lent out money gratis.
+    Gaoler, look to him.
+  ANTONIO. Hear me yet, good Shylock.
+  SHYLOCK. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond.
+    I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.
+    Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,
+    But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs;
+    The Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,
+    Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
+    To come abroad with him at his request.
+  ANTONIO. I pray thee hear me speak.
+  SHYLOCK. I'll have my bond. I will not hear thee speak;
+    I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.
+    I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool,
+    To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield,
+    To Christian intercessors. Follow not;  
+    I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond.             Exit
+  SOLANIO. It is the most impenetrable cur
+    That ever kept with men.
+  ANTONIO. Let him alone;
+    I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
+    He seeks my life; his reason well I know:
+    I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
+    Many that have at times made moan to me;
+    Therefore he hates me.
+  SOLANIO. I am sure the Duke
+    Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.
+  ANTONIO. The Duke cannot deny the course of law;
+    For the commodity that strangers have
+    With us in Venice, if it be denied,
+    Will much impeach the justice of the state,
+    Since that the trade and profit of the city
+    Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go;
+    These griefs and losses have so bated me
+    That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
+    To-morrow to my bloody creditor.  
+    Well, gaoler, on; pray God Bassanio come
+    To see me pay his debt, and then I care not.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Belmont. PORTIA'S house
+
+Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and BALTHASAR
+
+  LORENZO. Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
+    You have a noble and a true conceit
+    Of godlike amity, which appears most strongly
+    In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
+    But if you knew to whom you show this honour,
+    How true a gentleman you send relief,
+    How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
+    I know you would be prouder of the work
+    Than customary bounty can enforce you.
+  PORTIA. I never did repent for doing good,
+    Nor shall not now; for in companions
+    That do converse and waste the time together,
+    Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
+    There must be needs a like proportion
+    Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit,
+    Which makes me think that this Antonio,
+    Being the bosom lover of my lord,  
+    Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,
+    How little is the cost I have bestowed
+    In purchasing the semblance of my soul
+    From out the state of hellish cruelty!
+    This comes too near the praising of myself;
+    Therefore, no more of it; hear other things.
+    Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
+    The husbandry and manage of my house
+    Until my lord's return; for mine own part,
+    I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow
+    To live in prayer and contemplation,
+    Only attended by Nerissa here,
+    Until her husband and my lord's return.
+    There is a monastery two miles off,
+    And there we will abide. I do desire you
+    Not to deny this imposition,
+    The which my love and some necessity
+    Now lays upon you.
+  LORENZO. Madam, with all my heart
+    I shall obey you in an fair commands.  
+  PORTIA. My people do already know my mind,
+    And will acknowledge you and Jessica
+    In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
+    So fare you well till we shall meet again.
+  LORENZO. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!
+  JESSICA. I wish your ladyship all heart's content.
+  PORTIA. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd
+    To wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.
+                                      Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO
+    Now, Balthasar,
+    As I have ever found thee honest-true,
+    So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
+    And use thou all th' endeavour of a man
+    In speed to Padua; see thou render this
+    Into my cousin's hands, Doctor Bellario;
+    And look what notes and garments he doth give thee,
+    Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed
+    Unto the traject, to the common ferry
+    Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
+    But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee.  
+  BALTHASAR. Madam, I go with all convenient speed.         Exit
+  PORTIA. Come on, Nerissa, I have work in hand
+    That you yet know not of; we'll see our husbands
+    Before they think of us.
+  NERISSA. Shall they see us?
+  PORTIA. They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit
+    That they shall think we are accomplished
+    With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,
+    When we are both accoutred like young men,
+    I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
+    And wear my dagger with the braver grace,
+    And speak between the change of man and boy
+    With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps
+    Into a manly stride; and speak of frays
+    Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies,
+    How honourable ladies sought my love,
+    Which I denying, they fell sick and died-
+    I could not do withal. Then I'll repent,
+    And wish for all that, that I had not kill'd them.
+    And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,  
+    That men shall swear I have discontinued school
+    About a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
+    A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
+    Which I will practise.
+  NERISSA. Why, shall we turn to men?
+  PORTIA. Fie, what a question's that,
+    If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!
+    But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device
+    When I am in my coach, which stays for us
+    At the park gate; and therefore haste away,
+    For we must measure twenty miles to-day.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Belmont. The garden
+
+Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA
+
+  LAUNCELOT. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father are to
+    be laid upon the children; therefore, I promise you, I fear you.
+    I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of
+    the matter; therefore be o' good cheer, for truly I think you are
+    damn'd. There is but one hope in it that can do you any good, and
+    that is but a kind of bastard hope, neither.
+  JESSICA. And what hope is that, I pray thee?
+  LAUNCELOT. Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not-
+   that you are not the Jew's daughter.
+  JESSICA. That were a kind of bastard hope indeed; so the sins of my
+    mother should be visited upon me.
+  LAUNCELOT. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both by father and
+    mother; thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into
+    Charybdis, your mother; well, you are gone both ways.
+  JESSICA. I shall be sav'd by my husband; he hath made me a
+    Christian.
+  LAUNCELOT. Truly, the more to blame he; we were Christians enow  
+    before, e'en as many as could well live one by another. This
+    making of Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all
+    to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the
+    coals for money.
+
+                             Enter LORENZO
+
+  JESSICA. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say; here he
+    comes.
+  LORENZO. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if you
+    thus get my wife into corners.
+  JESSICA. Nay, you need nor fear us, Lorenzo; Launcelot and I are
+    out; he tells me flatly there's no mercy for me in heaven,
+    because I am a Jew's daughter; and he says you are no good member
+    of the commonwealth, for in converting Jews to Christians you
+    raise the price of pork.
+  LORENZO. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you
+    can the getting up of the negro's belly; the Moor is with child
+    by you, Launcelot.
+  LAUNCELOT. It is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but  
+    if she be less than an honest woman, she is indeed more than I
+    took her for.
+  LORENZO. How every fool can play upon the word! I think the best
+    grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow
+    commendable in none only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them
+    prepare for dinner.
+  LAUNCELOT. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.
+  LORENZO. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! Then bid them
+    prepare dinner.
+  LAUNCELOT. That is done too, sir, only 'cover' is the word.
+  LORENZO. Will you cover, then, sir?
+  LAUNCELOT. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.
+  LORENZO. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the
+    whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray thee understand a
+    plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows, bid them cover
+    the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.
+  LAUNCELOT. For the table, sir, it shall be serv'd in; for the meat,
+    sir, it shall be cover'd; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why,
+    let it be as humours and conceits shall govern.
+ Exit  
+  LORENZO. O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
+    The fool hath planted in his memory
+    An army of good words; and I do know
+    A many fools that stand in better place,
+    Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
+    Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica?
+    And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
+    How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?
+  JESSICA. Past all expressing. It is very meet
+    The Lord Bassanio live an upright life,
+    For, having such a blessing in his lady,
+    He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;
+    And if on earth he do not merit it,
+    In reason he should never come to heaven.
+    Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match,
+    And on the wager lay two earthly women,
+    And Portia one, there must be something else
+    Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world
+    Hath not her fellow.
+  LORENZO. Even such a husband  
+    Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.
+  JESSICA. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.
+  LORENZO. I will anon; first let us go to dinner.
+  JESSICA. Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.
+  LORENZO. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;
+    Then howsome'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
+    I shall digest it.
+  JESSICA. Well, I'll set you forth.                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Venice. The court of justice
+
+Enter the DUKE, the MAGNIFICOES, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALERIO,
+and OTHERS
+
+  DUKE OF VENICE. What, is Antonio here?
+  ANTONIO. Ready, so please your Grace.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer
+    A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch,
+    Uncapable of pity, void and empty
+    From any dram of mercy.
+  ANTONIO. I have heard
+    Your Grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
+    His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,
+    And that no lawful means can carry me
+    Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
+    My patience to his fury, and am arm'd
+    To suffer with a quietness of spirit
+    The very tyranny and rage of his.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Go one, and call the Jew into the court.
+  SALERIO. He is ready at the door; he comes, my lord.  
+
+                          Enter SHYLOCK
+
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Make room, and let him stand before our face.
+    Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
+    That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice
+    To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought,
+    Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange
+    Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
+    And where thou now exacts the penalty,
+    Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,
+    Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
+    But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,
+    Forgive a moiety of the principal,
+    Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
+    That have of late so huddled on his back-
+    Enow to press a royal merchant down,
+    And pluck commiseration of his state
+    From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
+    From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd  
+    To offices of tender courtesy.
+    We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
+  SHYLOCK. I have possess'd your Grace of what I purpose,
+    And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
+    To have the due and forfeit of my bond.
+    If you deny it, let the danger light
+    Upon your charter and your city's freedom.
+    You'll ask me why I rather choose to have
+    A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
+    Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that,
+    But say it is my humour- is it answer'd?
+    What if my house be troubled with a rat,
+    And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats
+    To have it ban'd? What, are you answer'd yet?
+    Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
+    Some that are mad if they behold a cat;
+    And others, when the bagpipe sings i' th' nose,
+    Cannot contain their urine; for affection,
+    Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
+    Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:  
+    As there is no firm reason to be rend'red
+    Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
+    Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
+    Why he, a woollen bagpipe, but of force
+    Must yield to such inevitable shame
+    As to offend, himself being offended;
+    So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
+    More than a lodg'd hate and a certain loathing
+    I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
+    A losing suit against him. Are you answered?
+  BASSANIO. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
+    To excuse the current of thy cruelty.
+  SHYLOCK. I am not bound to please thee with my answers.
+  BASSANIO. Do all men kill the things they do not love?
+  SHYLOCK. Hates any man the thing he would not kill?
+  BASSANIO. Every offence is not a hate at first.
+  SHYLOCK. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?
+  ANTONIO. I pray you, think you question with the Jew.
+    You may as well go stand upon the beach
+    And bid the main flood bate his usual height;  
+    You may as well use question with the wolf,
+    Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
+    You may as well forbid the mountain pines
+    To wag their high tops and to make no noise
+    When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
+    You may as well do anything most hard
+    As seek to soften that- than which what's harder?-
+    His jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you,
+    Make no moe offers, use no farther means,
+    But with all brief and plain conveniency
+    Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.
+  BASSANIO. For thy three thousand ducats here is six.
+  SHYLOCK. If every ducat in six thousand ducats
+    Were in six parts, and every part a ducat,
+    I would not draw them; I would have my bond.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none?
+  SHYLOCK. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
+    You have among you many a purchas'd slave,
+    Which, fike your asses and your dogs and mules,
+    You use in abject and in slavish parts,  
+    Because you bought them; shall I say to you
+    'Let them be free, marry them to your heirs-
+    Why sweat they under burdens?- let their beds
+    Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
+    Be season'd with such viands'? You will answer
+    'The slaves are ours.' So do I answer you:
+    The pound of flesh which I demand of him
+    Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it.
+    If you deny me, fie upon your law!
+    There is no force in the decrees of Venice.
+    I stand for judgment; answer; shall I have it?
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Upon my power I may dismiss this court,
+    Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,
+    Whom I have sent for to determine this,
+    Come here to-day.
+  SALERIO. My lord, here stays without
+    A messenger with letters from the doctor,
+    New come from Padua.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Bring us the letters; call the messenger.
+  BASSANIO. Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!  
+    The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,
+    Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.
+  ANTONIO. I am a tainted wether of the flock,
+    Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit
+    Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me.
+    You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
+    Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.
+
+           Enter NERISSA dressed like a lawyer's clerk
+
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Came you from Padua, from Bellario?
+  NERISSA. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.
+                                             [Presents a letter]
+  BASSANIO. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?
+  SHYLOCK. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.
+  GRATIANO. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
+    Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can,
+    No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness
+    Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?
+  SHYLOCK. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.  
+  GRATIANO. O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!
+    And for thy life let justice be accus'd.
+    Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith,
+    To hold opinion with Pythagoras
+    That souls of animals infuse themselves
+    Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit
+    Govern'd a wolf who, hang'd for human slaughter,
+    Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
+    And, whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam,
+    Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires
+    Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd and ravenous.
+  SHYLOCK. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
+    Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud;
+    Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
+    To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. This letter from Bellario doth commend
+    A young and learned doctor to our court.
+    Where is he?
+  NERISSA. He attendeth here hard by
+    To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.  
+  DUKE OF VENICE. With all my heart. Some three or four of you
+    Go give him courteous conduct to this place.
+    Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter.
+  CLERK.  [Reads]  'Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt
+    of your letter I am very sick; but in the instant that your
+    messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor
+    of Rome- his name is Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause
+    in controversy between the Jew and Antonio the merchant; we
+    turn'd o'er many books together; he is furnished with my opinion
+    which, bettered with his own learning-the greatness whereof I
+    cannot enough commend- comes with him at my importunity to fill
+    up your Grace's request in my stead. I beseech you let his lack
+    of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation,
+    for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him
+    to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his
+    commendation.'
+
+      Enter PORTIA for BALTHAZAR, dressed like a Doctor of Laws
+
+  DUKE OF VENICE. YOU hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes;  
+    And here, I take it, is the doctor come.
+    Give me your hand; come you from old Bellario?
+  PORTIA. I did, my lord.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. You are welcome; take your place.
+    Are you acquainted with the difference
+    That holds this present question in the court?
+  PORTIA. I am informed throughly of the cause.
+    Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.
+  PORTIA. Is your name Shylock?
+  SHYLOCK. Shylock is my name.
+  PORTIA. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;
+    Yet in such rule that the Venetian law
+    Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
+    You stand within his danger, do you not?
+  ANTONIO. Ay, so he says.
+  PORTIA. Do you confess the bond?
+  ANTONIO. I do.
+  PORTIA. Then must the Jew be merciful.
+  SHYLOCK. On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.  
+  PORTIA. The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
+    It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
+    Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
+    It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
+    'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
+    The throned monarch better than his crown;
+    His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
+    The attribute to awe and majesty,
+    Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
+    But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
+    It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
+    It is an attribute to God himself;
+    And earthly power doth then show likest God's
+    When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
+    Though justice be thy plea, consider this-
+    That in the course of justice none of us
+    Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy,
+    And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
+    The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
+    To mitigate the justice of thy plea,  
+    Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
+    Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
+  SHYLOCK. My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
+    The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
+  BASSANIO. Yes; here I tender it for him in the court;
+    Yea, twice the sum; if that will not suffice,
+    I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er
+    On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart;
+    If this will not suffice, it must appear
+    That malice bears down truth. And, I beseech you,
+    Wrest once the law to your authority;
+    To do a great right do a little wrong,
+    And curb this cruel devil of his will.
+  PORTIA. It must not be; there is no power in Venice
+    Can alter a decree established;
+    'Twill be recorded for a precedent,
+    And many an error, by the same example,
+    Will rush into the state; it cannot be.
+  SHYLOCK. A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel!
+    O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!  
+  PORTIA. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
+  SHYLOCK. Here 'tis, most reverend Doctor; here it is.
+  PORTIA. Shylock, there's thrice thy money off'red thee.
+  SHYLOCK. An oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven.
+    Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
+    No, not for Venice.
+  PORTIA. Why, this bond is forfeit;
+    And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
+    A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
+    Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful.
+    Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.
+  SHYLOCK. When it is paid according to the tenour.
+    It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
+    You know the law; your exposition
+    Hath been most sound; I charge you by the law,
+    Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
+    Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear
+    There is no power in the tongue of man
+    To alter me. I stay here on my bond.
+  ANTONIO. Most heartily I do beseech the court  
+    To give the judgment.
+  PORTIA. Why then, thus it is:
+    You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
+  SHYLOCK. O noble judge! O excellent young man!
+  PORTIA. For the intent and purpose of the law
+    Hath full relation to the penalty,
+    Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
+  SHYLOCK. 'Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,
+    How much more elder art thou than thy looks!
+  PORTIA. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.
+  SHYLOCK. Ay, his breast-
+    So says the bond; doth it not, noble judge?
+    'Nearest his heart,' those are the very words.
+  PORTIA. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
+    The flesh?
+  SHYLOCK. I have them ready.
+  PORTIA. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
+    To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
+  SHYLOCK. Is it so nominated in the bond?
+  PORTIA. It is not so express'd, but what of that?  
+    'Twere good you do so much for charity.
+  SHYLOCK. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.
+  PORTIA. You, merchant, have you anything to say?
+  ANTONIO. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd.
+    Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well.
+    Grieve not that I am fall'n to this for you,
+    For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
+    Than is her custom. It is still her use
+    To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
+    To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
+    An age of poverty; from which ling'ring penance
+    Of such misery doth she cut me off.
+    Commend me to your honourable wife;
+    Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
+    Say how I lov'd you; speak me fair in death;
+    And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
+    Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
+    Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,
+    And he repents not that he pays your debt;
+    For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,  
+    I'll pay it instantly with all my heart.
+  BASSANIO. Antonio, I am married to a wife
+    Which is as dear to me as life itself;
+    But life itself, my wife, and all the world,
+    Are not with me esteem'd above thy life;
+    I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
+    Here to this devil, to deliver you.
+  PORTIA. Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
+    If she were by to hear you make the offer.
+  GRATIANO. I have a wife who I protest I love;
+    I would she were in heaven, so she could
+    Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.
+  NERISSA. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
+    The wish would make else an unquiet house.
+  SHYLOCK.  [Aside]  These be the Christian husbands! I have a
+    daughter-
+    Would any of the stock of Barrabas
+    Had been her husband, rather than a Christian!-
+    We trifle time; I pray thee pursue sentence.
+  PORTIA. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine.  
+    The court awards it and the law doth give it.
+  SHYLOCK. Most rightful judge!
+  PORTIA. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast.
+    The law allows it and the court awards it.
+  SHYLOCK. Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare.
+  PORTIA. Tarry a little; there is something else.
+    This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood:
+    The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh.'
+    Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
+    But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
+    One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
+    Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
+    Unto the state of Venice.
+  GRATIANO. O upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge!
+  SHYLOCK. Is that the law?
+  PORTIA. Thyself shalt see the act;
+    For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd
+    Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.
+  GRATIANO. O learned judge! Mark, Jew. A learned judge!
+  SHYLOCK. I take this offer then: pay the bond thrice,  
+    And let the Christian go.
+  BASSANIO. Here is the money.
+  PORTIA. Soft!
+    The Jew shall have all justice. Soft! No haste.
+    He shall have nothing but the penalty.
+  GRATIANO. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!
+  PORTIA. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
+    Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more
+    But just a pound of flesh; if thou tak'st more
+    Or less than a just pound- be it but so much
+    As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
+    Or the division of the twentieth part
+    Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn
+    But in the estimation of a hair-
+    Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.
+  GRATIANO. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
+    Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.
+  PORTIA. Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.
+  SHYLOCK. Give me my principal, and let me go.
+  BASSANIO. I have it ready for thee; here it is.  
+  PORTIA. He hath refus'd it in the open court;
+    He shall have merely justice, and his bond.
+  GRATIANO. A Daniel still say I, a second Daniel!
+    I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
+  SHYLOCK. Shall I not have barely my principal?
+  PORTIA. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture
+    To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
+  SHYLOCK. Why, then the devil give him good of it!
+    I'll stay no longer question.
+  PORTIA. Tarry, Jew.
+    The law hath yet another hold on you.
+    It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
+    If it be proved against an alien
+    That by direct or indirect attempts
+    He seek the life of any citizen,
+    The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
+    Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
+    Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
+    And the offender's life lies in the mercy
+    Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice.  
+    In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;
+    For it appears by manifest proceeding
+    That indirectly, and directly too,
+    Thou hast contrived against the very life
+    Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
+    The danger formerly by me rehears'd.
+    Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.
+  GRATIANO. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself;
+    And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
+    Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
+    Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,
+    I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.
+    For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;
+    The other half comes to the general state,
+    Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.
+  PORTIA. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio.
+  SHYLOCK. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that.
+    You take my house when you do take the prop
+    That doth sustain my house; you take my life  
+    When you do take the means whereby I live.
+  PORTIA. What mercy can you render him, Antonio?
+  GRATIANO. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake!
+  ANTONIO. So please my lord the Duke and all the court
+    To quit the fine for one half of his goods;
+    I am content, so he will let me have
+    The other half in use, to render it
+    Upon his death unto the gentleman
+    That lately stole his daughter-
+    Two things provided more; that, for this favour,
+    He presently become a Christian;
+    The other, that he do record a gift,
+    Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd
+    Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. He shall do this, or else I do recant
+    The pardon that I late pronounced here.
+  PORTIA. Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?
+  SHYLOCK. I am content.
+  PORTIA. Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
+  SHYLOCK. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;  
+    I am not well; send the deed after me
+    And I will sign it.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Get thee gone, but do it.
+  GRATIANO. In christ'ning shalt thou have two god-fathers;
+    Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
+    To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.
+                                                    Exit SHYLOCK
+  DUKE OF VENICE. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.
+  PORTIA. I humbly do desire your Grace of pardon;
+    I must away this night toward Padua,
+    And it is meet I presently set forth.
+  DUKE OF VENICE. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
+    Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
+    For in my mind you are much bound to him.
+                             Exeunt DUKE, MAGNIFICOES, and train
+  BASSANIO. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
+    Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
+    Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof
+    Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
+    We freely cope your courteous pains withal.  
+  ANTONIO. And stand indebted, over and above,
+    In love and service to you evermore.
+  PORTIA. He is well paid that is well satisfied,
+    And I, delivering you, am satisfied,
+    And therein do account myself well paid.
+    My mind was never yet more mercenary.
+    I pray you, know me when we meet again;
+    I wish you well, and so I take my leave.
+  BASSANIO. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further;
+    Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,
+    Not as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you,
+    Not to deny me, and to pardon me.
+  PORTIA. You press me far, and therefore I will yield.
+    [To ANTONIO]  Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake.
+    [To BASSANIO]  And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you.
+    Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more,
+    And you in love shall not deny me this.
+  BASSANIO. This ring, good sir- alas, it is a trifle;
+    I will not shame myself to give you this.
+  PORTIA. I will have nothing else but only this;  
+    And now, methinks, I have a mind to it.
+  BASSANIO.. There's more depends on this than on the value.
+    The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,
+    And find it out by proclamation;
+    Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.
+  PORTIA. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers;
+    You taught me first to beg, and now, methinks,
+    You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.
+  BASSANIO. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;
+    And, when she put it on, she made me vow
+    That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.
+  PORTIA. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
+    And if your wife be not a mad woman,
+    And know how well I have deserv'd this ring,
+    She would not hold out enemy for ever
+    For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!
+                                       Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA
+  ANTONIO. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.
+    Let his deservings, and my love withal,
+    Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment.  
+  BASSANIO. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;
+    Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,
+    Unto Antonio's house. Away, make haste.        Exit GRATIANO
+    Come, you and I will thither presently;
+    And in the morning early will we both
+    Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Venice. A street
+
+Enter PORTIA and NERISSA
+
+  PORTIA. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed,
+    And let him sign it; we'll away tonight,
+    And be a day before our husbands home.
+    This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.
+
+                          Enter GRATIANO
+
+  GRATIANO. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en.
+    My Lord Bassanio, upon more advice,
+    Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
+    Your company at dinner.
+  PORTIA. That cannot be.
+    His ring I do accept most thankfully,
+    And so, I pray you, tell him. Furthermore,
+    I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house.
+  GRATIANO. That will I do.
+  NERISSA. Sir, I would speak with you.  
+    [Aside to PORTIA]  I'll See if I can get my husband's ring,
+    Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.
+  PORTIA.  [To NERISSA]  Thou Mayst, I warrant. We shall have old
+      swearing
+    That they did give the rings away to men;
+    But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.
+    [Aloud]  Away, make haste, thou know'st where I will tarry.
+  NERISSA. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Belmont. The garden before PORTIA'S house
+
+Enter LORENZO and JESSICA
+
+  LORENZO. The moon shines bright. In such a night as this,
+    When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
+    And they did make no noise- in such a night,
+    Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
+    And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
+    Where Cressid lay that night.
+  JESSICA. In such a night
+    Did Thisby fearfully o'ertrip the dew,
+    And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
+    And ran dismayed away.
+  LORENZO. In such a night
+    Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
+    Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love
+    To come again to Carthage.
+  JESSICA. In such a night
+    Medea gathered the enchanted herbs
+    That did renew old AEson.
+ LORENZO. In such a night  
+    Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,
+    And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
+    As far as Belmont.
+  JESSICA. In such a night
+    Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well,
+    Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
+    And ne'er a true one.
+  LORENZO. In such a night
+    Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
+    Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
+  JESSICA. I would out-night you, did no body come;
+    But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.
+
+                       Enter STEPHANO
+
+  LORENZO. Who comes so fast in silence of the night?
+  STEPHANO. A friend.
+  LORENZO. A friend! What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?
+  STEPHANO. Stephano is my name, and I bring word
+    My mistress will before the break of day  
+    Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about
+    By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
+    For happy wedlock hours.
+  LORENZO. Who comes with her?
+  STEPHANO. None but a holy hermit and her maid.
+    I pray you, is my master yet return'd?
+  LORENZO. He is not, nor we have not heard from him.
+    But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
+    And ceremoniously let us prepare
+    Some welcome for the mistress of the house.
+
+                         Enter LAUNCELOT
+
+  LAUNCELOT. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!
+  LORENZO. Who calls?
+  LAUNCELOT. Sola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola,
+    sola!
+  LORENZO. Leave holloaing, man. Here!
+  LAUNCELOT. Sola! Where, where?
+  LORENZO. Here!  
+  LAUNCELOT. Tell him there's a post come from my master with his
+    horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning.
+ Exit
+  LORENZO. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.
+    And yet no matter- why should we go in?
+    My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
+    Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
+    And bring your music forth into the air.       Exit STEPHANO
+    How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
+    Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
+    Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
+    Become the touches of sweet harmony.
+    Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
+    Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
+    There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
+    But in his motion like an angel sings,
+    Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins;
+    Such harmony is in immortal souls,
+    But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
+    Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.  
+
+                          Enter MUSICIANS
+
+    Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn;
+    With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear.
+    And draw her home with music.                        [Music]
+  JESSICA. I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
+  LORENZO. The reason is your spirits are attentive;
+    For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
+    Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
+    Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
+    Which is the hot condition of their blood-
+    If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
+    Or any air of music touch their ears,
+    You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
+    Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze
+    By the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet
+    Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
+    Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
+    But music for the time doth change his nature.  
+    The man that hath no music in himself,
+    Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
+    Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
+    The motions of his spirit are dull:as night,
+    And his affections dark as Erebus.
+    Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.
+
+                    Enter PORTIA and NERISSA
+
+  PORTIA. That light we see is burning in my hall.
+    How far that little candle throws his beams!
+    So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
+  NERISSA. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.
+  PORTIA. So doth the greater glory dim the less:
+    A substitute shines brightly as a king
+    Until a king be by, and then his state
+    Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
+    Into the main of waters. Music! hark!
+  NERISSA. It is your music, madam, of the house.
+  PORTIA. Nothing is good, I see, without respect;  
+    Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
+  NERISSA. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
+  PORTIA. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
+    When neither is attended; and I think
+    ne nightingale, if she should sing by day,
+    When every goose is cackling, would be thought
+    No better a musician than the wren.
+    How many things by season season'd are
+    To their right praise and true perfection!
+    Peace, ho! The moon sleeps with Endymion,
+    And would not be awak'd.                      [Music ceases]
+  LORENZO. That is the voice,
+    Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.
+  PORTIA. He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
+    By the bad voice.
+  LORENZO. Dear lady, welcome home.
+  PORTIA. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare,
+    Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
+    Are they return'd?
+  LORENZO. Madam, they are not yet;  
+    But there is come a messenger before,
+    To signify their coming.
+  PORTIA.. Go in, Nerissa;
+    Give order to my servants that they take
+    No note at all of our being absent hence;
+    Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.        [A tucket sounds]
+  LORENZO. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet.
+    We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.
+  PORTIA. This night methinks is but the daylight sick;
+    It looks a little paler; 'tis a day
+    Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
+
+       Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers
+
+  BASSANIO. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
+    If you would walk in absence of the sun.
+  PORTIA. Let me give light, but let me not be light,
+    For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
+    And never be Bassanio so for me;
+    But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.  
+  BASSANIO. I thank you, madam; give welcome to my friend.
+    This is the man, this is Antonio,
+    To whom I am so infinitely bound.
+  PORTIA. You should in all sense be much bound to him,
+    For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.
+  ANTONIO. No more than I am well acquitted of.
+  PORTIA. Sir, you are very welcome to our house.
+    It must appear in other ways than words,
+    Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.
+  GRATIANO.  [To NERISSA]  By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;
+    In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk.
+    Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
+    Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.
+  PORTIA. A quarrel, ho, already! What's the matter?
+  GRATIANO. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
+    That she did give me, whose posy was
+    For all the world like cutler's poetry
+    Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.'
+  NERISSA. What talk you of the posy or the value?
+    You swore to me, when I did give it you,  
+    That you would wear it till your hour of death,
+    And that it should lie with you in your grave;
+    Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
+    You should have been respective and have kept it.
+    Gave it a judge's clerk! No, God's my judge,
+    The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.
+  GRATIANO. He will, an if he live to be a man.
+  NERISSA. Ay, if a woman live to be a man.
+  GRATIANO. Now by this hand I gave it to a youth,
+    A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy
+    No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk;
+    A prating boy that begg'd it as a fee;
+    I could not for my heart deny it him.
+  PORTIA. You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
+    To part so slightly with your wife's first gift,
+    A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger
+    And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.
+    I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
+    Never to part with it, and here he stands;
+    I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it  
+    Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth
+    That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
+    You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;
+    An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.
+  BASSANIO.  [Aside]  Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
+    And swear I lost the ring defending it.
+  GRATIANO. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away
+    Unto the judge that begg'd it, and indeed
+    Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
+    That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
+    And neither man nor master would take aught
+    But the two rings.
+  PORTIA. What ring gave you, my lord?
+    Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.
+  BASSANIO. If I could add a lie unto a fault,
+    I would deny it; but you see my finger
+    Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.
+  PORTIA. Even so void is your false heart of truth;
+    By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
+    Until I see the ring.  
+  NERISSA. Nor I in yours
+    Till I again see mine.
+  BASSANIO. Sweet Portia,
+    If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
+    If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
+    And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
+    And how unwillingly I left the ring,
+    When nought would be accepted but the ring,
+    You would abate the strength of your displeasure.
+  PORTIA. If you had known the virtue of the ring,
+    Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
+    Or your own honour to contain the ring,
+    You would not then have parted with the ring.
+    What man is there so much unreasonable,
+    If you had pleas'd to have defended it
+    With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
+    To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
+    Nerissa teaches me what to believe:
+    I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.
+  BASSANIO. No, by my honour, madam, by my soul,  
+    No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
+    Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,
+    And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him,
+    And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away-
+    Even he that had held up the very life
+    Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
+    I was enforc'd to send it after him;
+    I was beset with shame and courtesy;
+    My honour would not let ingratitude
+    So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;
+    For by these blessed candles of the night,
+    Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd
+    The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.
+  PORTIA. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house;
+    Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
+    And that which you did swear to keep for me,
+    I will become as liberal as you;
+    I'll not deny him anything I have,
+    No, not my body, nor my husband's bed.
+    Know him I shall, I am well sure of it.  
+    Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus;
+    If you do not, if I be left alone,
+    Now, by mine honour which is yet mine own,
+    I'll have that doctor for mine bedfellow.
+  NERISSA. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd
+    How you do leave me to mine own protection.
+  GRATIANO. Well, do you so, let not me take him then;
+    For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.
+  ANTONIO. I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels.
+  PORTIA. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome not withstanding.
+  BASSANIO. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
+    And in the hearing of these many friends
+    I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
+    Wherein I see myself-
+  PORTIA. Mark you but that!
+    In both my eyes he doubly sees himself,
+    In each eye one; swear by your double self,
+    And there's an oath of credit.
+  BASSANIO. Nay, but hear me.
+    Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear  
+    I never more will break an oath with thee.
+  ANTONIO. I once did lend my body for his wealth,
+    Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
+    Had quite miscarried; I dare be bound again,
+    My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
+    Will never more break faith advisedly.
+  PORTIA. Then you shall be his surety. Give him this,
+    And bid him keep it better than the other.
+  ANTONIO. Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.
+  BASSANIO. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!
+  PORTIA. I had it of him. Pardon me, Bassanio,
+    For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.
+  NERISSA. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,
+    For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
+    In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.
+  GRATIANO. Why, this is like the mending of highways
+    In summer, where the ways are fair enough.
+    What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv'd it?
+  PORTIA. Speak not so grossly. You are all amaz'd.
+    Here is a letter; read it at your leisure;  
+    It comes from Padua, from Bellario;
+    There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,
+    Nerissa there her clerk. Lorenzo here
+    Shall witness I set forth as soon as you,
+    And even but now return'd; I have not yet
+    Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome;
+    And I have better news in store for you
+    Than you expect. Unseal this letter soon;
+    There you shall find three of your argosies
+    Are richly come to harbour suddenly.
+    You shall not know by what strange accident
+    I chanced on this letter.
+  ANTONIO. I am dumb.
+  BASSANIO. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?
+  GRATIANO. Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?
+  NERISSA. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,
+    Unless he live until he be a man.
+  BASSANIO. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow;
+    When I am absent, then lie with my wife.
+  ANTONIO. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;  
+    For here I read for certain that my ships
+    Are safely come to road.
+  PORTIA. How now, Lorenzo!
+    My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.
+  NERISSA. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
+    There do I give to you and Jessica,
+    From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
+    After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.
+  LORENZO. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
+    Of starved people.
+  PORTIA. It is almost morning,
+    And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
+    Of these events at full. Let us go in,
+    And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
+    And we will answer all things faithfully.
+  GRATIANO. Let it be so. The first inter'gatory
+    That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,
+    Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
+    Or go to bed now, being two hours to day.
+    But were the day come, I should wish it dark,  
+    Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
+    Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing
+    So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.               Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1601
+
+THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  SIR JOHN FALSTAFF
+  FENTON, a young gentleman
+  SHALLOW, a country justice
+  SLENDER, cousin to Shallow
+
+    Gentlemen of Windsor
+  FORD
+  PAGE
+  WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page
+  SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson
+  DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician
+  HOST of the Garter Inn
+
+    Followers of Falstaff
+  BARDOLPH
+  PISTOL
+  NYM
+  ROBIN, page to Falstaff
+  SIMPLE, servant to Slender
+  RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius  
+
+  MISTRESS FORD
+  MISTRESS PAGE
+  MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter
+  MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius
+  SERVANTS to Page, Ford, etc.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Windsor, and the neighbourhood
+
+
+The Merry Wives of Windsor
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1.
+
+Windsor. Before PAGE'S house
+
+Enter JUSTICE SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS
+
+  SHALLOW. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star
+    Chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs,
+    he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.
+  SLENDER. In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace, and
+    Coram.
+  SHALLOW. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum.
+  SLENDER. Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born,
+    Master Parson, who writes himself 'Armigero' in any bill,
+    warrant, quittance, or obligation-'Armigero.'
+  SHALLOW. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three
+    hundred years.
+  SLENDER. All his successors, gone before him, hath done't;
+    and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they may
+    give the dozen white luces in their coat.
+  SHALLOW. It is an old coat.
+  EVANS. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;  
+    it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and
+    signifies love.
+  SHALLOW. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old
+    coat.
+  SLENDER. I may quarter, coz.
+  SHALLOW. You may, by marrying.
+  EVANS. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.
+  SHALLOW. Not a whit.
+  EVANS. Yes, py'r lady! If he has a quarter of your coat, there
+    is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures;
+    but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed
+    disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be
+    glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and
+    compremises between you.
+  SHALLOW. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot.
+  EVANS. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is no
+    fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, shall desire
+    to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your
+    vizaments in that.
+  SHALLOW. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword  
+    should end it.
+  EVANS. It is petter that friends is the sword and end it;
+    and there is also another device in my prain, which
+    peradventure prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne
+    Page, which is daughter to Master George Page, which is
+    pretty virginity.
+  SLENDER. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and
+    speaks small like a woman.
+  EVANS. It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you
+    will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and
+    gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got
+    deliver to a joyful resurrections!-give, when she is able to
+    overtake seventeen years old. It were a goot motion if we
+    leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage
+    between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.
+  SHALLOW. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?
+  EVANS. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.
+  SHALLOW. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good
+    gifts.
+  EVANS. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts.  
+  SHALLOW. Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff
+    there?
+  EVANS. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do
+    despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not
+    true. The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be
+    ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master
+    Page.
+    [Knocks]  What, hoa! Got pless your house here!
+  PAGE.  [Within]  Who's there?
+
+                            Enter PAGE
+
+  EVANS. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice
+  Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures
+    shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your
+    likings.
+  PAGE. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for
+    my venison, Master Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do
+    it your good heart! I wish'd your venison better; it was ill  
+    kill'd. How doth good Mistress Page?-and I thank you
+    always with my heart, la! with my heart.
+  PAGE. Sir, I thank you.
+  SHALLOW. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.
+  PAGE. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.
+  SLENDER. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say
+    he was outrun on Cotsall.
+  PAGE. It could not be judg'd, sir.
+  SLENDER. You'll not confess, you'll not confess.
+  SHALLOW. That he will not. 'Tis your fault; 'tis your fault;
+    'tis a good dog.
+  PAGE. A cur, sir.
+  SHALLOW. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog. Can there be
+    more said? He is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here?
+  PAGE. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office
+    between you.
+  EVANS. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.
+  SHALLOW. He hath wrong'd me, Master Page.
+  PAGE. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.
+  SHALLOW. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that  
+    so, Master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed he hath; at a
+    word, he hath, believe me; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith
+    he is wronged.
+  PAGE. Here comes Sir John.
+
+      Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL
+
+  FALSTAFF. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to
+    the King?
+  SHALLOW. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill'd my deer,
+    and broke open my lodge.
+  FALSTAFF. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter.
+  SHALLOW. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd.
+  FALSTAFF. I will answer it straight: I have done all this.
+    That is now answer'd.
+  SHALLOW. The Council shall know this.
+  FALSTAFF. 'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:
+    you'll be laugh'd at.
+  EVANS. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.
+  FALSTAFF. Good worts! good cabbage! Slender, I broke your  
+    head; what matter have you against me?
+  SLENDER. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;
+    and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym,
+    and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me
+    drunk, and afterwards pick'd my pocket.
+  BARDOLPH. You Banbury cheese!
+  SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.
+  PISTOL. How now, Mephostophilus!
+  SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.
+  NYM. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! That's my humour.
+  SLENDER. Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?
+  EVANS. Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is
+    three umpires in this matter, as I understand: that is,
+    Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is myself,
+    fidelicet myself; and the three party is, lastly and
+    finally, mine host of the Garter.
+  PAGE. We three to hear it and end it between them.
+  EVANS. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my note-book;
+    and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with as great
+    discreetly as we can.  
+  FALSTAFF. Pistol!
+  PISTOL. He hears with ears.
+  EVANS. The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, 'He hears
+    with ear'? Why, it is affectations.
+  FALSTAFF. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse?
+  SLENDER. Ay, by these gloves, did he-or I would I might
+    never come in mine own great chamber again else!-of
+    seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward
+    shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece
+    of Yead Miller, by these gloves.
+  FALSTAFF. Is this true, Pistol?
+  EVANS. No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse.
+  PISTOL. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and master
+    mine,
+    I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.
+    Word of denial in thy labras here!
+    Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest.
+  SLENDER. By these gloves, then, 'twas he.
+  NYM. Be avis'd, sir, and pass good humours; I will say
+    'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's humour on  
+    me; that is the very note of it.
+  SLENDER. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for
+    though I cannot remember what I did when you made me
+    drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.
+  FALSTAFF. What say you, Scarlet and John?
+  BARDOLPH. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had
+    drunk himself out of his five sentences.
+  EVANS. It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is!
+  BARDOLPH. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier'd;
+    and so conclusions pass'd the careers.
+  SLENDER. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no matter;
+    I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest,
+    civil, godly company, for this trick. If I be drunk, I'll be
+    drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with
+    drunken knaves.
+  EVANS. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.
+  FALSTAFF. You hear all these matters deni'd, gentlemen; you
+    hear it.
+
+          Enter MISTRESS ANNE PAGE with wine; MISTRESS  
+               FORD and MISTRESS PAGE, following
+
+  PAGE. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within.
+                                                  Exit ANNE PAGE
+  SLENDER. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.
+  PAGE. How now, Mistress Ford!
+  FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well
+    met; by your leave, good mistress.              [Kisses her]
+  PAGE. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a
+    hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we
+    shall drink down all unkindness.
+                      Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS
+  SLENDER. I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of
+    Songs and Sonnets here.
+
+                          Enter SIMPLE
+
+    How, Simple! Where have you been? I must wait on
+    myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles about you,
+    have you?  
+  SIMPLE. Book of Riddles! Why, did you not lend it to Alice
+    Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore
+    Michaelmas?
+  SHALLOW. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word
+    with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a
+    tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do
+    you understand me?
+  SLENDER. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I
+    shall do that that is reason.
+  SHALLOW. Nay, but understand me.
+  SLENDER. So I do, sir.
+  EVANS. Give ear to his motions: Master Slender, I will
+    description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.
+  SLENDER. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says; I pray
+    you pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his country,
+    simple though I stand here.
+  EVANS. But that is not the question. The question is
+    concerning your marriage.
+  SHALLOW. Ay, there's the point, sir.
+  EVANS. Marry is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne  
+    Page.
+  SLENDER. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any
+    reasonable demands.
+  EVANS. But can you affection the oman? Let us command to
+    know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers philosophers
+    hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore,
+    precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid?
+  SHALLOW. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?
+  SLENDER. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that
+    would do reason.
+  EVANS. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must speak possitable,
+    if you can carry her your desires towards her.
+  SHALLOW. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry,
+    marry her?
+  SLENDER. I will do a greater thing than that upon your request,
+    cousin, in any reason.
+  SHALLOW. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what
+    I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid?
+  SLENDER. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there
+    be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease  
+    it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and
+    have more occasion to know one another. I hope upon
+    familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say
+    'marry her,' I will marry her; that I am freely dissolved,
+    and dissolutely.
+  EVANS. It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the
+    ord 'dissolutely': the ort is, according to our meaning,
+    'resolutely'; his meaning is good.
+  SHALLOW. Ay, I think my cousin meant well.
+  SLENDER. Ay, or else I would I might be hang'd, la!
+
+                       Re-enter ANNE PAGE
+
+  SHALLOW. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would I were
+    young for your sake, Mistress Anne!
+  ANNE. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your
+    worships' company.
+  SHALLOW. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne!
+  EVANS. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.
+                                        Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS  
+  ANNE. Will't please your worship to come in, sir?
+  SLENDER. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very
+    well.
+  ANNE. The dinner attends you, sir.
+  SLENDER. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go,
+    sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin
+  Shallow.  [Exit SIMPLE]  A justice of peace sometime may
+    be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but three men
+    and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what though?
+    Yet I live like a poor gentleman born.
+  ANNE. I may not go in without your worship; they will not
+    sit till you come.
+  SLENDER. I' faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as
+    though I did.
+  ANNE. I pray you, sir, walk in.
+  SLENDER. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruis'd my
+    shin th' other day with playing at sword and dagger with
+    a master of fence-three veneys for a dish of stew'd prunes
+    -and, I with my ward defending my head, he hot my shin,
+    and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat  
+    since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i' th'
+    town?
+  ANNE. I think there are, sir; I heard them talk'd of.
+  SLENDER. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at
+    it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the
+    bear loose, are you not?
+  ANNE. Ay, indeed, sir.
+  SLENDER. That's meat and drink to me now. I have seen
+    Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the
+    chain; but I warrant you, the women have so cried and
+    shriek'd at it that it pass'd; but women, indeed, cannot
+    abide 'em; they are very ill-favour'd rough things.
+
+                         Re-enter PAGE
+
+  PAGE. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you.
+  SLENDER. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.
+  PAGE. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come,
+    come.
+  SLENDER. Nay, pray you lead the way.  
+  PAGE. Come on, sir.
+  SLENDER. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.
+  ANNE. Not I, sir; pray you keep on.
+  SLENDER. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do
+    you that wrong.
+  ANNE. I pray you, sir.
+  SLENDER. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You
+    do yourself wrong indeed, la!                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+Before PAGE'S house
+
+Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE
+
+  EVANS. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' house which
+    is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which
+    is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook,
+    or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer.
+  SIMPLE. Well, sir.
+  EVANS. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it is a
+    oman that altogether's acquaintance with Mistress Anne
+    Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit
+    your master's desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you
+    be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there's pippins
+    and cheese to come.                                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+The Garter Inn
+
+Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN
+
+  FALSTAFF. Mine host of the Garter!
+  HOST. What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and
+    wisely.
+  FALSTAFF. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my
+    followers.
+  HOST. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot,
+    trot.
+  FALSTAFF. I sit at ten pounds a week.
+  HOST. Thou'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I
+    will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I
+    well, bully Hector?
+  FALSTAFF. Do so, good mine host.
+  HOST. I have spoke; let him follow.  [To BARDOLPH]  Let me
+    see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow.   Exit HOST
+  FALSTAFF. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade;
+    an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither'd serving-man a  
+    fresh tapster. Go; adieu.
+  BARDOLPH. It is a life that I have desir'd; I will thrive.
+  PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot
+    wield?                                         Exit BARDOLPH
+  NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?
+  FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his
+    thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful
+    singer-he kept not time.
+  NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest.
+  PISTOL. 'Convey' the wise it call. 'Steal' foh! A fico for the
+    phrase!
+  FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.
+  PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue.
+  FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must
+    shift.
+  PISTOL. Young ravens must have food.
+  FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town?
+  PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good.
+  FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.
+  PISTOL. Two yards, and more.  
+  FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist
+    two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about
+    thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife; I
+    spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she
+    gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her
+    familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be
+    English'd rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'
+    PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out
+    of honesty into English.
+  NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?
+  FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her
+    husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels.
+  PISTOL. As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.
+  NYM. The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.
+  FALSTAFF. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here
+    another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good eyes
+    too, examin'd my parts with most judicious oeillades;
+    sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my
+    portly belly.
+  PISTOL. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.  
+  NYM. I thank thee for that humour.
+  FALSTAFF. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such
+    a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to
+    scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's another letter to
+    her. She bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all
+    gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to them both, and they
+    shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West
+    Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this
+    letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We
+    will thrive, lads, we will thrive.
+  PISTOL. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,
+    And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all!
+  NYM. I will run no base humour. Here, take the
+    humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation.
+  FALSTAFF.  [To ROBIN]  Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters
+    tightly;
+    Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.
+    Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;
+    Trudge, plod away i' th' hoof; seek shelter, pack!
+    Falstaff will learn the humour of the age;  
+    French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page.
+                                       Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN
+  PISTOL. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam
+    holds,
+    And high and low beguiles the rich and poor;
+    Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,
+    Base Phrygian Turk!
+  NYM. I have operations in my head which be humours of
+    revenge.
+  PISTOL. Wilt thou revenge?
+  NYM. By welkin and her star!
+  PISTOL. With wit or steel?
+  NYM. With both the humours, I.
+    I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.
+  PISTOL. And I to Ford shall eke unfold
+    How Falstaff, varlet vile,
+    His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
+    And his soft couch defile.
+  NYM. My humour shall not cool; I will incense Page to deal
+    with poison; I will possess him with yellowness; for the  
+    revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour.
+  PISTOL. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second thee;
+    troop on.                                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+DOCTOR CAIUS'S house
+
+Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY
+
+  QUICKLY. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the casement
+    and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor
+    Caius, coming. If he do, i' faith, and find anybody in the
+    house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience and
+    the King's English.
+  RUGBY. I'll go watch.
+  QUICKLY. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in
+    faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire.  [Exit RUGBY]  An
+    honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in
+    house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no
+    breed-bate; his worst fault is that he is given to prayer; he is
+    something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault;
+    but let that pass. Peter Simple you say your name is?
+  SIMPLE. Ay, for fault of a better.
+  QUICKLY. And Master Slender's your master?
+  SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth.  
+  QUICKLY. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a
+    glover's paring-knife?
+  SIMPLE. No, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a
+    little yellow beard, a Cain-colour'd beard.
+  QUICKLY. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?
+  SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as
+    any is between this and his head; he hath fought with a
+    warrener.
+  QUICKLY. How say you? O, I should remember him. Does
+    he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?
+  SIMPLE. Yes, indeed, does he.
+  QUICKLY. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune!
+    Tell Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your
+    master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish-
+
+                         Re-enter RUGBY
+
+  RUGBY. Out, alas! here comes my master.
+  QUICKLY. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young
+    man; go into this closet.  [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet]  He  
+    will not stay long. What, John Rugby! John! what, John,
+    I say! Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be
+    not well that he comes not home.  [Singing]
+    And down, down, adown-a, etc.
+
+                       Enter DOCTOR CAIUS
+
+  CAIUS. Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go
+    and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert-a box, a green-a
+    box. Do intend vat I speak? A green-a box.
+  QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you.  [Aside]  I am glad
+    he went not in himself; if he had found the young man,
+    he would have been horn-mad.
+  CAIUS. Fe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais a
+    la cour-la grande affaire.
+  QUICKLY. Is it this, sir?
+  CAIUS. Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere
+    is dat knave, Rugby?
+  QUICKLY. What, John Rugby? John!
+  RUGBY. Here, sir.  
+  CAIUS. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby.
+    Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the
+    court.
+  RUGBY. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.
+    CAIUS. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me! Qu'ai j'oublie?
+    Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the
+    varld I shall leave behind.
+  QUICKLY. Ay me, he'll find the young man there, and be
+    mad!
+  CAIUS. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villainy! larron!
+    [Pulling SIMPLE out]  Rugby, my rapier!
+  QUICKLY. Good master, be content.
+  CAIUS. Wherefore shall I be content-a?
+  QUICKLY. The young man is an honest man.
+  CAIUS. What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is
+    no honest man dat shall come in my closet.
+  QUICKLY. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the
+    truth of it. He came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh.
+  CAIUS. Vell?
+  SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to-  
+  QUICKLY. Peace, I pray you.
+  CAIUS. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale.
+  SIMPLE. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to
+    speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my master,
+    in the way of marriage.
+  QUICKLY. This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put my finger
+    in the fire, and need not.
+  CAIUS. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me some paper.
+    Tarry you a little-a-while.                        [Writes]
+  QUICKLY.  [Aside to SIMPLE]  I am glad he is so quiet; if he
+    had been throughly moved, you should have heard him
+    so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll
+    do you your master what good I can; and the very yea and
+    the no is, the French doctor, my master-I may call him
+    my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash,
+    wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the
+    beds, and do all myself-
+  SIMPLE.  [Aside to QUICKLY]  'Tis a great charge to come
+    under one body's hand.
+  QUICKLY.  [Aside to SIMPLE]  Are you avis'd o' that? You  
+    shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down
+    late; but notwithstanding-to tell you in your ear, I would
+    have no words of it-my master himself is in love with
+    Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know
+    Anne's mind-that's neither here nor there.
+  CAIUS. You jack'nape; give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by gar,
+    it is a shallenge; I will cut his troat in de park; and I will
+    teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You
+    may be gone; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, I will
+    cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone
+    to throw at his dog.                             Exit SIMPLE
+  QUICKLY. Alas, he speaks but for his friend.
+  CAIUS. It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I
+    shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack
+    priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jarteer to
+    measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne
+    Page.
+  QUICKLY. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We
+    must give folks leave to prate. What the good-year!
+  CAIUS. Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have  
+    not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door.
+    Follow my heels, Rugby.               Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY
+  QUICKLY. You shall have-An fool's-head of your own. No,
+    I know Anne's mind for that; never a woman in Windsor
+    knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more
+    than I do with her, I thank heaven.
+  FENTON.  [Within]  Who's within there? ho!
+  QUICKLY. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray
+    you.
+
+                          Enter FENTON
+
+  FENTON. How now, good woman, how dost thou?
+  QUICKLY. The better that it pleases your good worship to
+    ask.
+  FENTON. What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne?
+  QUICKLY. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and
+    gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by
+    the way; I praise heaven for it.
+  FENTON. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? Shall I not lose  
+    my suit?
+  QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but
+    notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book
+    she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye?
+  FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?
+  QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such
+    another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke
+    bread. We had an hour's talk of that wart; I shall never
+    laugh but in that maid's company! But, indeed, she is
+    given too much to allicholy and musing; but for you-well,
+    go to.
+  FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money
+    for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest
+    her before me, commend me.
+  QUICKLY. Will I? I' faith, that we will; and I will tell your
+    worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence;
+    and of other wooers.
+  FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.
+  QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship.  [Exit FENTON]  Truly,
+    an honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know  
+    Anne's mind as well as another does. Out upon 't, what
+    have I forgot?                                          Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1.
+
+Before PAGE'S house
+
+Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter
+
+  MRS. PAGE. What! have I scap'd love-letters in the holiday-time
+    of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let
+    me see.                                              [Reads]
+    'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use
+    Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor.
+    You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there's
+    sympathy. You are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's
+    more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I; would you
+    desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page
+    at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice-that I love
+    thee. I will not say, Pity me: 'tis not a soldier-like phrase;
+    but I say, Love me. By me,
+    Thine own true knight,
+    By day or night,
+    Or any kind of light,
+    With all his might,  
+    For thee to fight,
+    JOHN FALSTAFF.'
+    What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world!
+    One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show
+    himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour
+    hath this Flemish drunkard pick'd-with the devil's name!
+    -out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner
+    assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company!
+    What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth.
+    Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament
+    for the putting down of men. How shall I be
+    reveng'd on him? for reveng'd I will be, as sure as his guts
+    are made of puddings.
+
+                       Enter MISTRESS FORD
+
+  MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your
+    house.
+  MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look
+    very ill.  
+  MRS. FORD. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to
+    the contrary.
+  MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind.
+  MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to
+    the contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel.
+  MRS. PAGE. What's the matter, woman?
+  MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect,
+    I could come to such honour!
+  MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What
+    is it? Dispense with trifles; what is it?
+  MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment
+    or so, I could be knighted.
+  MRS. PAGE. What? Thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights
+    will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy
+    gentry.
+  MRS. FORD. We burn daylight. Here, read, read; perceive
+    how I might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat
+    men as long as I have an eye to make difference of men's
+    liking. And yet he would not swear; prais'd women's
+    modesty, and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof  
+    to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition
+    would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no
+    more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth
+    Psalm to the tune of 'Greensleeves.' What tempest, I trow,
+    threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly,
+    ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I
+    think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till
+    the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease.
+    Did you ever hear the like?
+  MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and
+    Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill
+    opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine
+    inherit first, for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he
+    hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for
+    different names-sure, more!-and these are of the second
+    edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not
+    what he puts into the press when he would put us two. I
+    had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well,
+    I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste
+    man.  
+  MRS. FORD. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the
+    very words. What doth he think of us?
+  MRS. PAGE. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to
+    wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain myself like
+    one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he
+    know some strain in me that I know not myself, he would
+    never have boarded me in this fury.
+  MRS. FORD. 'Boarding' call you it? I'll be sure to keep him
+    above deck.
+  MRS. PAGE. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never
+    to sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him; let's appoint him a
+    meeting, give him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead
+    him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his
+    horses to mine host of the Garter.
+  MRS. FORD. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against
+    him that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O
+    that my husband saw this letter! It would give eternal food
+    to his jealousy.
+  MRS. PAGE. Why, look where he comes; and my good man
+    too; he's as far from jealousy as I am from giving him  
+    cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance.
+  MRS. FORD. You are the happier woman.
+  MRS. PAGE. Let's consult together against this greasy knight.
+    Come hither.                                   [They retire]
+
+           Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with Nym
+
+  FORD. Well, I hope it be not so.
+  PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs.
+    Sir John affects thy wife.
+  FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young.
+  PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,
+    Both young and old, one with another, Ford;
+    He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend.
+  FORD. Love my wife!
+  PISTOL. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou,
+    Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.
+    O, odious is the name!
+  FORD. What name, sir?
+  PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell.  
+    Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night;
+    Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing.
+    Away, Sir Corporal Nym.
+    Believe it, Page; he speaks sense.               Exit PISTOL
+  FORD.  [Aside]  I will be patient; I will find out this.
+  NYM.  [To PAGE]  And this is true; I like not the humour of
+    lying. He hath wronged me in some humours; I should
+    have borne the humour'd letter to her; but I have a sword,
+    and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife;
+    there's the short and the long.
+    My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch;
+    'Tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife.
+    Adieu! I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and
+    there's the humour of it. Adieu.                    Exit Nym
+  PAGE. 'The humour of it,' quoth 'a! Here's a fellow frights
+    English out of his wits.
+  FORD. I will seek out Falstaff.
+  PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.
+  FORD. If I do find it-well.
+  PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o'  
+    th' town commended him for a true man.
+  FORD. 'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well.
+
+             MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward
+
+  PAGE. How now, Meg!
+  MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you.
+  MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?
+  FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home;
+    go.
+  MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.
+    Will you go, Mistress Page?
+
+                     Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY
+
+  MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George?
+    [Aside to MRS. FORD]  Look who comes yonder; she shall
+    be our messenger to this paltry knight.
+  MRS. FORD.  [Aside to MRS. PAGE]  Trust me, I thought on
+    her; she'll fit it.  
+  MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne?
+  QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?
+  MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we have an hour's talk
+    with you.           Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and
+                                                MISTRESS QUICKLY
+  PAGE. How now, Master Ford!
+  FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not?
+  PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me?
+  FORD. Do you think there is truth in them?
+  PAGE. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it;
+    but these that accuse him in his intent towards our
+    wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now
+    they be out of service.
+  FORD. Were they his men?
+  PAGE. Marry, were they.
+  FORD. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the
+    Garter?
+  PAGE. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage
+    toward my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what
+    he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head.  
+  FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to
+    turn them together. A man may be too confident. I would
+    have nothing lie on my head. I cannot be thus satisfied.
+
+                           Enter HOST
+
+  PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes.
+    There is either liquor in his pate or money in his purse
+    when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host!
+  HOST. How now, bully rook! Thou'rt a gentleman.  [To
+    SHALLOW following]  Cavaleiro Justice, I say.
+
+                         Enter SHALLOW
+
+  SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and
+    twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go with
+    us? We have sport in hand.
+  HOST. Tell him, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully rook.
+  SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh
+    the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.  
+  FORD. Good mine host o' th' Garter, a word with you.
+  HOST. What say'st thou, my bully rook?         [They go aside]
+  SHALLOW.  [To PAGE] Will you go with us to behold it? My
+    merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and,
+    I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe
+    me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you
+    what our sport shall be.               [They converse apart]
+  HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaleiro.
+  FORD. None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt
+    sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is
+    Brook-only for a jest.
+  HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress-
+    said I well?-and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry
+    knight. Will you go, Mynheers?
+  SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host.
+  PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his
+    rapier.
+  SHALLOW. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these
+    times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and
+    I know not what. 'Tis the heart, Master Page; 'tis here,  
+    'tis here. I have seen the time with my long sword I would
+    have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.
+  HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag?
+  PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than
+    fight.                                   Exeunt all but FORD
+  FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on
+    his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so
+    easily. She was in his company at Page's house, and what
+    they made there I know not. Well, I will look further into
+    't, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her
+    honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour
+    well bestowed.                                          Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+A room in the Garter Inn
+
+Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL
+
+  FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny.
+  PISTOL. I will retort the sum in equipage.
+  FALSTAFF. Not a penny.
+  PISTOL. Why, then the world's mine oyster. Which I with
+    sword will open.
+  FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should
+    lay my countenance to pawn. I have grated upon my good
+    friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow,
+    Nym; or else you had look'd through the grate, like a
+    geminy of baboons. I am damn'd in hell for swearing to
+    gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows;
+    and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan,
+    I took 't upon mine honour thou hadst it not.
+  PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?
+  FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think'st thou I'll
+    endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me,  
+    I am no gibbet for you. Go-a short knife and a throng!-
+    to your manor of Pickt-hatch; go. You'll not bear a letter
+    for me, you rogue! You stand upon your honour! Why,
+    thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to
+    keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself
+    sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding
+    mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge,
+    and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags,
+    your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and
+    your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour!
+    You will not do it, you!
+  PISTOL. I do relent; what would thou more of man?
+
+                          Enter ROBIN
+
+  ROBIN. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you.
+  FALSTAFF. Let her approach.
+
+                     Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY
+  
+  QUICKLY. Give your worship good morrow.
+  FALSTAFF. Good morrow, good wife.
+  QUICKLY. Not so, an't please your worship.
+  FALSTAFF. Good maid, then.
+  QUICKLY. I'll be sworn;
+    As my mother was, the first hour I was born.
+  FALSTAFF. I do believe the swearer. What with me?
+  QUICKLY. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?
+  FALSTAFF. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouchsafe
+    thee the hearing.
+  QUICKLY. There is one Mistress Ford, sir-I pray, come a little
+    nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor
+    Caius.
+  FALSTAFF. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say-
+  QUICKLY. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship
+    come a little nearer this ways.
+  FALSTAFF. I warrant thee nobody hears-mine own people,
+    mine own people.
+  QUICKLY. Are they so? God bless them, and make them his
+    servants!  
+  FALSTAFF. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her?
+  QUICKLY. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, Lord, your
+    worship's a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you, and all of
+    us, I pray.
+  FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford-
+  QUICKLY. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you
+    have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis wonderful.
+    The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor,
+    could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet
+    there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with
+    their coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after
+    letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so
+    rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligant
+    terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best and the
+    fairest, that would have won any woman's heart; and I
+    warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of her.
+    I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I
+    defy all angels, in any such sort, as they say, but in the
+    way of honesty; and, I warrant you, they could never get
+    her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all;  
+    and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more,
+    pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her.
+  FALSTAFF. But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-
+    Mercury.
+  QUICKLY. Marry, she hath receiv'd your letter; for the
+    which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you
+    to notify that her husband will be absence from his house
+    between ten and eleven.
+  FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven?
+  QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see
+    the picture, she says, that you wot of. Master Ford, her
+    husband, will be from home. Alas, the sweet woman leads
+    an ill life with him! He's a very jealousy man; she leads a
+    very frampold life with him, good heart.
+  FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I
+    will not fail her.
+  QUICKLY. Why, you say well. But I have another messenger
+    to your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations
+    to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she's as
+    fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will  
+    not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in
+    Windsor, whoe'er be the other; and she bade me tell your
+    worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she
+    hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so
+    dote upon a man: surely I think you have charms, la! Yes,
+    in truth.
+  FALSTAFF. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my
+    good parts aside, I have no other charms.
+  QUICKLY. Blessing on your heart for 't!
+  FALSTAFF. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife and
+    Page's wife acquainted each other how they love me?
+  QUICKLY. That were a jest indeed! They have not so little
+    grace, I hope-that were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page
+    would desire you to send her your little page of all loves.
+    Her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page;
+    and truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in
+    Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what she will,
+    say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she
+    list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she
+    deserves it; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she  
+    is one. You must send her your page; no remedy.
+  FALSTAFF. Why, I will.
+  QUICKLY. Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come
+    and go between you both; and in any case have a
+    nay-word, that you may know one another's mind, and the boy
+    never need to understand any thing; for 'tis not good that
+    children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you
+    know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world.
+  FALSTAFF. Fare thee well; commend me to them both.
+    There's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with
+    this woman.  [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN]  This news
+    distracts me.
+  PISTOL.  [Aside]  This punk is one of Cupid's carriers;
+    Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights;
+    Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all!    Exit
+  FALSTAFF. Say'st thou so, old Jack; go thy ways; I'll make
+    more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look
+    after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money,
+    be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let them say
+    'tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter.  
+
+                         Enter BARDOLPH
+
+  BARDOLPH. Sir John, there's one Master Brook below would
+    fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath
+    sent your worship a moming's draught of sack.
+  FALSTAFF. Brook is his name?
+  BARDOLPH. Ay, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Call him in.  [Exit BARDOLPH]  Such Brooks are
+    welcome to me, that o'erflows such liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress
+    Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompass'd you? Go to;
+    via!
+
+              Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised
+
+  FORD. Bless you, sir!
+  FALSTAFF. And you, sir! Would you speak with me?
+  FORD. I make bold to press with so little preparation upon
+    you.
+  FALSTAFF. You're welcome. What's your will? Give us leave,  
+    drawer.                                        Exit BARDOLPH
+  FORD. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much; my name
+    is Brook.
+  FALSTAFF. Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance
+    of you.
+  FORD. Good Sir John, I sue for yours-not to charge you; for I
+    must let you understand I think myself in better plight for
+    a lender than you are; the which hath something
+    embold'ned me to this unseason'd intrusion; for they say, if
+    money go before, all ways do lie open.
+  FALSTAFF. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.
+  FORD. Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me; if
+    you will help to bear it, Sir John, take all, or half, for easing
+    me of the carriage.
+  FALSTAFF. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your
+    porter.
+  FORD. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing.
+  FALSTAFF. Speak, good Master Brook; I shall be glad to be
+    your servant.
+  FORD. Sir, I hear you are a scholar-I will be brief with you  
+    -and you have been a man long known to me, though I
+    had never so good means as desire to make myself acquainted
+    with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein
+    I must very much lay open mine own imperfection; but,
+    good Sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as you
+    hear them unfolded, turn another into the register of your
+    own, that I may pass with a reproof the easier, sith you
+    yourself know how easy is it to be such an offender.
+  FALSTAFF. Very well, sir; proceed.
+  FORD. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband's
+    name is Ford.
+  FALSTAFF. Well, sir.
+  FORD. I have long lov'd her, and, I protest to you, bestowed
+    much on her; followed her with a doting observance;
+    engross'd opportunities to meet her; fee'd every slight occasion
+    that could but niggardly give me sight of her; not
+    only bought many presents to give her, but have given
+    largely to many to know what she would have given;
+    briefly, I have pursu'd her as love hath pursued me; which
+    hath been on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever I  
+    have merited, either in my mind or in my means, meed, I
+    am sure, I have received none, unless experience be a jewel;
+    that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath
+    taught me to say this:
+    'Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues;
+    Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.'
+  FALSTAFF. Have you receiv'd no promise of satisfaction at
+    her hands?
+  FORD. Never.
+  FALSTAFF. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose?
+  FORD. Never.
+    FALSTAFF. Of what quality was your love, then?
+  FORD. Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so
+    that I have lost my edifice by mistaking the place where
+    erected it.
+  FALSTAFF. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?
+  FORD. When I have told you that, I have told you all. Some
+    say that though she appear honest to me, yet in other
+    places she enlargeth her mirth so far that there is shrewd
+    construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart  
+    of my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent
+    breeding, admirable discourse, of great admittance, authentic in
+    your place and person, generally allow'd for your many
+    war-like, courtlike, and learned preparations.
+  FALSTAFF. O, sir!
+  FORD. Believe it, for you know it. There is money; spend it,
+    spend it; spend more; spend all I have; only give me so
+    much of your time in exchange of it as to lay an amiable
+    siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife; use your art of
+    wooing, win her to consent to you; if any man may, you
+    may as soon as any.
+    FALSTAFF. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your
+    affection, that I should win what you would enjoy?
+    Methinks you prescribe to yourself very preposterously.
+  FORD. O, understand my drift. She dwells so securely on the
+    excellency of her honour that the folly of my soul dares
+    not present itself; she is too bright to be look'd against.
+    Now, could I come to her with any detection in my hand,
+    my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves;
+    I could drive her then from the ward of her purity,  
+    her reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand other her
+    defences, which now are too too strongly embattl'd against
+    me. What say you to't, Sir John?
+  FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your
+    money; next, give me your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman,
+    you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife.
+  FORD. O good sir!
+  FALSTAFF. I say you shall.
+  FORD. Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none.
+  FALSTAFF. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall
+    want none. I shall be with her, I may tell you, by her own
+    appointment; even as you came in to me her assistant, or
+    go-between, parted from me; I say I shall be with her between
+    ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous rascally
+    knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at
+    night; you shall know how I speed.
+  FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford,
+    Sir?
+  FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him
+    not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the  
+    jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which
+    his wife seems to me well-favour'd. I will use her as the
+    key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer; and there's my harvest-home.
+  FORD. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him
+    if you saw him.
+  FALSTAFF. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will
+    stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my cudgel;
+    it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's horns. Master
+    Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate over the
+    peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon at
+    night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou,
+    Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold.
+    Come to me soon at night.                               Exit
+  FORD. What a damn'd Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is
+    ready to crack with impatience. Who says this is improvident
+    jealousy? My wife hath sent to him; the hour is fix'd;
+    the match is made. Would any man have thought this? See
+    the hell of having a false woman! My bed shall be abus'd,
+    my coffers ransack'd, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall
+    not only receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the  
+    adoption of abominable terms, and by him that does me
+    this wrong. Terms! names! Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer,
+    well; Barbason, well; yet they are devils' additions, the names
+    of fiends. But cuckold! Wittol! Cuckold! the devil himself
+    hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass; he will trust
+    his wife; he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a Fleming
+    with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my
+    cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to
+    walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself. Then
+    she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises; and what
+    they think in their hearts they may effect, they will break
+    their hearts but they will effect. God be prais'd for my
+    jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour. I will prevent this, detect
+    my wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff, and laugh at Page.
+    I will about it; better three hours too soon than a minute
+    too late. Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold!     Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+A field near Windsor
+
+Enter CAIUS and RUGBY
+
+  CAIUS. Jack Rugby!
+  RUGBY. Sir?
+  CAIUS. Vat is de clock, Jack?
+  RUGBY. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promis'd to
+    meet.
+  CAIUS. By gar, he has save his soul dat he is no come; he has
+    pray his Pible well dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby,
+    he is dead already, if he be come.
+  RUGBY. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill
+    him if he came.
+  CAIUS. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take
+    your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.
+  RUGBY. Alas, sir, I cannot fence!
+  CAIUS. Villainy, take your rapier.
+  RUGBY. Forbear; here's company.
+  
+            Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE
+
+  HOST. Bless thee, bully doctor!
+  SHALLOW. Save you, Master Doctor Caius!
+  PAGE. Now, good Master Doctor!
+  SLENDER. Give you good morrow, sir.
+  CAIUS. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?
+  HOST. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse;
+    to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy
+    punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant.
+    Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha,
+    bully! What says my Aesculapius? my Galen? my heart
+    of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead?
+  CAIUS. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is
+    not show his face.
+  HOST. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece,
+    my boy!
+  CAIUS. I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or
+    seven, two tree hours for him, and he is no come.
+  SHALLOW. He is the wiser man, Master Doctor: he is a curer  
+    of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should fight,
+    you go against the hair of your professions. Is it not true,
+    Master Page?
+  PAGE. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter,
+    though now a man of peace.
+  SHALLOW. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and
+    of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make
+    one. Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen,
+    Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are
+    the sons of women, Master Page.
+  PAGE. 'Tis true, Master Shallow.
+  SHALLOW. It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor
+  CAIUS, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace;
+    you have show'd yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh
+    hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You
+    must go with me, Master Doctor.
+  HOST. Pardon, Guest Justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater.
+  CAIUS. Mock-vater! Vat is dat?
+  HOST. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.
+  CAIUS. By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman.  
+    Scurvy jack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears.
+  HOST. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.
+  CAIUS. Clapper-de-claw! Vat is dat?
+  HOST. That is, he will make thee amends.
+  CAIUS. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for,
+    by gar, me vill have it.
+  HOST. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.
+  CAIUS. Me tank you for dat.
+  HOST. And, moreover, bully-but first:  [Aside to the others]
+    Master Guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender,
+    go you through the town to Frogmore.
+  PAGE.  [Aside]  Sir Hugh is there, is he?
+  HOST.  [Aside]  He is there. See what humour he is in; and
+    I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?
+  SHALLOW.  [Aside]  We will do it.
+  PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Adieu, good Master Doctor.
+                               Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER
+  CAIUS. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack-
+    an-ape to Anne Page.
+  HOST. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water  
+    on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore;
+    I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a a
+    farm-house, a-feasting; and thou shalt woo her. Cried
+    game! Said I well?
+  CAIUS. By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and
+    I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de
+    lords, de gentlemen, my patients.
+  HOST. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne
+    Page. Said I well?
+  CAIUS. By gar, 'tis good; vell said.
+  HOST. Let us wag, then.
+  CAIUS. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT III SCENE 1.
+
+A field near Frogmore
+
+Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE
+
+  EVANS. I pray you now, good Master Slender's serving-man,
+    and friend Simple by your name, which way have you
+    look'd for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of
+    Physic?
+  SIMPLE. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward; every
+    way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.
+  EVANS. I most fehemently desire you you will also look that
+    way.
+  SIMPLE. I will, Sir.                                      Exit
+  EVANS. Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling
+    of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How
+    melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's
+    costard when I have goot opportunities for the ork. Pless
+    my soul!                                             [Sings]
+    To shallow rivers, to whose falls
+    Melodious birds sings madrigals;  
+    There will we make our peds of roses,
+    And a thousand fragrant posies.
+    To shallow-
+    Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry.     [Sings]
+    Melodious birds sing madrigals-
+    Whenas I sat in Pabylon-
+    And a thousand vagram posies.
+    To shallow, etc.
+
+                       Re-enter SIMPLE
+
+  SIMPLE. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh.
+  EVANS. He's welcome.                                   [Sings]
+    To shallow rivers, to whose falls-
+    Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?
+  SIMPLE. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master
+    Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the
+    stile, this way.
+  EVANS. Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your
+    arms.                                     [Takes out a book]  
+
+               Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER
+
+  SHALLOW. How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good
+    Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student
+     from his book, and it is wonderful.
+  SLENDER.  [Aside]  Ah, sweet Anne Page!
+  PAGE. Save you, good Sir Hugh!
+  EVANS. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!
+  SHALLOW. What, the sword and the word! Do you study
+    them both, Master Parson?
+  PAGE. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw
+    rheumatic day!
+  EVANS. There is reasons and causes for it.
+  PAGE. We are come to you to do a good office, Master
+    Parson.
+  EVANS. Fery well; what is it?
+  PAGE. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having
+    received wrong by some person, is at most odds with
+    his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.  
+  SHALLOW. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never
+    heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of
+    his own respect.
+  EVANS. What is he?
+  PAGE. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the
+    renowned French physician.
+  EVANS. Got's will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief
+    you would tell me of a mess of porridge.
+  PAGE. Why?
+  EVANS. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and
+    Galen, and he is a knave besides-a cowardly knave as you
+    would desires to be acquainted withal.
+  PAGE. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.
+  SLENDER.  [Aside]  O sweet Anne Page!
+  SHALLOW. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder;
+    here comes Doctor Caius.
+
+                 Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY
+
+  PAGE. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.  
+  SHALLOW. So do you, good Master Doctor.
+  HOST. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep
+    their limbs whole and hack our English.
+  CAIUS. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear.
+    Verefore will you not meet-a me?
+  EVANS.  [Aside to CAIUS]  Pray you use your patience; in
+    good time.
+  CAIUS. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.
+  EVANS.  [Aside to CAIUS]  Pray you, let us not be
+    laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you in
+    friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
+    [Aloud]  I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb
+    for missing your meetings and appointments.
+  CAIUS. Diable! Jack Rugby-mine Host de Jarteer-have I
+    not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did
+    appoint?
+  EVANS. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the
+    place appointed. I'll be judgment by mine host of the
+    Garter.
+  HOST. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh,  
+    soul-curer and body-curer.
+  CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent!
+  HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I
+    politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my
+    doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I
+    lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me
+    the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial;
+    so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have
+    deceiv'd you both; I have directed you to wrong places;
+    your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt
+    sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow
+    me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.
+  SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.
+  SLENDER.  [Aside]  O sweet Anne Page!
+                                  Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS
+  CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us,
+    ha, ha?
+  EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I
+    desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains
+    together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging  
+    companion, the host of the Garter.
+  CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me
+    where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.
+  EVANS. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+The street in Windsor
+
+Enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN
+
+  MRS. PAGE. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were
+    wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether
+    had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?
+  ROBIN. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than
+    follow him like a dwarf.
+  MRS. PAGE. O, you are a flattering boy; now I see you'll be a
+    courtier.
+
+                          Enter FORD
+
+  FORD. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?
+  MRS. PAGE. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?
+  FORD. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of
+    company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two
+    would marry.
+  MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands.  
+  FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock?
+  MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my
+    husband had him of. What do you call your knight's
+    name, sirrah?
+  ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff.
+  FORD. Sir John Falstaff!
+  MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such
+    a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at
+    home indeed?
+  FORD. Indeed she is.
+  MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her.
+                                      Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN
+  FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any
+    thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why,
+    this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon
+    will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's
+    inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and
+    now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A
+    man may hear this show'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff's
+    boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted  
+    wives share damnation together. Well; I will take him,
+    then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty
+    from the so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself
+    for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings
+    all my neighbours shall cry aim.  [Clock strikes]
+    The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me
+    search; there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais'd
+    for this than mock'd; for it is as positive as the earth is firm
+    that Falstaff is there. I will go.
+
+     Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS,
+                              CAIUS, and RUGBY
+
+  SHALLOW, PAGE, &C. Well met, Master Ford.
+  FORD. Trust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home,
+    and I pray you all go with me.
+  SHALLOW. I must excuse myself, Master Ford.
+  SLENDER. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with
+    Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more
+    money than I'll speak of.  
+  SHALLOW. We have linger'd about a match between Anne
+    Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have
+    our answer.
+  SLENDER. I hope I have your good will, father Page.
+  PAGE. You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But
+    my wife, Master Doctor, is for you altogether.
+  CAIUS. Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a
+    Quickly tell me so mush.
+  HOST. What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers,
+    he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks
+    holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry 't, he will
+    carry 't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry 't.
+  PAGE. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is
+    of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and
+    Poins; he is of too high a region, he knows too much. No,
+    he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of
+    my substance; if he take her, let him take her simply; the
+    wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes
+    not that way.
+  FORD. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me  
+    to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will
+    show you a monster. Master Doctor, you shall go; so shall
+    you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh.
+  SHALLOW. Well, fare you well; we shall have the freer
+    wooing at Master Page's.          Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER
+  CAIUS. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon.            Exit RUGBY
+  HOST. Farewell, my hearts; I will to my honest knight
+    Falstaff, and drink canary with him.               Exit HOST
+  FORD.  [Aside]  I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with
+    him. I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles?
+  ALL. Have with you to see this monster.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+FORD'S house
+
+Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE
+
+  MRS. FORD. What, John! what, Robert!
+  MRS. PAGE. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket-
+  MRS. FORD. I warrant. What, Robin, I say!
+
+                 Enter SERVANTS with a basket
+
+  MRS. PAGE. Come, come, come.
+  MRS. FORD. Here, set it down.
+  MRS. PAGE. Give your men the charge; we must be brief.
+  MRS. FORD. Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be
+    ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly
+    call you, come forth, and, without any pause or
+    staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done,
+    trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters
+    in Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch
+    close by the Thames side.  
+  Mrs. PAGE. You will do it?
+  MRS. FORD. I ha' told them over and over; they lack no
+    direction. Be gone, and come when you are call'd.
+                                               Exeunt SERVANTS
+  MRS. PAGE. Here comes little Robin.
+
+                         Enter ROBIN
+
+  MRS. FORD. How now, my eyas-musket, what news with
+    you?
+  ROBIN. My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door,
+    Mistress Ford, and requests your company.
+  MRS. PAGE. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?
+  ROBIN. Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your
+    being here, and hath threat'ned to put me into everlasting
+    liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he'll turn me away.
+  MRS. PAGE. Thou 'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall
+    be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and
+    hose. I'll go hide me.
+  MRS. FORD. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone.  [Exit  
+  ROBIN]  Mistress Page, remember you your cue.
+  MRS. PAGE. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.
+                                                Exit MRS. PAGE
+  MRS. FORD. Go to, then; we'll use this unwholesome
+    humidity, this gross wat'ry pumpion; we'll teach him to
+    know turtles from jays.
+
+                      Enter FALSTAFF
+
+  FALSTAFF. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?
+    Why, now let me die, for I have liv'd long enough; this is
+    the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour!
+  MRS. FORD. O sweet Sir John!
+  FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,
+    Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy
+    husband were dead; I'll speak it before the best lord, I
+    would make thee my lady.
+  MRS. FORD. I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful
+    lady.
+  FALSTAFF. Let the court of France show me such another. I  
+    see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast
+    the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the
+    ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.
+  MRS. FORD. A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become
+    nothing else, nor that well neither.
+  FALSTAFF. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou
+    wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of
+    thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a
+    semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune
+    thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not
+    hide it.
+  MRS. FORD. Believe me, there's no such thing in me.
+  FALSTAFF. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee
+    there's something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot
+    cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these
+    lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men's
+    apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I
+    cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv'st it.
+  MRS. FORD. Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress
+    Page.  
+  FALSTAFF. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the
+    Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a
+    lime-kiln.
+  MRS. FORD. Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you
+    shall one day find it.
+  FALSTAFF. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.
+  MRS. FORD. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could
+    not be in that mind.
+  ROBIN.  [Within]  Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's
+    Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking
+    wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.
+  FALSTAFF. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind
+    the arras.
+  MRS. FORD. Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman.
+                                      [FALSTAFF hides himself]
+
+               Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN
+
+    What's the matter? How now!
+  MRS. PAGE. O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're  
+    sham'd, y'are overthrown, y'are undone for ever.
+  MRS. FORD. What's the matter, good Mistress Page?
+  MRS. PAGE. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest
+    man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!
+  MRS. FORD. What cause of suspicion?
+  MRS. PAGE. What cause of suspicion? Out upon you, how
+    am I mistook in you!
+  MRS. FORD. Why, alas, what's the matter?
+  MRS. PAGE. Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all
+    the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he
+    says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an
+    ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.
+  MRS. FORD. 'Tis not so, I hope.
+  MRS. PAGE. Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a
+    man here; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming,
+    with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I
+    come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why,
+    I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey,
+    convey him out. Be not amaz'd; call all your senses to you;
+    defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life  
+    for ever.
+  MRS. FORD. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear
+    friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril.
+    I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the
+    house.
+  MRS. PAGE. For shame, never stand 'you had rather' and 'you
+    had rather'! Your husband's here at hand; bethink you of
+    some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O,
+    how have you deceiv'd me! Look, here is a basket; if he be
+    of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw
+    foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking, or-it is
+    whiting-time-send him by your two men to Datchet
+    Mead.
+  MRS. FORD. He's too big to go in there. What shall I do?
+  FALSTAFF.  [Coming forward]  Let me see 't, let me see 't. O,
+    let me see 't! I'll in, I'll in; follow your friend's counsel;
+    I'll in.
+  MRS. PAGE. What, Sir John Falstaff!      [Aside to FALSTAFF]
+    Are these your letters, knight?
+  FALSTAFF.  [Aside to MRS. PAGE]  I love thee and none but  
+    thee; help me away.-Let me creep in here; I'll never-
+    [Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen]
+  MRS. PAGE. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,
+    Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!
+  MRS. FORD. What, John! Robert! John!                Exit ROBIN
+
+                 Re-enter SERVANTS
+
+    Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where's the
+    cowl-staff? Look how you drumble. Carry them to the laundress
+    in Datchet Mead; quickly, come.
+
+         Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS
+
+  FORD. Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why
+    then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve
+    it. How now, whither bear you this?
+  SERVANT. To the laundress, forsooth.
+  MRS. FORD. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it?
+    You were best meddle with buck-washing.  
+  FORD. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck!
+    Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck! I warrant you, buck; and of
+    the season too, it shall appear.  [Exeunt SERVANTS with
+    basket]  Gentlemen, I have dream'd to-night; I'll tell you my
+    dream. Here, here, here be my keys; ascend my chambers,
+    search, seek, find out. I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox.
+    Let me stop this way first.  [Locking the door]  So, now
+    uncape.
+  PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself
+    too much.
+  FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport
+    anon; follow me, gentlemen.                             Exit
+  EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.
+  CAIUS. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous
+    in France.
+  PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his
+    search.                        Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS
+  MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this?
+  MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my
+    husband is deceived, or Sir John.  
+  MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband
+    ask'd who was in the basket!
+  MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so
+    throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.
+  MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the
+    same strain were in the same distress.
+  MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion
+    of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him so gross in his
+    jealousy till now.
+  MRS. PAGE. I Will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have
+    more tricks with Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce
+    obey this medicine.
+  MRS. FORD. Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress
+    Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,
+    and give him another hope, to betray him to another
+    punishment?
+  MRS. PAGE. We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow
+    eight o'clock, to have amends.
+
+       Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS  
+
+  FORD. I cannot find him; may be the knave bragg'd of that
+    he could not compass.
+  MRS. PAGE.  [Aside to MRS. FORD]  Heard you that?
+  MRS. FORD. You use me well, Master Ford, do you?
+  FORD. Ay, I do so.
+  MRS. FORD. Heaven make you better than your thoughts!
+  FORD. Amen.
+  MRS. PAGE. You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.
+  FORD. Ay, ay; I must bear it.
+  EVANS. If there be any pody in the house, and in the
+    chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive
+    my sins at the day of judgment!
+  CAIUS. Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies.
+  PAGE. Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not asham'd? What
+    spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha'
+    your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor
+    Castle.
+  FORD. 'Tis my fault, Master Page; I suffer for it.
+  EVANS. You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as  
+    honest a omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five
+    hundred too.
+  CAIUS. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.
+  FORD. Well, I promis'd you a dinner. Come, come, walk in
+    the Park. I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make
+    known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come,
+    Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartly,
+    pardon me.
+  PAGE. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock him.
+    I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast;
+    after, we'll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for
+    the bush. Shall it be so?
+  FORD. Any thing.
+  EVANS. If there is one, I shall make two in the company.
+  CAIUS. If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.
+  FORD. Pray you go, Master Page.
+  EVANS. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the
+    lousy knave, mine host.
+  CAIUS. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart.
+  EVANS. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!  
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+Before PAGE'S house
+
+Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE
+
+  FENTON. I see I cannot get thy father's love;
+    Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.
+  ANNE. Alas, how then?
+  FENTON. Why, thou must be thyself.
+    He doth object I am too great of birth;
+    And that, my state being gall'd with my expense,
+    I seek to heal it only by his wealth.
+    Besides these, other bars he lays before me,
+    My riots past, my wild societies;
+    And tells me 'tis a thing impossible
+    I should love thee but as a property.
+  ANNE.. May be he tells you true.
+  FENTON. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!
+    Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth
+    Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne;
+    Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value  
+    Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;
+    And 'tis the very riches of thyself
+    That now I aim at.
+  ANNE. Gentle Master Fenton,
+    Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir.
+    If opportunity and humblest suit
+    Cannot attain it, why then-hark you hither.
+                                           [They converse apart]
+
+        Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY
+
+  SHALLOW. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman
+    shall speak for himself.
+  SLENDER. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't; 'slid, 'tis but
+    venturing.
+  SHALLOW. Be not dismay'd.
+  SLENDER. No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that,
+    but that I am afeard.
+  QUICKLY. Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word
+    with you.  
+  ANNE. I come to him.  [Aside]  This is my father's choice.
+    O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults
+    Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
+  QUICKLY. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a
+    word with you.
+  SHALLOW. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a
+    father!
+  SLENDER. I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell
+    you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne
+    the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good
+    uncle.
+  SHALLOW. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.
+  SLENDER. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in
+    Gloucestershire.
+  SHALLOW. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.
+  SLENDER. Ay, that I will come cut and longtail, under the
+    degree of a squire.
+  SHALLOW. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds
+    jointure.
+  ANNE. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.  
+  SHALLOW. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that
+    good comfort. She calls you, coz; I'll leave you.
+  ANNE. Now, Master Slender-
+  SLENDER. Now, good Mistress Anne-
+  ANNE. What is your will?
+  SLENDER. My Will! 'Od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest
+    indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not
+    such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.
+  ANNE. I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?
+  SLENDER. Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing
+    with you. Your father and my uncle hath made motions;
+    if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! They
+    can tell you how things go better than I can. You may ask
+    your father; here he comes.
+
+            Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE
+
+  PAGE. Now, Master Slender! Love him, daughter Anne-
+    Why, how now, what does Master Fenton here?
+    You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house.  
+    I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of.
+  FENTON. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.
+  MRS. PAGE. Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.
+  PAGE. She is no match for you.
+  FENTON. Sir, will you hear me?
+  PAGE. No, good Master Fenton.
+    Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender; in.
+    Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.
+                               Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER
+  QUICKLY. Speak to Mistress Page.
+  FENTON. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter
+    In such a righteous fashion as I do,
+    Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,
+    I must advance the colours of my love,
+    And not retire. Let me have your good will.
+  ANNE. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.
+  MRS. PAGE. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.
+  QUICKLY. That's my master, Master Doctor.
+  ANNE. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' th' earth.
+    And bowl'd to death with turnips.  
+  MRS. PAGE. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master
+    Fenton,
+    I will not be your friend, nor enemy;
+    My daughter will I question how she loves you,
+    And as I find her, so am I affected;
+    Till then, farewell, sir; she must needs go in;
+    Her father will be angry.
+  FENTON. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan.
+                                       Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ANNE
+  QUICKLY. This is my doing now: 'Nay,' said I 'will you cast
+    away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on
+    Master Fenton.' This is my doing.
+  FENTON. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night
+    Give my sweet Nan this ring. There's for thy pains.
+  QUICKLY. Now Heaven send thee good fortune!  [Exit
+    FENTON]  A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through
+    fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my
+    master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had
+    her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her; I will
+    do what I can for them all three, for so I have promis'd,  
+    and I'll be as good as my word; but speciously for Master
+    Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff
+    from my two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack it!
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+
+The Garter Inn
+
+Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH
+
+  FALSTAFF. Bardolph, I say!
+  BARDOLPH. Here, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in 't.
+                                                   Exit BARDOLPH
+    Have I liv'd to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of
+    butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if
+    I be serv'd such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out
+    and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new-year's gift.
+    The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse
+    as they would have drown'd a blind bitch's puppies, fifteen
+    i' th' litter; and you may know by my size that I have
+    a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as
+    hell I should down. I had been drown'd but that the shore
+    was shelvy and shallow-a death that I abhor; for the water
+    swells a man; and what a thing should I have been when
+    had been swell'd! I should have been a mountain of  
+    mummy.
+
+                  Re-enter BARDOLPH, with sack
+
+  BARDOLPH. Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you
+  FALSTAFF. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames
+    water; for my belly's as cold as if I had swallow'd
+    snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call her in.
+  BARDOLPH. Come in, woman.
+
+                     Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY
+
+  QUICKLY. By your leave; I cry you mercy. Give your
+    worship good morrow.
+  FALSTAFF. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle
+    of sack finely.
+  BARDOLPH. With eggs, sir?
+  FALSTAFF. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my
+    brewage.  [Exit BARDOLPH]  How now!
+  QUICKLY. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress  
+    Ford.
+  FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was
+    thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.
+  QUICKLY. Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault!
+    She does so take on with her men; they mistook their
+    erection.
+  FALSTAFF. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's
+    promise.
+  QUICKLY. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn
+    your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning
+    a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her between
+    eight and nine; I must carry her word quickly. She'll make
+    you amends, I warrant you.
+  FALSTAFF. Well, I Will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her
+    think what a man is. Let her consider his frailty, and then
+    judge of my merit.
+  QUICKLY. I will tell her.
+  FALSTAFF. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou?
+  QUICKLY. Eight and nine, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Well, be gone; I will not miss her.  
+  QUICKLY. Peace be with you, sir.                          Exit
+  FALSTAFF. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me
+    word to stay within. I like his money well. O, here he
+    comes.
+
+                       Enter FORD disguised
+
+  FORD. Bless you, sir!
+  FALSTAFF. Now, Master Brook, you come to know what
+    hath pass'd between me and Ford's wife?
+  FORD. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business.
+  FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her
+    house the hour she appointed me.
+  FORD. And sped you, sir?
+  FALSTAFF. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook.
+  FORD. How so, sir; did she change her determination?
+  FALSTAFF. No. Master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her
+    husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual 'larum of
+    jealousy, comes me in the instant of our, encounter, after
+    we had embrac'd, kiss'd, protested, and, as it were, spoke  
+    the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his
+    companions, thither provoked and instigated by his
+    distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife's
+    love.
+  FORD. What, while you were there?
+  FALSTAFF. While I was there.
+  FORD. And did he search for you, and could not find you?
+  FALSTAFF. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes
+    in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach;
+    and, in her invention and Ford's wife's distraction, they
+    convey'd me into a buck-basket.
+  FORD. A buck-basket!
+  FALSTAFF. By the Lord, a buck-basket! Ramm'd me in with
+    foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy
+    napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound
+    of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.
+  FORD. And how long lay you there?
+  FALSTAFF. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have
+    suffer'd to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being
+    thus cramm'd in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his  
+    hinds, were call'd forth by their mistress to carry me in
+    the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane; they took me on
+    their shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in the
+    door; who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their
+    basket. I quak'd for fear lest the lunatic knave would have
+    search'd it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold,
+    held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away
+    went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master
+    Brook-I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first,
+    an intolerable fright to be detected with a jealous rotten
+    bell-wether; next, to be compass'd like a good bilbo in the
+    circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and
+    then, to be stopp'd in, like a strong distillation, with
+    stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. Think of that
+    -a man of my kidney. Think of that-that am as subject to
+    heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It
+    was a miracle to scape suffocation. And in the height of
+    this bath, when I was more than half-stew'd in grease, like
+    a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool'd,
+    glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that  
+    -hissing hot. Think of that, Master Brook.
+  FORD. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you
+    have suffer'd all this. My suit, then, is desperate;
+    you'll undertake her no more.
+  FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I
+    have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her
+    husband is this morning gone a-birding; I have received from
+    her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is
+    the hour, Master Brook.
+  FORD. 'Tis past eight already, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Is it? I Will then address me to my appointment.
+    Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall
+    know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned
+    with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master
+    Brook; Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford.            Exit
+  FORD. Hum! ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
+    Master Ford, awake; awake, Master Ford. There's a hole
+    made in your best coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be
+    married; this 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I will
+    proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the lecher; he  
+    is at my house. He cannot scape me; 'tis impossible he
+    should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse nor into
+    a pepper box. But, lest the devil that guides him should aid
+    him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I
+    cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make
+    me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb
+    go with me-I'll be horn mad.                            Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+
+Windsor. A street
+
+Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and WILLIAM
+
+  MRS. PAGE. Is he at Master Ford's already, think'st thou?
+  QUICKLY. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truly
+    he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the
+    water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly.
+  MRS. PAGE. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my
+    young man here to school. Look where his master comes;
+    'tis a playing day, I see.
+
+                     Enter SIR HUGH EVANS
+
+    How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day?
+  EVANS. No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.
+  QUICKLY. Blessing of his heart!
+  MRS. PAGE. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits
+    nothing in the world at his book; I pray you ask him some
+    questions in his accidence.  
+  EVANS. Come hither, William; hold up your head; come.
+  MRS. PAGE. Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your
+    master; be not afraid.
+  EVANS. William, how many numbers is in nouns?
+  WILLIAM. Two.
+  QUICKLY. Truly, I thought there had been one number
+    more, because they say 'Od's nouns.'
+  EVANS. Peace your tattlings. What is 'fair,' William?
+  WILLIAM. Pulcher.
+  QUICKLY. Polecats! There are fairer things than polecats,
+    sure.
+  EVANS. You are a very simplicity oman; I pray you, peace.
+    What is 'lapis,' William?
+  WILLIAM. A stone.
+  EVANS. And what is 'a stone,' William?
+  WILLIAM. A pebble.
+  EVANS. No, it is 'lapis'; I pray you remember in your prain.
+  WILLIAM. Lapis.
+  EVANS. That is a good William. What is he, William, that
+    does lend articles?  
+  WILLIAM. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be
+    thus declined: Singulariter, nominativo; hic, haec, hoc.
+  EVANS. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo,
+    hujus. Well, what is your accusative case?
+  WILLIAM. Accusativo, hinc.
+  EVANS. I pray you, have your remembrance, child.
+    Accusativo, hung, hang, hog.
+  QUICKLY. 'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.
+  EVANS. Leave your prabbles, oman. What is the focative
+    case, William?
+  WILLIAM. O-vocativo, O.
+  EVANS. Remember, William: focative is caret.
+  QUICKLY. And that's a good root.
+  EVANS. Oman, forbear.
+  MRS. PAGE. Peace.
+  EVANS. What is your genitive case plural, William?
+  WILLIAM. Genitive case?
+  EVANS. Ay.
+  WILLIAM. Genitive: horum, harum, horum.
+  QUICKLY. Vengeance of Jenny's case; fie on her! Never  
+    name her, child, if she be a whore.
+  EVANS. For shame, oman.
+  QUICKLY. YOU do ill to teach the child such words. He
+    teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast
+    enough of themselves; and to call 'horum'; fie upon you!
+  EVANS. Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings
+    for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders? Thou
+    art as foolish Christian creatures as I would desires.
+  MRS. PAGE. Prithee hold thy peace.
+  EVANS. Show me now, William, some declensions of your
+    pronouns.
+  WILLIAM. Forsooth, I have forgot.
+  EVANS. It is qui, quae, quod; if you forget your qui's, your
+    quae's, and your quod's, you must be preeches. Go your
+    ways and play; go.
+  MRS. PAGE. He is a better scholar than I thought he was.
+  EVANS. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.
+  MRS. PAGE. Adieu, good Sir Hugh.                 Exit SIR HUGH
+    Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+FORD'S house
+
+Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD
+
+  FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my
+    sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I
+    profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in
+    the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement,
+    complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your
+    husband now?
+  MRS. FORD. He's a-birding, sweet Sir John.
+  MRS. PAGE.  [Within]  What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa!
+  MRS. FORD. Step into th' chamber, Sir John.      Exit FALSTAFF
+
+                      Enter MISTRESS PAGE
+
+  MRS. PAGE. How now, sweetheart, who's at home besides
+    yourself?
+  MRS. FORD. Why, none but mine own people.
+  MRS. PAGE. Indeed?  
+  MRS. FORD. No, certainly.  [Aside to her]  Speak louder.
+  MRS. PAGE. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.
+  MRS. FORD. Why?
+  MRS. PAGE. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes
+    again. He so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails
+    against all married mankind; so curses an Eve's daughters,
+    of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the
+    forehead, crying 'Peer-out, peer-out!' that any madness I
+    ever yet beheld seem'd but tameness, civility, and patience,
+    to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight
+    is not here.
+  MRS. FORD. Why, does he talk of him?
+  MRS. PAGE. Of none but him; and swears he was carried out,
+    the last time he search'd for him, in a basket; protests to
+    my husband he is now here; and hath drawn him and the
+    rest of their company from their sport, to make another
+    experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not
+    here; now he shall see his own foolery.
+  MRS. FORD. How near is he, Mistress Page?
+  MRS. PAGE. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon.  
+  MRS. FORD. I am undone: the knight is here.
+  MRS. PAGE. Why, then, you are utterly sham'd, and he's but
+    a dead man. What a woman are you! Away with him,
+    away with him; better shame than murder.
+  MRS. FORD. Which way should he go? How should I bestow
+    him? Shall I put him into the basket again?
+
+                  Re-enter FALSTAFF
+
+  FALSTAFF. No, I'll come no more i' th' basket. May I not go
+    out ere he come?
+  MRS. PAGE. Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the
+    door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you
+    might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?
+  FALSTAFF. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney.
+  MRS. FORD. There they always use to discharge their
+    birding-pieces.
+  MRS. PAGE. Creep into the kiln-hole.
+  FALSTAFF. Where is it?
+  MRS. FORD. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press,  
+    coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for
+    the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his
+    note. There is no hiding you in the house.
+  FALSTAFF. I'll go out then.
+  MRS. PAGE. If you go out in your own semblance, you die,
+    Sir John. Unless you go out disguis'd.
+  MRS. FORD. How might we disguise him?
+  MRS. PAGE. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman's
+    gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a
+    hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.
+  FALSTAFF. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity
+    rather than a mischief.
+  MRS. FORD. My Maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has
+    a gown above.
+  MRS. PAGE. On my word, it will serve him; she's as big as he
+    is; and there's her thrumm'd hat, and her muffler too. Run
+    up, Sir John.
+  MRS. FORD. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will
+    look some linen for your head.
+  MRS. PAGE. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight. Put  
+    on the gown the while.                         Exit FALSTAFF
+  MRS. FORD. I would my husband would meet him in this
+    shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he
+    swears she's a witch, forbade her my house, and hath
+    threat'ned to beat her.
+  MRS. PAGE. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel; and
+    the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!
+  MRS. FORD. But is my husband coming?
+  MRS. PAGE. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket
+    too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.
+  MRS. FORD. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry
+    the basket again, to meet him at the door with it as they
+    did last time.
+  MRS. PAGE. Nay, but he'll be here presently; let's go dress
+    him like the witch of Brainford.
+  MRS. FORD. I'll first direct my men what they shall do with
+    the basket. Go up; I'll bring linen for him straight.   Exit
+  MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse
+    him enough.
+    We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,  
+    Wives may be merry and yet honest too.
+    We do not act that often jest and laugh;
+    'Tis old but true: Still swine eats all the draff.      Exit
+
+            Re-enter MISTRESS FORD, with two SERVANTS
+
+  MRS. FORD. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders;
+    your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey
+    him; quickly, dispatch.                                 Exit
+  FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, take it up.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.
+  FIRST SERVANT. I hope not; I had lief as bear so much lead.
+
+    Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS
+
+  FORD. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any
+    way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain!
+    Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly
+    rascals, there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy
+    against me. Now shall the devil be sham'd. What, wife, I  
+    say! Come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you
+    send forth to bleaching.
+  PAGE. Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose
+    any longer; you must be pinion'd.
+  EVANS. Why, this is lunatics. This is mad as a mad dog.
+  SHALLOW. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.
+  FORD. So say I too, sir.
+
+                     Re-enter MISTRESS FORD
+
+    Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest
+    woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath
+    the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause,
+    Mistress, do I?
+  MRS. FORD. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect
+    me in any dishonesty.
+  FORD. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come forth, sirrah.
+                           [Pulling clothes out of the basket]
+  PAGE. This passes!
+  MRS. FORD. Are you not asham'd? Let the clothes alone.  
+  FORD. I shall find you anon.
+  EVANS. 'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife's
+    clothes? Come away.
+  FORD. Empty the basket, I say.
+  MRS. FORD. Why, man, why?
+  FORD. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey'd
+    out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not
+    he be there again? In my house I am sure he is; my
+    intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable.
+    Pluck me out all the linen.
+  MRS. FORD. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's
+    death.
+  PAGE. Here's no man.
+  SHALLOW. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this
+    wrongs you.
+  EVANS. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the
+    imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies.
+  FORD. Well, he's not here I seek for.
+  PAGE. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.
+  FORD. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not  
+    what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for
+    ever be your table sport; let them say of me 'As jealous as
+    Ford, that search'd a hollow walnut for his wife's leman.'
+    Satisfy me once more; once more search with me.
+  MRS. FORD. What, hoa, Mistress Page! Come you and the old
+    woman down; my husband will come into the chamber.
+  FORD. Old woman? what old woman's that?
+  MRS. FORD. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brainford.
+  FORD. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not
+    forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We
+    are simple men; we do not know what's brought to pass
+    under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by
+    charms, by spells, by th' figure, and such daub'ry as this
+    is, beyond our element. We know nothing. Come down, you
+    witch, you hag you; come down, I say.
+  MRS. FORD. Nay, good sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let
+    him not strike the old woman.
+
+   Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman's clothes, and MISTRESS PAGE
+  
+  MRS. PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand.
+  FORD. I'll prat her.  [Beating him]  Out of my door, you
+    witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!
+    Out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you.
+                                                   Exit FALSTAFF
+  MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham'd? I think you have kill'd the
+    poor woman.
+  MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you.
+  FORD. Hang her, witch!
+  EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I
+    like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard
+    under his muffler.
+  FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow;
+    see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no
+    trail, never trust me when I open again.
+  PAGE. Let's obey his humour a little further. Come,
+    gentlemen.            Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE
+  MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
+  MRS. FORD. Nay, by th' mass, that he did not; he beat him
+    most unpitifully methought.  
+  MRS. PAGE. I'll have the cudgel hallow'd and hung o'er the
+    altar; it hath done meritorious service.
+  MRS. FORD. What think you? May we, with the warrant of
+    womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue
+    him with any further revenge?
+  MRS. PAGE. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar'd out of
+    him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and
+    recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste,
+    attempt us again.
+  MRS. FORD. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv'd
+    him?
+  MRS. PAGE. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the
+    figures out of your husband's brains. If they can find in their
+    hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further
+    afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.
+  MRS. FORD. I'll warrant they'll have him publicly sham'd;
+    and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should
+    he not be publicly sham'd.
+  MRS. PAGE. Come, to the forge with it then; shape it. I
+    would not have things cool.                           Exeunt  
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+The Garter Inn
+
+Enter HOST and BARDOLPH
+
+  BARDOLPH. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your
+    horses; the Duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and
+    they are going to meet him.
+  HOST. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear
+    not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen;
+    they speak English?
+  BARDOLPH. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you.
+  HOST. They shall have my horses, but I'll make them pay;
+    I'll sauce them; they have had my house a week at
+    command; I have turn'd away my other guests. They must
+    come off; I'll sauce them. Come.                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4
+
+FORD'S house
+
+Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS
+
+  EVANS. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a oman as ever
+    did look upon.
+  PAGE. And did he send you both these letters at an instant?
+  MRS. PAGE. Within a quarter of an hour.
+  FORD. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt;
+    I rather will suspect the sun with cold
+    Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand,
+    In him that was of late an heretic,
+    As firm as faith.
+  PAGE. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more.
+    Be not as extreme in submission as in offence;
+    But let our plot go forward. Let our wives
+    Yet once again, to make us public sport,
+    Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,
+    Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.  
+  FORD. There is no better way than that they spoke of.
+  PAGE. How? To send him word they'll meet him in the Park
+    at midnight? Fie, fie! he'll never come!
+  EVANS. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has
+    been grievously peaten as an old oman; methinks there
+    should be terrors in him, that he should not come;
+    methinks his flesh is punish'd; he shall have no desires.
+  PAGE. So think I too.
+  MRS. FORD. Devise but how you'll use him when he comes,
+    And let us two devise to bring him thither.
+  MRS. PAGE. There is an old tale goes that Heme the Hunter,
+    Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,
+    Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,
+    Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;
+    And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,
+    And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
+    In a most hideous and dreadful manner.
+    You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know
+    The superstitious idle-headed eld
+    Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age,  
+    This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth.
+  PAGE. Why yet there want not many that do fear
+    In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak.
+    But what of this?
+  MRS. FORD. Marry, this is our device-
+    That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us,
+    Disguis'd, like Heme, with huge horns on his head.
+  PAGE. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come,
+    And in this shape. When you have brought him thither,
+    What shall be done with him? What is your plot?
+  MRS. PAGE. That likewise have we thought upon, and
+    thus:
+    Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,
+    And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress
+    Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white,
+    With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,
+    And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden,
+    As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met,
+    Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once
+    With some diffused song; upon their sight  
+    We two in great amazedness will fly.
+    Then let them all encircle him about,
+    And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight;
+    And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,
+    In their so sacred paths he dares to tread
+    In shape profane.
+  MRS. FORD. And till he tell the truth,
+    Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound,
+    And burn him with their tapers.
+  MRS. PAGE. The truth being known,
+    We'll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit,
+    And mock him home to Windsor.
+  FORD. The children must
+    Be practis'd well to this or they'll nev'r do 't.
+  EVANS. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will
+    be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with my
+    taber.
+  FORD. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards.
+  MRS. PAGE. My Nan shall be the Queen of all the Fairies,
+    Finely attired in a robe of white.  
+  PAGE. That silk will I go buy.  [Aside]  And in that time
+    Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away,
+    And marry her at Eton.-Go, send to Falstaff straight.
+  FORD. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook;
+    He'll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he'll come.
+  MRS. PAGE. Fear not you that. Go get us properties
+    And tricking for our fairies.
+  EVANS. Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures, and fery
+    honest knaveries.               Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS
+  MRS. PAGE. Go, Mistress Ford.
+    Send Quickly to Sir John to know his mind.
+                                                  Exit MRS. FORD
+    I'll to the Doctor; he hath my good will,
+    And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
+    That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;
+    And he my husband best of all affects.
+    The Doctor is well money'd, and his friends
+    Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her,
+    Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her.      Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+
+The Garter Inn
+
+Enter HOST and SIMPLE
+
+  HOST. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin?
+    Speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.
+  SIMPLE. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff
+    from Master Slender.
+  HOST. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his
+    standing-bed and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about with the
+    story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock and can; he'll
+    speak like an Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say.
+  SIMPLE. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into
+    his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down;
+    I come to speak with her, indeed.
+  HOST. Ha! a fat woman? The knight may be robb'd. I'll call.
+    Bully knight! Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs
+    military. Art thou there? It is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls.
+  FALSTAFF.  [Above]  How now, mine host?
+  HOST. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of  
+    thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend;
+    my chambers are honourible. Fie, privacy, fie!
+
+                    Enter FALSTAFF
+
+  FALSTAFF. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even
+    now with, me; but she's gone.
+  SIMPLE. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of
+    Brainford?
+  FALSTAFF. Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you
+    with her?
+  SIMPLE. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her,
+    seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one
+    Nym, sir, that beguil'd him of a chain, had the chain or no.
+  FALSTAFF. I spake with the old woman about it.
+  SIMPLE. And what says she, I pray, sir?
+  FALSTAFF Marry, she says that the very same man that
+    beguil'd Master Slender of his chain cozen'd him of it.
+  SIMPLE. I would I could have spoken with the woman
+    herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too,  
+    from him.
+  FALSTAFF. What are they? Let us know.
+  HOST. Ay, come; quick.
+  SIMPLE. I may not conceal them, sir.
+  FALSTAFF. Conceal them, or thou diest.
+    SIMPLE.. Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress
+    Anne Page: to know if it were my master's fortune to
+    have her or no.
+  FALSTAFF. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune.
+  SIMPLE. What sir?
+  FALSTAFF. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me
+    so.
+  SIMPLE. May I be bold to say so, sir?
+  FALSTAFF. Ay, sir, like who more bold?
+  SIMPLE., I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad
+    with these tidings.                              Exit SIMPLE
+  HOST. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was
+    there a wise woman with thee?
+  FALSTAFF. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath
+    taught me more wit than ever I learn'd before in my life;  
+    and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my
+    learning.
+
+                    Enter BARDOLPH
+
+  BARDOLPH. Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage!
+  HOST. Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto.
+  BARDOLPH. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I
+    came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of
+    them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away, like
+    three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.
+  HOST. They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain; do not
+    say they be fled. Germans are honest men.
+
+                 Enter SIR HUGH EVANS
+
+  EVANS. Where is mine host?
+  HOST. What is the matter, sir?
+  EVANS. Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend
+    of mine come to town tells me there is three  
+    cozen-germans that has cozen'd all the hosts of Readins,
+    of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for
+    good will, look you; you are wise, and full of gibes and
+    vlouting-stogs, and 'tis not convenient you should be
+    cozened. Fare you well.                                 Exit
+
+                  Enter DOCTOR CAIUS
+
+  CAIUS. Vere is mine host de Jarteer?
+  HOST. Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful
+    dilemma.
+  CAIUS. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me dat you
+    make grand preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my
+    trot, dere is no duke that the court is know to come; I
+    tell you for good will. Adieu.                          Exit
+  HOST. Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight; I am
+    undone. Fly, run, hue and cry, villain; I am undone.
+                                        Exeunt HOST and BARDOLPH
+  FALSTAFF. I would all the world might be cozen'd, for I have
+    been cozen'd and beaten too. If it should come to the car  
+    of the court how I have been transformed, and how my
+    transformation hath been wash'd and cudgell'd, they
+    would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor
+    fishermen's boots with me; I warrant they would whip me
+    with their fine wits till I were as crestfall'n as a dried pear.
+    I never prosper'd since I forswore myself at primero. Well,
+    if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers,
+    would repent.
+
+                Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY
+
+    Now! whence come you?
+  QUICKLY. From the two parties, forsooth.
+  FALSTAFF. The devil take one party and his dam the other!
+    And so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffer'd more
+    for their sakes, more than the villainous inconstancy of
+    man's disposition is able to bear.
+  QUICKLY. And have not they suffer'd? Yes, I warrant;
+    speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten
+    black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her.  
+  FALSTAFF. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was
+    beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and
+    was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford. But
+    that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the
+    action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable
+    had set me i' th' stocks, i' th' common stocks, for a witch.
+  QUICKLY. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; you
+    shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your content.
+    Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado
+    here is to bring you together! Sure, one of you does not
+    serve heaven well, that you are so cross'd.
+  FALSTAFF. Come up into my chamber.                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 6.
+
+The Garter Inn
+
+Enter FENTON and HOST
+
+  HOST. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy; I
+    will give over all.
+  FENTON. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,
+    And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give the
+    A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.
+  HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least,
+    keep your counsel.
+  FENTON. From time to time I have acquainted you
+    With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;
+    Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection,
+    So far forth as herself might be her chooser,
+    Even to my wish. I have a letter from her
+    Of such contents as you will wonder at;
+    The mirth whereof so larded with my matter
+    That neither, singly, can be manifested
+    Without the show of both. Fat Falstaff  
+    Hath a great scene. The image of the jest
+    I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host:
+    To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one,
+    Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen-
+    The purpose why is here-in which disguise,
+    While other jests are something rank on foot,
+    Her father hath commanded her to slip
+    Away with Slender, and with him at Eton
+    Immediately to marry; she hath consented.
+    Now, sir,
+    Her mother, even strong against that match
+    And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed
+    That he shall likewise shuffle her away
+    While other sports are tasking of their minds,
+    And at the dean'ry, where a priest attends,
+    Straight marry her. To this her mother's plot
+    She seemingly obedient likewise hath
+    Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests:
+    Her father means she shall be all in white;
+    And in that habit, when Slender sees his time  
+    To take her by the hand and bid her go,
+    She shall go with him; her mother hath intended
+    The better to denote her to the doctor-
+    For they must all be mask'd and vizarded-
+    That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd,
+    With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head;
+    And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,
+    To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token,
+    The maid hath given consent to go with him.
+  HOST. Which means she to deceive, father or mother?
+  FENTON. Both, my good host, to go along with me.
+    And here it rests-that you'll procure the vicar
+    To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one,
+    And in the lawful name of marrying,
+    To give our hearts united ceremony.
+  HOST. Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar.
+    Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.
+  FENTON. So shall I evermore be bound to thee;
+    Besides, I'll make a present recompense.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+
+The Garter Inn
+
+Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY
+
+  FALSTAFF. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll, hold. This is
+    the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.
+    Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either
+    in nativity, chance, or death. Away.
+  QUICKLY. I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I can to
+    get you a pair of horns.
+  FALSTAFF. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and
+    mince.                                     Exit MRS. QUICKLY
+
+                 Enter FORD disguised
+
+    How now, Master Brook. Master Brook, the matter will
+    be known tonight or never. Be you in the Park about
+    midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see wonders.
+  FORD. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me
+    you had appointed?  
+  FALSTAFF. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a
+    poor old man; but I came from her, Master Brook, like a
+    poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband, hath
+    the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that
+    ever govern'd frenzy. I will tell you-he beat me grievously
+    in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master
+    Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because
+    I know also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along with
+    me; I'll. tell you all, Master Brook. Since I pluck'd geese,
+    play'd truant, and whipp'd top, I knew not what 'twas to
+    be beaten till lately. Follow me. I'll tell you strange things
+    of this knave-Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged,
+    and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange
+    things in hand, Master Brook! Follow.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+Windsor Park
+
+Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER
+
+  PAGE. Come, come; we'll couch i' th' Castle ditch till we
+    see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter.
+  SLENDER. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have
+    a nay-word how to know one another. I come to her in
+    white and cry 'mum'; she cries 'budget,' and by that we
+    know one another.
+  SHALLOW. That's good too; but what needs either your mum
+    or her budget? The white will decipher her well enough.
+    It hath struck ten o'clock.
+  PAGE. The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well.
+    Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the
+    devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let's away;
+    follow me.                                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+A street leading to the Park
+
+Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and DOCTOR CAIUS
+
+  MRS. PAGE. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green; when
+    you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to
+    the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the
+    Park; we two must go together.
+  CAIUS. I know vat I have to do; adieu.
+  MRS. PAGE. Fare you well, sir.  [Exit CAIUS]  My husband
+    will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will
+    chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter; but 'tis no
+    matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of
+    heartbreak.
+  MRS. FORD. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and
+    the Welsh devil, Hugh?
+  MRS. PAGE. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Heme's
+    oak, with obscur'd lights; which, at the very instant of
+    Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once display to the
+    night.
+  MRS. FORD. That cannot choose but amaze him.
+  MRS. PAGE. If he be not amaz'd, he will be mock'd; if he be  
+    amaz'd, he will every way be mock'd.
+  MRS. FORD. We'll betray him finely.
+  MRS. PAGE. Against such lewdsters and their lechery,
+    Those that betray them do no treachery.
+  MRS. FORD. The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+Windsor Park
+
+Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, with OTHERS as fairies
+
+  EVANS. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts.
+    Be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I
+    give the watch-ords, do as I pid you. Come, come; trib,
+    trib.                                                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+
+Another part of the Park
+
+Enter FALSTAFF disguised as HERNE
+
+  FALSTAFF. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute
+    draws on. Now the hot-blooded gods assist me!
+    Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy
+    horns. O powerful love! that in some respects makes a
+    beast a man; in some other a man a beast. You were also,
+    Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love!
+    how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A
+    fault done first in the form of a beast-O Jove, a beastly
+    fault!-and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl-
+    think on't, Jove, a foul fault! When gods have hot backs
+    what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor
+    stag; and the fattest, I think, i' th' forest. Send me a cool
+    rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow?
+    Who comes here? my doe?
+
+        Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE  
+
+  MRS. FORD. Sir John! Art thou there, my deer, my male deer.
+  FALSTAFF. My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain
+    potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves, hail
+    kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest
+    of provocation, I will shelter me here.      [Embracing her]
+  MRS. FORD. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.
+  FALSTAFF. Divide me like a brib'd buck, each a haunch; I
+    will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow
+    of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am
+    I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Heme the Hunter? Why,
+    now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution.
+    As I am a true spirit, welcome!           [A noise of horns]
+  MRS. PAGE. Alas, what noise?
+  MRS. FORD. Heaven forgive our sins!
+  FALSTAFF. What should this be?
+  MRS. FORD. } Away, away.
+  MRS. PAGE. } Away, away.                        [They run off]
+  FALSTAFF. I think the devil will not have me damn'd, lest the
+    oil that's in me should set hell on fire; he would never else  
+    cross me thus.
+
+        Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, ANNE PAGE as
+      a fairy, and OTHERS as the Fairy Queen, fairies, and
+               Hobgoblin; all with tapers
+
+  FAIRY QUEEN. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,
+    You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,
+    You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,
+    Attend your office and your quality.
+    Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.
+  PUCK. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.
+    Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap;
+    Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept,
+    There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry;
+    Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery.
+  FALSTAFF. They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die.
+    I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.
+                                       [Lies down upon his face]
+  EVANS. Where's Pede? Go you, and where you find a maid  
+    That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said,
+    Raise up the organs of her fantasy
+    Sleep she as sound as careless infancy;
+    But those as sleep and think not on their sins,
+    Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.
+  FAIRY QUEEN. About, about;
+    Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out;
+    Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room,
+    That it may stand till the perpetual doom
+    In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit,
+    Worthy the owner and the owner it.
+    The several chairs of order look you scour
+    With juice of balm and every precious flower;
+    Each fair instalment, coat, and sev'ral crest,
+    With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!
+    And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,
+    Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring;
+    Th' expressure that it bears, green let it be,
+    More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;
+    And 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' write  
+    In em'rald tufts, flow'rs purple, blue and white;
+    Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,
+    Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee.
+    Fairies use flow'rs for their charactery.
+    Away, disperse; but till 'tis one o'clock,
+    Our dance of custom round about the oak
+    Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget.
+  EVANS. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set;
+    And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
+    To guide our measure round about the tree.
+    But, stay. I smell a man of middle earth.
+  FALSTAFF. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he
+    transform me to a piece of cheese!
+  PUCK. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
+  FAIRY QUEEN. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end;
+    If he be chaste, the flame will back descend,
+    And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
+    It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
+  PUCK. A trial, come.
+  EVANS. Come, will this wood take fire?  
+             [They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts]
+  FALSTAFF. Oh, oh, oh!
+  FAIRY QUEEN. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!
+    About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;
+    And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
+  THE SONG.
+    Fie on sinful fantasy!
+    Fie on lust and luxury!
+    Lust is but a bloody fire,
+    Kindled with unchaste desire,
+    Fed in heart, whose flames aspire,
+    As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.
+    Pinch him, fairies, mutually;
+    Pinch him for his villainy;
+    Pinch him and burn him and turn him about,
+    Till candles and star-light and moonshine be out.
+
+        During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR
+        CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in
+        green; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in  
+        white; and FENTON steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise
+        of hunting is heard within. All the fairies run away.
+        FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises
+
+       Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and
+                        SIR HUGH EVANS
+
+  PAGE. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now.
+    Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn?
+  MRS. PAGE. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher.
+    Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?
+    See you these, husband? Do not these fair yokes
+    Become the forest better than the town?
+  FORD. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook,
+    Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns,
+    Master Brook; and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of
+    Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds
+    of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses
+    are arrested for it, Master Brook.
+  MRS. FORD. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never  
+    meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will
+    always count you my deer.
+  FALSTAFF. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.
+  FORD. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant.
+  FALSTAFF. And these are not fairies? I was three or four
+    times in the thought they were not fairies; and yet the
+    guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers,
+    drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief,
+    in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they
+    were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent
+    when 'tis upon ill employment.
+  EVANS. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires,
+    and fairies will not pinse you.
+  FORD. Well said, fairy Hugh.
+  EVANS. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.
+  FORD. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able
+    to woo her in good English.
+  FALSTAFF. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that
+    it wants matter to prevent so gross, o'er-reaching as this?
+    Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? Shall I have a cox-comb  
+    of frieze? 'Tis time I were chok'd with a piece of
+    toasted cheese.
+  EVANS. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all
+    putter.
+  FALSTAFF. 'Seese' and 'putter'! Have I liv'd to stand at the
+    taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough
+    to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm.
+  MRS. PAGE. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would
+    have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and
+    shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell,
+    that ever the devil could have made you our delight?
+  FORD. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?
+  MRS. PAGE. A puff'd man?
+  PAGE. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails?
+  FORD. And one that is as slanderous as Satan?
+  PAGE. And as poor as Job?
+  FORD. And as wicked as his wife?
+  EVANS. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack,
+    and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings,
+    and starings, pribbles and prabbles?  
+  FALSTAFF. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me;
+    I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel;
+    ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me; use me as you will.
+  FORD. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one Master
+    Brook, that you have cozen'd of money, to whom you
+    should have been a pander. Over and above that you have
+    suffer'd, I think to repay that money will be a biting
+    affliction.
+  PAGE. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt eat a posset
+    tonight at my house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my
+    wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath
+    married her daughter.
+  MRS. PAGE.  [Aside]  Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be
+    my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius' wife.
+
+                        Enter SLENDER
+
+  SLENDER. Whoa, ho, ho, father Page!
+  PAGE. Son, how now! how now, son! Have you dispatch'd'?
+  SLENDER. Dispatch'd! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire  
+    know on't; would I were hang'd, la, else!
+  PAGE. Of what, son?
+  SLENDER. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne
+    Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i'
+    th' church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have
+    swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page,
+    would I might never stir!-and 'tis a postmaster's boy.
+  PAGE. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.
+  SLENDER. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I
+    took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all
+    he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him.
+  PAGE. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how
+    you should know my daughter by her garments?
+  SLENDER. I went to her in white and cried 'mum' and she
+    cried 'budget' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was
+    not Anne, but a postmaster's boy.
+  MRS. PAGE. Good George, be not angry. I knew of your
+    purpose; turn'd my daughter into green; and, indeed, she
+    is now with the Doctor at the dean'ry, and there married.
+  
+                         Enter CAIUS
+
+  CAIUS. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha'
+    married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is
+    not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.
+  MRS. PAGE. Why, did you take her in green?
+  CAIUS. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy; be gar, I'll raise all
+    Windsor.                                          Exit CAIUS
+  FORD. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?
+  PAGE. My heart misgives me; here comes Master Fenton.
+
+                  Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE
+
+    How now, Master Fenton!
+  ANNE. Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon.
+  PAGE. Now, Mistress, how chance you went not with Master
+    Slender?
+  MRS. PAGE. Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid?
+  FENTON. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it.
+    You would have married her most shamefully,  
+    Where there was no proportion held in love.
+    The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,
+    Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.
+    Th' offence is holy that she hath committed;
+    And this deceit loses the name of craft,
+    Of disobedience, or unduteous title,
+    Since therein she doth evitate and shun
+    A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
+    Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.
+  FORD. Stand not amaz'd; here is no remedy.
+    In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;
+    Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
+  FALSTAFF. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand
+    to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd.
+  PAGE. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!
+    What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd.
+  FALSTAFF. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd.
+  MRS. PAGE. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,
+    Heaven give you many, many merry days!
+    Good husband, let us every one go home,  
+    And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;
+    Sir John and all.
+  FORD. Let it be so. Sir John,
+    To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word;
+    For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford.       Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1596
+
+A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  THESEUS, Duke of Athens
+  EGEUS, father to Hermia
+  LYSANDER, in love with Hermia
+  DEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia
+  PHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus
+  QUINCE, a carpenter
+  SNUG, a joiner
+  BOTTOM, a weaver
+  FLUTE, a bellows-mender
+  SNOUT, a tinker
+  STARVELING, a tailor
+
+  HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, bethrothed to Theseus
+  HERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander
+  HELENA, in love with Demetrius
+
+  OBERON, King of the Fairies
+  TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies
+  PUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW
+  PEASEBLOSSOM, fairy  
+  COBWEB, fairy
+  MOTH, fairy
+  MUSTARDSEED, fairy
+
+  PROLOGUE, PYRAMUS, THISBY, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION are presented by:
+    QUINCE, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, STARVELING, AND SNUG
+
+  Other Fairies attending their King and Queen
+  Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Athens and a wood near it
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Athens. The palace of THESEUS
+
+Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  THESEUS. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
+    Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
+    Another moon; but, O, methinks, how slow
+    This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,
+    Like to a step-dame or a dowager,
+    Long withering out a young man's revenue.
+  HIPPOLYTA. Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
+    Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
+    And then the moon, like to a silver bow
+    New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
+    Of our solemnities.
+  THESEUS. Go, Philostrate,
+    Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
+    Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
+    Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
+    The pale companion is not for our pomp.     Exit PHILOSTRATE
+    Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,  
+    And won thy love doing thee injuries;
+    But I will wed thee in another key,
+    With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.
+
+          Enter EGEUS, and his daughter HERMIA, LYSANDER,
+                           and DEMETRIUS
+
+  EGEUS. Happy be Theseus, our renowned Duke!
+  THESEUS. Thanks, good Egeus; what's the news with thee?
+  EGEUS. Full of vexation come I, with complaint
+    Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
+    Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
+    This man hath my consent to marry her.
+    Stand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke,
+    This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child.
+    Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
+    And interchang'd love-tokens with my child;
+    Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
+    With feigning voice, verses of feigning love,
+    And stol'n the impression of her fantasy  
+    With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
+    Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats- messengers
+    Of strong prevailment in unhardened youth;
+    With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart;
+    Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
+    To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke,
+    Be it so she will not here before your Grace
+    Consent to marry with Demetrius,
+    I beg the ancient privilege of Athens:
+    As she is mine I may dispose of her;
+    Which shall be either to this gentleman
+    Or to her death, according to our law
+    Immediately provided in that case.
+  THESEUS. What say you, Hermia? Be advis'd, fair maid.
+    To you your father should be as a god;
+    One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one
+    To whom you are but as a form in wax,
+    By him imprinted, and within his power
+    To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
+    Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.  
+  HERMIA. So is Lysander.
+  THESEUS. In himself he is;
+    But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
+    The other must be held the worthier.
+  HERMIA. I would my father look'd but with my eyes.
+  THESEUS. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.
+  HERMIA. I do entreat your Grace to pardon me.
+    I know not by what power I am made bold,
+    Nor how it may concern my modesty
+    In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
+    But I beseech your Grace that I may know
+    The worst that may befall me in this case,
+    If I refuse to wed Demetrius.
+  THESEUS. Either to die the death, or to abjure
+    For ever the society of men.
+    Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
+    Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
+    Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
+    You can endure the livery of a nun,
+    For aye to be shady cloister mew'd,  
+    To live a barren sister all your life,
+    Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
+    Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood
+    To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
+    But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd
+    Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
+    Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
+  HERMIA. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
+    Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
+    Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
+    My soul consents not to give sovereignty.
+  THESEUS. Take time to pause; and by the next new moon-
+    The sealing-day betwixt my love and me
+    For everlasting bond of fellowship-
+    Upon that day either prepare to die
+    For disobedience to your father's will,
+    Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would,
+    Or on Diana's altar to protest
+    For aye austerity and single life.
+  DEMETRIUS. Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield  
+    Thy crazed title to my certain right.
+  LYSANDER. You have her father's love, Demetrius;
+    Let me have Hermia's; do you marry him.
+  EGEUS. Scornful Lysander, true, he hath my love;
+    And what is mine my love shall render him;
+    And she is mine; and all my right of her
+    I do estate unto Demetrius.
+  LYSANDER. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he,
+    As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
+    My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,
+    If not with vantage, as Demetrius';
+    And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
+    I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia.
+    Why should not I then prosecute my right?
+    Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
+    Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
+    And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
+    Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
+    Upon this spotted and inconstant man.
+  THESEUS. I must confess that I have heard so much,  
+    And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
+    But, being over-full of self-affairs,
+    My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;
+    And come, Egeus; you shall go with me;
+    I have some private schooling for you both.
+    For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
+    To fit your fancies to your father's will,
+    Or else the law of Athens yields you up-
+    Which by no means we may extenuate-
+    To death, or to a vow of single life.
+    Come, my Hippolyta; what cheer, my love?
+    Demetrius, and Egeus, go along;
+    I must employ you in some business
+    Against our nuptial, and confer with you
+    Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.
+  EGEUS. With duty and desire we follow you.
+                              Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA
+  LYSANDER. How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale?
+    How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
+  HERMIA. Belike for want of rain, which I could well  
+    Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.
+  LYSANDER. Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
+    Could ever hear by tale or history,
+    The course of true love never did run smooth;
+    But either it was different in blood-
+  HERMIA. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low.
+  LYSANDER. Or else misgraffed in respect of years-
+  HERMIA. O spite! too old to be engag'd to young.
+  LYSANDER. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends-
+  HERMIA. O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.
+  LYSANDER. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
+    War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it,
+    Making it momentary as a sound,
+    Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
+    Brief as the lightning in the collied night
+    That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
+    And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
+    The jaws of darkness do devour it up;
+    So quick bright things come to confusion.
+  HERMIA. If then true lovers have ever cross'd,  
+    It stands as an edict in destiny.
+    Then let us teach our trial patience,
+    Because it is a customary cross,
+    As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
+    Wishes and tears, poor Fancy's followers.
+  LYSANDER. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia.
+    I have a widow aunt, a dowager
+    Of great revenue, and she hath no child-
+    From Athens is her house remote seven leagues-
+    And she respects me as her only son.
+    There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
+    And to that place the sharp Athenian law
+    Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,
+    Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
+    And in the wood, a league without the town,
+    Where I did meet thee once with Helena
+    To do observance to a morn of May,
+    There will I stay for thee.
+  HERMIA. My good Lysander!
+    I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow,  
+    By his best arrow, with the golden head,
+    By the simplicity of Venus' doves,
+    By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
+    And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage Queen,
+    When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
+    By all the vows that ever men have broke,
+    In number more than ever women spoke,
+    In that same place thou hast appointed me,
+    To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
+  LYSANDER. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.
+
+                         Enter HELENA
+
+  HERMIA. God speed fair Helena! Whither away?
+  HELENA. Call you me fair? That fair again unsay.
+    Demetrius loves your fair. O happy fair!
+    Your eyes are lode-stars and your tongue's sweet air
+    More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
+    When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
+    Sickness is catching; O, were favour so,  
+    Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go!
+    My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
+    My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
+    Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
+    The rest I'd give to be to you translated.
+    O, teach me how you look, and with what art
+    You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart!
+  HERMIA. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
+  HELENA. O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!
+  HERMIA. I give him curses, yet he gives me love.
+  HELENA. O that my prayers could such affection move!
+  HERMIA. The more I hate, the more he follows me.
+  HELENA. The more I love, the more he hateth me.
+  HERMIA. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
+  HELENA. None, but your beauty; would that fault were mine!
+  HERMIA. Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
+    Lysander and myself will fly this place.
+    Before the time I did Lysander see,
+    Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me.
+    O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,  
+    That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!
+  LYSANDER. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
+    To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
+    Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass,
+    Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
+    A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,
+    Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal.
+  HERMIA. And in the wood where often you and I
+    Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,
+    Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
+    There my Lysander and myself shall meet;
+    And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
+    To seek new friends and stranger companies.
+    Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us,
+    And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
+    Keep word, Lysander; we must starve our sight
+    From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight.
+  LYSANDER. I will, my Hermia. [Exit HERMIA] Helena, adieu;
+    As you on him, Demetrius dote on you.                   Exit
+  HELENA. How happy some o'er other some can be!  
+    Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
+    But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
+    He will not know what all but he do know.
+    And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
+    So I, admiring of his qualities.
+    Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
+    Love can transpose to form and dignity.
+    Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
+    And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.
+    Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste;
+    Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste;
+    And therefore is Love said to be a child,
+    Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.
+    As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
+    So the boy Love is perjur'd everywhere;
+    For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,
+    He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;
+    And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
+    So he dissolv'd, and show'rs of oaths did melt.
+    I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight;  
+    Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
+    Pursue her; and for this intelligence
+    If I have thanks, it is a dear expense.
+    But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
+    To have his sight thither and back again.               Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Athens. QUINCE'S house
+
+Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
+
+  QUINCE. Is all our company here?
+  BOTTOM. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according
+    to the scrip.
+  QUINCE. Here is the scroll of every man's name which is thought
+    fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke
+    and the Duchess on his wedding-day at night.
+  BOTTOM. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then
+    read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point.
+  QUINCE. Marry, our play is 'The most Lamentable Comedy and most
+    Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisby.'
+  BOTTOM. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now,
+    good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters,
+    spread yourselves.
+  QUINCE. Answer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.
+  BOTTOM. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.
+  QUINCE. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.  
+  BOTTOM. What is Pyramus? A lover, or a tyrant?
+  QUINCE. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.
+  BOTTOM. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I
+    do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms; I
+    will condole in some measure. To the rest- yet my chief humour is
+    for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat
+    in, to make all split.
+
+                 'The raging rocks
+                 And shivering shocks
+                 Shall break the locks
+                   Of prison gates;
+
+                 And Phibbus' car
+                 Shall shine from far,
+                 And make and mar
+                   The foolish Fates.'
+
+    This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is
+    Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein: a lover is more condoling.  
+  QUINCE. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
+  FLUTE. Here, Peter Quince.
+  QUINCE. Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
+  FLUTE. What is Thisby? A wand'ring knight?
+  QUINCE. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
+  FLUTE. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have a beard coming.
+  QUINCE. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may
+    speak as small as you will.
+  BOTTOM. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too.
+    I'll speak in a monstrous little voice: 'Thisne, Thisne!'
+    [Then speaking small] 'Ah Pyramus, my lover dear! Thy
+    Thisby dear, and lady dear!'
+  QUINCE. No, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisby.
+  BOTTOM. Well, proceed.
+  QUINCE. Robin Starveling, the tailor.
+  STARVELING. Here, Peter Quince.
+  QUINCE. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.
+    Tom Snout, the tinker.
+  SNOUT. Here, Peter Quince.
+  QUINCE. You, Pyramus' father; myself, Thisby's father; Snug, the  
+    joiner, you, the lion's part. And, I hope, here is a play fitted.
+  SNUG. Have you the lion's part written? Pray you, if it be, give it
+    me, for I am slow of study.
+  QUINCE. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
+  BOTTOM. Let me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any
+    man's heart good to hear me; I will roar that I will make the
+    Duke say 'Let him roar again, let him roar again.'
+  QUINCE. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the
+    Duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek; and that were
+    enough to hang us all.
+  ALL. That would hang us, every mother's son.
+  BOTTOM. I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out
+    of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us;
+    but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently
+    as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.
+  QUINCE. You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a
+    sweet-fac'd man; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's
+    day; a most lovely gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs
+    play Pyramus.
+  BOTTOM. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play  
+    it in?
+  QUINCE. Why, what you will.
+  BOTTOM. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your
+    orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your
+    French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.
+  QUINCE. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then
+    you will play bare-fac'd. But, masters, here are your parts; and
+    I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con them by
+    to-morrow night; and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without
+    the town, by moonlight; there will we rehearse; for if we meet in
+    the city, we shall be dogg'd with company, and our devices known.
+    In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such as our
+    play wants. I pray you, fail me not.
+  BOTTOM. We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and
+    courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu.
+  QUINCE. At the Duke's oak we meet.
+  BOTTOM. Enough; hold, or cut bow-strings.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+A wood near Athens
+
+Enter a FAIRY at One door, and PUCK at another
+
+  PUCK. How now, spirit! whither wander you?
+  FAIRY.      Over hill, over dale,
+                Thorough bush, thorough brier,
+              Over park, over pale,
+                Thorough flood, thorough fire,
+              I do wander every where,
+              Swifter than the moon's sphere;
+              And I serve the Fairy Queen,
+              To dew her orbs upon the green.
+              The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
+              In their gold coats spots you see;
+              Those be rubies, fairy favours,
+              In those freckles live their savours.
+
+    I must go seek some dewdrops here,
+    And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
+    Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone.  
+    Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.
+  PUCK. The King doth keep his revels here to-night;
+    Take heed the Queen come not within his sight;
+    For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
+    Because that she as her attendant hath
+    A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king.
+    She never had so sweet a changeling;
+    And jealous Oberon would have the child
+    Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;
+    But she perforce withholds the loved boy,
+    Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.
+    And now they never meet in grove or green,
+    By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
+    But they do square, that all their elves for fear
+    Creep into acorn cups and hide them there.
+  FAIRY. Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
+    Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
+    Call'd Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he
+    That frights the maidens of the villagery,
+    Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,  
+    And bootless make the breathless housewife churn,
+    And sometime make the drink to bear no barm,
+    Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
+    Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
+    You do their work, and they shall have good luck.
+    Are not you he?
+  PUCK. Thou speakest aright:
+    I am that merry wanderer of the night.
+    I jest to Oberon, and make him smile
+    When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
+    Neighing in likeness of a filly foal;
+    And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl
+    In very likeness of a roasted crab,
+    And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
+    And on her withered dewlap pour the ale.
+    The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
+    Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
+    Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,
+    And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;
+    And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,  
+    And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear
+    A merrier hour was never wasted there.
+    But room, fairy, here comes Oberon.
+  FAIRY. And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!
+
+       Enter OBERON at one door, with his TRAIN, and TITANIA,
+                        at another, with hers
+
+  OBERON. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
+  TITANIA. What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence;
+    I have forsworn his bed and company.
+  OBERON. Tarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord?
+  TITANIA. Then I must be thy lady; but I know
+    When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,
+    And in the shape of Corin sat all day,
+    Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
+    To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
+    Come from the farthest steep of India,
+    But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
+    Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love,  
+    To Theseus must be wedded, and you come
+    To give their bed joy and prosperity?
+  OBERON. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
+    Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
+    Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
+    Didst not thou lead him through the glimmering night
+    From Perigouna, whom he ravished?
+    And make him with fair Aegles break his faith,
+    With Ariadne and Antiopa?
+  TITANIA. These are the forgeries of jealousy;
+    And never, since the middle summer's spring,
+    Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
+    By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,
+    Or in the beached margent of the sea,
+    To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
+    But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
+    Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
+    As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
+    Contagious fogs; which, falling in the land,
+    Hath every pelting river made so proud  
+    That they have overborne their continents.
+    The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,
+    The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
+    Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;
+    The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
+    And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
+    The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud,
+    And the quaint mazes in the wanton green,
+    For lack of tread, are undistinguishable.
+    The human mortals want their winter here;
+    No night is now with hymn or carol blest;
+    Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
+    Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
+    That rheumatic diseases do abound.
+    And thorough this distemperature we see
+    The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
+    Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;
+    And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown
+    An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
+    Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,  
+    The childing autumn, angry winter, change
+    Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world,
+    By their increase, now knows not which is which.
+    And this same progeny of evils comes
+    From our debate, from our dissension;
+    We are their parents and original.
+  OBERON. Do you amend it, then; it lies in you.
+    Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
+    I do but beg a little changeling boy
+    To be my henchman.
+  TITANIA. Set your heart at rest;
+    The fairy land buys not the child of me.
+    His mother was a vot'ress of my order;
+    And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
+    Full often hath she gossip'd by my side;
+    And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,
+    Marking th' embarked traders on the flood;
+    When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive,
+    And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
+    Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait  
+    Following- her womb then rich with my young squire-
+    Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
+    To fetch me trifles, and return again,
+    As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
+    But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
+    And for her sake do I rear up her boy;
+    And for her sake I will not part with him.
+  OBERON. How long within this wood intend you stay?
+  TITANIA. Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day.
+    If you will patiently dance in our round,
+    And see our moonlight revels, go with us;
+    If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
+  OBERON. Give me that boy and I will go with thee.
+  TITANIA. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away.
+    We shall chide downright if I longer stay.
+                                     Exit TITANIA with her train
+  OBERON. Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove
+    Till I torment thee for this injury.
+    My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb'rest
+    Since once I sat upon a promontory,  
+    And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back
+    Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
+    That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
+    And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
+    To hear the sea-maid's music.
+  PUCK. I remember.
+  OBERON. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,
+    Flying between the cold moon and the earth
+    Cupid, all arm'd; a certain aim he took
+    At a fair vestal, throned by the west,
+    And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
+    As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;
+    But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
+    Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon;
+    And the imperial vot'ress passed on,
+    In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
+    Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell.
+    It fell upon a little western flower,
+    Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
+    And maidens call it Love-in-idleness.  
+    Fetch me that flow'r, the herb I showed thee once.
+    The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
+    Will make or man or woman madly dote
+    Upon the next live creature that it sees.
+    Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again
+    Ere the leviathan can swim a league.
+  PUCK. I'll put a girdle round about the earth
+    In forty minutes.                                  Exit PUCK
+  OBERON. Having once this juice,
+    I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
+    And drop the liquor of it in her eyes;
+    The next thing then she waking looks upon,
+    Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
+    On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,
+    She shall pursue it with the soul of love.
+    And ere I take this charm from off her sight,
+    As I can take it with another herb,
+    I'll make her render up her page to me.
+    But who comes here? I am invisible;
+    And I will overhear their conference.  
+
+               Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA following him
+
+  DEMETRIUS. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
+    Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
+    The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.
+    Thou told'st me they were stol'n unto this wood,
+    And here am I, and wood within this wood,
+    Because I cannot meet my Hermia.
+    Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
+  HELENA. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;
+    But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
+    Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw,
+    And I shall have no power to follow you.
+  DEMETRIUS. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair?
+    Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
+    Tell you I do not nor I cannot love you?
+  HELENA. And even for that do I love you the more.
+    I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
+    The more you beat me, I will fawn on you.  
+    Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
+    Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
+    Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
+    What worser place can I beg in your love,
+    And yet a place of high respect with me,
+    Than to be used as you use your dog?
+  DEMETRIUS. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
+    For I am sick when I do look on thee.
+  HELENA. And I am sick when I look not on you.
+  DEMETRIUS. You do impeach your modesty too much
+    To leave the city and commit yourself
+    Into the hands of one that loves you not;
+    To trust the opportunity of night,
+    And the ill counsel of a desert place,
+    With the rich worth of your virginity.
+  HELENA. Your virtue is my privilege for that:
+    It is not night when I do see your face,
+    Therefore I think I am not in the night;
+    Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,
+    For you, in my respect, are all the world.  
+    Then how can it be said I am alone
+    When all the world is here to look on me?
+  DEMETRIUS. I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
+    And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
+  HELENA. The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
+    Run when you will; the story shall be chang'd:
+    Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;
+    The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
+    Makes speed to catch the tiger- bootless speed,
+    When cowardice pursues and valour flies.
+  DEMETRIUS. I will not stay thy questions; let me go;
+    Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
+    But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.
+  HELENA. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,
+    You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
+    Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.
+    We cannot fight for love as men may do;
+    We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo.
+                                                  Exit DEMETRIUS
+    I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,  
+    To die upon the hand I love so well.             Exit HELENA
+  OBERON. Fare thee well, nymph; ere he do leave this grove,
+    Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.
+
+                            Re-enter PUCK
+
+    Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.
+  PUCK. Ay, there it is.
+  OBERON. I pray thee give it me.
+    I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
+    Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
+    Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
+    With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine;
+    There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
+    Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
+    And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
+    Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in;
+    And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,
+    And make her full of hateful fantasies.
+    Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:  
+    A sweet Athenian lady is in love
+    With a disdainful youth; anoint his eyes;
+    But do it when the next thing he espies
+    May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man
+    By the Athenian garments he hath on.
+    Effect it with some care, that he may prove
+    More fond on her than she upon her love.
+    And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
+  PUCK. Fear not, my lord; your servant shall do so.      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Another part of the wood
+
+Enter TITANIA, with her train
+
+  TITANIA. Come now, a roundel and a fairy song;
+    Then, for the third part of a minute, hence:
+    Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;
+    Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,
+    To make my small elves coats; and some keep back
+    The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders
+    At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
+    Then to your offices, and let me rest.
+
+                          The FAIRIES Sing
+
+  FIRST FAIRY. You spotted snakes with double tongue,
+               Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
+               Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
+               Come not near our fairy Queen.
+  CHORUS.      Philomel with melody
+               Sing in our sweet lullaby.  
+               Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.
+               Never harm
+               Nor spell nor charm
+               Come our lovely lady nigh.
+               So good night, with lullaby.
+  SECOND FAIRY.  Weaving spiders, come not here;
+                 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence.
+                 Beetles black, approach not near;
+                 Worm nor snail do no offence.
+  CHORUS.      Philomel with melody, etc.       [TITANIA Sleeps]
+  FIRST FAIRY. Hence away; now all is well.
+               One aloof stand sentinel.          Exeunt FAIRIES
+
+      Enter OBERON and squeezes the flower on TITANIA'S eyelids
+
+  OBERON. What thou seest when thou dost wake,
+    Do it for thy true-love take;
+    Love and languish for his sake.
+    Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
+    Pard, or boar with bristled hair,  
+    In thy eye that shall appear
+    When thou wak'st, it is thy dear.
+    Wake when some vile thing is near.                      Exit
+
+                     Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA
+
+  LYSANDER. Fair love, you faint with wand'ring in the wood;
+    And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way;
+    We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
+    And tarry for the comfort of the day.
+  HERMIA. Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed,
+    For I upon this bank will rest my head.
+  LYSANDER. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
+    One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.
+  HERMIA. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,
+    Lie further off yet; do not lie so near.
+  LYSANDER. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!
+    Love takes the meaning in love's conference.
+    I mean that my heart unto yours is knit,
+    So that but one heart we can make of it;  
+    Two bosoms interchained with an oath,
+    So then two bosoms and a single troth.
+    Then by your side no bed-room me deny,
+    For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.
+  HERMIA. Lysander riddles very prettily.
+    Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
+    If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied!
+    But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
+    Lie further off, in human modesty;
+    Such separation as may well be said
+    Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
+    So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend.
+    Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!
+  LYSANDER. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I;
+    And then end life when I end loyalty!
+    Here is my bed; sleep give thee all his rest!
+  HERMIA. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd!
+                                                    [They sleep]
+
+                          Enter PUCK  
+
+  PUCK.      Through the forest have I gone,
+             But Athenian found I none
+             On whose eyes I might approve
+             This flower's force in stirring love.
+             Night and silence- Who is here?
+             Weeds of Athens he doth wear:
+             This is he, my master said,
+             Despised the Athenian maid;
+             And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
+             On the dank and dirty ground.
+             Pretty soul! she durst not lie
+             Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
+             Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
+             All the power this charm doth owe:
+             When thou wak'st let love forbid
+             Sleep his seat on thy eyelid.
+             So awake when I am gone;
+             For I must now to Oberon.                      Exit
+  
+               Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running
+
+  HELENA. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.
+  DEMETRIUS. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.
+  HELENA. O, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so.
+  DEMETRIUS. Stay on thy peril; I alone will go.            Exit
+  HELENA. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
+    The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
+    Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies,
+    For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
+    How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears;
+    If so, my eyes are oft'ner wash'd than hers.
+    No, no, I am as ugly as a bear,
+    For beasts that meet me run away for fear;
+    Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
+    Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus.
+    What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
+    Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?
+    But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!
+    Dead, or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.  
+    Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.
+  LYSANDER. [Waking] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.
+    Transparent Helena! Nature shows art,
+    That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
+    Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word
+    Is that vile name to perish on my sword!
+  HELENA. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so.
+    What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?
+    Yet Hermia still loves you; then be content.
+  LYSANDER. Content with Hermia! No: I do repent
+    The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
+    Not Hermia but Helena I love:
+    Who will not change a raven for a dove?
+    The will of man is by his reason sway'd,
+    And reason says you are the worthier maid.
+    Things growing are not ripe until their season;
+    So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
+    And touching now the point of human skill,
+    Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
+    And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook  
+    Love's stories, written in Love's richest book.
+  HELENA. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
+    When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
+    Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
+    That I did never, no, nor never can,
+    Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
+    But you must flout my insufficiency?
+    Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
+    In such disdainful manner me to woo.
+    But fare you well; perforce I must confess
+    I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
+    O, that a lady of one man refus'd
+    Should of another therefore be abus'd!                  Exit
+  LYSANDER. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there;
+    And never mayst thou come Lysander near!
+    For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
+    The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
+    Or as the heresies that men do leave
+    Are hated most of those they did deceive,
+    So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,  
+    Of all be hated, but the most of me!
+    And, all my powers, address your love and might
+    To honour Helen, and to be her knight!                  Exit
+  HERMIA. [Starting] Help me, Lysander, help me; do thy best
+    To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast.
+    Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here!
+    Lysander, look how I do quake with fear.
+    Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
+    And you sat smiling at his cruel prey.
+    Lysander! What, remov'd? Lysander! lord!
+    What, out of hearing gone? No sound, no word?
+    Alack, where are you? Speak, an if you hear;
+    Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.
+    No? Then I well perceive you are not nigh.
+    Either death or you I'll find immediately.              Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+The wood. TITANIA lying asleep
+
+Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
+
+  BOTTOM. Are we all met?
+  QUINCE. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our
+    rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn
+    brake our tiring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will
+    do it before the Duke.
+  BOTTOM. Peter Quince!
+  QUINCE. What sayest thou, bully Bottom?
+  BOTTOM. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby that
+    will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill
+    himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?
+  SNOUT. By'r lakin, a parlous fear.
+  STARVELING. I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is
+    done.
+  BOTTOM. Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a
+    prologue; and let the prologue seem to say we will do no harm
+    with our swords, and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeed; and for  
+    the more better assurance, tell them that I Pyramus am not
+    Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. This will put them out of fear.
+  QUINCE. Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written
+    in eight and six.
+  BOTTOM. No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.
+  SNOUT. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
+  STARVELING. I fear it, I promise you.
+  BOTTOM. Masters, you ought to consider with yourself to bring in-
+    God shield us!- a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; for
+    there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and
+    we ought to look to't.
+  SNOUT. Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
+  BOTTOM. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen
+    through the lion's neck; and he himself must speak through,
+    saying thus, or to the same defect: 'Ladies,' or 'Fair ladies, I
+    would wish you' or 'I would request you' or 'I would entreat you
+    not to fear, not to tremble. My life for yours! If you think I
+    come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life. No, I am no such
+    thing; I am a man as other men are.' And there, indeed, let him
+    name his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.  
+  QUINCE. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things- that
+    is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for, you know, Pyramus
+    and Thisby meet by moonlight.
+  SNOUT. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
+  BOTTOM. A calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out
+    moonshine, find out moonshine.
+  QUINCE. Yes, it doth shine that night.
+  BOTTOM. Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber
+    window, where we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the
+    casement.
+  QUINCE. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a
+    lantern, and say he comes to disfigure or to present the person
+    of Moonshine. Then there is another thing: we must have a wall in
+    the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did
+    talk through the chink of a wall.
+  SNOUT. You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?
+  BOTTOM. Some man or other must present Wall; and let him have some
+    plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify
+    wall; and let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny
+    shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.  
+  QUINCE. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every
+    mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin; when
+    you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake; and so every
+    one according to his cue.
+
+                          Enter PUCK behind
+
+  PUCK. What hempen homespuns have we swagg'ring here,
+    So near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?
+    What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor;
+    An actor too perhaps, if I see cause.
+  QUINCE. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.
+  BOTTOM. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet-
+  QUINCE. 'Odious'- odorous!
+  BOTTOM. -odours savours sweet;
+    So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
+    But hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile,
+    And by and by I will to thee appear.                    Exit
+  PUCK. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here!           Exit
+  FLUTE. Must I speak now?  
+  QUINCE. Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes but to
+    see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.
+  FLUTE. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
+    Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
+    Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,
+    As true as truest horse, that would never tire,
+    I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.
+  QUINCE. 'Ninus' tomb,' man! Why, you must not speak that yet; that
+    you answer to Pyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues, and
+    all. Pyramus enter: your cue is past; it is 'never tire.'
+  FLUTE. O- As true as truest horse, that y et would never tire.
+
+            Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's head
+
+  BOTTOM. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.
+  QUINCE. O monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters! fly,
+    masters! Help!
+                                  Exeunt all but BOTTOM and PUCK
+  PUCK. I'll follow you; I'll lead you about a round,
+    Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier;  
+    Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,
+    A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
+    And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
+    Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.
+Exit
+  BOTTOM. Why do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make me
+    afeard.
+
+                          Re-enter SNOUT
+
+  SNOUT. O Bottom, thou art chang'd! What do I see on thee?
+  BOTTOM. What do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you?
+                                                      Exit SNOUT
+
+                          Re-enter QUINCE
+
+  QUINCE. Bless thee, Bottom, bless thee! Thou art translated.
+ Exit
+  BOTTOM. I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me; to
+    fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do  
+    what they can; I will walk up and down here, and will sing, that
+    they shall hear I am not afraid.                     [Sings]
+
+          The ousel cock, so black of hue,
+            With orange-tawny bill,
+          The throstle with his note so true,
+            The wren with little quill.
+
+  TITANIA. What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?
+  BOTTOM. [Sings]
+          The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
+            The plain-song cuckoo grey,
+          Whose note full many a man doth mark,
+            And dares not answer nay-
+    for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird?
+    Who would give a bird the he, though he cry 'cuckoo' never so?
+  TITANIA. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
+    Mine ear is much enamoured of thy note;
+    So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
+    And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,  
+    On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.
+  BOTTOM. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that.
+    And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company
+    together now-a-days. The more the pity that some honest
+    neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon
+    occasion.
+  TITANIA. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
+  BOTTOM. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this
+    wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
+  TITANIA. Out of this wood do not desire to go;
+    Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.
+    I am a spirit of no common rate;
+    The summer still doth tend upon my state;
+    And I do love thee; therefore, go with me.
+    I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;
+    And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
+    And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
+    And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
+    That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
+    Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!  
+
+       Enter PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, and MUSTARDSEED
+
+  PEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.
+  COBWEB. And I.
+  MOTH. And I.
+  MUSTARDSEED. And I.
+  ALL. Where shall we go?
+  TITANIA. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
+    Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
+    Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
+    With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
+    The honey bags steal from the humble-bees,
+    And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,
+    And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,
+    To have my love to bed and to arise;
+    And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
+    To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
+    Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
+  PEASEBLOSSOM. Hail, mortal!  
+  COBWEB. Hail!
+  MOTH. Hail!
+  MUSTARDSEED. Hail!
+  BOTTOM. I cry your worships mercy, heartily; I beseech your
+    worship's name.
+  COBWEB. Cobweb.
+  BOTTOM. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master
+    Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your
+    name, honest gentleman?
+  PEASEBLOSSOM. Peaseblossom.
+  BOTTOM. I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and
+    to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall
+    desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you,
+    sir?
+  MUSTARDSEED. Mustardseed.
+  BOTTOM. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That
+    same cowardly giant-like ox-beef hath devour'd many a gentleman
+    of your house. I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes water
+    ere now. I desire you of more acquaintance, good Master
+    Mustardseed.  
+  TITANIA. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
+    The moon, methinks, looks with a wat'ry eye;
+    And when she weeps, weeps every little flower;
+    Lamenting some enforced chastity.
+    Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Another part of the wood
+
+Enter OBERON
+
+  OBERON. I wonder if Titania be awak'd;
+    Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
+    Which she must dote on in extremity.
+
+                          Enter PUCK
+
+    Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit!
+    What night-rule now about this haunted grove?
+  PUCK. My mistress with a monster is in love.
+    Near to her close and consecrated bower,
+    While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
+    A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,
+    That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
+    Were met together to rehearse a play
+    Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
+    The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort,
+    Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
+    Forsook his scene and ent'red in a brake;  
+    When I did him at this advantage take,
+    An ass's nole I fixed on his head.
+    Anon his Thisby must be answered,
+    And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,
+    As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
+    Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
+    Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
+    Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,
+    So at his sight away his fellows fly;
+    And at our stamp here, o'er and o'er one falls;
+    He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.
+    Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong,
+    Made senseless things begin to do them wrong,
+    For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
+    Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.
+    I led them on in this distracted fear,
+    And left sweet Pyramus translated there;
+    When in that moment, so it came to pass,
+    Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass.
+  OBERON. This falls out better than I could devise.  
+    But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes
+    With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?
+  PUCK. I took him sleeping- that is finish'd too-
+    And the Athenian woman by his side;
+    That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd.
+
+                 Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA
+
+  OBERON. Stand close; this is the same Athenian.
+  PUCK. This is the woman, but not this the man.
+  DEMETRIUS. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
+    Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
+  HERMIA. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse,
+    For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
+    If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
+    Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
+    And kill me too.
+    The sun was not so true unto the day
+    As he to me. Would he have stolen away
+    From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon  
+    This whole earth may be bor'd, and that the moon
+    May through the centre creep and so displease
+    Her brother's noontide with th' Antipodes.
+    It cannot be but thou hast murd'red him;
+    So should a murderer look- so dead, so grim.
+  DEMETRIUS. So should the murdered look; and so should I,
+    Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty;
+    Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,
+    As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.
+  HERMIA. What's this to my Lysander? Where is he?
+    Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?
+  DEMETRIUS. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.
+  HERMIA. Out, dog! out, cur! Thou driv'st me past the bounds
+    Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then?
+    Henceforth be never numb'red among men!
+    O, once tell true; tell true, even for my sake!
+    Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake,
+    And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch!
+    Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
+    An adder did it; for with doubler tongue  
+    Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
+  DEMETRIUS. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood:
+    I am not guilty of Lysander's blood;
+    Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
+  HERMIA. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.
+  DEMETRIUS. An if I could, what should I get therefore?
+  HERMIA. A privilege never to see me more.
+    And from thy hated presence part I so;
+    See me no more whether he be dead or no.                Exit
+  DEMETRIUS. There is no following her in this fierce vein;
+    Here, therefore, for a while I will remain.
+    So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
+    For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;
+    Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
+    If for his tender here I make some stay.         [Lies down]
+  OBERON. What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite,
+    And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight.
+    Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
+    Some true love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true.
+  PUCK. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man holding troth,  
+    A million fail, confounding oath on oath.
+  OBERON. About the wood go swifter than the wind,
+    And Helena of Athens look thou find;
+    All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer,
+    With sighs of love that costs the fresh blood dear.
+    By some illusion see thou bring her here;
+    I'll charm his eyes against she do appear.
+  PUCK. I go, I go; look how I go,
+    Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.               Exit
+  OBERON.       Flower of this purple dye,
+                Hit with Cupid's archery,
+                Sink in apple of his eye.
+                When his love he doth espy,
+                Let her shine as gloriously
+                As the Venus of the sky.
+                When thou wak'st, if she be by,
+                Beg of her for remedy.
+
+                       Re-enter PUCK
+  
+  PUCK.         Captain of our fairy band,
+                Helena is here at hand,
+                And the youth mistook by me
+                Pleading for a lover's fee;
+                Shall we their fond pageant see?
+                Lord, what fools these mortals be!
+  OBERON.       Stand aside. The noise they make
+                Will cause Demetrius to awake.
+  PUCK.         Then will two at once woo one.
+                That must needs be sport alone;
+                And those things do best please me
+                That befall prepost'rously.
+
+                   Enter LYSANDER and HELENA
+
+  LYSANDER. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
+    Scorn and derision never come in tears.
+    Look when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
+    In their nativity all truth appears.
+    How can these things in me seem scorn to you,  
+    Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
+  HELENA. You do advance your cunning more and more.
+    When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!
+    These vows are Hermia's. Will you give her o'er?
+    Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
+    Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
+    Will even weigh; and both as light as tales.
+  LYSANDER. I hod no judgment when to her I swore.
+  HELENA. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.
+  LYSANDER. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.
+  DEMETRIUS. [Awaking] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
+    To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
+    Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
+    Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
+    That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow,
+    Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
+    When thou hold'st up thy hand. O, let me kiss
+    This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!
+  HELENA. O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
+    To set against me for your merriment.  
+    If you were civil and knew courtesy,
+    You would not do me thus much injury.
+    Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
+    But you must join in souls to mock me too?
+    If you were men, as men you are in show,
+    You would not use a gentle lady so:
+    To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
+    When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
+    You both are rivals, and love Hermia;
+    And now both rivals, to mock Helena.
+    A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
+    To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
+    With your derision! None of noble sort
+    Would so offend a virgin, and extort
+    A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.
+  LYSANDER. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
+    For you love Hermia. This you know I know;
+    And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
+    In Hermia's love I yield you up my part;
+    And yours of Helena to me bequeath,  
+    Whom I do love and will do till my death.
+  HELENA. Never did mockers waste more idle breath.
+  DEMETRIUS. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none.
+    If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone.
+    My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,
+    And now to Helen is it home return'd,
+    There to remain.
+  LYSANDER. Helen, it is not so.
+  DEMETRIUS. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
+    Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.
+    Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.
+
+                       Enter HERMIA
+
+  HERMIA. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
+    The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
+    Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
+    It pays the hearing double recompense.
+    Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
+    Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.  
+    But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?
+  LYSANDER. Why should he stay whom love doth press to go?
+  HERMIA. What love could press Lysander from my side?
+  LYSANDER. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide-
+    Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
+    Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.
+    Why seek'st thou me? Could not this make thee know
+    The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?
+  HERMIA. You speak not as you think; it cannot be.
+  HELENA. Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
+    Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three
+    To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
+    Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!
+    Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd,
+    To bait me with this foul derision?
+    Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
+    The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
+    When we have chid the hasty-footed time
+    For parting us- O, is all forgot?
+    All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?  
+    We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
+    Have with our needles created both one flower,
+    Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
+    Both warbling of one song, both in one key;
+    As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
+    Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
+    Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
+    But yet an union in partition,
+    Two lovely berries moulded on one stern;
+    So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
+    Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
+    Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.
+    And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
+    To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
+    It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly;
+    Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
+    Though I alone do feel the injury.
+  HERMIA. I am amazed at your passionate words;
+    I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.
+  HELENA. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,  
+    To follow me and praise my eyes and face?
+    And made your other love, Demetrius,
+    Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,
+    To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare,
+    Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
+    To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander
+    Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
+    And tender me, forsooth, affection,
+    But by your setting on, by your consent?
+    What though I be not so in grace as you,
+    So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
+    But miserable most, to love unlov'd?
+    This you should pity rather than despise.
+  HERMIA. I understand not what you mean by this.
+  HELENA. Ay, do- persever, counterfeit sad looks,
+    Make mouths upon me when I turn my back,
+    Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up;
+    This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
+    If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
+    You would not make me such an argument.  
+    But fare ye well; 'tis partly my own fault,
+    Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.
+  LYSANDER. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;
+    My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
+  HELENA. O excellent!
+  HERMIA. Sweet, do not scorn her so.
+  DEMETRIUS. If she cannot entreat, I can compel.
+  LYSANDER. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat;
+    Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers
+    Helen, I love thee, by my life I do;
+    I swear by that which I will lose for thee
+    To prove him false that says I love thee not.
+  DEMETRIUS. I say I love thee more than he can do.
+  LYSANDER. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
+  DEMETRIUS. Quick, come.
+  HERMIA. Lysander, whereto tends all this?
+  LYSANDER. Away, you Ethiope!
+  DEMETRIUS. No, no, he will
+    Seem to break loose- take on as you would follow,
+    But yet come not. You are a tame man; go!  
+  LYSANDER. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr; vile thing, let loose,
+    Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.
+  HERMIA. Why are you grown so rude? What change is this,
+    Sweet love?
+  LYSANDER. Thy love! Out, tawny Tartar, out!
+    Out, loathed med'cine! O hated potion, hence!
+  HERMIA. Do you not jest?
+  HELENA. Yes, sooth; and so do you.
+  LYSANDER. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
+  DEMETRIUS. I would I had your bond; for I perceive
+    A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word.
+  LYSANDER. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
+    Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.
+  HERMIA. What! Can you do me greater harm than hate?
+    Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love?
+    Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?
+    I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
+    Since night you lov'd me; yet since night you left me.
+    Why then, you left me- O, the gods forbid!-
+    In earnest, shall I say?  
+  LYSANDER. Ay, by my life!
+    And never did desire to see thee more.
+    Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
+    Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest
+    That I do hate thee and love Helena.
+  HERMIA. O me! you juggler! you cankerblossom!
+    You thief of love! What! Have you come by night,
+    And stol'n my love's heart from him?
+  HELENA. Fine, i' faith!
+    Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
+    No touch of bashfulness? What! Will you tear
+    Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
+    Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet you!
+  HERMIA. 'Puppet!' why so? Ay, that way goes the game.
+    Now I perceive that she hath made compare
+    Between our statures; she hath urg'd her height;
+    And with her personage, her tall personage,
+    Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.
+    And are you grown so high in his esteem
+    Because I am so dwarfish and so low?  
+    How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak.
+    How low am I? I am not yet so low
+    But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
+  HELENA. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
+    Let her not hurt me. I was never curst;
+    I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
+    I am a right maid for my cowardice;
+    Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,
+    Because she is something lower than myself,
+    That I can match her.
+  HERMIA. 'Lower' hark, again.
+  HELENA. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
+    I evermore did love you, Hermia,
+    Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
+    Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
+    I told him of your stealth unto this wood.
+    He followed you; for love I followed him;
+    But he hath chid me hence, and threat'ned me
+    To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too;
+    And now, so you will let me quiet go,  
+    To Athens will I bear my folly back,
+    And follow you no further. Let me go.
+    You see how simple and how fond I am.
+  HERMIA. Why, get you gone! Who is't that hinders you?
+  HELENA. A foolish heart that I leave here behind.
+  HERMIA. What! with Lysander?
+  HELENA. With Demetrius.
+  LYSANDER. Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.
+  DEMETRIUS. No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.
+  HELENA. O, when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd;
+    She was a vixen when she went to school;
+    And, though she be but little, she is fierce.
+  HERMIA. 'Little' again! Nothing but 'low' and 'little'!
+    Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
+    Let me come to her.
+  LYSANDER. Get you gone, you dwarf;
+    You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made;
+    You bead, you acorn.
+  DEMETRIUS. You are too officious
+    In her behalf that scorns your services.  
+    Let her alone; speak not of Helena;
+    Take not her part; for if thou dost intend
+    Never so little show of love to her,
+    Thou shalt aby it.
+  LYSANDER. Now she holds me not.
+    Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right,
+    Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.
+  DEMETRIUS. Follow! Nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl.
+                                   Exeunt LYSANDER and DEMETRIUS
+  HERMIA. You, mistress, all this coil is long of you.
+    Nay, go not back.
+  HELENA. I will not trust you, I;
+    Nor longer stay in your curst company.
+    Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray;
+    My legs are longer though, to run away.                 Exit
+  HERMIA. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say.            Exit
+  OBERON. This is thy negligence. Still thou mistak'st,
+    Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully.
+  PUCK. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
+    Did not you tell me I should know the man  
+    By the Athenian garments he had on?
+    And so far blameless proves my enterprise
+    That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes;
+    And so far am I glad it so did sort,
+    As this their jangling I esteem a sport.
+  OBERON. Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.
+    Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
+    The starry welkin cover thou anon
+    With drooping fog as black as Acheron,
+    And lead these testy rivals so astray
+    As one come not within another's way.
+    Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
+    Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
+    And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
+    And from each other look thou lead them thus,
+    Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
+    With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.
+    Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye;
+    Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
+    To take from thence all error with his might  
+    And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.
+    When they next wake, all this derision
+    Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision;
+    And back to Athens shall the lovers wend
+    With league whose date till death shall never end.
+    Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
+    I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;
+    And then I will her charmed eye release
+    From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.
+  PUCK. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
+    For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;
+    And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger,
+    At whose approach ghosts, wand'ring here and there,
+    Troop home to churchyards. Damned spirits all
+    That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
+    Already to their wormy beds are gone,
+    For fear lest day should look their shames upon;
+    They wilfully themselves exil'd from light,
+    And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.
+  OBERON. But we are spirits of another sort:  
+    I with the Morning's love have oft made sport;
+    And, like a forester, the groves may tread
+    Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red,
+    Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
+    Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.
+    But, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay;
+    We may effect this business yet ere day.         Exit OBERON
+  PUCK.      Up and down, up and down,
+             I will lead them up and down.
+             I am fear'd in field and town.
+             Goblin, lead them up and down.
+    Here comes one.
+
+                      Enter LYSANDER
+
+  LYSANDER. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.
+  PUCK. Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?
+  LYSANDER. I will be with thee straight.
+  PUCK. Follow me, then,
+    To plainer ground.      Exit LYSANDER as following the voice  
+
+                      Enter DEMETRIUS
+
+  DEMETRIUS. Lysander, speak again.
+    Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?
+    Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?
+  PUCK. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,
+    Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,
+    And wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child;
+    I'll whip thee with a rod. He is defil'd
+    That draws a sword on thee.
+  DEMETRIUS. Yea, art thou there?
+  PUCK. Follow my voice; we'll try no manhood here.       Exeunt
+
+                      Re-enter LYSANDER
+
+  LYSANDER. He goes before me, and still dares me on;
+    When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
+    The villain is much lighter heel'd than I.
+    I followed fast, but faster he did fly,  
+    That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
+    And here will rest me. [Lies down] Come, thou gentle day.
+    For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
+    I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.        [Sleeps]
+
+                 Re-enter PUCK and DEMETRIUS
+
+  PUCK. Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou not?
+  DEMETRIUS. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot
+    Thou run'st before me, shifting every place,
+    And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face.
+    Where art thou now?
+  PUCK. Come hither; I am here.
+  DEMETRIUS. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this dear,
+    If ever I thy face by daylight see;
+    Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
+    To measure out my length on this cold bed.
+    By day's approach look to be visited.
+                                          [Lies down and sleeps]
+  
+                       Enter HELENA
+
+  HELENA. O weary night, O long and tedious night,
+    Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east,
+    That I may back to Athens by daylight,
+    From these that my poor company detest.
+    And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
+    Steal me awhile from mine own company.              [Sleeps]
+  PUCK.       Yet but three? Come one more;
+              Two of both kinds makes up four.
+              Here she comes, curst and sad.
+              Cupid is a knavish lad,
+              Thus to make poor females mad.
+
+                     Enter HERMIA
+
+  HERMIA. Never so weary, never so in woe,
+    Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,
+    I can no further crawl, no further go;
+    My legs can keep no pace with my desires.  
+    Here will I rest me till the break of day.
+    Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!
+                                          [Lies down and sleeps]
+  PUCK.          On the ground
+                 Sleep sound;
+                 I'll apply
+                 To your eye,
+          Gentle lover, remedy.
+                        [Squeezing the juice on LYSANDER'S eyes]
+                 When thou wak'st,
+                 Thou tak'st
+                 True delight
+                 In the sight
+          Of thy former lady's eye;
+          And the country proverb known,
+          That every man should take his own,
+          In your waking shall be shown:
+                 Jack shall have Jill;
+                 Nought shall go ill;
+    The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.  
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+The wood. LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HELENA, and HERMIA, lying asleep
+
+Enter TITANIA and Bottom; PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, MUSTARDSEED,
+and other FAIRIES attending;
+                      OBERON behind, unseen
+
+  TITANIA. Come, sit thee down upon this flow'ry bed,
+    While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
+    And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
+    And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.
+  BOTTOM. Where's Peaseblossom?
+  PEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.
+  BOTTOM. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom.
+    Where's Mounsieur Cobweb?
+  COBWEB. Ready.
+  BOTTOM. Mounsieur Cobweb; good mounsieur, get you your weapons in
+    your hand and kill me a red-hipp'd humble-bee on the top of a
+    thistle; and, good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret
+    yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and, good mounsieur,
+    have a care the honey-bag break not; I would be loath to have you  
+    overflown with a honey-bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur
+    Mustardseed?
+  MUSTARDSEED. Ready.
+  BOTTOM. Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave
+    your curtsy, good mounsieur.
+  MUSTARDSEED. What's your will?
+  BOTTOM. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to
+    scratch. I must to the barber's, mounsieur; for methinks I am
+    marvellous hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if
+    my hair do but tickle me I must scratch.
+  TITANIA. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?
+  BOTTOM. I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let's have the tongs
+    and the bones.
+  TITANIA. Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.
+  BOTTOM. Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry
+    oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good
+    hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
+  TITANIA. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
+    The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
+  BOTTOM. I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I  
+    pray you, let none of your people stir me; I have an exposition
+    of sleep come upon me.
+  TITANIA. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
+    Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.       Exeunt FAIRIES
+    So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
+    Gently entwist; the female ivy so
+    Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
+    O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!         [They sleep]
+
+                         Enter PUCK
+
+  OBERON. [Advancing] Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet
+      sight?
+    Her dotage now I do begin to pity;
+    For, meeting her of late behind the wood,
+    Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,
+    I did upbraid her and fall out with her.
+    For she his hairy temples then had rounded
+    With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
+    And that same dew which sometime on the buds  
+    Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls
+    Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes,
+    Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.
+    When I had at my pleasure taunted her,
+    And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,
+    I then did ask of her her changeling child;
+    Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
+    To bear him to my bower in fairy land.
+    And now I have the boy, I will undo
+    This hateful imperfection of her eyes.
+    And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
+    From off the head of this Athenian swain,
+    That he awaking when the other do
+    May all to Athens back again repair,
+    And think no more of this night's accidents
+    But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
+    But first I will release the Fairy Queen.
+                                             [Touching her eyes]
+           Be as thou wast wont to be;
+           See as thou was wont to see.  
+           Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower
+           Hath such force and blessed power.
+    Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.
+  TITANIA. My Oberon! What visions have I seen!
+    Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.
+  OBERON. There lies your love.
+  TITANIA. How came these things to pass?
+    O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!
+  OBERON. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head.
+    Titania, music call; and strike more dead
+    Than common sleep of all these five the sense.
+  TITANIA. Music, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep!
+  PUCK. Now when thou wak'st with thine own fool's eyes peep.
+  OBERON. Sound, music. Come, my Queen, take hands with me,
+                                                         [Music]
+    And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.
+    Now thou and I are new in amity,
+    And will to-morrow midnight solemnly
+    Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly,
+    And bless it to all fair prosperity.  
+    There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
+    Wedded, with Theseus, an in jollity.
+  PUCK.       Fairy King, attend and mark;
+              I do hear the morning lark.
+  OBERON.     Then, my Queen, in silence sad,
+              Trip we after night's shade.
+              We the globe can compass soon,
+              Swifter than the wand'ring moon.
+  TITANIA.    Come, my lord; and in our flight,
+              Tell me how it came this night
+              That I sleeping here was found
+              With these mortals on the ground.           Exeunt
+
+        To the winding of horns, enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA,
+                      EGEUS, and train
+
+  THESEUS. Go, one of you, find out the forester;
+    For now our observation is perform'd,
+    And since we have the vaward of the day,
+    My love shall hear the music of my hounds.  
+    Uncouple in the western valley; let them go.
+    Dispatch, I say, and find the forester.    Exit an ATTENDANT
+    We will, fair Queen, up to the mountain's top,
+    And mark the musical confusion
+    Of hounds and echo in conjunction.
+  HIPPOLYTA. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once
+    When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
+    With hounds of Sparta; never did I hear
+    Such gallant chiding, for, besides the groves,
+    The skies, the fountains, every region near
+    Seem'd all one mutual cry. I never heard
+    So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
+  THESEUS. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
+    So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung
+    With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
+    Crook-knee'd and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls;
+    Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
+    Each under each. A cry more tuneable
+    Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
+    In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly.  
+    Judge when you hear. But, soft, what nymphs are these?
+  EGEUS. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep,
+    And this Lysander, this Demetrius is,
+    This Helena, old Nedar's Helena.
+    I wonder of their being here together.
+  THESEUS. No doubt they rose up early to observe
+    The rite of May; and, hearing our intent,
+    Came here in grace of our solemnity.
+    But speak, Egeus; is not this the day
+    That Hermia should give answer of her choice?
+  EGEUS. It is, my lord.
+  THESEUS. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.
+                           [Horns and shout within. The sleepers
+                                     awake and kneel to THESEUS]
+    Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past;
+    Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?
+  LYSANDER. Pardon, my lord.
+  THESEUS. I pray you all, stand up.
+    I know you two are rival enemies;
+    How comes this gentle concord in the world  
+    That hatred is so far from jealousy
+    To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?
+  LYSANDER. My lord, I shall reply amazedly,
+    Half sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear,
+    I cannot truly say how I came here,
+    But, as I think- for truly would I speak,
+    And now I do bethink me, so it is-
+    I came with Hermia hither. Our intent
+    Was to be gone from Athens, where we might,
+    Without the peril of the Athenian law-
+  EGEUS. Enough, enough, my Lord; you have enough;
+    I beg the law, the law upon his head.
+    They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius,
+    Thereby to have defeated you and me:
+    You of your wife, and me of my consent,
+    Of my consent that she should be your wife.
+  DEMETRIUS. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
+    Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
+    And I in fury hither followed them,
+    Fair Helena in fancy following me.  
+    But, my good lord, I wot not by what power-
+    But by some power it is- my love to Hermia,
+    Melted as the snow, seems to me now
+    As the remembrance of an idle gaud
+    Which in my childhood I did dote upon;
+    And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
+    The object and the pleasure of mine eye,
+    Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
+    Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia.
+    But, like a sickness, did I loathe this food;
+    But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
+    Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
+    And will for evermore be true to it.
+  THESEUS. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met;
+    Of this discourse we more will hear anon.
+    Egeus, I will overbear your will;
+    For in the temple, by and by, with us
+    These couples shall eternally be knit.
+    And, for the morning now is something worn,
+    Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.  
+    Away with us to Athens, three and three;
+    We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.
+    Come, Hippolyta.
+                     Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train
+  DEMETRIUS. These things seem small and undistinguishable,
+    Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
+  HERMIA. Methinks I see these things with parted eye,
+    When every thing seems double.
+  HELENA. So methinks;
+    And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
+    Mine own, and not mine own.
+  DEMETRIUS. Are you sure
+    That we are awake? It seems to me
+    That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
+    The Duke was here, and bid us follow him?
+  HERMIA. Yea, and my father.
+  HELENA. And Hippolyta.
+  LYSANDER. And he did bid us follow to the temple.
+  DEMETRIUS. Why, then, we are awake; let's follow him;
+    And by the way let us recount our dreams.             Exeunt  
+  BOTTOM. [Awaking] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My
+    next is 'Most fair Pyramus.' Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the
+    bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's my life,
+    stol'n hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare vision.
+    I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
+    Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream. Methought
+    I was- there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and
+    methought I had, but man is but a patch'd fool, if he will offer
+    to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the
+    ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his
+    tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I
+    will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream. It shall
+    be call'd 'Bottom's Dream,' because it hath no bottom; and I will
+    sing it in the latter end of a play, before the Duke.
+    Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at
+    her death.                                              Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Athens. QUINCE'S house
+
+Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
+
+  QUINCE. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come home yet?
+  STARVELING. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported.
+  FLUTE. If he come not, then the play is marr'd; it goes not
+    forward, doth it?
+  QUINCE. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able
+    to discharge Pyramus but he.
+  FLUTE. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in
+    Athens.
+  QUINCE. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour for
+    a sweet voice.
+  FLUTE. You must say 'paragon.' A paramour is- God bless us!- A
+    thing of naught.
+
+                           Enter SNUG
+
+  SNUG. Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple; and there is two
+    or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone  
+    forward, we had all been made men.
+  FLUTE. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day
+    during his life; he could not have scaped sixpence a day. An the
+    Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I'll
+    be hanged. He would have deserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus,
+    or nothing.
+
+                           Enter BOTTOM
+
+  BOTTOM. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?
+  QUINCE. Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!
+  BOTTOM. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not what;
+    for if I tell you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you
+    everything, right as it fell out.
+  QUINCE. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.
+  BOTTOM. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the
+    Duke hath dined. Get your apparel together; good strings to your
+    beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace;
+    every man look o'er his part; for the short and the long is, our
+    play is preferr'd. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen; and  
+    let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall
+    hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no
+    onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not
+    doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy. No more words.
+    Away, go, away!                                       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Athens. The palace of THESEUS
+
+Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  HIPPOLYTA. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.
+  THESEUS. More strange than true. I never may believe
+    These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
+    Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
+    Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
+    More than cool reason ever comprehends.
+    The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
+    Are of imagination all compact.
+    One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
+    That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,
+    Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.
+    The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
+    Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
+    And as imagination bodies forth
+    The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
+    Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing  
+    A local habitation and a name.
+    Such tricks hath strong imagination
+    That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
+    It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
+    Or in the night, imagining some fear,
+    How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear?
+  HIPPOLYTA. But all the story of the night told over,
+    And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
+    More witnesseth than fancy's images,
+    And grows to something of great constancy,
+    But howsoever strange and admirable.
+
+          Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA
+
+  THESEUS. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.
+    Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love
+    Accompany your hearts!
+  LYSANDER. More than to us
+    Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!
+  THESEUS. Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have,  
+    To wear away this long age of three hours
+    Between our after-supper and bed-time?
+    Where is our usual manager of mirth?
+    What revels are in hand? Is there no play
+    To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
+    Call Philostrate.
+  PHILOSTRATE. Here, mighty Theseus.
+  THESEUS. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening?
+    What masque? what music? How shall we beguile
+    The lazy time, if not with some delight?
+  PHILOSTRATE. There is a brief how many sports are ripe;
+    Make choice of which your Highness will see first.
+                                                [Giving a paper]
+  THESEUS. 'The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
+    By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.'
+    We'll none of that: that have I told my love,
+    In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
+    'The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
+    Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.'
+    That is an old device, and it was play'd  
+    When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
+    'The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
+    Of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary.'
+    That is some satire, keen and critical,
+    Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
+    'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
+    And his love Thisby; very tragical mirth.'
+    Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
+    That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
+    How shall we find the concord of this discord?
+  PHILOSTRATE. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,
+    Which is as brief as I have known a play;
+    But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
+    Which makes it tedious; for in all the play
+    There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
+    And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
+    For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
+    Which when I saw rehears'd, I must confess,
+    Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
+    The passion of loud laughter never shed.  
+  THESEUS. What are they that do play it?
+  PHILOSTRATE. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
+    Which never labour'd in their minds till now;
+    And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories
+    With this same play against your nuptial.
+  THESEUS. And we will hear it.
+  PHILOSTRATE. No, my noble lord,
+    It is not for you. I have heard it over,
+    And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
+    Unless you can find sport in their intents,
+    Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,
+    To do you service.
+  THESEUS. I will hear that play;
+    For never anything can be amiss
+    When simpleness and duty tender it.
+    Go, bring them in; and take your places, ladies.
+                                                Exit PHILOSTRATE
+  HIPPOLYTA. I love not to see wretchedness o'er-charged,
+    And duty in his service perishing.
+  THESEUS. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.  
+  HIPPOLYTA. He says they can do nothing in this kind.
+  THESEUS. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
+    Our sport shall be to take what they mistake;
+    And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect
+    Takes it in might, not merit.
+    Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
+    To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
+    Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
+    Make periods in the midst of sentences,
+    Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,
+    And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
+    Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,
+    Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome;
+    And in the modesty of fearful duty
+    I read as much as from the rattling tongue
+    Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
+    Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
+    In least speak most to my capacity.
+
+                       Re-enter PHILOSTRATE  
+
+  PHILOSTRATE. SO please your Grace, the Prologue is address'd.
+  THESEUS. Let him approach.              [Flourish of trumpets]
+
+                 Enter QUINCE as the PROLOGUE
+
+  PROLOGUE. If we offend, it is with our good will.
+    That you should think, we come not to offend,
+    But with good will. To show our simple skill,
+    That is the true beginning of our end.
+    Consider then, we come but in despite.
+    We do not come, as minding to content you,
+    Our true intent is. All for your delight
+    We are not here. That you should here repent you,
+    The actors are at band; and, by their show,
+    You shall know all, that you are like to know,
+  THESEUS. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
+  LYSANDER. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not
+    the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but
+    to speak true.  
+  HIPPOLYTA. Indeed he hath play'd on this prologue like a child on a
+    recorder- a sound, but not in government.
+  THESEUS. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing im paired,
+    but all disordered. Who is next?
+
+          Enter, with a trumpet before them, as in dumb show,
+            PYRAMUS and THISBY, WALL, MOONSHINE, and LION
+
+  PROLOGUE. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
+    But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
+    This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
+    This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.
+    This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
+    Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder;
+    And through Walls chink, poor souls, they are content
+    To whisper. At the which let no man wonder.
+    This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
+    Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know,
+    By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
+    To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.  
+    This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name,
+    The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
+    Did scare away, or rather did affright;
+    And as she fled, her mantle she did fall;
+    Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
+    Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,
+    And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain;
+    Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
+    He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast;
+    And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,
+    His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
+    Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain,
+    At large discourse while here they do remain.
+                               Exeunt PROLOGUE, PYRAMUS, THISBY,
+                                             LION, and MOONSHINE
+  THESEUS. I wonder if the lion be to speak.
+  DEMETRIUS. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.
+  WALL. In this same interlude it doth befall
+    That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;
+    And such a wall as I would have you think  
+    That had in it a crannied hole or chink,
+    Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
+    Did whisper often very secretly.
+    This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show
+    That I am that same wall; the truth is so;
+    And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
+    Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.
+  THESEUS. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
+  DEMETRIUS. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
+    discourse, my lord.
+
+                       Enter PYRAMUS
+
+  THESEUS. Pyramus draws near the wall; silence.
+  PYRAMUS. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!
+    O night, which ever art when day is not!
+    O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,
+    I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!
+    And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
+    That stand'st between her father's ground and mine;  
+    Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
+    Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.
+                                     [WALL holds up his fingers]
+    Thanks, courteous wall. Jove shield thee well for this!
+    But what see what see I? No Thisby do I see.
+    O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,
+    Curs'd he thy stones for thus deceiving me!
+  THESEUS. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.
+  PYRAMUS. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me is Thisby's
+    cue. She is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall.
+    You shall see it will fall pat as I told you; yonder she comes.
+
+                          Enter THISBY
+
+  THISBY. O wall, full often hast thou beard my moans,
+    For parting my fair Pyramus and me!
+    My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones,
+    Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.
+  PYRAMUS. I see a voice; now will I to the chink,
+    To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.  
+    Thisby!
+  THISBY. My love! thou art my love, I think.
+  PYRAMUS. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;
+    And like Limander am I trusty still.
+  THISBY. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.
+  PYRAMUS. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
+  THISBY. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.
+  PYRAMUS. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.
+  THISBY. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.
+  PYRAMUS. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?
+  THISBY. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.
+                                       Exeunt PYRAMUS and THISBY
+  WALL. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;
+    And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.           Exit WALL
+  THESEUS. Now is the moon used between the two neighbours.
+  DEMETRIUS. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear
+    without warning.
+  HIPPOLYTA. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
+  THESEUS. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are
+    no worse, if imagination amend them.  
+  HIPPOLYTA. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.
+  THESEUS. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves,
+    they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a
+    man and a lion.
+
+                   Enter LION and MOONSHINE
+
+  LION. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
+    The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
+    May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,
+    When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
+    Then know that I as Snug the joiner am
+    A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam;
+    For, if I should as lion come in strife
+    Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.
+  THESEUS. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
+  DEMETRIUS. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.
+  LYSANDER. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
+  THESEUS. True; and a goose for his discretion.
+  DEMETRIUS. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his  
+    discretion, and the fox carries the goose.
+  THESEUS. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for
+    the goose carries not the fox. It is well. Leave it to his
+    discretion, and let us listen to the Moon.
+  MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present-
+  DEMETRIUS. He should have worn the horns on his head.
+  THESEUS. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the
+    circumference.
+  MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;
+    Myself the Man i' th' Moon do seem to be.
+  THESEUS. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should
+    be put into the lantern. How is it else the man i' th' moon?
+  DEMETRIUS. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it
+    is already in snuff.
+  HIPPOLYTA. I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!
+  THESEUS. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is
+    in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay
+    the time.
+  LYSANDER. Proceed, Moon.
+  MOON. All that I have to say is to tell you that the lanthorn is  
+    the moon; I, the Man i' th' Moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush;
+    and this dog, my dog.
+  DEMETRIUS. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all these
+    are in the moon. But silence; here comes Thisby.
+
+                        Re-enter THISBY
+
+  THISBY. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?
+  LION. [Roaring] O-                           [THISBY runs off]
+  DEMETRIUS. Well roar'd, Lion.
+  THESEUS. Well run, Thisby.
+  HIPPOLYTA. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good
+    grace.            [The LION tears THISBY'S Mantle, and exit]
+  THESEUS. Well mous'd, Lion.
+
+                        Re-enter PYRAMUS
+
+  DEMETRIUS. And then came Pyramus.
+  LYSANDER. And so the lion vanish'd.
+  PYRAMUS. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;  
+    I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
+    For, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,
+    I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.
+             But stay, O spite!
+             But mark, poor knight,
+           What dreadful dole is here!
+             Eyes, do you see?
+             How can it he?
+           O dainty duck! O dear!
+             Thy mantle good,
+             What! stain'd with blood?
+           Approach, ye Furies fell.
+             O Fates! come, come;
+             Cut thread and thrum;
+           Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.
+  THESEUS. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go
+    near to make a man look sad.
+  HIPPOLYTA. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
+  PYRAMUS. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
+    Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear;  
+    Which is- no, no- which was the fairest dame
+    That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.
+             Come, tears, confound;
+             Out, sword, and wound
+           The pap of Pyramus;
+             Ay, that left pap,
+             Where heart doth hop.               [Stabs himself]
+           Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
+             Now am I dead,
+             Now am I fled;
+           My soul is in the sky.
+             Tongue, lose thy light;
+             Moon, take thy flight.             [Exit MOONSHINE]
+           Now die, die, die, die, die.                   [Dies]
+  DEMETRIUS. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.
+  LYSANDER. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
+  THESEUS. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and yet
+    prove an ass.
+  HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes back
+    and finds her lover?  
+
+                       Re-enter THISBY
+
+  THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her
+    passion ends the play.
+  HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
+    Pyramus; I hope she will be brief.
+  DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which
+    Thisby, is the better- he for a man, God warrant us: She for a
+    woman, God bless us!
+  LYSANDER. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
+  DEMETRIUS. And thus she moans, videlicet:-
+  THISBY.      Asleep, my love?
+               What, dead, my dove?
+             O Pyramus, arise,
+               Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
+               Dead, dead? A tomb
+             Must cover thy sweet eyes.
+               These lily lips,
+               This cherry nose,  
+             These yellow cowslip cheeks,
+               Are gone, are gone;
+               Lovers, make moan;
+             His eyes were green as leeks.
+               O Sisters Three,
+               Come, come to me,
+             With hands as pale as milk;
+               Lay them in gore,
+               Since you have shore
+             With shears his thread of silk.
+               Tongue, not a word.
+               Come, trusty sword;
+             Come, blade, my breast imbrue.      [Stabs herself]
+               And farewell, friends;
+               Thus Thisby ends;
+             Adieu, adieu, adieu.                         [Dies]
+  THESEUS. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
+  DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too.
+  BOTTOM. [Starting up] No, I assure you; the wall is down that
+    parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the Epilogue, or  
+    to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company?
+  THESEUS. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse.
+    Never excuse; for when the players are all dead there need none
+    to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and
+    hang'd himself in Thisby's garter, it would have been a fine
+    tragedy. And so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd. But
+    come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue alone.     [A dance]
+    The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.
+    Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.
+    I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
+    As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
+    This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd
+    The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
+    A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
+    In nightly revels and new jollity.                    Exeunt
+
+                     Enter PUCK with a broom
+
+  PUCK.      Now the hungry lion roars,
+             And the wolf behowls the moon;  
+             Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
+             All with weary task fordone.
+             Now the wasted brands do glow,
+             Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
+             Puts the wretch that lies in woe
+             In remembrance of a shroud.
+             Now it is the time of night
+             That the graves, all gaping wide,
+             Every one lets forth his sprite,
+             In the church-way paths to glide.
+             And we fairies, that do run
+             By the triple Hecate's team
+             From the presence of the sun,
+             Following darkness like a dream,
+             Now are frolic. Not a mouse
+             Shall disturb this hallowed house.
+             I am sent with broom before,
+             To sweep the dust behind the door.
+
+         Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train  
+
+  OBERON.    Through the house give glimmering light,
+             By the dead and drowsy fire;
+             Every elf and fairy sprite
+             Hop as light as bird from brier;
+             And this ditty, after me,
+             Sing and dance it trippingly.
+  TITANIA.      First, rehearse your song by rote,
+                To each word a warbling note;
+                Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
+                Will we sing, and bless this place.
+
+           [OBERON leading, the FAIRIES sing and dance]
+
+  OBERON.    Now, until the break of day,
+             Through this house each fairy stray.
+             To the best bride-bed will we,
+             Which by us shall blessed be;
+             And the issue there create
+             Ever shall be fortunate.  
+             So shall all the couples three
+             Ever true in loving be;
+             And the blots of Nature's hand
+             Shall not in their issue stand;
+             Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
+             Nor mark prodigious, such as are
+             Despised in nativity,
+             Shall upon their children be.
+             With this field-dew consecrate,
+             Every fairy take his gait,
+             And each several chamber bless,
+             Through this palace, with sweet peace;
+             And the owner of it blest
+             Ever shall in safety rest.
+             Trip away; make no stay;
+             Meet me all by break of day.    Exeunt all but PUCK
+  PUCK.      If we shadows have offended,
+             Think but this, and all is mended,
+             That you have but slumb'red here
+             While these visions did appear.  
+             And this weak and idle theme,
+             No more yielding but a dream,
+             Gentles, do not reprehend.
+             If you pardon, we will mend.
+             And, as I am an honest Puck,
+             If we have unearned luck
+             Now to scape the serpent's tongue,
+             We will make amends ere long;
+             Else the Puck a liar call.
+             So, good night unto you all.
+             Give me your hands, if we be friends,
+             And Robin shall restore amends.                Exit
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1599
+
+
+MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
+
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon.
+  Don John, his bastard brother.
+  Claudio, a young lord of Florence.
+  Benedick, a Young lord of Padua.
+  Leonato, Governor of Messina.
+  Antonio, an old man, his brother.
+  Balthasar, attendant on Don Pedro.
+  Borachio, follower of Don John.
+  Conrade, follower of Don John.
+  Friar Francis.
+  Dogberry, a Constable.
+  Verges, a Headborough.
+  A Sexton.
+  A Boy.
+
+  Hero, daughter to Leonato.
+  Beatrice, niece to Leonato.
+  Margaret, waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.
+  Ursula, waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.
+
+  Messengers, Watch, Attendants, etc.  
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE.--Messina.
+
+
+ACT I. Scene I.
+An orchard before Leonato's house.
+
+Enter Leonato (Governor of Messina), Hero (his Daughter),
+and Beatrice (his Niece), with a Messenger.
+
+  Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this
+    night to Messina.
+  Mess. He is very near by this. He was not three leagues off when I
+    left him.
+  Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?
+  Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.
+  Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full
+    numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on
+    a young Florentine called Claudio.
+  Mess. Much deserv'd on his part, and equally rememb'red by Don
+    Pedro. He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing
+    in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion. He hath indeed
+    better bett'red expectation than you must expect of me to tell
+    you how.
+  Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.
+  Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much  
+    joy in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest
+    enough without a badge of bitterness.
+  Leon. Did he break out into tears?
+  Mess. In great measure.
+  Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than
+    those that are so wash'd. How much better is it to weep at joy
+    than to joy at weeping!
+  Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto return'd from the wars or no?
+  Mess. I know none of that name, lady. There was none such in the
+    army of any sort.
+  Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece?
+  Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.
+  Mess. O, he's return'd, and as pleasant as ever he was.
+  Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and challeng'd Cupid at
+    the flight, and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge,
+    subscrib'd for Cupid and challeng'd him at the burbolt. I pray
+    you, how many hath he kill'd and eaten in these wars? But how
+    many hath he kill'd? For indeed I promised to eat all of his
+    killing.
+  Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he'll  
+    be meet with you, I doubt it not.
+  Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.
+  Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it. He is a
+    very valiant trencherman; he hath an excellent stomach.
+  Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.
+  Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?
+  Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuff'd with all honourable
+    virtues.
+  Beat. It is so indeed. He is no less than a stuff'd man; but for
+    the stuffing--well, we are all mortal.
+  Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry
+    war betwixt Signior Benedick and her. They never meet but there's
+    a skirmish of wit between them.
+  Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that! In our last conflict four of
+    his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man govern'd
+    with one; so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let
+    him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for
+    it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable
+    creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new
+    sworn brother.  
+  Mess. Is't possible?
+  Beat. Very easily possible. He wears his faith but as the fashion
+    of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.
+  Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.
+  Beat. No. An he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is
+    his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a
+    voyage with him to the devil?
+  Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.
+  Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease! He is sooner
+    caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God
+    help the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will
+    cost him a thousand pound ere 'a be cured.
+  Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady.
+  Beat. Do, good friend.
+  Leon. You will never run mad, niece.
+  Beat. No, not till a hot January.
+  Mess. Don Pedro is approach'd.
+
+  Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, and John the Bastard.
+  
+  Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, are you come to meet your trouble? The
+    fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
+  Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace;
+    for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart
+    from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.
+  Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your
+    daughter.
+  Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so.
+  Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you ask'd her?
+  Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.
+  Pedro. You have it full, Benedick. We may guess by this what you
+    are, being a man. Truly the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady;
+    for you are like an honourable father.
+  Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head
+    on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.
+  Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick.
+    Nobody marks you.
+  Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
+  Beat. Is it possible Disdain should die while she hath such meet
+    food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert  
+    to disdain if you come in her presence.
+  Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of
+    all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my
+    heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none.
+  Beat. A dear happiness to women! They would else have been troubled
+    with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of
+    your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow
+    than a man swear he loves me.
+  Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind! So some gentleman
+    or other shall scape a predestinate scratch'd face.
+  Beat. Scratching could not make it worse an 'twere such a face as
+    yours were.
+  Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
+  Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
+  Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a
+    continuer. But keep your way, a God's name! I have done.
+  Beat. You always end with a jade's trick. I know you of old.
+  Pedro. That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior Claudio and Signior
+    Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him
+    we shall stay here at the least a month, and he heartly prays  
+    some occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no
+    hypocrite, but prays from his heart.
+  Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. [To Don
+    John] Let me bid you welcome, my lord. Being reconciled to the
+    Prince your brother, I owe you all duty.
+  John. I thank you. I am not of many words, but I thank you.
+  Leon. Please it your Grace lead on?
+  Pedro. Your hand, Leonato. We will go together.
+                            Exeunt. Manent Benedick and Claudio.
+  Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?
+  Bene. I noted her not, but I look'd on her.
+  Claud. Is she not a modest young lady?
+  Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple
+    true judgment? or would you have me speak after my custom, as
+    being a professed tyrant to their sex?
+  Claud. No. I pray thee speak in sober judgment.
+  Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise,
+    too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise.
+    Only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other
+    than she is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she  
+    is, I do not like her.
+  Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport. I pray thee tell me truly how
+    thou lik'st her.
+  Bene. Would you buy her, that you enquire after her?
+  Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel?
+  Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad
+    brow? or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a
+    good hare-finder and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key
+    shall a man take you to go in the song?
+  Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I look'd on.
+  Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter.
+    There's her cousin, an she were not possess'd with a fury,exceeds
+    her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of
+    December. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have
+    you?
+  Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the
+    contrary, if Hero would be my wife.
+  Bene. Is't come to this? In faith, hath not the world one man but
+    he will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a
+    bachelor of threescore again? Go to, i' faith! An thou wilt needs  
+    thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away
+    Sundays.
+
+                       Enter Don Pedro.
+
+    Look! Don Pedro is returned to seek you.
+  Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to
+    Leonato's?
+  Bene. I would your Grace would constrain me to tell.
+  Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.
+  Bene. You hear, Count Claudio. I can be secret as a dumb man, I
+    would have you think so; but, on my allegiance--mark you this-on
+    my allegiance! he is in love. With who? Now that is your Grace's
+    part. Mark how short his answer is: With Hero, Leonato's short
+    daughter.
+  Claud. If this were so, so were it utt'red.
+  Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: 'It is not so, nor 'twas not so;
+    but indeed, God forbid it should be so!'
+  Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be
+    otherwise.  
+  Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.
+  Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.
+  Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought.
+  Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.
+  Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.
+  Claud. That I love her, I feel.
+  Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.
+  Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she
+    should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me.
+    I will die in it at the stake.
+  Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of
+    beauty.
+  Claud. And never could maintain his part but in the force of his
+    will.
+  Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me
+    up, I likewise give her most humble thanks; but that I will have
+    a rechate winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible
+    baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them
+    the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust
+    none; and the fine is (for the which I may go the finer), I will  
+    live a bachelor.
+  Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.
+  Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with
+    love. Prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get
+    again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen
+    and hang me up at the door of a brothel house for the sign of
+    blind Cupid.
+  Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt
+    prove a notable argument.
+  Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and
+    he that hits me, let him be clapp'd on the shoulder and call'd
+    Adam.
+  Pedro. Well, as time shall try.
+    'In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.'
+  Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear
+    it, pluck off the bull's horns and set them in my forehead, and
+    let me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write
+    'Here is good horse to hire,' let them signify under my sign
+    'Here you may see Benedick the married man.'
+  Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.  
+  Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou
+    wilt quake for this shortly.
+  Bene. I look for an earthquake too then.
+  Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime,
+    good Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's, commend me to him and
+    tell him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made
+    great preparation.
+  Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and
+    so I commit you--
+  Claud. To the tuition of God. From my house--if I had it--
+  Pedro. The sixth of July. Your loving friend, Benedick.
+  Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is
+    sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly
+    basted on neither. Ere you flout old ends any further, examine
+    your conscience. And so I leave you.                   Exit.
+  Claud. My liege, your Highness now may do me good.
+  Pedro. My love is thine to teach. Teach it but how,
+    And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
+    Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
+  Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord?  
+  Pedro. No child but Hero; she's his only heir.
+    Dost thou affect her, Claudio?
+  Claud.O my lord,
+    When you went onward on this ended action,
+    I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,
+    That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand
+    Than to drive liking to the name of love;
+    But now I am return'd and that war-thoughts
+    Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
+    Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
+    All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
+    Saying I lik'd her ere I went to wars.
+  Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently
+    And tire the hearer with a book of words.
+    If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,
+    And I will break with her and with her father,
+    And thou shalt have her. Wast not to this end
+    That thou began'st to twist so fine a story?
+  Claud. How sweetly you do minister to love,
+    That know love's grief by his complexion!  
+    But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
+    I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise.
+  Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
+    The fairest grant is the necessity.
+    Look, what will serve is fit. 'Tis once, thou lovest,
+    And I will fit thee with the remedy.
+    I know we shall have revelling to-night.
+    I will assume thy part in some disguise
+    And tell fair Hero I am Claudio,
+    And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart
+    And take her hearing prisoner with the force
+    And strong encounter of my amorous tale.
+    Then after to her father will I break,
+    And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
+    In practice let us put it presently.                 Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+A room in Leonato's house.
+
+Enter [at one door] Leonato and [at another door, Antonio] an old man,
+brother to Leonato.
+
+  Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin your son? Hath he
+    provided this music?
+  Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange
+    news that you yet dreamt not of.
+  Leon. Are they good?
+  Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a good cover, they
+    show well outward. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a
+    thick-pleached alley in mine orchard, were thus much overheard by
+    a man of mine: the Prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my
+    niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it this night in a
+    dance, and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the
+    present time by the top and instantly break with you of it.
+  Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?
+  Ant. A good sharp fellow. I will send for him, and question him
+    yourself.
+  Leon. No, no. We will hold it as a dream till it appear itself; but  
+    I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better
+    prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and
+    tell her of it.                              [Exit Antonio.]
+
+         [Enter Antonio's Son with a Musician, and others.]
+
+    [To the Son] Cousin, you know what you have to do.
+    --[To the Musician] O, I cry you mercy, friend. Go you with me,
+    and I will use your skill.--Good cousin, have a care this busy
+    time.                                                Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Another room in Leonato's house.]
+
+Enter Sir John the Bastard and Conrade, his companion.
+
+  Con. What the goodyear, my lord! Why are you thus out of measure
+    sad?
+  John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds; therefore
+    the sadness is without limit.
+  Con. You should hear reason.
+  John. And when I have heard it, what blessings brings it?
+  Con. If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance.
+  John. I wonder that thou (being, as thou say'st thou art, born
+    under Saturn) goest about to apply a moral medicine to a
+    mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when
+    I have cause, and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have
+    stomach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep when I am drowsy,
+    and tend on no man's business; laugh when I am merry, and claw no
+    man in his humour.
+  Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of this till you may
+    do it without controlment. You have of late stood out against
+    your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace, where  
+    it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair
+    weather that you make yourself. It is needful that you frame the
+    season for your own harvest.
+  John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace,
+    and it better fits my blood to be disdain'd of all than to
+    fashion a carriage to rob love from any. In this, though I cannot
+    be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but
+    I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and
+    enfranchis'd with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in
+    my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I
+    would do my liking. In the meantime let me be that I am, and seek
+    not to alter me.
+  Con. Can you make no use of your discontent?
+  John. I make all use of it, for I use it only.
+
+                       Enter Borachio.
+
+    Who comes here? What news, Borachio?
+  Bora. I came yonder from a great supper. The Prince your brother is
+    royally entertain'd by Leonato, and I can give you intelligence  
+    of an intended marriage.
+  John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief on?
+    What is he for a fool that betroths himself to unquietness?
+  Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand.
+  John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio?
+  Bora. Even he.
+  John. A proper squire! And who? and who? which way looks he?
+  Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.
+  John. A very forward March-chick! How came you to this?
+  Bora. Being entertain'd for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty
+    room, comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand in sad
+    conference. I whipt me behind the arras and there heard it agreed
+    upon that the Prince should woo Hero for himself, and having
+    obtain'd her, give her to Count Claudio.
+  John. Come, come, let us thither. This may prove food to my
+    displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my
+    overthrow. If I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way.
+    You are both sure, and will assist me?
+  Con. To the death, my lord.
+  John. Let us to the great supper. Their cheer is the greater that  
+    I am subdued. Would the cook were o' my mind! Shall we go prove
+    what's to be done?
+  Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT II. Scene I.
+A hall in Leonato's house.
+
+Enter Leonato, [Antonio] his Brother, Hero his Daughter,
+and Beatrice his Niece, and a Kinsman; [also Margaret and Ursula].
+
+  Leon. Was not Count John here at supper?
+  Ant. I saw him not.
+  Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am
+    heart-burn'd an hour after.
+  Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.
+  Beat. He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway
+    between him and Benedick. The one is too like an image and says
+    nothing, and the other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore
+    tattling.
+  Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's mouth,
+    and half Count John's melancholy in Signior Benedick's face--
+  Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in
+    his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world--if 'a
+    could get her good will.
+  Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband if
+    thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.  
+  Ant. In faith, she's too curst.
+  Beat. Too curst is more than curst. I shall lessen God's sending
+    that way, for it is said, 'God sends a curst cow short horns,'
+    but to a cow too curst he sends none.
+  Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.
+  Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am
+    at him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord, I could not
+    endure a husband with a beard on his face. I had rather lie in
+    the woollen!
+  Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard.
+  Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel and make
+    him my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a
+    youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that
+    is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a
+    man, I am not for him. Therefore I will even take sixpence in
+    earnest of the berrord and lead his apes into hell.
+  Leon. Well then, go you into hell?
+  Beat. No; but to the gate, and there will the devil meet me like an
+    old cuckold with horns on his head, and say 'Get you to heaven,
+    Beatrice, get you to heaven. Here's no place for you maids.' So  
+    deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter--for the heavens.
+    He shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry
+    as the day is long.
+  Ant. [to Hero] Well, niece, I trust you will be rul'd by your
+    father.
+  Beat. Yes faith. It is my cousin's duty to make cursy and say,
+    'Father, as it please you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him
+    be a handsome fellow, or else make another cursy, and say,
+    'Father, as it please me.'
+  Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.
+  Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would
+    it not grieve a woman to be overmaster'd with a piece of valiant
+    dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?
+    No, uncle, I'll none. Adam's sons are my brethren, and truly I
+    hold it a sin to match in my kinred.
+  Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you. If the Prince do solicit
+    you in that kind, you know your answer.
+  Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed
+    in good time. If the Prince be too important, tell him there is
+    measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me,  
+    Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a
+    measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like
+    a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly
+    modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes
+    Repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace
+    faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.
+  Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
+  Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.
+  Leon. The revellers are ent'ring, brother. Make good room.
+                                                 [Exit Antonio.]
+
+    Enter, [masked,] Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Balthasar.
+       [With them enter Antonio, also masked. After them enter]
+       Don John [and Borachio (without masks), who stand aside
+                 and look on during the dance].
+
+  Pedro. Lady, will you walk a bout with your friend?
+  Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing,
+    I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.
+  Pedro. With me in your company?  
+  Hero. I may say so when I please.
+  Pedro. And when please you to say so?
+  Hero. When I like your favour, for God defend the lute should be
+    like the case!
+  Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.
+  Hero. Why then, your visor should be thatch'd.
+  Pedro. Speak low if you speak love.         [Takes her aside.]
+  Balth. Well, I would you did like me.
+  Marg. So would not I for your own sake, for I have many ill
+    qualities.
+  Balth. Which is one?
+  Marg. I say my prayers aloud.
+  Balth. I love you the better. The hearers may cry Amen.
+  Marg. God match me with a good dancer!
+  Balth. Amen.
+  Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done!
+    Answer, clerk.
+  Balth. No more words. The clerk is answered.
+                                              [Takes her aside.]
+  Urs. I know you well enough. You are Signior Antonio.  
+  Ant. At a word, I am not.
+  Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.
+  Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.
+  Urs. You could never do him so ill-well unless you were the very
+    man. Here's his dry hand up and down. You are he, you are he!
+  Ant. At a word, I am not.
+  Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you by your excellent
+    wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum you are he. Graces will
+    appear, and there's an end.              [ They step aside.]
+  Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?
+  Bene. No, you shall pardon me.
+  Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?
+  Bene. Not now.
+  Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the
+    'Hundred Merry Tales.' Well, this was Signior Benedick that said
+    so.
+  Bene. What's he?
+  Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.
+  Bene. Not I, believe me.
+  Beat. Did he never make you laugh?  
+  Bene. I pray you, what is he?
+  Beat. Why, he is the Prince's jester, a very dull fool. Only his
+    gift is in devising impossible slanders. None but libertines
+    delight in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in
+    his villany; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then
+    they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet.
+    I would he had boarded me.
+  Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say.
+  Beat. Do, do. He'll but break a comparison or two on me; which
+    peradventure, not marked or not laugh'd at, strikes him into
+    melancholy; and then there's a partridge wing saved, for the fool
+    will eat no supper that night.
+                                                        [Music.]
+    We must follow the leaders.
+  Bene. In every good thing.
+  Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next
+    turning.
+        Dance. Exeunt (all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio].
+  John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and hath withdrawn her
+    father to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but  
+    one visor remains.
+  Bora. And that is Claudio. I know him by his bearing.
+  John. Are you not Signior Benedick?
+  Claud. You know me well. I am he.
+  John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love. He is
+    enamour'd on Hero. I pray you dissuade him from her; she is no
+    equal for his birth. You may do the part of an honest man in it.
+  Claud. How know you he loves her?
+  John. I heard him swear his affection.
+  Bora. So did I too, and he swore he would marry her tonight.
+  John. Come, let us to the banquet.
+                                          Exeunt. Manet Claudio.
+  Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick
+    But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.
+                                                      [Unmasks.]
+    'Tis certain so. The Prince wooes for himself.
+    Friendship is constant in all other things
+    Save in the office and affairs of love.
+    Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;
+    Let every eye negotiate for itself  
+    And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch
+    Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
+    This is an accident of hourly proof,
+    Which I mistrusted not. Farewell therefore Hero!
+
+                  Enter Benedick [unmasked].
+
+  Bene. Count Claudio?
+  Claud. Yea, the same.
+  Bene. Come, will you go with me?
+  Claud. Whither?
+  Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, County. What
+    fashion will you wear the garland of? about your neck, like an
+    usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You
+    must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.
+  Claud. I wish him joy of her.
+  Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drovier. So they sell
+    bullocks. But did you think the Prince would have served you
+    thus?
+  Claud. I pray you leave me.  
+  Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man! 'Twas the boy that
+    stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.
+  Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you.                Exit.
+  Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into sedges. But,
+    that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The
+    Prince's fool! Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am
+    merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself wrong. I am not so
+    reputed. It is the base (though bitter) disposition of Beatrice
+    that puts the world into her person and so gives me out. Well,
+    I'll be revenged as I may.
+
+                         Enter Don Pedro.
+
+  Pedro. Now, signior, where's the Count? Did you see him?
+  Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame, I found
+    him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I
+    think I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of
+    this young lady, and I off'red him my company to a willow tree,
+    either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him
+    up a rod, as being worthy to be whipt.  
+  Pedro. To be whipt? What's his fault?
+  Bene. The flat transgression of a schoolboy who, being overjoyed
+    with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals
+    it.
+  Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is
+    in the stealer.
+  Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the
+    garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the
+    rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n
+    his bird's nest.
+  Pedro. I will but teach them to sing and restore them to the owner.
+  Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith you say
+    honestly.
+  Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you. The gentleman that
+    danc'd with her told her she is much wrong'd by you.
+  Bene. O, she misus'd me past the endurance of a block! An oak but
+    with one green leaf on it would have answered her; my very visor
+    began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not
+    thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince's jester, that
+    I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such  
+    impossible conveyance upon me that I stood like a man at a mark,
+    with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every
+    word stabs. If her breath were as terrible as her terminations,
+    there were no living near her; she would infect to the North
+    Star. I would not marry her though she were endowed with all that
+    Adam had left him before he transgress'd. She would have made
+    Hercules have turn'd spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make
+    the fire too. Come, talk not of her. You shall find her the
+    infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would
+    conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as
+    quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose,
+    because they would go thither; so indeed all disquiet, horror,
+    and perturbation follows her.
+
+           Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero.
+
+  Pedro. Look, here she comes.
+  Bene. Will your Grace command me any service to the world's end? I
+    will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can
+    devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the  
+    furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's
+    foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any
+    embassage to the Pygmies--rather than hold three words'
+    conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?
+  Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.
+  Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not! I cannot endure my Lady
+    Tongue.                                              [Exit.]
+  Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior
+    Benedick.
+  Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile, and I gave him use for
+    it--a double heart for his single one. Marry, once before he won
+    it of me with false dice; therefore your Grace may well say I
+    have lost it.
+  Pedro. You have put him down, lady; you have put him down.
+  Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove
+    the mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent
+    me to seek.
+  Pedro. Why, how now, Count? Wherefore are you sad?
+  Claud. Not sad, my lord.
+  Pedro. How then? sick?  
+  Claud. Neither, my lord.
+  Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but
+    civil count--civil as an orange, and something of that jealous
+    complexion.
+  Pedro. I' faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though I'll
+    be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I
+    have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won. I have broke with
+    her father, and his good will obtained. Name the day of marriage,
+    and God give thee joy!
+  Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes. His
+    Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!
+  Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.
+  Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little
+    happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours.
+    I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.
+  Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss
+    and let not him speak neither.
+  Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
+  Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy
+    side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her  
+    heart.
+  Claud. And so she doth, cousin.
+  Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but
+    I, and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry 'Heigh-ho for
+    a husband!'
+  Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
+  Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your
+    Grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent
+    husbands, if a maid could come by them.
+  Pedro. Will you have me, lady?
+  Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days:
+    your Grace is too costly to wear every day. But I beseech your
+    Grace pardon me. I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.
+  Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes
+    you, for out o' question you were born in a merry hour.
+  Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star
+    danc'd, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!
+  Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?
+  Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle, By your Grace's pardon.    Exit.
+  Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.  
+  Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She
+    is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I
+    have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness
+    and wak'd herself with laughing.
+  Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.
+  Leon. O, by no means! She mocks all her wooers out of suit.
+  Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
+  Leon. O Lord, my lord! if they were but a week married, they would
+    talk themselves mad.
+  Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?
+  Claud. To-morrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all
+    his rites.
+  Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just
+    sevennight; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer
+    my mind.
+  Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing;
+    but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us.
+    I will in the interim undertake one of Hercules' labours, which
+    is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a
+    mountain of affection th' one with th' other. I would fain have  
+    it a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it if you three will
+    but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.
+  Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights'
+    watchings.
+  Claud. And I, my lord.
+  Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?
+  Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a
+    good husband.
+  Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know.
+    Thus far can I praise him: he is of a noble strain, of approved
+    valour, and confirm'd honesty. I will teach you how to humour
+    your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I,
+    [to Leonato and Claudio] with your two helps, will so practise on
+    Benedick that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy
+    stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this,
+    Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are
+    the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+A hall in Leonato's house.
+
+Enter [Don] John and Borachio.
+
+  John. It is so. The Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of
+    Leonato.
+  Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.
+  John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be med'cinable to me.
+    I am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his
+    affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this
+    marriage?
+  Bora. Not honestly, my lord, but so covertly that no dishonesty
+    shall appear in me.
+  John. Show me briefly how.
+  Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in
+    the favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.
+  John. I remember.
+  Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her
+    to look out at her lady's chamber window.
+  John. What life is in that to be the death of this marriage?
+  Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the  
+    Prince your brother; spare not to tell him that he hath wronged
+    his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do
+    you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one as
+    Hero.
+  John. What proof shall I make of that?
+  Bora. Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo
+    Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?
+  John. Only to despite them I will endeavour anything.
+  Bora. Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count
+    Claudio alone; tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend
+    a kind of zeal both to the Prince and Claudio, as--in love of
+    your brother's honour, who hath made this match, and his friend's
+    reputation, who is thus like to be cozen'd with the semblance of
+    a maid--that you have discover'd thus. They will scarcely believe
+    this without trial. Offer them instances; which shall bear no
+    less likelihood than to see me at her chamber window, hear me
+    call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them
+    to see this the very night before the intended wedding (for in
+    the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be
+    absent) and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's  
+    disloyalty that jealousy shall be call'd assurance and all the
+    preparation overthrown.
+  John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in
+    practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a
+    thousand ducats.
+  Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not
+    shame me.
+  John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Leonato's orchard.
+
+Enter Benedick alone.
+
+  Bene. Boy!
+
+                    [Enter Boy.]
+
+  Boy. Signior?
+  Bene. In my chamber window lies a book. Bring it hither to me in
+    the orchard.
+  Boy. I am here already, sir.
+  Bene. I know that, but I would have thee hence and here again.
+    (Exit Boy.) I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much
+    another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love,
+    will, after he hath laugh'd at such shallow follies in others,
+    become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love; and such
+    a man is Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him
+    but the drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor
+    and the pipe. I have known when he would have walk'd ten mile
+    afoot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake  
+    carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain
+    and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is
+    he turn'd orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet--
+    just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with
+    these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not. I will not be sworn but
+    love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it,
+    till he have made an oyster of me he shall never make me such a
+    fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am
+    well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in
+    one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall
+    be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never
+    cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not
+    near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an
+    excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it
+    please God. Ha, the Prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in
+    the arbour.                                         [Hides.]
+
+              Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio.
+                      Music [within].
+  
+  Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?
+  Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
+    As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!
+  Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
+  Claud. O, very well, my lord. The music ended,
+    We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.
+
+                   Enter Balthasar with Music.
+
+  Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again.
+  Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
+    To slander music any more than once.
+  Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency
+    To put a strange face on his own perfection.
+    I pray thee sing, and let me woo no more.
+  Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing,
+    Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
+    To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,
+    Yet will he swear he loves.
+  Pedro. Nay, pray thee come;  
+    Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,
+    Do it in notes.
+  Balth. Note this before my notes:
+    There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
+  Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks!
+    Note notes, forsooth, and nothing!                  [Music.]
+  Bene. [aside] Now divine air! Now is his soul ravish'd! Is it not
+    strange that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies?
+    Well, a horn for my money, when all's done.
+                                              [Balthasar sings.]
+                      The Song.
+
+        Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more!
+          Men were deceivers ever,
+        One foot in sea, and one on shore;
+          To one thing constant never.
+            Then sigh not so,
+            But let them go,
+          And be you blithe and bonny,
+        Converting all your sounds of woe  
+          Into Hey nonny, nonny.
+
+        Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,
+          Of dumps so dull and heavy!
+        The fraud of men was ever so,
+          Since summer first was leavy.
+            Then sigh not so, &c.
+
+  Pedro. By my troth, a good song.
+  Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.
+  Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith! Thou sing'st well enough for a shift.
+  Bene. [aside] An he had been a dog that should have howl'd thus,
+    they would have hang'd him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no
+    mischief. I had as live have heard the night raven, come what
+    plague could have come after it.
+  Pedro. Yea, marry. Dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee get us
+    some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the
+    Lady Hero's chamber window.
+  Balth. The best I can, my lord.
+  Pedro. Do so. Farewell.  
+                                Exit Balthasar [with Musicians].
+    Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day? that
+    your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?
+  Claud. O, ay!-[Aside to Pedro] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits.
+    --I did never think that lady would have loved any man.
+  Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote
+    on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours
+    seem'd ever to abhor.
+  Bene. [aside] Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?
+  Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it, but
+    that she loves him with an enraged affection. It is past the
+    infinite of thought.
+  Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit.
+  Claud. Faith, like enough.
+  Leon. O God, counterfeit? There was never counterfeit of passion
+    came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.
+  Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?
+  Claud. [aside] Bait the hook well! This fish will bite.
+  Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you--you heard my
+    daughter tell you how.  
+  Claud. She did indeed.
+  Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me. I would have thought her
+    spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.
+  Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord--especially against
+    Benedick.
+  Bene. [aside] I should think this a gull but that the white-bearded
+    fellow speaks it. Knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such
+    reverence.
+  Claud. [aside] He hath ta'en th' infection. Hold it up.
+  Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
+  Leon. No, and swears she never will. That's her torment.
+  Claud. 'Tis true indeed. So your daughter says. 'Shall I,' says
+    she, 'that have so oft encount'red him with scorn, write to him
+    that I love him?'"
+  Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him; for
+    she'll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her
+    smock till she have writ a sheet of paper. My daughter tells us
+    all.
+  Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest
+    your daughter told us of.  
+  Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found
+    'Benedick' and 'Beatrice' between the sheet?
+  Claud. That.
+  Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence, rail'd at
+    herself that she should be so immodest to write to one that she
+    knew would flout her. 'I measure him,' says she, 'by my own
+    spirit; for I should flout him if he writ to me. Yea, though I
+    love him, I should.'
+  Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her
+    heart, tears her hair, prays, curses--'O sweet Benedick! God give
+    me patience!'
+  Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so. And the ecstasy hath so
+    much overborne her that my daughter is sometime afeard she will
+    do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.
+  Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she
+    will not discover it.
+  Claud. To what end? He would make but a sport of it and torment the
+    poor lady worse.
+  Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him! She's an
+    excellent sweet lady, and (out of all suspicion) she is virtuous.  
+  Claud. And she is exceeding wise.
+  Pedro. In everything but in loving Benedick.
+  Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body,
+    we have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry
+    for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.
+  Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me. I would have
+    daff'd all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you
+    tell Benedick of it and hear what 'a will say.
+  Leon. Were it good, think you?
+  Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she will die
+    if he love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known,
+    and she will die, if he woo her, rather than she will bate one
+    breath of her accustomed crossness.
+  Pedro. She doth well. If she should make tender of her love, 'tis
+    very possible he'll scorn it; for the man (as you know all) hath
+    a contemptible spirit.
+  Claud. He is a very proper man.
+  Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.
+  Claud. Before God! and in my mind, very wise.
+  Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.  
+  Claud. And I take him to be valiant.
+  Pedro. As Hector, I assure you; and in the managing of quarrels you
+    may say he is wise, for either he avoids them with great
+    discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christianlike fear.
+  Leon. If he do fear God, 'a must necessarily keep peace. If he
+    break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and
+    trembling.
+  Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it
+    seems not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am
+    sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick and tell him of
+    her love?
+  Claud. Never tell him, my lord. Let her wear it out with good
+    counsel.
+  Leon. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her heart out first.
+  Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter. Let it
+    cool the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would
+    modestly examine himself to see how much he is unworthy so good a
+    lady.
+  Leon. My lord, will you .walk? Dinner is ready.
+                                               [They walk away.]  
+  Claud. If he dote on her upon this, I will never trust my
+    expectation.
+  Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her, and that must your
+    daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when they
+    hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter.
+    That's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb
+    show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.
+                       Exeunt [Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato].
+
+                [Benedick advances from the arbour.]
+
+  Bene. This can be no trick. The conference was sadly borne; they
+    have the truth of this from Hero; they seem to pity the lady.
+    It seems her affections have their full bent. Love me? Why, it
+    must be requited. I hear how I am censur'd. They say I will bear
+    myself proudly if I perceive the love come from her. They say too
+    that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did
+    never think to marry. I must not seem proud. Happy are they that
+    hear their detractions and can put them to mending. They say the
+    lady is fair--'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous  
+    --'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me--by
+    my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of
+    her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance
+    have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me because I
+    have railed so long against marriage. But doth not the appetite
+    alters? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure
+    in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of
+    the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No, the world
+    must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not
+    think I should live till I were married.
+
+                 Enter Beatrice.
+
+    Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady! I do spy
+    some marks of love in her.
+  Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid You come in to dinner.
+  Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
+  Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to
+    thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come.
+  Bene. You take pleasure then in the message?  
+  Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knives point, and
+    choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well.
+Exit.
+  Bene. Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.'
+    There's a double meaning in that. 'I took no more pains for those
+    thanks than you took pains to thank me.' That's as much as to
+    say, 'Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks.' If I
+    do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I
+    am a Jew. I will go get her picture.                   Exit.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. Scene I.
+Leonato's orchard.
+
+Enter Hero and two Gentlewomen, Margaret and Ursula.
+
+  Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour.
+    There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
+    Proposing with the Prince and Claudio.
+    Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursley
+    Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
+    Is all of her. Say that thou overheard'st us;
+    And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
+    Where honeysuckles, ripened by the sun,
+    Forbid the sun to enter--like favourites,
+    Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
+    Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her
+    To listen our propose. This is thy office.
+    Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.
+  Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently.    [Exit.]
+  Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
+    As we do trace this alley up and down,
+    Our talk must only be of Benedick.  
+    When I do name him, let it be thy part
+    To praise him more than ever man did merit.
+    My talk to thee must be how Benedick
+    Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter
+    Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
+    That only wounds by hearsay.
+
+                   [Enter Beatrice.]
+
+    Now begin;
+    For look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs
+    Close by the ground, to hear our conference.
+
+               [Beatrice hides in the arbour].
+
+  Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
+    Cut with her golden oars the silver stream
+    And greedily devour the treacherous bait.
+    So angle we for Beatrice, who even now
+    Is couched in the woodbine coverture.  
+    Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
+  Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
+    Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.
+                                     [They approach the arbour.]
+    No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful.
+    I know her spirits are as coy and wild
+    As haggards of the rock.
+  Urs. But are you sure
+    That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?
+  Hero. So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.
+  Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?
+  Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;
+    But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
+    To wish him wrestle with affection
+    And never to let Beatrice know of it.
+  Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
+    Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed
+    As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?
+  Hero. O god of love! I know he doth deserve
+    As much as may be yielded to a man:  
+    But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart
+    Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.
+    Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
+    Misprizing what they look on; and her wit
+    Values itself so highly that to her
+    All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,
+    Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
+    She is so self-endeared.
+  Urs. Sure I think so;
+    And therefore certainly it were not good
+    She knew his love, lest she'll make sport at it.
+  Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,
+    How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
+    But she would spell him backward. If fair-fac'd,
+    She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;
+    If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic,
+    Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
+    If low, an agate very vilely cut;
+    If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
+    If silent, why, a block moved with none.  
+    So turns she every man the wrong side out
+    And never gives to truth and virtue that
+    Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.
+  Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
+  Hero. No, not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
+    As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.
+    But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
+    She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
+    Out of myself, press me to death with wit!
+    Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
+    Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly.
+    It were a better death than die with mocks,
+    Which is as bad as die with tickling.
+  Urs. Yet tell her of it. Hear what she will say.
+  Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick
+    And counsel him to fight against his passion.
+    And truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
+    To stain my cousin with. One doth not know
+    How much an ill word may empoison liking.
+  Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong!  
+    She cannot be so much without true judgment
+    (Having so swift and excellent a wit
+    As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse
+    So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.
+  Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
+    Always excepted my dear Claudio.
+  Urs. I pray you be not angry with me, madam,
+    Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,
+    For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour,
+    Goes foremost in report through Italy.
+  Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name.
+  Urs. His excellence did earn it ere he had it.
+    When are you married, madam?
+  Hero. Why, every day to-morrow! Come, go in.
+    I'll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel
+    Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.
+                                               [They walk away.]
+  Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you! We have caught her, madam.
+  Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps;
+    Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.  
+                                       Exeunt [Hero and Ursula].
+
+    [Beatrice advances from the arbour.]
+
+  Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
+    Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
+    Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
+    No glory lives behind the back of such.
+    And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,
+    Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.
+    If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
+    To bind our loves up in a holy band;
+    For others say thou dost deserve, and I
+    Believe it better than reportingly.                    Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+A room in Leonato's house.
+
+Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.
+
+  Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go
+    I toward Arragon.
+  Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me.
+  Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your
+    marriage as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear
+    it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from
+    the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth.
+    He hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring, and the little
+    hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a
+    bell; and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks,
+    his tongue speaks.
+  Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
+  Leon. So say I. Methinks you are sadder.
+  Claud. I hope he be in love.
+  Pedro. Hang him, truant! There's no true drop of blood in him to be
+    truly touch'd with love. If he be sad, he wants money.
+  Bene. I have the toothache.  
+  Pedro. Draw it.
+  Bene. Hang it!
+  Claud. You must hang it first and draw it afterwards.
+  Pedro. What? sigh for the toothache?
+  Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm.
+  Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
+  Claud. Yet say I he is in love.
+  Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy
+    that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman to-day, a
+    Frenchman to-morrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as
+    a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from
+    the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this
+    foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you
+    would have it appear he is.
+  Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing
+    old signs. 'A brushes his hat o' mornings. What should that bode?
+  Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's?
+  Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him, and the
+     old ornament of his cheek hath already stuff'd tennis balls.
+  Leon. Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.  
+  Pedro. Nay, 'a rubs himself with civet. Can you smell him out by
+    that?
+  Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love.
+  Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
+  Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face?
+  Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which I hear what they say
+    of him.
+  Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is new-crept into a
+    lutestring, and now govern'd by stops.
+  Pedro. Indeed that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude,
+    he is in love.
+  Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.
+  Pedro. That would I know too. I warrant, one that knows him not.
+  Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for
+    him.
+  Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.
+  Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old signior, walk
+    aside with me. I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak
+    to you, which these hobby-horses must not hear.
+                                  [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.]  
+  Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice!
+  Claud. 'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their
+    parts with Beatrice, and then the two bears will not bite one
+    another when they meet.
+
+                 Enter John the Bastard.
+
+  John. My lord and brother, God save you.
+  Pedro. Good den, brother.
+  John. If your leisure serv'd, I would speak with you.
+  Pedro. In private?
+  John. If it please you. Yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I
+    would speak of concerns him.
+  Pedro. What's the matter?
+  John. [to Claudio] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?
+  Pedro. You know he does.
+  John. I know not that, when he knows what I know.
+  Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.
+  John. You may think I love you not. Let that appear hereafter, and
+    aim better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I  
+    think he holds you well and in dearness of heart hath holp to
+    effect your ensuing marriage--surely suit ill spent and labour
+    ill bestowed!
+  Pedro. Why, what's the matter?
+  John. I came hither to tell you, and, circumstances short'ned (for
+    she has been too long a-talking of), the lady is disloyal.
+  Claud. Who? Hero?
+  John. Even she--Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero.
+  Claud. Disloyal?
+  John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness. I could say
+    she were worse; think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to
+    it. Wonder not till further warrant. Go but with me to-night, you
+    shall see her chamber window ent'red, even the night before her
+    wedding day. If you love her then, to-morrow wed her. But it
+    would better fit your honour to change your mind.
+  Claud. May this be so?
+  Pedro. I will not think it.
+  John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you
+    know. If you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you
+    have seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly.  
+  Claud. If I see anything to-night why I should not marry her
+    to-morrow, in the congregation where I should wed, there will I
+    shame her.
+  Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with
+    thee to disgrace her.
+  John. I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses.
+    Bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.
+  Pedro. O day untowardly turned!
+  Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!
+  John. O plague right well prevented!
+    So will you say when you have seen the Sequel.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+A street.
+
+Enter Dogberry and his compartner [Verges], with the Watch.
+
+  Dog. Are you good men and true?
+  Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation,
+    body and soul.
+  Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them if they should
+    have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince's watch.
+  Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.
+  Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?
+  1. Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write
+    and read.
+  Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath bless'd you with a
+    good name. To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune, but
+    to write and read comes by nature.
+  2. Watch. Both which, Master Constable--
+  Dog. You have. I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your
+    favour, sir, why, give God thanks and make no boast of it; and
+    for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no
+    need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most  
+    senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch. Therefore
+    bear you the lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend
+    all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince's
+    name.
+  2. Watch. How if 'a will not stand?
+  Dog. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go, and presently
+    call the rest of the watch together and thank God you are rid of
+    a knave.
+  Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the
+    Prince's subjects.
+  Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince's
+    subjects. You shall also make no noise in the streets; for for
+    the watch to babble and to talk is most tolerable, and not to be
+    endured.
+  2. Watch. We will rather sleep than talk. We know what belongs to
+    a watch.
+  Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I
+    cannot see how sleeping should offend. Only have a care that your
+    bills be not stol'n. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses
+    and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.  
+  2. Watch. How if they will not?
+  Dog. Why then, let them alone till they are sober. If they make you
+    not then the better answer, You may say they are not the men you
+    took them for.
+  2. Watch. Well, sir.
+  Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your
+    office, to be no true man; and for such kind of men, the less you
+    meddle or make with them, why, the more your honesty.
+  2. Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on
+    him?
+  Dog. Truly, by your office you may; but I think they that touch
+    pitch will be defil'd. The most peaceable way for you, if you do
+    take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is, and steal
+    out of your company.
+  Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner.
+  Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who
+    hath any honesty in him.
+  Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the
+    nurse and bid her still it.
+  2. Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?  
+  Dog. Why then, depart in peace and let the child wake her with
+    crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes will
+    never answer a calf when he bleats.
+  Verg. 'Tis very true.
+  Dog. This is the end of the charge: you, constable, are to present
+    the Prince's own person. If you meet the Prince in the night,
+    you may stay him.
+  Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think 'a cannot.
+  Dog. Five shillings to one on't with any man that knows the
+    statutes, he may stay him! Marry, not without the Prince be
+    willing; for indeed the watch ought to offend no man, and it is
+    an offence to stay a man against his will.
+  Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so.
+  Dog. Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night. An there be any matter
+    of weight chances, call up me. Keep your fellows' counsels and
+    your own, and good night. Come, neighbour.
+  2. Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge. Let us go sit here
+    upon the church bench till two, and then all to bed.
+  Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch about
+    Signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there tomorrow,  
+    there is a great coil to-night. Adieu. Be vigitant, I beseech
+    you.                           Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges].
+
+                     Enter Borachio and Conrade.
+
+  Bora. What, Conrade!
+  2. Watch. [aside] Peace! stir not!
+  Bora. Conrade, I say!
+  Con. Here, man. I am at thy elbow.
+  Bora. Mass, and my elbow itch'd! I thought there would a scab
+    follow.
+  Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy
+    tale.
+  Bora. Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles
+    rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.
+  2. Watch. [aside] Some treason, masters. Yet stand close.
+  Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.
+  Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear?
+  Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villany
+    should be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones,  
+    poor ones may make what price they will.
+  Con. I wonder at it.
+  Bora. That shows thou art unconfirm'd. Thou knowest that the
+    fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.
+  Con. Yes, it is apparel.
+  Bora. I mean the fashion.
+  Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
+  Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool's the fool. But seest thou
+    not what a deformed thief this fashion is?
+  2. Watch. [aside] I know that Deformed. 'A bas been a vile thief
+    this seven year; 'a goes up and down like a gentleman. I remember
+    his name.
+  Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody?
+  Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house.
+  Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is?
+    how giddily 'a turns about all the hot-bloods between fourteen
+    and five-and-thirty? sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's
+    soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime like god Bel's priests
+    in the old church window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in
+    the smirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as  
+    massy as his club?
+  Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more
+    apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the
+    fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling
+    me of the fashion?
+  Bora. Not so neither. But know that I have to-night wooed Margaret,
+    the Lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero. She leans me
+    out at her mistress' chamber window, bids me a thousand times
+    good night--I tell this tale vilely; I should first tell thee how
+    the Prince, Claudio and my master, planted and placed and
+    possessed by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this
+    amiable encounter.
+  Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero?
+  Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my
+    master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which
+    first possess'd them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive
+    them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander
+    that Don John had made, away went Claudio enrag'd; swore he would
+    meet her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and
+    there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw  
+    o'ernight and send her home again without a husband.
+  2. Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name stand!
+  1. Watch. Call up the right Master Constable. We have here
+    recover'd the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known
+    in the commonwealth.
+  2. Watch. And one Deformed is one of them. I know him; 'a wears a
+    lock.
+  Con. Masters, masters--
+  1. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.
+  Con. Masters--
+  2. Watch. Never speak, we charge you. Let us obey you to go with
+    us.
+  Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of
+    these men's bills.
+  Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+A Room in Leonato's house.
+
+Enter Hero, and Margaret and Ursula.
+
+  Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice and desire her to rise.
+  Urs. I will, lady.
+  Hero. And bid her come hither.
+  Urs. Well.                                             [Exit.]
+  Marg. Troth, I think your other rebato were better.
+  Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.
+  Marg. By my troth, 's not so good, and I warrant your cousin will
+    say so.
+  Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another. I'll wear none but
+    this.
+  Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a
+    thought browner; and your gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith.
+    I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so.
+  Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.
+  Marg. By my troth, 's but a nightgown in respect of yours--
+    cloth-o'-gold and cuts, and lac'd with silver, set with pearls
+    down sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with  
+    a blush tinsel. But for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent
+    fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
+  Hero. God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding heavy.
+  Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.
+  Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?
+  Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage
+    honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without
+    marriage? I think you would have me say, 'saving your reverence,
+    a husband.' An bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll
+    offend nobody. Is there any harm in 'the heavier for a husband'?
+    None, I think, an it be the right husband and the right wife.
+    Otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy. Ask my Lady Beatrice else.
+    Here she comes.
+
+                               Enter Beatrice.
+
+  Hero. Good morrow, coz.
+  Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.
+  Hero. Why, how now? Do you speak in the sick tune?
+  Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.  
+  Marg. Clap's into 'Light o' love.' That goes without a burden. Do
+    you sing it, and I'll dance it.
+  Beat. Yea, 'Light o' love' with your heels! then, if your husband
+    have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barnes.
+  Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.
+  Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready.
+    By my troth, I am exceeding ill. Hey-ho!
+  Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?
+  Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.
+  Marg. Well, an you be not turn'd Turk, there's no more sailing by
+    the star.
+  Beat. What means the fool, trow?
+  Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire!
+  Hero. These gloves the Count sent me, they are an excellent
+    perfume.
+  Beat. I am stuff'd, cousin; I cannot smell.
+  Marg. A maid, and stuff'd! There's goodly catching of cold.
+  Beat. O, God help me! God help me! How long have you profess'd
+    apprehension?
+  Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?  
+  Beat. It is not seen enough. You should wear it in your cap. By my
+    troth, I am sick.
+  Marg. Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus and lay it
+    to your heart. It is the only thing for a qualm.
+  Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle.
+  Beat. Benedictus? why benedictus? You have some moral in this
+    'benedictus.'
+  Marg. Moral? No, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant
+    plain holy thistle. You may think perchance that I think you are
+    in love. Nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I
+    list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor indeed I cannot
+    think, if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in
+    love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love.
+    Yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man. He
+    swore he would never marry; and yet now in despite of his heart
+    he eats his meat without grudging; and how you may be converted I
+    know not, but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do.
+  Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?
+  Marg. Not a false gallop.
+  
+                         Enter Ursula.
+
+  Urs. Madam, withdraw. The Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don
+    John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to
+    church.
+  Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.
+                                                       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+The hall in Leonato's house.
+
+Enter Leonato and the Constable [Dogberry] and the Headborough [verges].
+
+  Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour?
+  Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns
+    you nearly.
+  Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.
+  Dog. Marry, this it is, sir.
+  Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.
+  Leon. What is it, my good friends?
+  Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter--an old
+    man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would
+    desire they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his
+    brows.
+  Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an
+    old man and no honester than I.
+  Dog. Comparisons are odorous. Palabras, neighbour Verges.
+  Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.
+  Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke's  
+    officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a
+    king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.
+  Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ah?
+  Dog. Yea, in 'twere a thousand pound more than 'tis; for I hear as
+    good exclamation on your worship as of any man in the city; and
+    though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.
+  Verg. And so am I.
+  Leon. I would fain know what you have to say.
+  Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's
+    presence, ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in
+    Messina.
+  Dog. A good old man, sir; he will be talking. As they say, 'When
+    the age is in, the wit is out.' God help us! it is a world to
+    see! Well said, i' faith, neighbour Verges. Well, God's a good
+    man. An two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest
+    soul, i' faith, sir, by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but
+    God is to be worshipp'd; all men are not alike, alas, good
+    neighbour!
+  Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.
+  Dog. Gifts that God gives.  
+  Leon. I must leave you.
+  Dog. One word, sir. Our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two
+    aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined
+    before your worship.
+  Leon. Take their examination yourself and bring it me. I am now in
+    great haste, as it may appear unto you.
+  Dog. It shall be suffigance.
+  Leon. Drink some wine ere you go. Fare you well.
+
+                       [Enter a Messenger.]
+
+  Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her
+    husband.
+  Leon. I'll wait upon them. I am ready.
+                                 [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger.]
+  Dog. Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring
+    his pen and inkhorn to the jail. We are now to examination these
+    men.
+  Verg. And we must do it wisely.
+  Dog. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you. Here's that shall  
+    drive some of them to a non-come. Only get the learned writer to
+    set down our excommunication, and meet me at the jail.
+                                                       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. Scene I.
+A church.
+
+Enter Don Pedro, [John the] Bastard, Leonato, Friar [Francis], Claudio,
+Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, [and Attendants].
+
+  Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief. Only to the plain form of
+    marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties
+    afterwards.
+  Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?
+  Claud. No.
+  Leon. To be married to her. Friar, you come to marry her.
+  Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count?
+  Hero. I do.
+  Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should
+    not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it.
+  Claud. Know you any, Hero?
+  Hero. None, my lord.
+  Friar. Know you any, Count?
+  Leon. I dare make his answer--none.
+  Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not
+    knowing what they do!  
+  Bene. How now? interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as,
+    ah, ha, he!
+  Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave:
+    Will you with free and unconstrained soul
+    Give me this maid your daughter?
+  Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me.
+  Claud. And what have I to give you back whose worth
+    May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
+  Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.
+  Claud. Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.
+    There, Leonato, take her back again.
+    Give not this rotten orange to your friend.
+    She's but the sign and semblance of her honour.
+    Behold how like a maid she blushes here!
+    O, what authority and show of truth
+    Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
+    Comes not that blood as modest evidence
+    To witness simple virtue, Would you not swear,
+    All you that see her, that she were a maid
+    By these exterior shows? But she is none:  
+    She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
+    Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
+  Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
+  Claud. Not to be married,
+    Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
+  Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
+    Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth
+    And made defeat of her virginity--
+  Claud. I know what you would say. If I have known her,
+    You will say she did embrace me as a husband,
+    And so extenuate the forehand sin.
+    No, Leonato,
+    I never tempted her with word too large,
+    But, as a brother to his sister, show'd
+    Bashful sincerity and comely love.
+  Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?
+  Claud. Out on the seeming! I will write against it.
+    You seem to me as Dian in her orb,
+    As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;
+    But you are more intemperate in your blood  
+    Than Venus, or those pamp'red animals
+    That rage in savage sensuality.
+  Hero. Is my lord well that he doth speak so wide?
+  Leon. Sweet Prince, why speak not you?
+  Pedro. What should I speak?
+    I stand dishonour'd that have gone about
+    To link my dear friend to a common stale.
+  Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?
+  John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.
+  Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.
+  Hero. 'True!' O God!
+  Claud. Leonato, stand I here?
+    Is this the Prince, Is this the Prince's brother?
+    Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?
+  Leon. All this is so; but what of this, my lord?
+  Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter,
+    And by that fatherly and kindly power
+    That you have in her, bid her answer truly.
+  Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
+  Hero. O, God defend me! How am I beset!  
+    What kind of catechising call you this?
+  Claud. To make you answer truly to your name.
+  Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
+    With any just reproach?
+  Claud. Marry, that can Hero!
+    Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
+    What man was he talk'd with you yesternight,
+    Out at your window betwixt twelve and one?
+    Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.
+  Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.
+  Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato,
+    I am sorry you must hear. Upon my honour,
+    Myself, my brother, and this grieved Count
+    Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night
+    Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window,
+    Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,
+    Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
+    A thousand times in secret.
+  John. Fie, fie! they are not to be nam'd, my lord--
+    Not to be spoke of;  
+    There is not chastity, enough in language
+    Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,
+    I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.
+  Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been
+    If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
+    About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
+    But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! Farewell,
+    Thou pure impiety and impious purity!
+    For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
+    And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
+    To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
+    And never shall it more be gracious.
+  Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
+                                                  [Hero swoons.]
+  Beat. Why, how now, cousin? Wherefore sink you down?
+  John. Come let us go. These things, come thus to light,
+    Smother her spirits up.
+                      [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don Juan, and Claudio.]
+  Bene. How doth the lady?
+  Beat. Dead, I think. Help, uncle!  
+    Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!
+  Leon. O Fate, take not away thy heavy hand!
+    Death is the fairest cover for her shame
+    That may be wish'd for.
+  Beat. How now, cousin Hero?
+  Friar. Have comfort, lady.
+  Leon. Dost thou look up?
+  Friar. Yea, wherefore should she not?
+  Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing
+    Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
+    The story that is printed in her blood?
+    Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes;
+    For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
+    Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
+    Myself would on the rearward of reproaches
+    Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
+    Child I for that at frugal nature's frame?
+    O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
+    Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
+    Why had I not with charitable hand  
+    Took up a beggar's issue at my gates,
+    Who smirched thus and mir'd with infamy,
+    I might have said, 'No part of it is mine;
+    This shame derives itself from unknown loins'?
+    But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
+    And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
+    That I myself was to myself not mine,
+    Valuing of her--why, she, O, she is fall'n
+    Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
+    Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
+    And salt too little which may season give
+    To her foul tainted flesh!
+  Bene. Sir, sir, be patient.
+    For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
+    I know not what to say.
+  Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
+  Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
+  Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night,
+    I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow
+  Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made  
+    Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
+    Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,
+    Who lov'd her so that, speaking of her foulness,
+    Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.
+  Friar. Hear me a little;
+    For I have only been silent so long,
+    And given way unto this course of fortune,
+    By noting of the lady. I have mark'd
+    A thousand blushing apparitions
+    To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames
+    In angel whiteness beat away those blushes,
+    And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire
+    To burn the errors that these princes hold
+    Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;
+    Trust not my reading nor my observation,
+    Which with experimental seal doth warrant
+    The tenure of my book; trust not my age,
+    My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
+    If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
+    Under some biting error.  
+  Leon. Friar, it cannot be.
+    Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left
+    Is that she will not add to her damnation
+    A sin of perjury: she not denies it.
+    Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
+    That which appears in proper nakedness?
+  Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?
+  Hero. They know that do accuse me; I know none.
+    If I know more of any man alive
+    Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
+    Let all my sins lack mercy! O my father,
+    Prove you that any man with me convers'd
+    At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
+    Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
+    Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!
+  Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes.
+  Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour;
+    And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
+    The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
+    Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.  
+  Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her,
+    These hands shall tear her. If they wrong her honour,
+    The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
+    Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
+    Nor age so eat up my invention,
+    Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
+    Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
+    But they shall find awak'd in such a kind
+    Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
+    Ability in means, and choice of friends,
+    To quit me of them throughly.
+  Friar. Pause awhile
+    And let my counsel sway you in this case.
+    Your daughter here the princes left for dead,
+    Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
+    And publish it that she is dead indeed;
+    Maintain a mourning ostentation,
+    And on your family's old monument
+    Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
+    That appertain unto a burial.  
+  Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do?
+  Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf
+    Change slander to remorse. That is some good.
+    But not for that dream I on this strange course,
+    But on this travail look for greater birth.
+    She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
+    Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
+    Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd
+    Of every hearer; for it so falls out
+    That what we have we prize not to the worth
+    Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost,
+    Why, then we rack the value, then we find
+    The virtue that possession would not show us
+    Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio.
+    When he shall hear she died upon his words,
+    Th' idea of her life shall sweetly creep
+    Into his study of imagination,
+    And every lovely organ of her life
+    Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
+    More moving, delicate, and full of life,  
+    Into the eye and prospect of his soul
+    Than when she liv'd indeed. Then shall he mourn
+    (If ever love had interest in his liver)
+    And wish he had not so accused her--
+    No, though be thought his accusation true.
+    Let this be so, and doubt not but success
+    Will fashion the event in better shape
+    Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
+    But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
+    The supposition of the lady's death
+    Will quench the wonder of her infamy.
+    And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,
+    As best befits her wounded reputation,
+    In some reclusive and religious life,
+    Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
+  Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you;
+    And though you know my inwardness and love
+    Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,
+    Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
+    As secretly and justly as your soul  
+    Should with your body.
+  Leon. Being that I flow in grief,
+    The smallest twine may lead me.
+  Friar. 'Tis well consented. Presently away;
+    For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.
+    Come, lady, die to live. This wedding day
+    Perhaps is but prolong'd. Have patience and endure.
+                         Exeunt [all but Benedick and Beatrice].
+  Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?
+  Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
+  Bene. I will not desire that.
+  Beat. You have no reason. I do it freely.
+  Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.
+  Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right
+     her!
+  Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship?
+  Beat. A very even way, but no such friend.
+  Bene. May a man do it?
+  Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.
+  Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that  
+    strange?
+  Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for
+    me to say I loved nothing so well as you. But believe me not; and
+    yet I lie not. I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry
+    for my cousin.
+  Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
+  Beat. Do not swear, and eat it.
+  Bene. I will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat
+    it that says I love not you.
+  Beat. Will you not eat your word?
+  Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love
+    thee.
+  Beat. Why then, God forgive me!
+  Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice?
+  Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I
+    loved you.
+  Bene. And do it with all thy heart.
+  Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to
+    protest.
+  Bene. Come, bid me do anything for thee.  
+  Beat. Kill Claudio.
+  Bene. Ha! not for the wide world!
+  Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell.
+  Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
+  Beat. I am gone, though I am here. There is no love in you. Nay, I
+    pray you let me go.
+  Bene. Beatrice--
+  Beat. In faith, I will go.
+  Bene. We'll be friends first.
+  Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine
+    enemy.
+  Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?
+  Beat. Is 'a not approved in the height a villain, that hath
+    slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a
+    man! What? bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and
+    then with public accusation, uncover'd slander, unmitigated
+    rancour--O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the
+    market place.
+  Bene. Hear me, Beatrice!
+  Beat. Talk with a man out at a window!-a proper saying!  
+  Bene. Nay but Beatrice--
+  Beat. Sweet Hero! she is wrong'd, she is sland'red, she is undone.
+  Bene. Beat--
+  Beat. Princes and Counties! Surely a princely testimony, a goodly
+    count, Count Comfect, a sweet gallant surely! O that I were a man
+    for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my
+    sake! But manhood is melted into cursies, valour into compliment,
+    and men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones too. He is now
+    as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie,and swears it. I
+    cannot be a man with wishing; therefore I will die a woman with
+    grieving.
+  Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.
+  Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.
+  Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?
+  Beat. Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul.
+  Bene. Enough, I am engag'd, I will challenge him. I will kiss your
+    hand, and so I leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a
+    dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go comfort your
+    cousin. I must say she is dead-and so farewell.
+                                                       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+A prison.
+
+Enter the Constables [Dogberry and Verges] and the Sexton, in gowns,
+[and the Watch, with Conrade and] Borachio.
+
+  Dog. Is our whole dissembly appear'd?
+  Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton.
+  Sex. Which be the malefactors?
+  Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner.
+  Verg. Nay, that's certain. We have the exhibition to examine.
+  Sex. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them
+    come before Master Constable.
+  Dog. Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name,
+    friend?
+  Bor. Borachio.
+  Dog. Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah?
+  Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.
+  Dog. Write down Master Gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve
+    God?
+  Both. Yea, sir, we hope.
+  Dog. Write down that they hope they serve God; and write God first,  
+    for God defend but God should go before such villains! Masters,
+    it is proved already that you are little better than false
+    knaves, and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer
+    you for yourselves?
+  Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none.
+  Dog. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about
+    with him. Come you hither, sirrah. A word in your ear. Sir, I say
+    to you, it is thought you are false knaves.
+  Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none.
+  Dog. Well, stand aside. Fore God, they are both in a tale.
+    Have you writ down that they are none?
+  Sex. Master Constable, you go not the way to examine. You must call
+    forth the watch that are their accusers.
+  Dog. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let the watch come forth.
+    Masters, I charge you in the Prince's name accuse these men.
+  1. Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John the Prince's brother
+    was a villain.
+  Dog. Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury,
+    to call a prince's brother villain.
+  Bora. Master Constable--  
+  Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace. I do not like thy look, I promise
+    thee.
+  Sex. What heard you him say else?
+  2. Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John
+    for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.
+  Dog. Flat burglary as ever was committed.
+  Verg. Yea, by th' mass, that it is.
+  Sex. What else, fellow?
+  1. Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to
+    disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her.
+  Dog. O villain! thou wilt be condemn'd into everlasting redemption
+    for this.
+  Sex. What else?
+  Watchmen. This is all.
+  Sex. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is
+    this morning secretly stol'n away. Hero was in this manner
+    accus'd, in this manner refus'd, and upon the grief of this
+    suddenly died. Master Constable, let these men be bound and
+    brought to Leonato's. I will go before and show him their
+    examination.                                         [Exit.]  
+  Dog. Come, let them be opinion'd.
+  Verg. Let them be in the hands--
+  Con. Off, coxcomb!
+  Dog. God's my life, where's the sexton? Let him write down the
+    Prince's officer coxcomb. Come, bind them.--Thou naughty varlet!
+  Con. Away! you are an ass, you are an ass.
+  Dog. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my
+    years? O that he were here to write me down an ass! But, masters,
+    remember that I am an ass. Though it be not written down, yet
+    forget not that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of
+    piety, as shall be prov'd upon thee by good witness. I am a wise
+    fellow; and which is more, an officer; and which is more, a
+    householder; and which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any
+    is in Messina, and one that knows the law, go to! and a rich
+    fellow enough, go to! and a fellow that hath had losses; and one
+    that hath two gowns and everything handsome about him. Bring him
+    away. O that I had been writ down an ass!
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT V. Scene I.
+The street, near Leonato's house.
+
+Enter Leonato and his brother [ Antonio].
+
+  Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself,
+    And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief
+    Against yourself.
+  Leon. I pray thee cease thy counsel,
+    Which falls into mine ears as profitless
+    As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel,
+    Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
+    But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
+    Bring me a father that so lov'd his child,
+    Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
+    And bid him speak to me of patience.
+    Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
+    And let it answer every strain for strain,
+    As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
+    In every lineament, branch, shape, and form.
+    If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
+    Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem' when he should groan,  
+    Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
+    With candle-wasters--bring him yet to me,
+    And I of him will gather patience.
+    But there is no such man; for, brother, men
+    Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
+    Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
+    Their counsel turns to passion, which before
+    Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
+    Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
+    Charm ache with air and agony with words.
+    No, no! 'Tis all men's office to speak patience
+    To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
+    But no man's virtue nor sufficiency
+    To be so moral when he shall endure
+    The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel.
+    My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
+  Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.
+  Leon. I pray thee peace. I will be flesh and blood;
+    For there was never yet philosopher
+    That could endure the toothache patiently,  
+    However they have writ the style of gods
+    And made a push at chance and sufferance.
+  Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself.
+    Make those that do offend you suffer too.
+  Leon. There thou speak'st reason. Nay, I will do so.
+    My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;
+    And that shall Claudio know; so shall the Prince,
+    And all of them that thus dishonour her.
+
+              Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.
+
+  Ant. Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily.
+  Pedro. Good den, Good den.
+  Claud. Good day to both of you.
+  Leon. Hear you, my lords!
+  Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.
+  Leon. Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord.
+    Are you so hasty now? Well, all is one.
+  Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.
+  Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling,  
+    Some of us would lie low.
+  Claud. Who wrongs him?
+  Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou!
+    Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;
+    I fear thee not.
+  Claud. Mary, beshrew my hand
+    If it should give your age such cause of fear.
+    In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
+  Leon. Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me
+    I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,
+    As under privilege of age to brag
+    What I have done being young, or what would do,
+    Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,
+    Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me
+    That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by
+    And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,
+    Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
+    I say thou hast belied mine innocent child;
+    Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
+    And she lied buried with her ancestors-  
+    O, in a tomb where never scandal slept,
+    Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany!
+  Claud. My villany?
+  Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine I say.
+  Pedro. You say not right, old man
+  Leon. My lord, my lord,
+    I'll prove it on his body if he dare,
+    Despite his nice fence and his active practice,
+    His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.
+  Claud. Away! I will not have to do with you.
+  Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child.
+    If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
+    And. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed
+    But that's no matter; let him kill one first.
+    Win me and wear me! Let him answer me.
+    Come, follow me, boy,. Come, sir boy, come follow me.
+    Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence!
+    Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.
+  Leon. Brother--
+  Ant. Content yourself. God knows I lov'd my niece,  
+    And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains,
+    That dare as well answer a man indeed
+    As I dare take a serpent by the tongue.
+    Boys, apes, braggarts, jacks, milksops!
+  Leon. Brother Anthony--
+  Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,
+    And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,
+    Scambling, outfacing, fashion-monging boys,
+    That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander,
+    Go anticly, show outward hideousness,
+    And speak off half a dozen dang'rous words,
+    How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;
+    And this is all.
+  Leon. But, brother Anthony--
+  Ant. Come, 'tis no matter.
+    Do not you meddle; let me deal in this.
+  Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.
+    My heart is sorry for your daughter's death;
+    But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
+    But what was true, and very full of proof.  
+  Leon. My lord, my lord--
+  Pedro. I will not hear you.
+  Leon. No? Come, brother, away!--I will be heard.
+  Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it.
+                                                    Exeunt ambo.
+
+                  Enter Benedick.
+
+  Pedro. See, see! Here comes the man we went to seek.
+  Claud. Now, signior, what news?
+  Bene. Good day, my lord.
+  Pedro. Welcome, signior. You are almost come to part almost a fray.
+  Claud. We had lik'd to have had our two noses snapp'd off with two
+    old men without teeth.
+  Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What think'st thou? Had we fought,
+    I doubt we should have been too young for them.
+  Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek
+    you both.
+  Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof
+    melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy  
+    wit?
+  Bene. It is in my scabbard. Shall I draw it?
+  Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?
+  Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their
+    wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrel--draw to
+    pleasure us.
+  Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick or
+    angry?
+  Claud. What, courage, man! What though care kill'd a cat, thou hast
+    mettle enough in thee to kill care.
+  Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career an you charge it
+    against me. I pray you choose another subject.
+  Claud. Nay then, give him another staff; this last was broke cross.
+  Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more. I think he be angry
+    indeed.
+  Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.
+  Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear?
+  Claud. God bless me from a challenge!
+  Bene. [aside to Claudio] You are a villain. I jest not; I will make
+    it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do  
+    me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have kill'd a
+    sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear
+    from you.
+  Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.
+  Pedro. What, a feast, a feast?
+  Claud. I' faith, I thank him, he hath bid me to a calve's head and
+    a capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my
+    knife's naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too?
+  Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.
+  Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day. I
+    said thou hadst a fine wit: 'True,' said she, 'a fine little
+    one.' 'No,' said I, 'a great wit.' 'Right,' says she, 'a great
+    gross one.' 'Nay,' said I, 'a good wit.' 'Just,' said she, 'it
+    hurts nobody.' 'Nay,' said I, 'the gentleman is wise.' 'Certain,'
+    said she, a wise gentleman.' 'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the
+    tongues.' 'That I believe' said she, 'for he swore a thing to me
+    on Monday night which he forswore on Tuesday morning. There's a
+    double tongue; there's two tongues.' Thus did she an hour
+    together transshape thy particular virtues. Yet at last she
+    concluded with a sigh, thou wast the proper'st man in Italy.  
+  Claud. For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not.
+  Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not
+    hate him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man's
+    daughter told us all.
+  Claud. All, all! and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the
+    garden.
+  Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the
+    sensible Benedick's head?
+  Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells Benedick, the married
+    man'?
+  Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind. I will leave you now to
+    your gossiplike humour. You break jests as braggards do their
+    blades, which God be thanked hurt not. My lord, for your many
+    courtesies I thank you. I must discontinue your company. Your
+    brother the bastard is fled from Messina. You have among you
+    kill'd a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he
+    and I shall meet; and till then peace be with him.
+                                                         [Exit.]
+  Pedro. He is in earnest.
+  Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for the  
+    love of Beatrice.
+  Pedro. And hath challeng'd thee.
+  Claud. Most sincerely.
+  Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and
+    hose and leaves off his wit!
+
+  Enter Constables [Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch, leading]
+                      Conrade and Borachio.
+
+  Claud. He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to
+    such a man.
+  Pedro. But, soft you, let me be! Pluck up, my heart, and be sad!
+    Did he not say my brother was fled?
+  Dog. Come you, sir. If justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er
+    weigh more reasons in her balance. Nay, an you be a cursing
+    hypocrite once, you must be look'd to.
+  Pedro. How now? two of my brother's men bound? Borachio one.
+  Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord.
+  Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?
+  Dog. Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they  
+    have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and
+    lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified
+    unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves.
+  Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee
+    what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed;
+    and to conclude, what you lay to their charge.
+  Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and by my troth
+    there's one meaning well suited.
+  Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to
+    your answer? This learned constable is too cunning to be
+    understood. What's your offence?
+  Bora. Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer. Do you
+    hear me, and let this Count kill me. I have deceived even your
+    very eyes. What your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow
+    fools have brought to light, who in the night overheard me
+    confessing to this man, how Don John your brother incensed me to
+    slander the Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard and
+    saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments; how you disgrac'd her
+    when you should marry her. My villany they have upon record,
+    which I had rather seal with my death than repeat over to my  
+    shame. The lady is dead upon mine and my master's false
+    accusation; and briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a
+    villain.
+  Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?
+  Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it.
+  Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this?
+  Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.
+  Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery,
+    And fled he is upon this villany.
+  Claud. Sweet Hero, now thy image doth appear
+    In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.
+  Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiffs. By this time our sexton hath
+    reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. And, masters, do not
+    forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an
+    ass.
+  Verg. Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too.
+
+          Enter Leonato, his brother [Antonio], and the Sexton.
+
+  Leon. Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes,  
+    That, when I note another man like him,
+    I may avoid him. Which of these is he?
+  Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me.
+  Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd
+    Mine innocent child?
+  Bora. Yea, even I alone.
+  Leon. No, not so, villain! thou beliest thyself.
+    Here stand a pair of honourable men--
+    A third is fled--that had a hand in it.
+    I thank you princes for my daughter's death.
+    Record it with your high and worthy deeds.
+    'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
+  Claud. I know not how to pray your patience;
+    Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;
+    Impose me to what penance your invention
+    Can lay upon my sin. Yet sinn'd I not
+    But in mistaking.
+  Pedro. By my soul, nor I!
+    And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
+    I would bend under any heavy weight  
+    That he'll enjoin me to.
+  Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live-
+    That were impossible; but I pray you both,
+    Possess the people in Messina here
+    How innocent she died; and if your love
+    Can labour aught in sad invention,
+    Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,
+    And sing it to her bones--sing it to-night.
+    To-morrow morning come you to my house,
+    And since you could not be my son-in-law,
+    Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter,
+    Almost the copy of my child that's dead,
+    And she alone is heir to both of us.
+    Give her the right you should have giv'n her cousin,
+    And so dies my revenge.
+  Claud. O noble sir!
+    Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me.
+    I do embrace your offer; and dispose
+    For henceforth of poor Claudio.
+  Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming;  
+    To-night I take my leave. This naughty man
+    Shall fact to face be brought to Margaret,
+    Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong,
+    Hir'd to it by your brother.
+  Bora. No, by my soul, she was not;
+    Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me;
+    But always hath been just and virtuous
+    In anything that I do know by her.
+  Dog. Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white and black, this
+    plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass. I beseech you let
+    it be rememb'red in his punishment. And also the watch heard them
+    talk of one Deformed. They say he wears a key in his ear, and a
+    lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God's name, the which he
+    hath us'd so long and never paid that now men grow hard-hearted
+    and will lend nothing for God's sake. Pray you examine him upon
+    that point.
+  Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
+  Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth,
+    and I praise God for you.
+  Leon. There's for thy pains. [Gives money.]  
+  Dog. God save the foundation!
+  Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.
+  Dog. I leave an arrant knave with your worship, which I beseech
+    your worship to correct yourself, for the example of others.
+    God keep your worship! I wish your worship well. God restore you
+    to health! I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry
+    meeting may be wish'd, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour.
+                                   Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges].
+  Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.
+  Ant. Farewell, my lords. We look for you to-morrow.
+  Pedro. We will not fall.
+  Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero.
+                                 [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.]
+  Leon. [to the Watch] Bring you these fellows on.--We'll talk with
+      Margaret,
+    How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Leonato's orchard.
+
+Enter Benedick and Margaret [meeting].
+
+  Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands
+    by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.
+  Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?
+  Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come
+    over it; for in most comely truth thou deservest it.
+  Marg. To have no man come over me? Why, shall I always keep below
+    stairs?
+  Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth--it catches.
+  Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit but hurt
+    not.
+  Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret: it will not hurt a woman.
+    And so I pray thee call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers.
+  Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.
+  Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a
+    vice, and they are dangerous weapons for maids.
+  Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.
+  Bene. And therefore will come.  
+                                                  Exit Margaret.
+       [Sings] The god of love,
+               That sits above
+           And knows me, and knows me,
+             How pitiful I deserve--
+
+    I mean in singing; but in loving Leander the good swimmer,
+    Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of
+    these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the
+    even road of a blank verse--why, they were never so truly turn'd
+    over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in
+    rhyme. I have tried. I can find out no rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby'
+    --an innocent rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn'--a hard rhyme; for
+    'school', 'fool'--a babbling rhyme: very ominous endings! No, I
+    was not born under a rhyming planet, nor cannot woo in festival
+    terms.
+
+                    Enter Beatrice.
+
+    Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I call'd thee?  
+  Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
+  Bene. O, stay but till then!
+  Beat. 'Then' is spoken. Fare you well now. And yet, ere I go, let
+    me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath
+    pass'd between you and Claudio.
+  Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.
+  Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul
+    breath, and foul breath is noisome. Therefore I will depart
+    unkiss'd.
+  Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so
+    forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio
+    undergoes my challenge; and either I must shortly hear from him
+    or I will subscribe him a coward. And I pray thee now tell me,
+    for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
+  Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd so politic a state of
+    evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with
+    them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love
+    for me?
+  Bene. Suffer love!--a good epithet. I do suffer love indeed, for I
+    love thee against my will.  
+  Beat. In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you
+    spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never
+    love that which my friend hates.
+  Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
+  Beat. It appears not in this confession. There's not one wise man
+    among twenty, that will praise himself.
+  Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'd in the time of
+    good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb
+    ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell
+    rings and the widow weeps.
+  Beat. And how long is that, think you?
+  Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum.
+    Therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his
+    conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet
+    of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising
+    myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now
+    tell me, how doth your cousin?
+  Beat. Very ill.
+  Bene. And how do you?
+  Beat. Very ill too.  
+  Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for
+    here comes one in haste.
+
+                         Enter Ursula.
+
+  Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old coil at home.
+    It is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accus'd, the Prince
+    and Claudio mightily abus'd, and Don John is the author of all,
+    who is fled and gone. Will you come presently?
+  Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior?
+  Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried thy
+    eyes; and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+A churchyard.
+
+Enter Claudio, Don Pedro, and three or four with tapers,
+[followed by Musicians].
+
+  Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
+  Lord. It is, my lord.
+  Claud. [reads from a scroll]
+
+                      Epitaph.
+
+        Done to death by slanderous tongues
+          Was the Hero that here lies.
+        Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,
+          Gives her fame which never dies.
+        So the life that died with shame
+        Lives in death with glorious fame.
+
+    Hang thou there upon the tomb,
+                                          [Hangs up the scroll.]
+    Praising her when I am dumb.  
+    Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
+
+                     Song.
+
+        Pardon, goddess of the night,
+        Those that slew thy virgin knight;
+        For the which, with songs of woe,
+        Round about her tomb they go.
+        Midnight, assist our moan,
+        Help us to sigh and groan
+          Heavily, heavily,
+        Graves, yawn and yield your dead,
+        Till death be uttered
+          Heavily, heavily.
+
+  Claud. Now unto thy bones good night!
+    Yearly will I do this rite.
+  Pedro. Good morrow, masters. Put your torches out.
+    The wolves have prey'd, and look, the gentle day,
+    Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about  
+    Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
+    Thanks to you all, and leave us. Fare you well.
+  Claud. Good morrow, masters. Each his several way.
+  Pedro. Come, let us hence and put on other weeds,
+    And then to Leonato's we will go.
+  Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds
+    Than this for whom we rend'red up this woe.          Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV
+The hall in Leonato's house.
+
+Enter Leonato, Benedick, [Beatrice,] Margaret, Ursula, Antonio,
+Friar [Francis], Hero.
+
+  Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent?
+  Leon. So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus'd her
+    Upon the error that you heard debated.
+    But Margaret was in some fault for this,
+    Although against her will, as it appears
+    In the true course of all the question.
+  Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.
+  Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd
+    To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
+  Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
+    Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,
+    And when I send for you, come hither mask'd.
+                                                  Exeunt Ladies.
+    The Prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
+    To visit me. You know your office, brother:
+    You must be father to your brother's daughter,  
+    And give her to young Claudio.
+  Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
+  Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.
+  Friar. To do what, signior?
+  Bene. To bind me, or undo me--one of them.
+    Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
+    Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.
+  Leon. That eye my daughter lent her. 'Tis most true.
+  Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
+  Leon. The sight whereof I think you had from me,
+    From Claudio, and the Prince; but what's your will?
+  Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical;
+    But, for my will, my will is, your good will
+    May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
+    In the state of honourable marriage;
+    In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
+  Leon. My heart is with your liking.
+  Friar. And my help.
+
+       Enter Don Pedro and Claudio and two or three other.  
+
+    Here comes the Prince and Claudio.
+  Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
+  Leon. Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio.
+    We here attend you. Are you yet determin'd
+    To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
+  Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.
+  Leon. Call her forth, brother. Here's the friar ready.
+                                                 [Exit Antonio.]
+  Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the matter
+    That you have such a February face,
+    So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?
+  Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull.
+    Tush, fear not, man! We'll tip thy horns with gold,
+    And all Europa shall rejoice at thee,
+    As once Europa did at lusty Jove
+    When he would play the noble beast in love.
+  Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low,
+    And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow
+    And got a calf in that same noble feat  
+    Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.
+
+       Enter [Leonato's] brother [Antonio], Hero, Beatrice,
+            Margaret, Ursula, [the ladies wearing masks].
+
+  Claud. For this I owe you. Here comes other reckonings.
+    Which is the lady I must seize upon?
+  Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
+  Claud. Why then, she's mine. Sweet, let me see your face.
+  Leon. No, that you shall not till you take her hand
+    Before this friar and swear to marry her.
+  Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar.
+    I am your husband if you like of me.
+  Hero. And when I liv'd I was your other wife;       [Unmasks.]
+    And when you lov'd you were my other husband.
+  Claud. Another Hero!
+  Hero. Nothing certainer.
+    One Hero died defil'd; but I do live,
+    And surely as I live, I am a maid.
+  Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead!  
+  Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd.
+  Friar. All this amazement can I qualify,
+    When, after that the holy rites are ended,
+    I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death.
+    Meantime let wonder seem familiar,
+    And to the chapel let us presently.
+  Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?
+  Beat. [unmasks] I answer to that name. What is your will?
+  Bene. Do not you love me?
+  Beat. Why, no; no more than reason.
+  Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the Prince, and Claudio
+    Have been deceived; for they swore you did.
+  Beat. Do not you love me?
+  Bene. Troth, no; no more than reason.
+  Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula
+    Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did.
+  Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me.
+  Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.
+  Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?
+  Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.  
+  Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.
+  Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves her;
+    For here's a paper written in his hand,
+    A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
+    Fashion'd to Beatrice.
+  Hero. And here's another,
+    Writ in my cousin's hand, stol'n from her pocket,
+    Containing her affection unto Benedick.
+  Bene. A miracle! Here's our own hands against our hearts.
+    Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.
+  Beat. I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon
+    great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told
+    you were in a consumption.
+  Bene. Peace! I will stop your mouth.             [Kisses her.]
+  Beat. I'll tell thee what, Prince: a college of wit-crackers cannot
+    flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or
+    an epigram? No. If a man will be beaten with brains, 'a shall
+    wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to
+    marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say
+    against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said  
+    against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
+    For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in
+    that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruis'd, and love my
+    cousin.
+  Claud. I had well hop'd thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I
+    might have cudgell'd thee out of thy single life, to make thee a
+    double-dealer, which out of question thou wilt be if my cousin do
+    not look exceeding narrowly to thee.
+  Bene. Come, come, we are friends. Let's have a dance ere we are
+    married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels.
+  Leon. We'll have dancing afterward.
+  Bene. First, of my word! Therefore play, music. Prince, thou art
+    sad. Get thee a wife, get thee a wife! There is no staff more
+    reverent than one tipp'd with horn.
+
+                       Enter Messenger.
+
+  Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight,
+    And brought with armed men back to Messina.
+  Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow. I'll devise thee brave  
+    punishments for him. Strike up, pipers!
+                                                Dance. [Exeunt.]
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1605
+
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, MOOR OF VENICE
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  OTHELLO, the Moor, general of the Venetian forces
+  DESDEMONA, his wife
+  IAGO, ensign to Othello
+  EMILIA, his wife, lady-in-waiting to Desdemona
+  CASSIO, lieutenant to Othello
+  THE DUKE OF VENICE
+  BRABANTIO, Venetian Senator, father of Desdemona
+  GRATIANO, nobleman of Venice, brother of Brabantio
+  LODOVICO, nobleman of Venice, kinsman of Brabantio
+  RODERIGO, rejected suitor of Desdemona
+  BIANCA, mistress of Cassio
+  MONTANO, a Cypriot official
+  A Clown in service to Othello
+  Senators, Sailors, Messengers, Officers, Gentlemen, Musicians, and
+    Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE: Venice and Cyprus
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Venice. A street.
+
+Enter Roderigo and Iago.
+
+  RODERIGO. Tush, never tell me! I take it much unkindly
+    That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse
+    As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
+  IAGO. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me.
+    If ever I did dream of such a matter,
+    Abhor me.
+  RODERIGO. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.
+  IAGO. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,
+    In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
+    Off-capp'd to him; and, by the faith of man,
+    I know my price, I am worth no worse a place.
+    But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
+    Evades them, with a bumbast circumstance
+    Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war,
+    And, in conclusion,
+    Nonsuits my mediators; for, "Certes," says he,
+    "I have already chose my officer."  
+    And what was he?
+    Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
+    One Michael Cassio, a Florentine
+    (A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife)
+    That never set a squadron in the field,
+    Nor the division of a battle knows
+    More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
+    Wherein the toged consuls can propose
+    As masterly as he. Mere prattle without practice
+    Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election;
+    And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
+    At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds
+    Christian and heathen, must be belee'd and calm'd
+    By debitor and creditor. This counter-caster,
+    He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
+    And I- God bless the mark!- his Moorship's ancient.
+  RODERIGO. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
+  IAGO. Why, there's no remedy. 'Tis the curse of service,
+    Preferment goes by letter and affection,
+    And not by old gradation, where each second  
+    Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself
+    Whether I in any just term am affined
+    To love the Moor.
+  RODERIGO.           I would not follow him then.
+  IAGO. O, sir, content you.
+    I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
+    We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
+    Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
+    Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
+    That doting on his own obsequious bondage
+    Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
+    For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd.
+    Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
+    Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
+    Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,
+    And throwing but shows of service on their lords
+    Do well thrive by them; and when they have lined their coats
+    Do themselves homage. These fellows have some soul,
+    And such a one do I profess myself.
+    For, sir,  
+    It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
+    Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago.
+    In following him, I follow but myself;
+    Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
+    But seeming so, for my peculiar end.
+    For when my outward action doth demonstrate
+    The native act and figure of my heart
+    In complement extern, 'tis not long after
+    But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
+    For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
+  RODERIGO. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
+    If he can carry't thus!
+  IAGO.                     Call up her father,
+    Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight,
+    Proclaim him in the streets, incense her kinsmen,
+    And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
+    Plague him with flies. Though that his joy be joy,
+    Yet throw such changes of vexation on't
+    As it may lose some color.
+  RODERIGO. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.  
+  IAGO. Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell
+    As when, by night and negligence, the fire
+    Is spied in populous cities.
+  RODERIGO. What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
+  IAGO. Awake! What, ho, Brabantio! Thieves! Thieves! Thieves!
+    Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags!
+    Thieves! Thieves!
+
+                Brabantio appears above, at a window.
+
+  BRABANTIO. What is the reason of this terrible summons?
+    What is the matter there?
+  RODERIGO. Signior, is all your family within?
+  IAGO. Are your doors lock'd?
+  BRABANTIO.                   Why? Wherefore ask you this?
+  IAGO. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd! For shame, put on your gown;
+    Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
+    Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
+    Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise!
+    Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,  
+    Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you.
+    Arise, I say!
+  BRABANTIO. What, have you lost your wits?
+  RODERIGO. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?
+  BRABANTIO. Not I. What are you?
+  RODERIGO. My name is Roderigo.
+  BRABANTIO.                     The worser welcome.
+    I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors.
+    In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
+    My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
+    Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
+    Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
+    To start my quiet.
+  RODERIGO. Sir, sir, sir-
+  BRABANTIO.               But thou must needs be sure
+    My spirit and my place have in them power
+    To make this bitter to thee.
+  RODERIGO.                      Patience, good sir.
+  BRABANTIO. What tell'st thou me of robbing? This is Venice;
+    My house is not a grange.  
+  RODERIGO.                   Most grave Brabantio,
+    In simple and pure soul I come to you.
+  IAGO. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God,
+    if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you
+    think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a
+    Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have
+    coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans.
+  BRABANTIO. What profane wretch art thou?
+  IAGO. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the
+    Moor are now making the beast with two backs.
+  BRABANTIO. Thou are a villain.
+  IAGO.                          You are- a senator.
+  BRABANTIO. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.
+  RODERIGO. Sir, I will answer anything. But, I beseech you,
+    If't be your pleasure and most wise consent,
+    As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,
+    At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
+    Transported with no worse nor better guard
+    But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
+    To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor-  
+    If this be known to you, and your allowance,
+    We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
+    But if you know not this, my manners tell me
+    We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
+    That, from the sense of all civility,
+    I thus would play and trifle with your reverence.
+    Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,
+    I say again, hath made a gross revolt,
+    Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes
+    In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
+    Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself:
+    If she be in her chamber or your house,
+    Let loose on me the justice of the state
+    For thus deluding you.
+  BRABANTIO.               Strike on the tinder, ho!
+    Give me a taper! Call up all my people!
+    This accident is not unlike my dream;
+    Belief of it oppresses me already.
+    Light, I say, light!                                  Exit above.
+  IAGO.                  Farewell, for I must leave you.  
+    It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
+    To be produced- as, if I stay, I shall-
+    Against the Moor; for I do know, the state,
+    However this may gall him with some check,
+    Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd
+    With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,
+    Which even now stands in act, that, for their souls,
+    Another of his fathom they have none
+    To lead their business; in which regard,
+    Though I do hate him as I do hell pains,
+    Yet for necessity of present life,
+    I must show out a flag and sign of love,
+    Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,
+    Lead to the Sagittary the raised search,
+    And there will I be with him. So farewell.                  Exit.
+
+            Enter, below, Brabantio, in his nightgown, and
+                        Servants with torches.
+
+  BRABANTIO. It is too true an evil: gone she is,  
+    And what's to come of my despised time
+    Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
+    Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!
+    With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!
+    How didst thou know 'twas she? O, she deceives me
+    Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers.
+    Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?
+  RODERIGO. Truly, I think they are.
+  BRABANTIO. O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!
+    Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds
+    By what you see them act. Is there not charms
+    By which the property of youth and maidhood
+    May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
+    Of some such thing?
+  RODERIGO.             Yes, sir, I have indeed.
+  BRABANTIO. Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!
+    Some one way, some another. Do you know
+    Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
+  RODERIGO. I think I can discover him, if you please
+    To get good guard and go along with me.  
+  BRABANTIO. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call;
+    I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!
+    And raise some special officers of night.
+    On, good Roderigo, I'll deserve your pains.               Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Another street.
+
+Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches.
+
+  IAGO. Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
+    Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience
+    To do no contrived murther. I lack iniquity
+    Sometimes to do me service. Nine or ten times
+    I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.
+  OTHELLO. 'Tis better as it is.
+  IAGO.                          Nay, but he prated
+    And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
+    Against your honor
+    That, with the little godliness I have,
+    I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,
+    Are you fast married? Be assured of this,
+    That the magnifico is much beloved,
+    And hath in his effect a voice potential
+    As double as the Duke's. He will divorce you,
+    Or put upon you what restraint and grievance
+    The law, with all his might to enforce it on,  
+    Will give him cable.
+  OTHELLO.               Let him do his spite.
+    My services, which I have done the signiory,
+    Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know-
+    Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,
+    I shall promulgate- I fetch my life and being
+    From men of royal siege, and my demerits
+    May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune
+    As this that I have reach'd. For know, Iago,
+    But that I love the gentle Desdemona,
+    I would not my unhoused free condition
+    Put into circumscription and confine
+    For the sea's worth. But, look! What lights come yond?
+  IAGO. Those are the raised father and his friends.
+    You were best go in.
+  OTHELLO.               Not I; I must be found.
+    My parts, my title, and my perfect soul
+    Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?
+  IAGO. By Janus, I think no.
+  
+           Enter Cassio and certain Officers with torches.
+
+  OTHELLO. The servants of the Duke? And my lieutenant?
+    The goodness of the night upon you, friends!
+    What is the news?
+  CASSIO.             The Duke does greet you, general,
+    And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance,
+    Even on the instant.
+  OTHELLO.               What is the matter, think you?
+  CASSIO. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine;
+    It is a business of some heat. The galleys
+    Have sent a dozen sequent messengers
+    This very night at one another's heels;
+    And many of the consuls, raised and met,
+    Are at the Duke's already. You have been hotly call'd for,
+    When, being not at your lodging to be found,
+    The Senate hath sent about three several quests
+    To search you out.
+  OTHELLO.             'Tis well I am found by you.
+    I will but spend a word here in the house  
+    And go with you.                                            Exit.
+  CASSIO.            Ancient, what makes he here?
+  IAGO. Faith, he tonight hath boarded a land carack;
+    If it prove lawful prize, he's made forever.
+  CASSIO. I do not understand.
+  IAGO.                        He's married.
+  CASSIO.                                    To who?
+
+                          Re-enter Othello.
+
+  IAGO. Marry, to- Come, captain, will you go?
+  OTHELLO.                                     Have with you.
+  CASSIO. Here comes another troop to seek for you.
+  IAGO. It is Brabantio. General, be advised,
+    He comes to bad intent.
+
+         Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers with torches
+                             and weapons.
+
+  OTHELLO.                  Holla! Stand there!  
+  RODERIGO. Signior, it is the Moor.
+  BRABANTIO.                         Down with him, thief!
+                                             They draw on both sides.
+  IAGO. You, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.
+  OTHELLO. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
+    Good signior, you shall more command with years
+    Than with your weapons.
+  BRABANTIO. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter?
+    Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her,
+    For I'll refer me to all things of sense,
+    If she in chains of magic were not bound,
+    Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,
+    So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd
+    The wealthy, curled darlings of our nation,
+    Would ever have, to incur a general mock,
+    Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom
+    Of such a thing as thou- to fear, not to delight.
+    Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense
+    That thou hast practiced on her with foul charms,
+    Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals  
+    That weaken motion. I'll have't disputed on;
+    'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.
+    I therefore apprehend and do attach thee
+    For an abuser of the world, a practicer
+    Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.
+    Lay hold upon him. If he do resist,
+    Subdue him at his peril.
+  OTHELLO.                   Hold your hands,
+    Both you of my inclining and the rest.
+    Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it
+    Without a prompter. Where will you that I go
+    To answer this your charge?
+  BRABANTIO.                    To prison, till fit time
+    Of law and course of direct session
+    Call thee to answer.
+  OTHELLO.               What if I do obey?
+    How may the Duke be therewith satisfied,
+    Whose messengers are here about my side,
+    Upon some present business of the state
+    To bring me to him?  
+  FIRST OFFICER.        'Tis true, most worthy signior;
+    The Duke's in council, and your noble self,
+    I am sure, is sent for.
+  BRABANTIO.                How? The Duke in council?
+    In this time of the night? Bring him away;
+    Mine's not an idle cause. The Duke himself,
+    Or any of my brothers of the state,
+    Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own;
+    For if such actions may have passage free,
+    Bond slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.            Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A council chamber. The Duke and Senators sitting at a table;
+Officers attending.
+
+  DUKE. There is no composition in these news
+    That gives them credit.
+  FIRST SENATOR.            Indeed they are disproportion'd;
+    My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.
+  DUKE. And mine, a hundred and forty.
+  SECOND SENATOR.                      And mine, two hundred.
+    But though they jump not on a just account-
+    As in these cases, where the aim reports,
+    'Tis oft with difference- yet do they all confirm
+    A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.
+  DUKE. Nay, it is possible enough to judgement.
+    I do not so secure me in the error,
+    But the main article I do approve
+    In fearful sense.
+  SAILOR. [Within.] What, ho! What, ho! What, ho!
+  FIRST OFFICER. A messenger from the galleys.
+
+                            Enter Sailor.
+  
+  DUKE.                                Now, what's the business?
+  SAILOR. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,
+    So was I bid report here to the state
+    By Signior Angelo.
+  DUKE. How say you by this change?
+  FIRST SENATOR.                    This cannot be,
+    By no assay of reason; 'tis a pageant
+    To keep us in false gaze. When we consider
+    The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk,
+    And let ourselves again but understand
+    That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
+    So may he with more facile question bear it,
+    For that it stands not in such warlike brace,
+    But altogether lacks the abilities
+    That Rhodes is dress'd in. If we make thought of this,
+    We must not think the Turk is so unskillful
+    To leave that latest which concerns him first,
+    Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
+    To wake and wage a danger profitless.
+  DUKE. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes.  
+  FIRST OFFICER. Here is more news.
+
+                          Enter a Messenger.
+
+  MESSENGER. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,
+    Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,
+    Have there injointed them with an after fleet.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?
+  MESSENGER. Of thirty sail; and now they do re-stem
+    Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance
+    Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,
+    Your trusty and most valiant servitor,
+    With his free duty recommends you thus,
+    And prays you to believe him.
+  DUKE. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus.
+    Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town?
+  FIRST SENATOR. He's now in Florence.
+  DUKE. Write from us to him, post-post-haste dispatch.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.
+  
+       Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers.
+
+  DUKE. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you
+    Against the general enemy Ottoman.
+    [To Brabantio.] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;
+    We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight.
+  BRABANTIO. So did I yours. Good your Grace, pardon me:
+    Neither my place nor aught I heard of business
+    Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care
+    Take hold on me; for my particular grief
+    Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature
+    That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
+    And it is still itself.
+  DUKE.                     Why, what's the matter?
+  BRABANTIO. My daughter! O, my daughter!
+  ALL.                                    Dead?
+  BRABANTIO.                                    Ay, to me.
+    She is abused, stol'n from me and corrupted
+    By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
+    For nature so preposterously to err,  
+    Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,
+    Sans witchcraft could not.
+  DUKE. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding
+    Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself
+    And you of her, the bloody book of law
+    You shall yourself read in the bitter letter
+    After your own sense, yea, though our proper son
+    Stood in your action.
+  BRABANTIO.              Humbly I thank your Grace.
+    Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems,
+    Your special mandate for the state affairs
+    Hath hither brought.
+  ALL.                   We are very sorry for't.
+  DUKE. [To Othello.] What in your own part can you say to this?
+  BRABANTIO. Nothing, but this is so.
+  OTHELLO. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
+    My very noble and approved good masters,
+    That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
+    It is most true; true, I have married her;
+    The very head and front of my offending  
+    Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
+    And little blest with the soft phrase of peace;
+    For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
+    Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
+    Their dearest action in the tented field,
+    And little of this great world can I speak,
+    More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
+    And therefore little shall I grace my cause
+    In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
+    I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
+    Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,
+    What conjuration, and what mighty magic-
+    For such proceeding I am charged withal-
+    I won his daughter.
+  BRABANTIO.            A maiden never bold,
+    Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion
+    Blush'd at herself; and she- in spite of nature,
+    Of years, of country, credit, everything-
+    To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on!
+    It is judgement maim'd and most imperfect,  
+    That will confess perfection so could err
+    Against all rules of nature, and must be driven
+    To find out practices of cunning hell
+    Why this should be. I therefore vouch again
+    That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
+    Or with some dram conjured to this effect,
+    He wrought upon her.
+  DUKE.                  To vouch this is no proof,
+    Without more certain and more overt test
+    Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods
+    Of modern seeming do prefer against him.
+  FIRST SENATOR. But, Othello, speak.
+    Did you by indirect and forced courses
+    Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
+    Or came it by request, and such fair question
+    As soul to soul affordeth?
+  OTHELLO.                     I do beseech you,
+    Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
+    And let her speak of me before her father.
+    If you do find me foul in her report,  
+    The trust, the office I do hold of you,
+    Not only take away, but let your sentence
+    Even fall upon my life.
+  DUKE.                     Fetch Desdemona hither.
+  OTHELLO. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.
+                                          Exeunt Iago and Attendants.
+    And till she come, as truly as to heaven
+    I do confess the vices of my blood,
+    So justly to your grave ears I'll present
+    How I did thrive in this fair lady's love
+    And she in mine.
+  DUKE. Say it, Othello.
+  OTHELLO. Her father loved me, oft invited me,
+    Still question'd me the story of my life
+    From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
+    That I have pass'd.
+    I ran it through, even from my boyish days
+    To the very moment that he bade me tell it:
+    Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
+    Of moving accidents by flood and field,  
+    Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
+    Of being taken by the insolent foe
+    And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
+    And portance in my travels' history;
+    Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
+    Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,
+    It was my hint to speak- such was the process-
+    And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
+    The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
+    Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear
+    Would Desdemona seriously incline;
+    But still the house affairs would draw her thence,
+    Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
+    She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
+    Devour up my discourse; which I observing,
+    Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
+    To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
+    That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
+    Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
+    But not intentively. I did consent,  
+    And often did beguile her of her tears
+    When I did speak of some distressful stroke
+    That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
+    She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
+    She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
+    'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.
+    She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
+    That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me,
+    And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
+    I should but teach him how to tell my story,
+    And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
+    She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
+    And I loved her that she did pity them.
+    This only is the witchcraft I have used.
+    Here comes the lady; let her witness it.
+
+                Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants.
+
+  DUKE. I think this tale would win my daughter too.
+    Good Brabantio,  
+    Take up this mangled matter at the best:
+    Men do their broken weapons rather use
+    Than their bare hands.
+  BRABANTIO.               I pray you, hear her speak.
+    If she confess that she was half the wooer,
+    Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
+    Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress.
+    Do you perceive in all this noble company
+    Where most you owe obedience?
+  DESDEMONA.                      My noble father,
+    I do perceive here a divided duty.
+    To you I am bound for life and education;
+    My life and education both do learn me
+    How to respect you; you are the lord of duty,
+    I am hitherto your daughter. But here's my husband,
+    And so much duty as my mother show'd
+    To you, preferring you before her father,
+    So much I challenge that I may profess
+    Due to the Moor, my lord.
+  BRABANTIO.                  God be with you! I have done.  
+    Please it your Grace, on to the state affairs;
+    I had rather to adopt a child than get it.
+    Come hither, Moor.
+    I here do give thee that with all my heart
+    Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
+    I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,
+    I am glad at soul I have no other child;
+    For thy escape would teach me tyranny,
+    To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.
+  DUKE. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence
+    Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers
+    Into your favor.
+    When remedies are past, the griefs are ended
+    By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
+    To mourn a mischief that is past and gone
+    Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
+    What cannot be preserved when Fortune takes,
+    Patience her injury a mockery makes.
+    The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief;
+    He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.  
+  BRABANTIO. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile;
+    We lose it not so long as we can smile.
+    He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears
+    But the free comfort which from thence he hears;
+    But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow
+    That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
+    These sentences, to sugar or to gall,
+    Being strong on both sides, are equivocal.
+    But words are words; I never yet did hear
+    That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.
+    I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.
+  DUKE. The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus.
+    Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and
+    though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency,
+    yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer
+    voice on you. You must therefore be content to slubber the gloss
+    of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous
+    expedition.
+  OTHELLO. The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
+    Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war  
+    My thrice-driven bed of down. I do agnize
+    A natural and prompt alacrity
+    I find in hardness and do undertake
+    These present wars against the Ottomites.
+    Most humbly therefore bending to your state,
+    I crave fit disposition for my wife,
+    Due reference of place and exhibition,
+    With such accommodation and besort
+    As levels with her breeding.
+  DUKE.                          If you please,
+    Be't at her father's.
+  BRABANTIO.              I'll not have it so.
+  OTHELLO. Nor I.
+  DESDEMONA.      Nor I. I would not there reside
+    To put my father in impatient thoughts
+    By being in his eye. Most gracious Duke,
+    To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,
+    And let me find a charter in your voice
+    To assist my simpleness.
+  DUKE. What would you, Desdemona?  
+  DESDEMONA. That I did love the Moor to live with him,
+    My downright violence and storm of fortunes
+    May trumpet to the world. My heart's subdued
+    Even to the very quality of my lord.
+    I saw Othello's visage in his mind,
+    And to his honors and his valiant parts
+    Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
+    So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
+    A moth of peace, and he go to the war,
+    The rites for which I love him are bereft me,
+    And I a heavy interim shall support
+    By his dear absence. Let me go with him.
+  OTHELLO. Let her have your voices.
+    Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not
+    To please the palate of my appetite,
+    Nor to comply with heat- the young affects
+    In me defunct- and proper satisfaction;
+    But to be free and bounteous to her mind.
+    And heaven defend your good souls, that you think
+    I will your serious and great business scant  
+    For she is with me. No, when light-wing'd toys
+    Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dullness
+    My speculative and officed instruments,
+    That my disports corrupt and taint my business,
+    Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,
+    And all indign and base adversities
+    Make head against my estimation!
+  DUKE. Be it as you shall privately determine,
+    Either for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,
+    And speed must answer't: you must hence tonight.
+  DESDEMONA. Tonight, my lord?
+  DUKE.                        This night.
+  OTHELLO.                                 With all my heart.
+  DUKE. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again.
+    Othello, leave some officer behind,
+    And he shall our commission bring to you,
+    With such things else of quality and respect
+    As doth import you.
+  OTHELLO.              So please your Grace, my ancient;
+    A man he is of honesty and trust.  
+    To his conveyance I assign my wife,
+    With what else needful your good Grace shall think
+    To be sent after me.
+  DUKE.                  Let it be so.
+    Good night to everyone. [To Brabantio.] And, noble signior,
+    If virtue no delighted beauty lack,
+    Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.
+  BRABANTIO. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see;
+    She has deceived her father, and may thee.
+                                 Exeunt Duke, Senators, and Officers.
+  OTHELLO. My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,
+    My Desdemona must I leave to thee.
+    I prithee, let thy wife attend on her,
+    And bring them after in the best advantage.
+    Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour
+    Of love, of worldly matters and direction,
+    To spend with thee. We must obey the time.
+                                        Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.
+  RODERIGO. Iago!  
+  IAGO. What say'st thou, noble heart?
+  RODERIGO. What will I do, thinkest thou?
+  IAGO. Why, go to bed and sleep.
+  RODERIGO. I will incontinently drown myself.
+  IAGO. If thou dost, I shall never love thee after.
+    Why, thou silly gentleman!
+  RODERIGO. It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then
+    have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
+  IAGO. O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times
+    seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and
+    an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I
+    would say I would drown myself for the love of a guinea hen, I
+    would change my humanity with a baboon.
+  RODERIGO. What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond,
+    but it is not in my virtue to amend it.
+  IAGO. Virtue? a fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus.
+    Our bodies are gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners; so
+    that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed
+    up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with
+    many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with  
+    industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in
+    our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of
+    reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of
+    our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions.
+    But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings,
+    our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to
+    be a sect or scion.
+  RODERIGO. It cannot be.
+  IAGO. It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the
+    will. Come, be a man! Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind
+    puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to
+    thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never
+    better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou
+    the wars; defeat thy favor with an usurped beard. I say, put
+    money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long
+    continue her love to the Moor- put money in thy purse- nor he his
+    to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an
+    answerable sequestration- put but money in thy purse. These Moors
+    are changeable in their wills- fill thy purse with money. The
+    food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him  
+    shortly as acerb as the coloquintida. She must change for youth;
+    when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her
+    choice. She must have change, she must; therefore put money in
+    thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate
+    way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If sanctimony
+    and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle
+    Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell,
+    thou shalt enjoy her- therefore make money. A pox of drowning
+    thyself! It is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be
+    hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without
+    her.
+  RODERIGO. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue?
+  IAGO. Thou art sure of me- go, make money. I have told thee often,
+    and I retell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is
+    hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our
+    revenge against him. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself
+    a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time
+    which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will
+    have more of this tomorrow. Adieu.
+  RODERIGO. Where shall we meet i' the morning?  
+  IAGO. At my lodging.
+  RODERIGO. I'll be with thee betimes.
+  IAGO. Go to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?
+  RODERIGO. What say you?
+  IAGO. No more of drowning, do you hear?
+  RODERIGO. I am changed; I'll go sell all my land.             Exit.
+  IAGO. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse;
+    For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane
+    If I would time expend with such a snipe
+    But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,
+    And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets
+    He has done my office. I know not if't be true,
+    But I for mere suspicion in that kind
+    Will do as if for surety. He holds me well,
+    The better shall my purpose work on him.
+    Cassio's a proper man. Let me see now-
+    To get his place, and to plume up my will
+    In double knavery- How, how?- Let's see-
+    After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
+    That he is too familiar with his wife.  
+    He hath a person and a smooth dispose
+    To be suspected- framed to make women false.
+    The Moor is of a free and open nature,
+    That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,
+    And will as tenderly be led by the nose
+    As asses are.
+    I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
+    Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.
+     Exit.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+A seaport in Cyprus. An open place near the quay.
+
+Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.
+
+  MONTANO. What from the cape can you discern at sea?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Nothing at all. It is a high-wrought flood;
+    I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,
+    Descry a sail.
+  MONTANO. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;
+    A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements.
+    If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,
+    What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,
+    Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A segregation of the Turkish fleet.
+    For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
+    The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;
+    The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,
+    Seems to cast water on the burning bear,
+    And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.
+    I never did like molestation view
+    On the enchafed flood.  
+  MONTANO.                 If that the Turkish fleet
+    Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd;
+    It is impossible to bear it out.
+
+                       Enter a third Gentleman.
+
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. News, lads! Our wars are done.
+    The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks,
+    That their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice
+    Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
+    On most part of their fleet.
+  MONTANO. How? Is this true?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN.            The ship is here put in,
+    A Veronesa. Michael Cassio,
+    Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello,
+    Is come on shore; the Moor himself at sea,
+    And is in full commission here for Cyprus.
+  MONTANO. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor.
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort
+    Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly  
+    And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted
+    With foul and violent tempest.
+  MONTANO.                         Pray heavens he be,
+    For I have served him, and the man commands
+    Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho!
+    As well to see the vessel that's come in
+    As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,
+    Even till we make the main and the aerial blue
+    An indistinct regard.
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Come, let's do so,
+    For every minute is expectancy
+    Of more arrivance.
+
+                            Enter Cassio.
+
+  CASSIO. Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle,
+    That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens
+    Give him defense against the elements,
+    For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.
+  MONTANO. I she well shipp'd?  
+  CASSIO. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot
+    Of very expert and approved allowance;
+    Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,
+    Stand in bold cure.
+                              A cry within, "A sail, a sail, a sail!"
+
+                      Enter a fourth Gentleman.
+
+                        What noise?
+  FOURTH GENTLEMAN. The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea
+    Stand ranks of people, and they cry, "A sail!"
+  CASSIO. My hopes do shape him for the governor.
+                                                          Guns heard.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. They do discharge their shot of courtesy-
+    Our friends at least.
+  CASSIO.                 I pray you, sir, go forth,
+    And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I shall.                                    Exit.
+  MONTANO. But, good lieutenant, is your general wived?
+  CASSIO. Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid  
+    That paragons description and wild fame,
+    One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
+    And in the essential vesture of creation
+    Does tire the ingener.
+
+                      Re-enter second Gentleman.
+
+                           How now! who has put in?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.
+  CASSIO. He has had most favorable and happy speed:
+    Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,
+    The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands,
+    Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,
+    As having sense of beauty, do omit
+    Their mortal natures, letting go safely by
+    The divine Desdemona.
+  MONTANO.                What is she?
+  CASSIO. She that I spake of, our great captain's captain,
+    Left in the conduct of the bold Iago,
+    Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts  
+    A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,
+    And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,
+    That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
+    Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
+    Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits,
+    And bring all Cyprus comfort.
+
+       Enter Desdemona, Emilia Iago, Roderigo, and Attendants.
+
+                                  O, behold,
+    The riches of the ship is come on shore!
+    Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
+    Hall to thee, lady! And the grace of heaven,
+    Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
+    Enwheel thee round!
+  DESDEMONA.            I thank you, valiant Cassio.
+    What tidings can you tell me of my lord?
+  CASSIO. He is not yet arrived, nor know I aught
+    But that he's well and will be shortly here.
+  DESDEMONA. O, but I fear- How lost you company?  
+  CASSIO. The great contention of the sea and skies
+    Parted our fellowship- But, hark! a sail.
+                          A cry within, "A sail, a sail!" Guns heard.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. They give their greeting to the citadel;
+    This likewise is a friend.
+  CASSIO.                      See for the news.
+                                                      Exit Gentleman.
+    Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia.] Welcome, mistress.
+    Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,
+    That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding
+    That gives me this bold show of courtesy.             Kisses her.
+  IAGO. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips
+    As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
+    You'ld have enough.
+  DESDEMONA.            Alas, she has no speech.
+  IAGO. In faith, too much;
+    I find it still when I have list to sleep.
+    Marry, before your ladyship I grant,
+    She puts her tongue a little in her heart
+    And chides with thinking.  
+  EMILIA. You have little cause to say so.
+  IAGO. Come on, come on. You are pictures out of doors,
+    Bells in your parlors, wildcats in your kitchens,
+    Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,
+    Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.
+  DESDEMONA. O, fie upon thee, slanderer!
+  IAGO. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:
+    You rise to play, and go to bed to work.
+  EMILIA. You shall not write my praise.
+  IAGO.                                  No, let me not.
+  DESDEMONA. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst
+    praise me?
+  IAGO. O gentle lady, do not put me to't,
+    For I am nothing if not critical.
+  DESDEMONA. Come on, assay- There's one gone to the harbor?
+  IAGO. Ay, madam.
+  DESDEMONA. I am not merry, but I do beguile
+    The thing I am by seeming otherwise.
+    Come, how wouldst thou praise me?
+  IAGO. I am about it, but indeed my invention  
+    Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze;
+    It plucks out brains and all. But my Muse labors,
+    And thus she is deliver'd.
+    If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,
+    The one's for use, the other useth it.
+  DESDEMONA. Well praised! How if she be black and witty?
+  IAGO. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,
+    She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.
+  DESDEMONA. Worse and worse.
+  EMILIA. How if fair and foolish?
+  IAGO. She never yet was foolish that was fair,
+    For even her folly help'd her to an heir.
+  DESDEMONA. These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the
+    alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and
+    foolish?
+  IAGO. There's none so foul and foolish thereunto,
+    But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.
+  DESDEMONA. O heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But what
+    praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that
+    in the authority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very  
+    malice itself?
+  IAGO. She that was ever fair and never proud,
+    Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,
+    Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay,
+    Fled from her wish and yet said, "Now I may";
+    She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,
+    Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly;
+    She that in wisdom never was so frail
+    To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;
+    She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind,
+    See suitors following and not look behind;
+    She was a wight, if ever such wight were-
+  DESDEMONA. To do what?
+  IAGO. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.
+  DESDEMONA. O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him,
+    Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? Is he not
+    a most profane and liberal counselor?
+  CASSIO. He speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the
+    soldier than in the scholar.
+  IAGO. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm; ay, well said, whisper.  
+    With as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as
+    Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own
+    courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these
+    strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had
+    not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are
+    most apt to play the sir in. Very good. Well kissed! an excellent
+    courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips?
+    Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! [Trumpet within.]
+    The Moor! I know his trumpet.
+  CASSIO. 'Tis truly so.
+  DESDEMONA. Let's meet him and receive him.
+  CASSIO. Lo, where he comes!
+
+                    Enter Othello and Attendants.
+
+  OTHELLO. O my fair warrior!
+  DESDEMONA.                  My dear Othello!
+  OTHELLO. It gives me wonder great as my content
+    To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!
+    If after every tempest come such calms,  
+    May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
+    And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas
+    Olympus-high, and duck again as low
+    As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
+    'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
+    My soul hath her content so absolute
+    That not another comfort like to this
+    Succeeds in unknown fate.
+  DESDEMONA.                  The heavens forbid
+    But that our loves and comforts should increase,
+    Even as our days do grow!
+  OTHELLO.                    Amen to that, sweet powers!
+    I cannot speak enough of this content;
+    It stops me here; it is too much of joy.
+    And this, and this, the greatest discords be          Kisses her.
+    That e'er our hearts shall make!
+  IAGO.                     [Aside.] O, you are well tuned now!
+    But I'll set down the pegs that make this music,
+    As honest as I am.
+  OTHELLO.             Come, let us to the castle.  
+    News, friends: our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd.
+    How does my old acquaintance of this isle?
+    Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus;
+    I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,
+    I prattle out of fashion, and I dote
+    In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago,
+    Go to the bay and disembark my coffers.
+    Bring thou the master to the citadel;
+    He is a good one, and his worthiness
+    Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona,
+    Once more well met at Cyprus.
+                                    Exeunt all but Iago and Roderigo.
+  IAGO. Do thou meet me presently at the harbor. Come hither. If thou
+    be'st valiant- as they say base men being in love have then a
+    nobility in their natures more than is native to them- list me.
+    The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard. First, I
+    must tell thee this: Desdemona is directly in love with him.
+  RODERIGO. With him? Why, 'tis not possible.
+  IAGO. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me
+    with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and  
+    telling her fantastical lies. And will she love him still for
+    prating? Let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be
+    fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When
+    the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be,
+    again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite,
+    loveliness in favor, sympathy in years, manners, and beauties-
+    all which the Moor is defective in. Now, for want of these
+    required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself
+    abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor;
+    very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second
+    choice. Now sir, this granted- as it is a most pregnant and
+    unforced position- who stands so eminently in the degree of this
+    fortune as Cassio does? A knave very voluble; no further
+    conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane
+    seeming, for the better compass of his salt and most hidden loose
+    affection? Why, none, why, none- a slipper and subtle knave, a
+    finder out of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and
+    counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present
+    itself- a devilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young,
+    and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds  
+    look after- a pestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found
+    him already.
+  RODERIGO. I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blest
+    condition.
+  IAGO. Blest fig's-end! The wine she drinks is made of grapes. If
+    she had been blest, she would never have loved the Moor. Blest
+    pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand?
+    Didst not mark that?
+  RODERIGO. Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy.
+  IAGO. Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to the
+    history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their
+    lips that their breaths embraced together. Villainous thoughts,
+    Roderigo! When these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand
+    comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion.
+    Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me. I have brought you from
+    Venice. Watch you tonight; for the command, I'll lay't upon you.
+    Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you. Do you find some
+    occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or
+    tainting his discipline, or from what other course you please,
+    which the time shall more favorably minister.  
+  RODERIGO. Well.
+  IAGO. Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may
+    strike at you. Provoke him, that he may; for even out of that
+    will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall
+    come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio.
+    So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means
+    I shall then have to prefer them, and the impediment most
+    profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation
+    of our prosperity.
+  RODERIGO. I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.
+  IAGO. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel. I must
+    fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.
+  RODERIGO. Adieu.                                              Exit.
+  IAGO. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;
+    That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit.
+    The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,
+    Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,
+    And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona
+    A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too,
+    Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure  
+    I stand accountant for as great a sin,
+    But partly led to diet my revenge,
+    For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
+    Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof
+    Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards,
+    And nothing can or shall content my soul
+    Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife.
+    Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor
+    At least into a jealousy so strong
+    That judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do,
+    If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trace
+    For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
+    I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,
+    Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb
+    (For I fear Cassio with my nightcap too),
+    Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me
+    For making him egregiously an ass
+    And practicing upon his peace and quiet
+    Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused:
+    Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.               Exit.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A street.
+
+Enter a Herald with a proclamation; people following.
+
+  HERALD. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general,
+    that upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere
+    perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into
+    triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what
+    sport and revels his addiction leads him; for besides these
+    beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much
+    was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and
+    there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five
+    till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus
+    and our noble general Othello!                            Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A hall in the castle.
+
+Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and Attendants.
+
+  OTHELLO. Good Michael, look you to the guard tonight.
+    Let's teach ourselves that honorable stop,
+    Not to outsport discretion.
+  CASSIO. Iago hath direction what to do;
+    But notwithstanding with my personal eye
+    Will I look to't.
+  OTHELLO.            Iago is most honest.
+    Michael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest
+    Let me have speech with you. Come, my dear love,
+    The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;
+    That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.
+    Good night.
+                           Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants.
+
+                             Enter Iago.
+
+  CASSIO. Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch.  
+  IAGO. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our
+    general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let
+    us not therefore blame. He hath not yet made wanton the night
+    with her, and she is sport for Jove.
+  CASSIO. She's a most exquisite lady.
+  IAGO. And, I'll warrant her, full of game.
+  CASSIO. Indeed she's a most fresh and delicate creature.
+  IAGO. What an eye she has! Methinks it sounds a parley to
+    provocation.
+  CASSIO. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest.
+  IAGO. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love?
+  CASSIO. She is indeed perfection.
+  IAGO. Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a
+    stope of wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants
+    that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello.
+  CASSIO. Not tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains
+    for drinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other
+    custom of entertainment.
+  IAGO. O, they are our friends! But one cup; I'll drink for you.
+  CASSIO. I have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily  
+    qualified too, and behold what innovation it makes here. I am
+    unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with
+    any more.
+  IAGO. What, man! 'Tis a night of revels, the gallants desire it.
+  CASSIO. Where are they?
+  IAGO. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in.
+  CASSIO. I'll do't, but it dislikes me.                        Exit.
+  IAGO. If I can fasten but one cup upon him,
+    With that which he hath drunk tonight already,
+    He'll be as full of quarrel and offense
+    As my young mistress' dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo,
+    Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out,
+    To Desdemona hath tonight caroused
+    Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch.
+    Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
+    That hold their honors in a wary distance,
+    The very elements of this warlike isle,
+    Have I tonight fluster'd with flowing cups,
+    And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards,
+    Am I to put our Cassio in some action  
+    That may offend the isle. But here they come.
+    If consequence do but approve my dream,
+    My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.
+
+           Re-enter Cassio; with him Montano and Gentlemen;
+                    Servants following with wine.
+
+  CASSIO. 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.
+  MONTANO. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a
+    soldier.
+  IAGO. Some wine, ho!
+
+    [Sings.]   "And let me the canakin clink, clink;
+               And let me the canakin clink.
+                 A soldier's a man;
+                 O, man's life's but a span;
+               Why then let a soldier drink."
+
+    Some wine, boys!
+  CASSIO. 'Fore God, an excellent song.  
+  IAGO. I learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in
+    potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander-
+    Drink, ho!- are nothing to your English.
+  CASSIO. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?
+  IAGO. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he
+    sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a
+    vomit ere the next pottle can be filled.
+  CASSIO. To the health of our general!
+  MONTANO. I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice.
+  IAGO. O sweet England!
+
+    [Sings.]   "King Stephen was and-a worthy peer,
+                 His breeches cost him but a crown;
+               He held them sixpence all too dear,
+                 With that he call'd the tailor lown.
+
+               "He was a wight of high renown,
+                 And thou art but of low degree.
+               'Tis pride that pulls the country down;
+                 Then take thine auld cloak about thee."  
+
+    Some wine, ho!
+  CASSIO. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.
+  IAGO. Will you hear't again?
+  CASSIO. No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does
+    those things. Well, God's above all, and there be souls must be
+    saved, and there be souls must not be saved.
+  IAGO. It's true, good lieutenant.
+  CASSIO. For mine own part- no offense to the general, nor any man
+    of quality- I hope to be saved.
+  IAGO. And so do I too, lieutenant.
+  CASSIO. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to
+    be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to
+    our affairs. God forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let's look to
+    our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my
+    ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not
+    drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.
+  ALL. Excellent well.
+  CASSIO. Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am
+    drunk.                                                      Exit.  
+  MONTANO. To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch.
+  IAGO. You see this fellow that is gone before;
+    He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar
+    And give direction. And do but see his vice;
+    'Tis to his virtue a just equinox,
+    The one as long as the other. 'Tis pity of him.
+    I fear the trust Othello puts him in
+    On some odd time of his infirmity
+    Will shake this island.
+  MONTANO.                  But is he often thus?
+  IAGO. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep.
+    He'll watch the horologe a double set,
+    If drink rock not his cradle.
+  MONTANO.                        It were well
+    The general were put in mind of it.
+    Perhaps he sees it not, or his good nature
+    Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio
+    And looks not on his evils. Is not this true?
+
+                           Enter Roderigo.  
+
+  IAGO. [Aside to him.] How now, Roderigo!
+    I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.              Exit Roderigo.
+  MONTANO. And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor
+    Should hazard such a place as his own second
+    With one of an ingraft infirmity.
+    It were an honest action to say
+    So to the Moor.
+  IAGO.             Not I, for this fair island.
+    I do love Cassio well, and would do much
+    To cure him of this evil- But, hark! What noise?
+                                          A cry within, "Help, help!"
+
+                Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo.
+
+  CASSIO. 'Zounds! You rogue! You rascal!
+  MONTANO. What's the matter, lieutenant?
+  CASSIO. A knave teach me my duty! But I'll beat the knave into a
+    twiggen bottle.
+  RODERIGO. Beat me!  
+  CASSIO. Dost thou prate, rogue?                   Strikes Roderigo.
+  MONTANO. Nay, good lieutenant; I pray you, sir, hold your hand.
+  CASSIO. Let me go, sir, or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard.
+  MONTANO. Come, come, you're drunk.
+  CASSIO. Drunk?                                          They fight.
+  IAGO. [Aside to Roderigo.] Away, I say; go out and cry a mutiny.
+                                                       Exit Roderigo.
+    Nay, good lieutenant! God's will, gentlemen!
+    Help, ho!- Lieutenant- sir- Montano- sir-
+    Help, masters!- Here's a goodly watch indeed!
+                                                        A bell rings.
+    Who's that that rings the bell?- Diablo, ho!
+    The town will rise. God's will, lieutenant, hold!
+    You will be shamed forever.
+
+                   Re-enter Othello and Attendants.
+
+  OTHELLO.                      What is the matter here?
+  MONTANO. 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death.
+   Faints.  
+  OTHELLO. Hold, for your lives!
+  IAGO. Hold, ho! Lieutenant- sir- Montano- gentlemen-
+    Have you forgot all place of sense and duty?
+    Hold! the general speaks to you! Hold, hold, for shame!
+  OTHELLO. Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this?
+    Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that
+    Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
+    For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl.
+    He that stirs next to carve for his own rage
+    Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.
+    Silence that dreadful bell; it frights the isle
+    From her propriety. What is the matter, masters?
+    Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving,
+    Speak: who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.
+  IAGO. I do not know. Friends all but now, even now,
+    In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
+    Devesting them for bed; and then, but now
+    (As if some planet had unwitted men),
+    Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast,
+    In opposition bloody. I cannot speak  
+    Any beginning to this peevish odds;
+    And would in action glorious I had lost
+    Those legs that brought me to a part of it!
+  OTHELLO. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?
+  CASSIO. I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.
+  OTHELLO. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil;
+    The gravity and stillness of your youth
+    The world hath noted, and your name is great
+    In mouths of wisest censure. What's the matter,
+    That you unlace your reputation thus,
+    And spend your rich opinion for the name
+    Of a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.
+  MONTANO. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.
+    Your officer, Iago, can inform you-
+    While I spare speech, which something now offends me-
+    Of all that I do know. Nor know I aught
+    By me that's said or done amiss this night,
+    Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice,
+    And to defend ourselves it be a sin
+    When violence assails us.  
+  OTHELLO.                    Now, by heaven,
+    My blood begins my safer guides to rule,
+    And passion, having my best judgement collied,
+    Assays to lead the way. If I once stir,
+    Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
+    Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
+    How this foul rout began, who set it on,
+    And he that is approved in this offense,
+    Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,
+    Shall lose me. What! in a town of war,
+    Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear,
+    To manage private and domestic quarrel,
+    In night, and on the court and guard of safety!
+    'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't?
+  MONTANO. If partially affined, or leagued in office,
+    Thou dost deliver more or less than truth,
+    Thou art no soldier.
+  IAGO.                  Touch me not so near:
+    I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth
+    Than it should do offense to Michael Cassio;  
+    Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth
+    Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general.
+    Montano and myself being in speech,
+    There comes a fellow crying out for help,
+    And Cassio following him with determined sword,
+    To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman
+    Steps in to Cassio and entreats his pause.
+    Myself the crying fellow did pursue,
+    Lest by his clamor- as it so fell out-
+    The town might fall in fright. He, swift of foot,
+    Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather
+    For that I heard the clink and fall of swords,
+    And Cassio high in oath, which till tonight
+    I ne'er might say before. When I came back-
+    For this was brief- I found them close together,
+    At blow and thrust, even as again they were
+    When you yourself did part them.
+    More of this matter cannot I report.
+    But men are men; the best sometimes forget.
+    Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,  
+    As men in rage strike those that wish them best,
+    Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received
+    From him that fled some strange indignity,
+    Which patience could not pass.
+  OTHELLO.                         I know, Iago,
+    Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
+    Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee,
+    But never more be officer of mine.
+
+                    Re-enter Desdemona, attended.
+
+    Look, if my gentle love be not raised up!
+    I'll make thee an example.
+  DESDEMONA.                   What's the matter?
+  OTHELLO. All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed.
+    Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.
+    Lead him off.                             Exit Montano, attended.
+    Iago, look with care about the town,
+    And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
+    Come, Desdemona, 'tis the soldiers' life.  
+    To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife.
+                                      Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio.
+  IAGO. What, are you hurt, lieutenant?
+  CASSIO. Ay, past all surgery.
+  IAGO. Marry, heaven forbid!
+  CASSIO. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my
+    reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what
+    remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation!
+  IAGO. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily
+    wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation
+    is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit and
+    lost without deserving. You have lost no reputation at all,
+    unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are
+    ways to recover the general again. You are but now cast in his
+    mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice; even so as one
+    would beat his offenseless dog to affright an imperious lion. Sue
+    to him again, and he's yours.
+  CASSIO. I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a
+    commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an
+    officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear?  
+    and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible
+    spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call
+    thee devil!
+  IAGO. What was he that you followed with your sword?
+    What had he done to you?
+  CASSIO. I know not.
+  IAGO. Is't possible?
+  CASSIO. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a
+    quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an
+    enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should,
+    with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves
+    into beasts!
+  IAGO. Why, but you are now well enough. How came you thus
+     recovered?
+  CASSIO. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the
+    devil wrath: one unperfectness shows me another, to make me
+    frankly despise myself.
+  IAGO. Come, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place,
+    and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish
+    this had not befallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your  
+    own good.
+  CASSIO. I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a
+    drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would
+    stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and
+    presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblest,
+    and the ingredient is a devil.
+  IAGO. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be
+    well used. Exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I
+    think you think I love you.
+  CASSIO. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk!
+  IAGO. You or any man living may be drunk at some time, man. I'll
+    tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the
+    general. I may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted
+    and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement
+    of her parts and graces. Confess yourself freely to her;
+    importune her help to put you in your place again. She is of so
+    free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a
+    vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested. This
+    broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter;
+    and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your  
+    love shall grow stronger than it was before.
+  CASSIO. You advise me well.
+  IAGO. I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.
+  CASSIO. I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech
+    the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. I am desperate of my
+    fortunes if they check me here.
+  IAGO. You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the
+    watch.
+  CASSIO. Good night, honest Iago.                              Exit.
+  IAGO. And what's he then that says I play the villain?
+    When this advice is free I give and honest,
+    Probal to thinking, and indeed the course
+    To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy
+    The inclining Desdemona to subdue
+    In any honest suit. She's framed as fruitful
+    As the free elements. And then for her
+    To win the Moor, were't to renounce his baptism,
+    All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,
+    His soul is so enfetter'd to her love,
+    That she may make, unmake, do what she list,  
+    Even as her appetite shall play the god
+    With his weak function. How am I then a villain
+    To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
+    Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!
+    When devils will the blackest sins put on,
+    They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,
+    As I do now. For whiles this honest fool
+    Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune,
+    And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
+    I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,
+    That she repeals him for her body's lust;
+    And by how much she strives to do him good,
+    She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
+    So will I turn her virtue into pitch,
+    And out of her own goodness make the net
+    That shall enmesh them all.
+
+                           Enter Roderigo.
+
+                                How now, Roderigo!  
+  RODERIGO. I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that
+    hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I
+    have been tonight exceedingly well cudgeled; and I think the
+    issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains; and
+    so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to
+    Venice.
+  IAGO. How poor are they that have not patience!
+    What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
+    Thou know'st we work by wit and not by witchcraft,
+    And wit depends on dilatory time.
+    Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,
+    And thou by that small hurt hast cashier'd Cassio.
+    Though other things grow fair against the sun,
+    Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.
+    Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning;
+    Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
+    Retire thee; go where thou art billeted.
+    Away, I say. Thou shalt know more hereafter.
+    Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Roderigo.] Two things are to be done:
+    My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress-  
+    I'll set her on;
+    Myself the while to draw the Moor apart,
+    And bring him jump when he may Cassio find
+    Soliciting his wife. Ay, that's the way;
+    Dull not device by coldness and delay.                      Exit.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Before the castle.
+
+Enter Cassio and some Musicians.
+
+  CASSIO. Masters, play here, I will content your pains; Something
+    that's brief; and bid "Good morrow, general."
+    Music.
+
+                             Enter Clown.
+
+  CLOWN. Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that
+    they speak i' the nose thus?
+  FIRST MUSICIAN. How, sir, how?
+  CLOWN. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments?
+  FIRST MUSICIAN. Ay, marry, are they, sir.
+  CLOWN. O, thereby hangs a tail.
+  FIRST MUSICIAN. Whereby hangs a tale, sir?
+  CLOWN. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But,
+    masters, here's money for you; and the general so likes your
+    music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more
+    noise with it.  
+  FIRST MUSICIAN. Well, sir, we will not.
+  CLOWN. If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again;
+    but, as they say, to hear music the general does not greatly
+    care.
+  FIRST MUSICIAN. We have none such, sir.
+  CLOWN. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away.
+    Go, vanish into air, away!                      Exeunt Musicians.
+  CASSIO. Dost thou hear, my honest friend?
+  CLOWN. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.
+  CASSIO. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold
+    for thee. If the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be
+    stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little favor
+    of speech. Wilt thou do this?
+  CLOWN. She is stirring, sir. If she will stir hither, I shall seem
+    to notify unto her.
+  CASSIO. Do, good my friend.                             Exit Clown.
+
+                             Enter Iago.
+
+                              In happy time, Iago.  
+  IAGO. You have not been abed, then?
+  CASSIO. Why, no; the day had broke
+    Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago,
+    To send in to your wife. My suit to her
+    Is that she will to virtuous Desdemona
+    Procure me some access.
+  IAGO.                     I'll send her to you presently;
+    And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor
+    Out of the way, that your converse and business
+    May be more free.
+  CASSIO. I humbly thank you for't. [Exit Iago.] I never knew
+    A Florentine more kind and honest.
+
+                            Enter Emilia.
+
+  EMILIA. Good morrow, good lieutenant. I am sorry
+    For your displeasure, but all will sure be well.
+    The general and his wife are talking of it,
+    And she speaks for you stoutly. The Moor replies
+    That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus  
+    And great affinity and that in wholesome wisdom
+    He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you
+    And needs no other suitor but his likings
+    To take the safest occasion by the front
+    To bring you in again.
+  CASSIO.                  Yet, I beseech you,
+    If you think fit, or that it may be done,
+    Give me advantage of some brief discourse
+    With Desdemona alone.
+  EMILIA.                 Pray you, come in.
+    I will bestow you where you shall have time
+    To speak your bosom freely.
+  CASSIO.                       I am much bound to you.
+   Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A room in the castle.
+
+Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen.
+
+  OTHELLO. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot,
+    And by him do my duties to the Senate.
+    That done, I will be walking on the works;
+    Repair there to me.
+  IAGO.                 Well, my good lord, I'll do't.
+  OTHELLO. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't?
+  GENTLEMEN. We'll wait upon your lordship.                   Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The garden of the castle.
+
+Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia.
+
+  DESDEMONA. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do
+    All my abilities in thy behalf.
+  EMILIA. Good madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband
+    As if the cause were his.
+  DESDEMONA. O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,
+    But I will have my lord and you again
+    As friendly as you were.
+  CASSIO.                    Bounteous madam,
+    Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
+    He's never anything but your true servant.
+  DESDEMONA. I know't: I thank you. You do love my lord:
+    You have known him long; and be you well assured
+    He shall in strangeness stand no farther off
+    Than in a politic distance.
+  CASSIO.                       Ay, but, lady,
+    That policy may either last so long,
+    Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet,  
+    Or breed itself so out of circumstances,
+    That I being absent and my place supplied,
+    My general will forget my love and service.
+  DESDEMONA. Do not doubt that. Before Emilia here
+    I give thee warrant of thy place, assure thee,
+    If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it
+    To the last article. My lord shall never rest;
+    I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience;
+    His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;
+    I'll intermingle everything he does
+    With Cassio's suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio,
+    For thy solicitor shall rather die
+    Than give thy cause away.
+
+                Enter Othello and Iago, at a distance.
+
+  EMILIA. Madam, here comes my lord.
+  CASSIO. Madam, I'll take my leave.
+  DESDEMONA. Nay, stay and hear me speak.
+  CASSIO. Madam, not now. I am very ill at ease,  
+    Unfit for mine own purposes.
+  DESDEMONA. Well, do your discretion.                   Exit Cassio.
+  IAGO. Ha! I like not that.
+  OTHELLO. What dost thou say?
+  IAGO. Nothing, my lord; or if- I know not what.
+  OTHELLO. Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?
+  IAGO. Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it,
+    That he would steal away so guilty-like,
+    Seeing you coming.
+  OTHELLO.             I do believe 'twas he.
+  DESDEMONA. How now, my lord!
+    I have been talking with a suitor here,
+    A man that languishes in your displeasure.
+  OTHELLO. Who is't you mean?
+  DESDEMONA. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,
+    If I have any grace or power to move you,
+    His present reconciliation take;
+    For if he be not one that truly loves you,
+    That errs in ignorance and not in cunning,
+    I have no judgement in an honest face.  
+    I prithee, call him back.
+  OTHELLO.                    Went he hence now?
+  DESDEMONA. Ay, sooth; so humbled
+    That he hath left part of his grief with me
+    To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.
+  OTHELLO. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.
+  DESDEMONA. But shall't be shortly?
+  OTHELLO.                           The sooner, sweet, for you.
+  DESDEMONA. Shall't be tonight at supper?
+  OTHELLO.                                 No, not tonight.
+  DESDEMONA. Tomorrow dinner then?
+  OTHELLO.                         I shall not dine at home;
+    I meet the captains at the citadel.
+  DESDEMONA. Why then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn,
+    On Tuesday noon, or night, on Wednesday morn.
+    I prithee, name the time, but let it not
+    Exceed three days. In faith, he's penitent;
+    And yet his trespass, in our common reason-
+    Save that, they say, the wars must make example
+    Out of their best- is not almost a fault  
+    To incur a private check. When shall he come?
+    Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul,
+    What you would ask me, that I should deny,
+    Or stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio,
+    That came awooing with you, and so many a time
+    When I have spoke of you dispraisingly
+    Hath ta'en your part- to have so much to do
+    To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much-
+  OTHELLO. Prithee, no more. Let him come when he will;
+    I will deny thee nothing.
+  DESDEMONA.                  Why, this is not a boon;
+    'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
+    Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,
+    Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit
+    To your own person. Nay, when I have a suit
+    Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,
+    It shall be full of poise and difficult weight,
+    And fearful to be granted.
+  OTHELLO.                     I will deny thee nothing,
+    Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,  
+    To leave me but a little to myself.
+  DESDEMONA. Shall I deny you? No. Farewell, my lord.
+  OTHELLO. Farewell, my Desdemona; I'll come to thee straight.
+  DESDEMONA. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you;
+    Whate'er you be, I am obedient.
+                                         Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.
+  OTHELLO. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,
+    But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
+    Chaos is come again.
+  IAGO. My noble lord-
+  OTHELLO.             What dost thou say, Iago?
+  IAGO. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,
+    Know of your love?
+  OTHELLO. He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?
+  IAGO. But for a satisfaction of my thought;
+    No further harm.
+  OTHELLO.           Why of thy thought, Iago?
+  IAGO. I did not think he had been acquainted with her.
+  OTHELLO. O, yes, and went between us very oft.
+  IAGO. Indeed!  
+  OTHELLO. Indeed? ay, indeed. Discern'st thou aught in that?
+    Is he not honest?
+  IAGO. Honest, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. Honest? Ay, honest.
+  IAGO. My lord, for aught I know.
+  OTHELLO. What dost thou think?
+  IAGO. Think, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. Think, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me,
+    As if there were some monster in his thought
+    Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something.
+    I heard thee say even now, thou like'st not that,
+    When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?
+    And when I told thee he was of my counsel
+    In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, "Indeed!"
+    And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
+    As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
+    Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,
+    Show me thy thought.
+  IAGO. My lord, you know I love you.
+  OTHELLO.                            I think thou dost;  
+    And for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty
+    And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath,
+    Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more;
+    For such things in a false disloyal knave
+    Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just
+    They're close dilations, working from the heart,
+    That passion cannot rule.
+  IAGO.                       For Michael Cassio,
+    I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.
+  OTHELLO. I think so too.
+  IAGO.                    Men should be what they seem;
+    Or those that be not, would they might seem none!
+  OTHELLO. Certain, men should be what they seem.
+  IAGO. Why then I think Cassio's an honest man.
+  OTHELLO. Nay, yet there's more in this.
+    I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
+    As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
+    The worst of words.
+  IAGO.                 Good my lord, pardon me;
+    Though I am bound to every act of duty,  
+    I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.
+    Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false;
+    As where's that palace whereinto foul things
+    Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure,
+    But some uncleanly apprehensions
+    Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit
+    With meditations lawful?
+  OTHELLO. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,
+    If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear
+    A stranger to thy thoughts.
+  IAGO.                         I do beseech you-
+    Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,
+    As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
+    To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy
+    Shapes faults that are not- that your wisdom yet,
+    From one that so imperfectly conceits,
+    Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble
+    Out of his scattering and unsure observance.
+    It were not for your quiet nor your good,
+    Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,  
+    To let you know my thoughts.
+  OTHELLO.                       What dost thou mean?
+  IAGO. Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
+    Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
+    Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
+    'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
+    But he that filches from me my good name
+    Robs me of that which not enriches him
+    And makes me poor indeed.
+  OTHELLO. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts.
+  IAGO. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand;
+    Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.
+  OTHELLO. Ha!
+  IAGO.        O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!
+    It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock
+    The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss
+    Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
+    But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
+    Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!
+  OTHELLO. O misery!  
+  IAGO. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough;
+    But riches fineless is as poor as winter
+    To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
+    Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
+    From jealousy!
+  OTHELLO.         Why, why is this?
+    Think'st thou I'ld make a life of jealousy,
+    To follow still the changes of the moon
+    With fresh suspicions? No! To be once in doubt
+    Is once to be resolved. Exchange me for a goat
+    When I shall turn the business of my soul
+    To such exsufflicate and blown surmises,
+    Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous
+    To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
+    Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
+    Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
+    Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
+    The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt;
+    For she had eyes and chose me. No, Iago,
+    I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;  
+    And on the proof, there is no more but this-
+    Away at once with love or jealousy!
+  IAGO. I am glad of it, for now I shall have reason
+    To show the love and duty that I bear you
+    With franker spirit. Therefore, as I am bound,
+    Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.
+    Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;
+    Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure.
+    I would not have your free and noble nature
+    Out of self-bounty be abused. Look to't.
+    I know our country disposition well;
+    In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks
+    They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience
+    Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown.
+  OTHELLO. Dost thou say so?
+  IAGO. She did deceive her father, marrying you;
+    And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks,
+    She loved them most.
+  OTHELLO.               And so she did.
+  IAGO.                                  Why, go to then.  
+    She that so young could give out such a seeming,
+    To seel her father's eyes up close as oak-
+    He thought 'twas witchcraft- but I am much to blame;
+    I humbly do beseech you of your pardon
+    For too much loving you.
+  OTHELLO.                   I am bound to thee forever.
+  IAGO. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits.
+  OTHELLO. Not a jot, not a jot.
+  IAGO.                          I'faith, I fear it has.
+    I hope you will consider what is spoke
+    Comes from my love. But I do see you're moved;
+    I am to pray you not to strain my speech
+    To grosser issues nor to larger reach
+    Than to suspicion.
+  OTHELLO. I will not.
+  IAGO.                Should you do so, my lord,
+    My speech should fall into such vile success
+    Which my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend-
+    My lord, I see you're moved.
+  OTHELLO.                       No, not much moved.  
+    I do not think but Desdemona's honest.
+  IAGO. Long live she so! and long live you to think so!
+  OTHELLO. And yet, how nature erring from itself-
+  IAGO. Ay, there's the point, as- to be bold with you-
+    Not to affect many proposed matches
+    Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
+    Whereto we see in all things nature tends-
+    Foh, one may smell in such a will most rank,
+    Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.
+    But pardon me. I do not in position
+    Distinctly speak of her; though I may fear,
+    Her will, recoiling to her better judgement,
+    May fall to match you with her country forms,
+    And happily repent.
+  OTHELLO.              Farewell, farewell.
+    If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;
+    Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.
+  IAGO. [Going.] My lord, I take my leave.
+  OTHELLO. Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless
+    Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.  
+  IAGO. [Returning.] My lord, I would I might entreat your honor
+    To scan this thing no further; leave it to time.
+    Though it be fit that Cassio have his place,
+    For sure he fills it up with great ability,
+    Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile,
+    You shall by that perceive him and his means.
+    Note if your lady strain his entertainment
+    With any strong or vehement importunity;
+    Much will be seen in that. In the meantime,
+    Let me be thought too busy in my fears-
+    As worthy cause I have to fear I am-
+    And hold her free, I do beseech your honor.
+  OTHELLO. Fear not my government.
+  IAGO. I once more take my leave.                              Exit.
+  OTHELLO. This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
+    And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
+    Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,
+    Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,
+    I'ld whistle her off and let her down the wind
+    To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black  
+    And have not those soft parts of conversation
+    That chamberers have, or for I am declined
+    Into the vale of years- yet that's not much-
+    She's gone. I am abused, and my relief
+    Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
+    That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
+    And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
+    And live upon the vapor of a dungeon,
+    Than keep a corner in the thing I love
+    For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones:
+    Prerogatived are they less than the base;
+    'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.
+    Even then this forked plague is fated to us
+    When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:
+
+                    Re-enter Desdemona and Emilia.
+
+    If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!
+    I'll not believe't.
+  DESDEMONA.            How now, my dear Othello!  
+    Your dinner, and the generous islanders
+    By you invited, do attend your presence.
+  OTHELLO. I am to blame.
+  DESDEMONA.              Why do you speak so faintly?
+    Are you not well?
+  OTHELLO. I have a pain upon my forehead here.
+  DESDEMONA. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again.
+    Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
+    It will be well.
+  OTHELLO.           Your napkin is too little;
+            He puts the handkerchief from him, and she drops it.
+    Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.
+  DESDEMONA. I am very sorry that you are not well.
+                                        Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.
+  EMILIA. I am glad I have found this napkin;
+    This was her first remembrance from the Moor.
+    My wayward husband hath a hundred times
+    Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token,
+    For he conjured her she should ever keep it,
+    That she reserves it evermore about her  
+    To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,
+    And give't Iago. What he will do with it
+    Heaven knows, not I;
+    I nothing but to please his fantasy.
+
+                            Re-enter Iago.
+
+  IAGO. How now, what do you here alone?
+  EMILIA. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.
+  IAGO. A thing for me? It is a common thing-
+  EMILIA. Ha!
+  IAGO. To have a foolish wife.
+  EMILIA. O, is that all? What will you give me now
+    For that same handkerchief?
+  IAGO.                         What handkerchief?
+  EMILIA. What handkerchief?
+    Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona,
+    That which so often you did bid me steal.
+  IAGO. Hast stol'n it from her?
+  EMILIA. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence,  
+    And, to the advantage, I being here took't up.
+    Look, here it is.
+  IAGO.               A good wench; give it me.
+  EMILIA. What will you do with't, that you have been so earnest
+    To have me filch it?
+  IAGO. [Snatching it.] Why, what is that to you?
+  EMILIA. If't be not for some purpose of import,
+    Give't me again. Poor lady, she'll run mad
+    When she shall lack it.
+  IAGO. Be not acknown on't; I have use for it.
+    Go, leave me.                                        Exit Emilia.
+    I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,
+    And let him find it. Trifles light as air
+    Are to the jealous confirmations strong
+    As proofs of holy writ; this may do something.
+    The Moor already changes with my poison:
+    Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,
+    Which at the first are scarce found to distaste,
+    But with a little act upon the blood
+    Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so.  
+    Look, where he comes!
+
+                          Re-enter Othello.
+
+                          Not poppy, nor mandragora,
+    Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
+    Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
+    Which thou owedst yesterday.
+  OTHELLO.                       Ha, ha, false to me?
+  IAGO. Why, how now, general! No more of that.
+  OTHELLO. Avaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack.
+    I swear 'tis better to be much abused
+    Than but to know't a little.
+  IAGO.                          How now, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. What sense had I of her stol'n hours of lust?
+    I saw't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me;
+    I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
+    I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.
+    He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n,
+    Let him not know't and he's not robb'd at all.  
+  IAGO. I am sorry to hear this.
+  OTHELLO. I had been happy if the general camp,
+    Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,
+    So I had nothing known. O, now forever
+    Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!
+    Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars
+    That make ambition virtue! O, farewell,
+    Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
+    The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
+    The royal banner, and all quality,
+    Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
+    And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
+    The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,
+    Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!
+  IAGO. Is't possible, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore;
+    Be sure of it. Give me the ocular proof;
+    Or, by the worth of man's eternal soul,
+    Thou hadst been better have been born a dog
+    Than answer my waked wrath!  
+  IAGO.                         Is't come to this?
+  OTHELLO. Make me to see't; or at the least so prove it,
+    That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
+    To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life!
+  IAGO. My noble lord-
+  OTHELLO. If thou dost slander her and torture me,
+    Never pray more; abandon all remorse;
+    On horror's head horrors accumulate;
+    Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed;
+    For nothing canst thou to damnation add
+    Greater than that.
+  IAGO.                O grace! O heaven defend me!
+    Are you a man? have you a soul or sense?
+    God be wi' you; take mine office. O wretched fool,
+    That livest to make thine honesty a vice!
+    O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,
+    To be direct and honest is not safe.
+    I thank you for this profit, and from hence
+    I'll love no friend sith love breeds such offense.
+  OTHELLO. Nay, stay; thou shouldst be honest.  
+  IAGO. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool,
+    And loses that it works for.
+  OTHELLO.                       By the world,
+    I think my wife be honest, and think she is not;
+    I think that thou art just, and think thou art not.
+    I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as fresh
+    As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black
+    As mine own face. If there be cords or knives,
+    Poison or fire, or suffocating streams,
+    I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied!
+  IAGO. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion;
+    I do repent me that I put it to you.
+    You would be satisfied?
+  OTHELLO.                  Would? Nay, I will.
+  IAGO. And may. But, how? how satisfied, my lord?
+    Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on?
+    Behold her topp'd?
+  OTHELLO.             Death and damnation! O!
+  IAGO. It were a tedious difficulty, I think,
+    To bring them to that prospect. Damn them then,  
+    If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster
+    More than their own! What then? how then?
+    What shall I say? Where's satisfaction?
+    It is impossible you should see this
+    Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
+    As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
+    As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
+    If imputation and strong circumstances,
+    Which lead directly to the door of truth,
+    Will give you satisfaction, you may have't.
+  OTHELLO. Give me a living reason she's disloyal.
+  IAGO. I do not like the office;
+    But sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,
+    Prick'd to't by foolish honesty and love,
+    I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately
+    And, being troubled with a raging tooth,
+    I could not sleep.
+    There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
+    That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs;
+    One of this kind is Cassio.  
+    In sleep I heard him say, "Sweet Desdemona,
+    Let us be wary, let us hide our loves";
+    And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,
+    Cry, "O sweet creature!" and then kiss me hard,
+    As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots,
+    That grew upon my lips; then laid his leg
+    Over my thigh, and sigh'd and kiss'd; and then
+    Cried, "Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!"
+  OTHELLO. O monstrous! monstrous!
+  IAGO.                            Nay, this was but his dream.
+  OTHELLO. But this denoted a foregone conclusion.
+    'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.
+  IAGO. And this may help to thicken other proofs
+    That do demonstrate thinly.
+  OTHELLO.                      I'll tear her all to pieces.
+  IAGO. Nay, but be wise; yet we see nothing done;
+    She may be honest yet. Tell me but this;
+    Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief
+    Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand?
+  OTHELLO. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift.  
+  IAGO. I know not that; but such a handkerchief-
+    I am sure it was your wife's- did I today
+    See Cassio wipe his beard with.
+  OTHELLO.                          If it be that-
+  IAGO. If it be that, or any that was hers,
+    It speaks against her with the other proofs.
+  OTHELLO. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives!
+    One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.
+    Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, Iago,
+    All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
+    'Tis gone.
+    Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell!
+    Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
+    To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
+    For 'tis of aspics' tongues!
+  IAGO.                          Yet be content.
+  OTHELLO. O, blood, blood, blood!
+  IAGO. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may change.
+  OTHELLO. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea,
+    Whose icy current and compulsive course  
+    Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
+    To the Propontic and the Hellespont,
+    Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,
+    Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
+    Till that a capable and wide revenge
+    Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven,
+    In the due reverence of a sacred vow                      Kneels.
+    I here engage my words.
+  IAGO.                     Do not rise yet.                  Kneels.
+    Witness, you ever-burning lights above,
+    You elements that clip us round about,
+    Witness that here Iago doth give up
+    The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
+    To wrong'd Othello's service! Let him command,
+    And to obey shall be in me remorse,
+    What bloody business ever.                             They rise.
+  OTHELLO.                     I greet thy love,
+    Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,
+    And will upon the instant put thee to't:
+    Within these three days let me hear thee say  
+    That Cassio's not alive.
+  IAGO. My friend is dead, 'tis done at your request;
+    But let her live.
+  OTHELLO.            Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her!
+    Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw,
+    To furnish me with some swift means of death
+    For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.
+  IAGO. I am your own forever.                                Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Before the castle.
+
+Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown.
+
+  DESDEMONA. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?
+  CLOWN. I dare not say he lies anywhere.
+  DESDEMONA. Why, man?
+  CLOWN. He's a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies, is
+    stabbing.
+  DESDEMONA. Go to! Where lodges he?
+  CLOWN. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie.
+  DESDEMONA. Can anything be made of this?
+  CLOWN. I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a lodging,
+    and say he lies here or he lies there, were to lie in mine own
+    throat.
+  DESDEMONA. Can you inquire him out and be edified by report?
+  CLOWN. I will catechize the world for him; that is, make questions
+    and by them answer.
+  DESDEMONA. Seek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my
+    lord on his behalf and hope all will be well.
+  CLOWN. To do this is within the compass of man's wit, and therefore  
+    I will attempt the doing it.                                Exit.
+  DESDEMONA. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?
+  EMILIA. I know not, madam.
+  DESDEMONA. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse
+    Full of crusadoes; and, but my noble Moor
+    Is true of mind and made of no such baseness
+    As jealous creatures are, it were enough
+    To put him to ill thinking.
+  EMILIA.                       Is he not jealous?
+  DESDEMONA. Who, he? I think the sun where he was born
+    Drew all such humors from him.
+  EMILIA.                          Look, where he comes.
+  DESDEMONA. I will not leave him now till Cassio
+    Be call'd to him.
+
+                            Enter Othello.
+
+                      How is't with you, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. Well, my good lady. [Aside.] O, hardness to dissemble!
+    How do you, Desdemona?  
+  DESDEMONA.               Well, my good lord.
+  OTHELLO. Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.
+  DESDEMONA. It yet has felt no age nor known no sorrow.
+  OTHELLO. This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart;
+    Hot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires
+    A sequester from liberty, fasting, and prayer,
+    Much castigation, exercise devout,
+    For here's a young and sweating devil here
+    That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand,
+    A frank one.
+  DESDEMONA. You may, indeed, say so;
+    For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.
+  OTHELLO. A liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands;
+    But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.
+  DESDEMONA. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.
+  OTHELLO. What promise, chuck?
+  DESDEMONA. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.
+  OTHELLO. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me;
+    Lend me thy handkerchief.
+  DESDEMONA. Here, my lord.  
+  OTHELLO. That which I gave you.
+  DESDEMONA. I have it not about me.
+  OTHELLO. Not?
+  DESDEMONA. No, faith, my lord.
+  OTHELLO. That's a fault. That handkerchief
+    Did an Egyptian to my mother give;
+    She was a charmer, and could almost read
+    The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,
+    'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father
+    Entirely to her love, but if she lost it
+    Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
+    Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt
+    After new fancies. She dying gave it me,
+    And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,
+    To give it her. I did so, and take heed on't;
+    Make it a darling like your precious eye;
+    To lose't or give't away were such perdition
+    As nothing else could match.
+  DESDEMONA.                     Is't possible?
+  OTHELLO. 'Tis true; there's magic in the web of it.  
+    A sibyl, that had number'd in the world
+    The sun to course two hundred compasses,
+    In her prophetic fury sew'd the work;
+    The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk,
+    And it was dyed in mummy which the skillful
+    Conserved of maiden's hearts.
+  DESDEMONA.                      Indeed! is't true?
+  OTHELLO. Most veritable; therefore look to't well.
+  DESDEMONA. Then would to God that I had never seen't!
+  OTHELLO. Ha! wherefore?
+  DESDEMONA. Why do you speak so startingly and rash?
+  OTHELLO. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out o' the way?
+  DESDEMONA. Heaven bless us!
+  OTHELLO. Say you?
+  DESDEMONA. It is not lost; but what an if it were?
+  OTHELLO. How?
+  DESDEMONA. I say, it is not lost.
+  OTHELLO. Fetch't, let me see it.
+  DESDEMONA. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
+    This is a trick to put me from my suit.  
+    Pray you, let Cassio be received again.
+  OTHELLO. Fetch me the handkerchief, my mind misgives.
+  DESDEMONA. Come, come,
+    You'll never meet a more sufficient man.
+  OTHELLO. The handkerchief!
+  DESDEMONA.                 I pray, talk me of Cassio.
+  OTHELLO. The handkerchief!
+  DESDEMONA.                 A man that all his time
+    Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,
+    Shared dangers with you-
+  OTHELLO. The handkerchief!
+  DESDEMONA. In sooth, you are to blame.
+  OTHELLO. Away!                                                Exit.
+  EMILIA. Is not this man jealous?
+  DESDEMONA. I ne'er saw this before.
+    Sure there's some wonder in this handkerchief;
+    I am most unhappy in the loss of it.
+  EMILIA. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man.
+    They are all but stomachs and we all but food;
+    They eat us hungerly, and when they are full  
+    They belch us. Look you! Cassio and my husband.
+
+                        Enter Cassio and Iago.
+
+  IAGO. There is no other way; 'tis she must do't.
+    And, lo, the happiness! Go and importune her.
+  DESDEMONA. How now, good Cassio! What's the news with you?
+  CASSIO. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you
+    That by your virtuous means I may again
+    Exist and be a member of his love
+    Whom I with all the office of my heart
+    Entirely honor. I would not be delay'd.
+    If my offense be of such mortal kind
+    That nor my service past nor present sorrows
+    Nor purposed merit in futurity
+    Can ransom me into his love again,
+    But to know so must be my benefit;
+    So shall I clothe me in a forced content
+    And shut myself up in some other course
+    To Fortune's alms.  
+  DESDEMONA.           Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio!
+    My advocation is not now in tune;
+    My lord is not my lord, nor should I know him
+    Were he in favor as in humor alter'd.
+    So help me every spirit sanctified,
+    As I have spoken for you all my best
+    And stood within the blank of his displeasure
+    For my free speech! You must awhile be patient.
+    What I can do I will; and more I will
+    Than for myself I dare. Let that suffice you.
+  IAGO. Is my lord angry?
+  EMILIA.                 He went hence but now,
+    And certainly in strange unquietness.
+  IAGO. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon,
+    When it hath blown his ranks into the air
+    And, like the devil, from his very arm
+    Puff'd his own brother. And can he be angry?
+    Something of moment then. I will go meet him.
+    There's matter in't indeed if he be angry.
+  DESDEMONA. I prithee, do so.                             Exit Iago.  
+                               Something sure of state,
+    Either from Venice or some unhatch'd practice
+    Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,
+    Hath puddled his clear spirit; and in such cases
+    Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
+    Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so;
+    For let our finger ache, and it indues
+    Our other healthful members even to that sense
+    Of pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods,
+    Nor of them look for such observancy
+    As fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
+    I was, unhandsome warrior as I am,
+    Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
+    But now I find I had suborn'd the witness,
+    And he's indicted falsely.
+  EMILIA. Pray heaven it be state matters, as you think,
+    And no conception nor no jealous toy
+    Concerning you.
+  DESDEMONA. Alas the day, I never gave him cause!
+  EMILIA. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;  
+    They are not ever jealous for the cause,
+    But jealous for they are jealous. 'Tis a monster
+    Begot upon itself, born on itself.
+  DESDEMONA. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind!
+  EMILIA. Lady, amen.
+  DESDEMONA. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout.
+    If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
+    And seek to effect it to my uttermost.
+  CASSIO. I humbly thank your ladyship.
+                                         Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.
+
+                            Enter Bianca.
+
+  BIANCA. Save you, friend Cassio!
+  CASSIO.                          What make you from home?
+    How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?
+    I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.
+  BIANCA. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio.
+    What, keep a week away? seven days and nights?
+    Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours,  
+    More tedious than the dial eight score times?
+    O weary reckoning!
+  CASSIO.              Pardon me, Bianca.
+    I have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd;
+    But I shall in a more continuate time
+    Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,
+                                  Gives her Desdemona's handkerchief.
+    Take me this work out.
+  BIANCA.                  O Cassio, whence came this?
+    This is some token from a newer friend.
+    To the felt absence now I feel a cause.
+    Is't come to this? Well, well.
+  CASSIO.                          Go to, woman!
+    Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth,
+    From whence you have them. You are jealous now
+    That this is from some mistress, some remembrance.
+    No, by my faith, Bianca.
+  BIANCA.                    Why, whose is it?
+  CASSIO. I know not, sweet. I found it in my chamber.
+    I like the work well. Ere it be demanded-  
+    As like enough it will- I'ld have it copied.
+    Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time.
+  BIANCA. Leave you! wherefore?
+  CASSIO. I do attend here on the general;
+    And think it no addition, nor my wish,
+    To have him see me woman'd.
+  BIANCA.                       Why, I pray you?
+  CASSIO. Not that I love you not.
+  BIANCA.                          But that you do not love me.
+    I pray you, bring me on the way a little,
+    And say if I shall see you soon at night.
+  CASSIO. 'Tis but a little way that I can bring you,
+    For I attend here, but I'll see you soon.
+  BIANCA. 'Tis very good; I must be circumstanced.            Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Cyprus. Before the castle.
+
+Enter Othello and Iago.
+
+  IAGO. Will you think so?
+  OTHELLO.                 Think so, Iago?
+  IAGO.                                    What,
+    To kiss in private?
+  OTHELLO.              An unauthorized kiss.
+  IAGO. Or to be naked with her friend in bed
+    An hour or more, not meaning any harm?
+  OTHELLO. Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm!
+    It is hypocrisy against the devil.
+    They that mean virtuously and yet do so,
+    The devil their virtue tempts and they tempt heaven.
+  IAGO. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip.
+    But if I give my wife a handkerchief-
+  OTHELLO. What then?
+  IAGO. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord, and being hers,
+    She may, I think, bestow't on any man.
+  OTHELLO. She is protectress of her honor too.  
+    May she give that?
+  IAGO. Her honor is an essence that's not seen;
+    They have it very oft that have it not.
+    But for the handkerchief-
+  OTHELLO. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.
+    Thou said'st- O, it comes o'er my memory,
+    As doth the raven o'er the infected house,
+    Boding to all- he had my handkerchief.
+  IAGO. Ay, what of that?
+  OTHELLO.                That's not so good now.
+  IAGO.                                           What,
+    If I had said I had seen him do you wrong?
+    Or heard him say- as knaves be such abroad,
+    Who having, by their own importunate suit,
+    Or voluntary dotage of some mistress,
+    Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose
+    But they must blab-
+  OTHELLO.              Hath he said anything?
+  IAGO. He hath, my lord; but be you well assured,
+    No more than he'll unswear.  
+  OTHELLO.                      What hath he said?
+  IAGO. Faith, that he did- I know not what he did.
+  OTHELLO. What? what?
+  IAGO. Lie-
+  OTHELLO. With her?
+  IAGO.              With her, on her, what you will.
+  OTHELLO. Lie with her! lie on her! We say lie on her, when they
+    belie her. Lie with her! 'Zounds, that's fulsome! Handkerchief-
+    confessions- handkerchief! To confess and be hanged for his labor-
+    first, to be hanged, and then to confess. I tremble at it.
+    Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion without
+    some instruction. It is not words that shakes me thus. Pish!
+    Noses, ears, and lips. Is't possible? Confess? Handkerchief? O
+    devil!
+                                                   Falls in a trance.
+  IAGO. Work on,
+    My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught,
+    And many worthy and chaste dames even thus,
+    All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! My lord!
+    My lord, I say! Othello!  
+
+                            Enter Cassio.
+
+                             How now, Cassio!
+  CASSIO. What's the matter?
+  IAGO. My lord is fall'n into an epilepsy.
+    This is his second fit; he had one yesterday.
+  CASSIO. Rub him about the temples.
+  IAGO.                              No, forbear;
+    The lethargy must have his quiet course.
+    If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by
+    Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs.
+    Do you withdraw yourself a little while,
+    He will recover straight. When he is gone,
+    I would on great occasion speak with you.            Exit Cassio.
+    How is it, general? Have you not hurt your head?
+  OTHELLO. Dost thou mock me?
+  IAGO.                       I mock you? No, by heaven.
+    Would you would bear your fortune like a man!
+  OTHELLO. A horned man's a monster and a beast.  
+  IAGO. There's many a beast then in a populous city,
+    And many a civil monster.
+  OTHELLO. Did he confess it?
+  IAGO.                       Good sir, be a man;
+    Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked
+    May draw with you. There's millions now alive
+    That nightly lie in those unproper beds
+    Which they dare swear peculiar. Your case is better.
+    O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,
+    To lip a wanton in a secure couch,
+    And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know,
+    And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.
+  OTHELLO. O, thou art wise; 'tis certain.
+  IAGO.                                    Stand you awhile apart,
+    Confine yourself but in a patient list.
+    Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your grief-
+    A passion most unsuiting such a man-
+    Cassio came hither. I shifted him away,
+    And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy;
+    Bade him anon return and here speak with me  
+    The which he promised. Do but encave yourself
+    And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,
+    That dwell in every region of his face;
+    For I will make him tell the tale anew,
+    Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
+    He hath and is again to cope your wife.
+    I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience,
+    Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen,
+    And nothing of a man.
+  OTHELLO.                Dost thou hear, Iago?
+    I will be found most cunning in my patience;
+    But (dost thou hear?) most bloody.
+  IAGO.                                That's not amiss;
+    But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?
+                                                     Othello retires.
+    Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
+    A housewife that by selling her desires
+    Buys herself bread and clothes. It is a creature
+    That dotes on Cassio, as 'tis the strumpet's plague
+    To beguile many and be beguiled by one.  
+    He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain
+    From the excess of laughter. Here he comes.
+
+                           Re-enter Cassio.
+
+    As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad;
+    And his unbookish jealousy must construe
+    Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behavior
+    Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant?
+  CASSIO. The worser that you give me the addition
+    Whose want even kills me.
+  IAGO. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on't.
+    Now, if this suit lay in Bianco's power,
+    How quickly should you speed!
+  CASSIO.                         Alas, poor caitiff!
+  OTHELLO. Look, how he laughs already!
+  IAGO. I never knew a woman love man so.
+  CASSIO. Alas, poor rogue! I think, i'faith, she loves me.
+  OTHELLO. Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out.
+  IAGO. Do you hear, Cassio?  
+  OTHELLO.                   Now he importunes him
+    To tell it o'er. Go to; well said, well said.
+  IAGO. She gives it out that you shall marry her.
+    Do you intend it?
+  CASSIO. Ha, ha, ha!
+  OTHELLO. Do you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph?
+  CASSIO. I marry her! What? A customer! I prithee, bear some charity
+    to my wit; do not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!
+  OTHELLO. So, so, so, so. They laugh that win.
+  IAGO. Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.
+  CASSIO. Prithee, say true.
+  IAGO. I am a very villain else.
+  OTHELLO. Have you scored me? Well.
+  CASSIO. This is the monkey's own giving out. She is persuaded I
+    will marry her, out of her own love and flattery, not out of my
+    promise.
+  OTHELLO. Iago beckons me; now he begins the story.
+  CASSIO. She was here even now; she haunts me in every place. I was
+    the other day talking on the sea bank with certain Venetians, and
+    thither comes the bauble, and, by this hand, she falls me thus  
+    about my neck-
+  OTHELLO. Crying, "O dear Cassio!" as it were; his gesture imports
+    it.
+  CASSIO. So hangs and lolls and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls
+    me. Ha, ha, ha!
+  OTHELLO. Now he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see
+    that nose of yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.
+  CASSIO. Well, I must leave her company.
+  IAGO. Before me! look where she comes.
+  CASSIO. 'Tis such another fitchew! marry, a perfumed one.
+
+                            Enter Bianca.
+
+    What do you mean by this haunting of me?
+  BIANCA. Let the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by
+    that same handkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to
+    take it. I must take out the work? A likely piece of work that
+    you should find it in your chamber and not know who left it
+    there! This is some minx's token, and I must take out the work?
+    There, give it your hobbyhorse. Wheresoever you had it, I'll take  
+    out no work on't.
+  CASSIO. How now, my sweet Bianca! how now! how now!
+  OTHELLO. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief!
+  BIANCA. An you'll come to supper tonight, you may; an you will not,
+    come when you are next prepared for.                        Exit.
+  IAGO. After her, after her.
+  CASSIO. Faith, I must; she'll rail i' the street else.
+  IAGO. Will you sup there?
+  CASSIO. Faith, I intend so.
+  IAGO. Well, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak
+    with you.
+  CASSIO. Prithee, come; will you?
+  IAGO. Go to; say no more.                              Exit Cassio.
+  OTHELLO. [Advancing.] How shall I murther him, Iago?
+  IAGO. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice?
+  OTHELLO. O Iago!
+  IAGO. And did you see the handkerchief?
+  OTHELLO. Was that mine?
+  IAGO. Yours, by this hand. And to see how he prizes the foolish
+    woman your wife! She gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.  
+  OTHELLO. I would have him nine years akilling. A fine woman! a fair
+    woman! a sweet woman!
+  IAGO. Nay, you must forget that.
+  OTHELLO. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for
+    she shall not live. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it,
+    and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature.
+    She might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks.
+  IAGO. Nay, that's not your way.
+  OTHELLO. Hang her! I do but say what she is. So delicate with her
+    needle, an admirable musician. O, she will sing the savageness
+    out of a bear. Of so high and plenteous wit and invention-
+  IAGO. She's the worse for all this.
+  OTHELLO. O, a thousand, a thousand times. And then, of so gentle a
+    condition!
+  IAGO. Ay, too gentle.
+  OTHELLO. Nay, that's certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago!
+    O Iago, the pity of it, Iago!
+  IAGO. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to
+    offend, for, if it touch not you, it comes near nobody.
+  OTHELLO. I will chop her into messes. Cuckold me!  
+  IAGO. O, 'tis foul in her.
+  OTHELLO. With mine officer!
+  IAGO. That's fouler.
+  OTHELLO. Get me some poison, Iago, this night. I'll not expostulate
+    with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This
+    night, Iago.
+  IAGO. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed
+    she hath contaminated.
+  OTHELLO. Good, good, the justice of it pleases, very good.
+  IAGO. And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more
+    by midnight.
+  OTHELLO. Excellent good. [A trumpet within.] What trumpet is that
+    same?
+  IAGO. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico
+    Come from the Duke. And, see your wife is with him.
+
+              Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants.
+
+  LODOVICO. God save the worthy general!
+  OTHELLO.                               With all my heart, sir.  
+  LODOVICO. The Duke and Senators of Venice greet you.
+                                                  Gives him a letter.
+  OTHELLO. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures.
+                                         Opens the letter, and reads.
+  DESDEMONA. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico?
+  IAGO. I am very glad to see you, signior;
+    Welcome to Cyprus.
+  LODOVICO. I thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?
+  IAGO. Lives, sir.
+  DESDEMONA. Cousin, there's fall'n between him and my lord
+    An unkind breech; but you shall make all well.
+  OTHELLO. Are you sure of that?
+  DESDEMONA. My lord?
+  OTHELLO. [Reads.] "This fail you not to do, as you will-"
+  LODOVICO. He did not call; he's busy in the paper.
+    Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio?
+  DESDEMONA. A most unhappy one. I would do much
+    To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.
+  OTHELLO. Fire and brimstone!
+  DESDEMONA. My lord?  
+  OTHELLO. Are you wise?
+  DESDEMONA. What, is he angry?
+  LODOVICO.                     May be the letter moved him;
+    For, as I think, they do command him home,
+    Deputing Cassio in his government.
+  DESDEMONA. By my troth, I am glad on't.
+  OTHELLO.                                Indeed!
+  DESDEMONA.                                      My lord?
+  OTHELLO. I am glad to see you mad.
+  DESDEMONA.                         Why, sweet Othello?
+  OTHELLO. Devil!                                        Strikes her.
+  DESDEMONA. I have not deserved this.
+  LODOVICO. My lord, this would not be believed in Venice,
+    Though I should swear I saw't. 'Tis very much.
+    Make her amends; she weeps.
+  OTHELLO.                      O devil, devil!
+    If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
+    Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
+    Out of my sight!
+  DESDEMONA. [Going.] I will not stay to offend you.  
+  LODOVICO. Truly, an obedient lady.
+    I do beseech your lordship, call her back.
+  OTHELLO. Mistress!
+  DESDEMONA. My lord?
+  OTHELLO. What would you with her, sir?
+  LODOVICO.                              Who, I, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. Ay, you did wish that I would make her turn.
+    Sir, she can turn and turn, and yet go on,
+    And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep;
+    And she's obedient, as you say, obedient,
+    Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears.
+    Concerning this, sir- O well-painted passion!-
+    I am commanded home. Get you away;
+    I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the mandate,
+    And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt!
+                                                      Exit Desdemona.
+    Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight,
+    I do entreat that we may sup together.
+    You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys!
+     Exit.  
+  LODOVICO. Is this the noble Moor whom our full Senate
+    Call all in all sufficient? This the nature
+    Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue
+    The shot of accident nor dart of chance
+    Could neither graze nor pierce?
+  IAGO.                             He is much changed.
+  LODOVICO. Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?
+  IAGO. He's that he is. I may not breathe my censure
+    What he might be: if what he might he is not,
+    I would to heaven he were!
+  LODOVICO.                    What, strike his wife!
+  IAGO. Faith, that was not so well; yet would I knew
+    That stroke would prove the worst!
+  LODOVICO.                            Is it his use?
+    Or did the letters work upon his blood,
+    And new create this fault?
+  IAGO.                        Alas, alas!
+    It is not honesty in me to speak
+    What I have seen and known. You shall observe him,
+    And his own courses will denote him so  
+    That I may save my speech. Do but go after,
+    And mark how he continues.
+  LODOVICO. I am sorry that I am deceived in him.             Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A room in the castle.
+
+Enter Othello and Emilia.
+
+  OTHELLO. You have seen nothing, then?
+  EMILIA. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.
+  OTHELLO. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together.
+  EMILIA. But then I saw no harm, and then I heard
+    Each syllable that breath made up between them.
+  OTHELLO. What, did they never whisper?
+  EMILIA.                                Never, my lord.
+  OTHELLO. Nor send you out o' the way?
+  EMILIA. Never.
+  OTHELLO. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?
+  EMILIA. Never, my lord.
+  OTHELLO. That's strange.
+  EMILIA. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,
+    Lay down my soul at stake. If you think other,
+    Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom.
+    If any wretch have put this in your head,
+    Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!  
+    For if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
+    There's no man happy; the purest of their wives
+    Is foul as slander.
+  OTHELLO.              Bid her come hither; go.         Exit Emilia.
+    She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd
+    That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,
+    A closet lock and key of villainous secrets.
+    And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen her do't.
+
+                     Enter Desdemona with Emilia.
+
+  DESDEMONA. My lord, what is your will?
+  OTHELLO.                               Pray, chuck, come hither.
+  DESDEMONA. What is your pleasure?
+  OTHELLO.                          Let me see your eyes;
+    Look in my face.
+  DESDEMONA.         What horrible fancy's this?
+  OTHELLO. [To Emilia.] Some of your function, mistress,
+    Leave procreants alone and shut the door;
+    Cough, or cry "hem," if anybody come.  
+    Your mystery, your mystery; nay, dispatch.           Exit Emilia.
+  DESDEMONA. Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?
+    I understand a fury in your words,
+    But not the words.
+  OTHELLO. Why, what art thou?
+  DESDEMONA. Your wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife.
+  OTHELLO. Come, swear it, damn thyself;
+    Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves
+    Should fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn'd;
+    Swear thou art honest.
+  DESDEMONA.               Heaven doth truly know it.
+  OTHELLO. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.
+  DESDEMONA. To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I false?
+  OTHELLO. O Desdemona! Away! away! away!
+  DESDEMONA. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?
+    Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?
+    If haply you my father do suspect
+    An instrument of this your calling back,
+    Lay not your blame on me. If you have lost him,
+    Why, I have lost him too.  
+  OTHELLO.                    Had it pleased heaven
+    To try me with affliction, had they rain'd
+    All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head,
+    Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips,
+    Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes,
+    I should have found in some place of my soul
+    A drop of patience; but, alas, to make me
+    A fixed figure for the time of scorn
+    To point his slow unmoving finger at!
+    Yet could I bear that too, well, very well;
+    But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,
+    Where either I must live or bear no life;
+    The fountain from the which my current runs,
+    Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!
+    Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
+    To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there,
+    Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin,
+    Ay, there, look grim as hell!
+  DESDEMONA. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.
+  OTHELLO. O, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,  
+    That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,
+    Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet
+    That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er been born!
+  DESDEMONA. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?
+  OTHELLO. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
+    Made to write "whore" upon? What committed?
+    Committed? O thou public commoner!
+    I should make very forges of my cheeks,
+    That would to cinders burn up modesty,
+    Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed!
+    Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;
+    The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
+    Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,
+    And will not hear it. What committed?
+    Impudent strumpet!
+  DESDEMONA.           By heaven, you do me wrong.
+  OTHELLO. Are not you a strumpet?
+  DESDEMONA.                       No, as I am a Christian.
+    If to preserve this vessel for my lord
+    From any other foul unlawful touch  
+    Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.
+  OTHELLO. What, not a whore?
+  DESDEMONA.                  No, as I shall be saved.
+  OTHELLO. Is't possible?
+  DESDEMONA. O, heaven forgive us!
+  OTHELLO.                         I cry you mercy then;
+    I took you for that cunning whore of Venice
+    That married with Othello. [Raises his voice.] You, mistress,
+    That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
+    And keep the gate of hell!
+
+                           Re-enter Emilia.
+
+                               You, you, ay, you!
+    We have done our course; there's money for your pains.
+    I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.             Exit.
+  EMILIA. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?
+    How do you, madam? How do you, my good lady?
+  DESDEMONA. Faith, half asleep.
+  EMILIA. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?  
+  DESDEMONA. With who?
+  EMILIA. Why, with my lord, madam.
+  DESDEMONA. Who is thy lord?
+  EMILIA.                     He that is yours, sweet lady.
+  DESDEMONA. I have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia;
+    I cannot weep, nor answer have I none
+    But what should go by water. Prithee, tonight
+    Lay on my bed my wedding sheets. Remember,
+    And call thy husband hither.
+  EMILIA.                        Here's a change indeed!
+     Exit.
+  DESDEMONA. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet.
+    How have I been behaved, that he might stick
+    The small'st opinion on my least misuse?
+
+                      Re-enter Emilia with Iago.
+
+  IAGO. What is your pleasure, madam? How is't with you?
+  DESDEMONA. I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes
+    Do it with gentle means and easy tasks.  
+    He might have chid me so, for in good faith,
+    I am a child to chiding.
+  IAGO.                      What's the matter, lady?
+  EMILIA. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored her,
+    Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
+    As true hearts cannot bear.
+  DESDEMONA. Am I that name, Iago?
+  IAGO.                            What name, fair lady?
+  DESDEMONA. Such as she says my lord did say I was.
+  EMILIA. He call'd her whore; a beggar in his drink
+    Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.
+  IAGO. Why did he so?
+  DESDEMONA. I do not know; I am sure I am none such.
+  IAGO. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day!
+  EMILIA. Hath she forsook so many noble matches,
+    Her father and her country and her friends,
+    To be call'd whore? Would it not make one weep?
+  DESDEMONA. It is my wretched fortune.
+  IAGO.                                 Beshrew him for't!
+    How comes this trick upon him?  
+  DESDEMONA.                       Nay, heaven doth know.
+  EMILIA. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
+    Some busy and insinuating rogue,
+    Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,
+    Have not devised this slander; I'll be hang'd else.
+  IAGO. Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.
+  DESDEMONA. If any such there be, heaven pardon him!
+  EMILIA. A halter pardon him! And hell gnaw his bones!
+    Why should he call her whore? Who keeps her company?
+    What place? What time? What form? What likelihood?
+    The Moor's abused by some most villainous knave,
+    Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
+    O heaven, that such companions thou'ldst unfold,
+    And put in every honest hand a whip
+    To lash the rascals naked through the world
+    Even from the east to the west!
+  IAGO.                             Speak within door.
+  EMILIA. O, fie upon them! Some such squire he was
+    That turn'd your wit the seamy side without,
+    And made you to suspect me with the Moor.  
+  IAGO. You are a fool; go to.
+  DESDEMONA.                   O good Iago,
+    What shall I do to win my lord again?
+    Good friend, go to him, for by this light of heaven,
+    I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:
+    If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love
+    Either in discourse of thought or actual deed,
+    Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
+    Delighted them in any other form,
+    Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
+    And ever will, though he do shake me off
+    To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly,
+    Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much,
+    And his unkindness may defeat my life,
+    But never taint my love. I cannot say "whore."
+    It doth abhor me now I speak the word;
+    To do the act that might the addition earn
+    Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
+  IAGO. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humor:
+    The business of the state does him offense,  
+    And he does chide with you.
+  DESDEMONA. If 'twere no other-
+  IAGO. 'Tis but so, I warrant.                      Trumpets within.
+    Hark, how these instruments summon to supper!
+    The messengers of Venice stay the meat.
+    Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well.
+                                         Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.
+
+                           Enter Roderigo.
+
+    How now, Roderigo!
+  RODERIGO. I do not find that thou dealest justly with me.
+  IAGO. What in the contrary?
+  RODERIGO. Every day thou daffest me with some device, Iago; and
+    rather, as it seems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency
+    than suppliest me with the least advantage of hope. I will indeed
+    no longer endure it; nor am I yet persuaded to put up in peace
+    what already I have foolishly suffered.
+  IAGO. Will you hear me, Roderigo?
+  RODERIGO. Faith, I have heard too much, for your words and  
+    performances are no kin together.
+  IAGO. You charge me most unjustly.
+  RODERIGO. With nought but truth. I have wasted myself out of my
+    means. The jewels you have had from me to deliver to Desdemona
+    would half have corrupted a votarist. You have told me she hath
+    received them and returned me expectations and comforts of sudden
+    respect and acquaintance; but I find none.
+  IAGO. Well, go to, very well.
+  RODERIGO. Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; nor 'tis not very
+    well. By this hand, I say 'tis very scurvy, and begin to find
+    myself fopped in it.
+  IAGO. Very well.
+  RODERIGO. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will make myself known
+    to Desdemona. If she will return me my jewels, I will give over
+    my suit and repent my unlawful solicitation; if not, assure
+    yourself I will seek satisfaction of you.
+  IAGO. You have said now.
+  RODERIGO. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of
+    doing.
+  IAGO. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; and even from this  
+    instant do build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give
+    me thy hand, Roderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just
+    exception; but yet, I protest, have dealt most directly in thy
+    affair.
+  RODERIGO. It hath not appeared.
+  IAGO. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is
+    not without wit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that
+    in thee indeed, which I have greater reason to believe now than
+    ever, I mean purpose, courage, and valor, this night show it; if
+    thou the next night following enjoy not Desdemona, take me from
+    this world with treachery and devise engines for my life.
+  RODERIGO. Well, what is it? Is it within reason and compass?
+  IAGO. Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute
+    Cassio in Othello's place.
+  RODERIGO. Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again
+    to Venice.
+  IAGO. O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the
+    fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some
+    accident; wherein none can be so determinate as the removing of
+    Cassio.  
+  RODERIGO. How do you mean, removing of him?
+  IAGO. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place; knocking out
+    his brains.
+  RODERIGO. And that you would have me to do?
+  IAGO. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups
+    tonight with a harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows
+    not yet of his honorable fortune. If you will watch his going
+    thence, which his will fashion to fall out between twelve and
+    one, you may take him at your pleasure; I will be near to second
+    your attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not
+    amazed at it, but go along with me; I will show you such a
+    necessity in his death that you shall think yourself bound to put
+    it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows to
+    waste. About it.
+  RODERIGO. I will hear further reason for this.
+  IAGO. And you shall be satisfied.                           Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Another room in the castle.
+
+Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and Attendants.
+
+  LODOVICO. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.
+  OTHELLO. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk.
+  LODOVICO. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.
+  DESDEMONA. Your honor is most welcome.
+  OTHELLO.                               Will you walk, sir?
+    O- Desdemona-
+  DESDEMONA. My lord?
+  OTHELLO. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned
+    forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there; look it be done.
+  DESDEMONA. I will, my lord.
+                            Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants.
+  EMILIA. How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.
+  DESDEMONA. He says he will return incontinent.
+    He hath commanded me to go to bed,
+    And bade me to dismiss you.
+  EMILIA.                       Dismiss me?
+  DESDEMONA. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia,  
+    Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.
+    We must not now displease him.
+  EMILIA. I would you had never seen him!
+  DESDEMONA. So would not I. My love doth so approve him,
+    That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns-
+    Prithee, unpin me- have grace and favor in them.
+  EMILIA. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.
+  DESDEMONA. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!
+    If I do die before thee, prithee shroud me
+    In one of those same sheets.
+  EMILIA.                        Come, come, you talk.
+  DESDEMONA. My mother had a maid call'd Barbary;
+    She was in love, and he she loved proved mad
+    And did forsake her. She had a song of "willow";
+    An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
+    And she died singing it. That song tonight
+    Will not go from my mind; I have much to do
+    But to go hang my head all at one side
+    And sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee, dispatch.
+  EMILIA. Shall I go fetch your nightgown?  
+  DESDEMONA.                               No, unpin me here.
+    This Lodovico is a proper man.
+  EMILIA. A very handsome man.
+  DESDEMONA. He speaks well.
+  EMILIA. I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to
+    Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.
+  DESDEMONA. [Sings.]
+
+        "The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
+          Sing all a green willow;
+        Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
+          Sing willow, willow, willow.
+        The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans,
+          Sing willow, willow, willow;
+        Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones-"
+
+    Lay be these-
+
+    [Sings.]   "Sing willow, willow, willow-"
+  
+    Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon-
+    [Sings.]   "Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
+               Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve-"
+
+    Nay, that's not next. Hark, who is't that knocks?
+  EMILIA. It's the wind.
+  DESDEMONA. [Sings.]
+
+        "I call'd my love false love; but what said he then?
+          Sing willow, willow, willow.
+        If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men-"
+
+    So get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;
+    Doth that bode weeping?
+  EMILIA.                   'Tis neither here nor there.
+  DESDEMONA. I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!
+    Dost thou in conscience think- tell me, Emilia-
+    That there be women do abuse their husbands
+    In such gross kind?
+  EMILIA.               There be some such, no question.  
+  DESDEMONA. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
+  EMILIA. Why, would not you?
+  DESDEMONA.                  No, by this heavenly light!
+  EMILIA. Nor I neither by this heavenly light; I might do't as well
+    i' the dark.
+  DESDEMONA. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?
+  EMILIA. The world's a huge thing; it is a great price
+    For a small vice.
+  DESDEMONA.          In troth, I think thou wouldst not.
+  EMILIA. In troth, I think I should, and undo't when I had done.
+    Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for
+    measures of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any
+    petty exhibition; but, for the whole world- why, who would not
+    make her husband a cuckold to make him a monarch? I should
+    venture purgatory for't.
+  DESDEMONA. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong
+    For the whole world.
+  EMILIA. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the world; and having the
+    world for your labor, 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you
+    might quickly make it right.  
+  DESDEMONA. I do not think there is any such woman.
+  EMILIA. Yes, a dozen, and as many to the vantage as would store the
+      world they played for.
+    But I do think it is their husbands' faults
+    If wives do fall; say that they slack their duties
+    And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
+    Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
+    Throwing restraint upon us, or say they strike us,
+    Or scant our former having in despite,
+    Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,
+    Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
+    Their wives have sense like them; they see and smell
+    And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
+    As husbands have. What is it that they do
+    When they change us for others? Is it sport?
+    I think it is. And doth affection breed it?
+    I think it doth. Is't frailty that thus errs?
+    It is so too. And have not we affections,
+    Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?
+    Then let them use us well; else let them know,  
+    The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.
+  DESDEMONA. Good night, good night. Heaven me such uses send,
+    Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!                Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Cyprus. A street.
+
+Enter Iago and Roderigo:
+
+  IAGO. Here, stand behind this bulk; straight will he come.
+    Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home.
+    Quick, quick; fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow.
+    It makes us, or it mars us; think on that,
+    And fix most firm thy resolution.
+  RODERIGO. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in't.
+  IAGO. Here, at thy hand, be bold, and take thy stand.
+  Retires.
+  RODERIGO. I have no great devotion to the deed;
+    And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons.
+    'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword; he dies.
+  IAGO. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the sense,
+    And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,
+    Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,
+    Every way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,
+    He calls me to a restitution large
+    Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him,  
+    As gifts to Desdemona;
+    It must not be. If Cassio do remain,
+    He hath a daily beauty in his life
+    That makes me ugly; and besides, the Moor
+    May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril.
+    No, he must die. Be't so. I hear him coming.
+
+                            Enter Cassio.
+
+  RODERIGO. I know his gait; 'tis he. Villain, thou diest!
+                                              Makes a pass at Cassio.
+  CASSIO. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed,
+    But that my coat is better than thou know'st;
+    I will make proof of thine.           Draws, and wounds Roderigo.
+  RODERIGO.                     O, I am slain!
+            Iago from behind wounds Cassio in the leg, and exit.
+  CASSIO. I am maim'd forever. Help, ho! Murther! Murther!
+    Falls.
+
+                            Enter Othello.  
+
+  OTHELLO. The voice of Cassio; Iago keeps his word.
+  RODERIGO. O, villain that I am!
+  OTHELLO.                        It is even so.
+  CASSIO. O, help, ho! Light! A surgeon!
+  OTHELLO. 'Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just,
+    That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong!
+    Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies dead,
+    And your unblest fate hies. Strumpet, I come!
+    Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;
+    Thy bed lust-stain'd shall with lust's blood be spotted.
+     Exit.
+
+                     Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.
+
+  CASSIO. What, ho! No watch? No passage? Murther! Murther!
+  GRATIANO. 'Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.
+  CASSIO. O, help!
+  LODOVICO. Hark!
+  RODERIGO. O wretched villain!  
+  LODOVICO. Two or three groan; it is a heavy night.
+    These may be counterfeits; let's think't unsafe
+    To come in to the cry without more help.
+  RODERIGO. Nobody come? Then shall I bleed to death.
+  LODOVICO. Hark!
+
+                     Re-enter Iago, with a light.
+
+  GRATIANO. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons.
+  IAGO. Who's there? Whose noise is this that cries on murther?
+  LODOVICO. We do not know.
+  IAGO.                     Did not you hear a cry?
+  CASSIO. Here, here! for heaven's sake, help me!
+  IAGO.                                       What's the matter?
+  GRATIANO. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it.
+  LODOVICO. The same indeed; a very valiant fellow.
+  IAGO. What are you here that cry so grievously?
+  CASSIO. Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains!
+    Give me some help.
+  IAGO. O me, lieutenant! What villains have done this?  
+  CASSIO. I think that one of them is hereabout,
+    And cannot make away.
+  IAGO.                   O treacherous villains!
+    [To Lodovico and Gratiano.] What are you there?
+    Come in and give some help.
+  RODERIGO. O, help me here!
+  CASSIO. That's one of them.
+  IAGO.                       O murtherous slave! O villain!
+                                                      Stabs Roderigo.
+  RODERIGO. O damn'd Iago! O inhuman dog!
+  IAGO. Kill men i' the dark! Where be these bloody thieves?
+    How silent is this town! Ho! Murther! Murther!
+    What may you be? Are you of good or evil?
+  LODOVICO. As you shall prove us, praise us.
+  IAGO. Signior Lodovico?
+  LODOVICO. He, sir.
+  IAGO. I cry you mercy. Here's Cassio hurt by villains.
+  GRATIANO. Cassio?
+  IAGO. How is't, brother?
+  CASSIO. My leg is cut in two.  
+  IAGO.                         Marry, heaven forbid!
+    Light, gentlemen; I'll bind it with my shirt.
+
+                            Enter Bianca.
+
+  BIANCA. What is the matter, ho? Who is't that cried?
+  IAGO. Who is't that cried?
+  BIANCA. O my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio,
+     Cassio!
+  IAGO. O notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect
+    Who they should be that have thus mangled you?
+  CASSIO. No.
+  GRATIANO. I am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you.
+  IAGO. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair,
+    To bear him easily hence!
+  BIANCA. Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!
+  IAGO. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash
+    To be a party in this injury.
+    Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;
+    Lend me a light. Know we this face or no?  
+    Alas, my friend and my dear countryman
+    Roderigo? No- yes, sure. O heaven! Roderigo.
+  GRATIANO. What, of Venice?
+  IAGO. Even he, sir. Did you know him?
+  GRATIANO.                             Know him! ay.
+  IAGO. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon;
+    These bloody accidents must excuse my manners,
+    That so neglected you.
+  GRATIANO.                I am glad to see you.
+  IAGO. How do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair!
+  GRATIANO. Roderigo!
+  IAGO. He, he, 'tis he. [A chair brought in.] O, that's well said:
+      the chair.
+    Some good man bear him carefully from hence;
+    I'll fetch the general's surgeon. [To Bianca.] For you, mistress,
+    Save you your labor. He that lies slain here, Cassio,
+    Was my dear friend; what malice was between you?
+  CASSIO. None in the world; nor do I know the man.
+  IAGO. [To Bianca.] What, look you pale? O, bear him out o' the air.
+                                   Cassio and Roderigo are borne off.  
+    Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, mistress?
+    Do you perceive the gastness of her eye?
+    Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.
+    Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her.
+    Do you see, gentlemen? Nay, guiltiness will speak,
+    Though tongues were out of use.
+
+                            Enter Emilia.
+
+  EMILIA. 'Las, what's the matter? What's the matter, husband?
+  IAGO. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark
+    By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scaped;
+    He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.
+  EMILIA. Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!
+  IAGO. This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,
+    Go know of Cassio where he supp'd tonight.
+    What, do you shake at that?
+  BIANCA. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore shake not.
+  IAGO. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me.
+  EMILIA. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet!  
+  BIANCA. I am no strumpet, but of life as honest
+    As you that thus abuse me.
+  EMILIA.                      As I! foh! fie upon thee!
+  IAGO. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd.
+    Come, mistress, you must tell's another tale.
+    Emilia, run you to the citadel,
+    And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd!
+    Will you go on? [Aside.] This is the night
+    That either makes me or fordoes me quite.                 Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A bedchamber in the castle. Desdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.
+
+Enter Othello.
+
+  OTHELLO. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul.
+    Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
+    It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood,
+    Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow
+    And smooth as monumental alabaster.
+    Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
+    Put out the light, and then put out the light.
+    If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
+    I can again thy former light restore,
+    Should I repent me; but once put out thy light,
+    Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
+    I know not where is that Promethean heat
+    That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd the rose,
+    I cannot give it vital growth again,
+    It must needs wither; I'll smell it on the tree.      Kisses her.
+    O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
+    Justice to break her sword! One more, one more;  
+    Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
+    And love thee after. One more, and this the last;
+    So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
+    But they are cruel tears; this sorrow's heavenly,
+    It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.
+  DESDEMONA. Who's there? Othello?
+  OTHELLO.                         Ay, Desdemona.
+  DESDEMONA. Will you come to bed, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. Have you pray'd tonight, Desdemona?
+  DESDEMONA. Ay, my lord.
+  OTHELLO. If you bethink yourself of any crime
+    Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,
+    Solicit for it straight.
+  DESDEMONA. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that?
+  OTHELLO. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by.
+    I would not kill thy unprepared spirit.
+    No, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.
+  DESDEMONA. Talk you of killing?
+  OTHELLO. Ay, I do.
+  DESDEMONA. Then heaven have mercy on me!  
+  OTHELLO. Amen, with all my heart!
+  DESDEMONA. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.
+  OTHELLO. Hum!
+  DESDEMONA. And yet I fear you, for you are fatal then
+    When your eyes roll so. Why I should fear I know not,
+    Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear.
+  OTHELLO. Think on thy sins.
+  DESDEMONA.                  They are loves I bear to you.
+  OTHELLO. Ay, and for that thou diest.
+  DESDEMONA. That death's unnatural that kills for loving.
+    Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
+    Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.
+    These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
+    They do not point on me.
+  OTHELLO.                   Peace, and be still!
+  DESDEMONA. I will so. What's the matter?
+  OTHELLO. That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee
+    Thou gavest to Cassio.
+  DESDEMONA.               No, by my life and soul!
+    Send for the man, and ask him.  
+  OTHELLO.                         Sweet soul, take heed,
+    Take heed of perjury; thou are on thy deathbed.
+  DESDEMONA. Ay, but not yet to die.
+  OTHELLO.                           Yes, presently:
+    Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin,
+    For to deny each article with oath
+    Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception
+    That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.
+  DESDEMONA. Then Lord have mercy on me!
+  OTHELLO.                               I say, amen.
+  DESDEMONA. And have you mercy too! I never did
+    Offend you in my life; never loved Cassio
+    But with such general warranty of heaven
+    As I might love. I never gave him token.
+  OTHELLO. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's hand.
+    O perjured woman! Thou dost stone my heart,
+    And makest me call what I intend to do
+    A murther, which I thought a sacrifice.
+    I saw the handkerchief.
+  DESDEMONA.                He found it then;  
+    I never gave it him. Send for him hither;
+    Let him confess a truth.
+  OTHELLO.                   He hath confess'd.
+  DESDEMONA. What, my lord?
+  OTHELLO. That he hath used thee.
+  DESDEMONA.                       How? unlawfully?
+  OTHELLO. Ay.
+  DESDEMONA. He will not say so.
+  OTHELLO.                       No, his mouth is stopp'd;
+    Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't.
+  DESDEMONA. O, my fear interprets! What, is he dead?
+  OTHELLO. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
+    Had stomach for them all.
+  DESDEMONA. Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone!
+  OTHELLO. Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to my face?
+  DESDEMONA. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!
+  OTHELLO. Down, strumpet!
+  DESDEMONA. Kill me tomorrow; let me live tonight!
+  OTHELLO. Nay, if you strive-
+  DESDEMONA. But half an hour!  
+  OTHELLO.                     Being done, there is no pause.
+  DESDEMONA. But while I say one prayer!
+  OTHELLO.                        It is too late.     He stifles her.
+  EMILIA. [Within.] My lord, my lord! What, ho! my lord, my lord!
+  OTHELLO. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
+    I that am cruel am yet merciful;
+    I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
+    So, so.
+  EMILIA. [Within.] What, ho! my lord, my lord!
+  OTHELLO.                                      Who's there?
+  EMILIA. [Within.] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!
+  OTHELLO. Yes, 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's dead.
+    'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death.
+    The noise was here. Ha! no more moving?
+    Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were't good?
+    I think she stirs again. No. What's best to do?
+    If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife.
+    My wife! My wife! What wife? I have no wife.
+    O, insupportable! O heavy hour!
+    Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse  
+    Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
+    Should yawn at alteration.
+  EMILIA. [Within.] I do beseech you
+    That I may speak with you, O, good my lord!
+  OTHELLO. I had forgot thee. O, come in, Emilia.
+    Soft, by and by. Let me the curtains draw.
+    Where art thou?                                 Unlocks the door.
+
+                            Enter Emilia.
+
+                    What's the matter with thee now?
+  EMILIA. O, my good lord, yonder's foul murthers done!
+  OTHELLO. What, now?
+  EMILIA. But now, my lord.
+  OTHELLO. It is the very error of the moon;
+    She comes more nearer earth than she was wont
+    And makes men mad.
+  EMILIA. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young Venetian
+    Call'd Roderigo.
+  OTHELLO.           Roderigo kill'd?  
+    And Cassio kill'd?
+  EMILIA.              No, Cassio is not kill'd.
+  OTHELLO. Not Cassio kill'd! Then murther's out of tune,
+    And sweet revenge grows harsh.
+  DESDEMONA. O, falsely, falsely murther'd!
+  EMILIA.                                   Alas, what cry is that?
+  OTHELLO. That? what?
+  EMILIA. Out, and alas! That was my lady's voice.
+    Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again!
+    Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!
+  DESDEMONA. A guiltless death I die.
+  EMILIA. O, who hath done this deed?
+  DESDEMONA. Nobody; I myself. Farewell;
+    Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!                    Dies.
+  OTHELLO. Why, how should she be murther'd?
+  EMILIA.                                    Alas, who knows?
+  OTHELLO. You heard her say herself, it was not I.
+  EMILIA. She said so; I must needs report the truth.
+  OTHELLO. She's like a liar gone to burning hell;
+    'Twas I that kill'd her.  
+  EMILIA.                    O, the more angel she,
+    And you the blacker devil!
+  OTHELLO. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.
+  EMILIA. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.
+  OTHELLO. She was false as water.
+  EMILIA.                          Thou art rash as fire, to say
+    That she was false. O, she was heavenly true!
+  OTHELLO. Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
+    O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
+    But that I did proceed upon just grounds
+    To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.
+  EMILIA. My husband?
+  OTHELLO. Thy husband.
+  EMILIA. That she was false to wedlock?
+  OTHELLO. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,
+    If heaven would make me such another world
+    Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
+    I'ld not have sold her for it.
+  EMILIA.                          My husband?
+  OTHELLO. Ay, 'twas he that told me first.  
+    An honest man he is, and hates the slime
+    That sticks on filthy deeds.
+  EMILIA.                        My husband?
+  OTHELLO. What needs this iteration, woman? I say thy husband.
+  EMILIA. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!
+    My husband say that she was false!
+  OTHELLO.                             He, woman;
+    I say thy husband. Dost understand the word?
+    My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.
+  EMILIA. If he say so, may his pernicious soul
+    Rot half a grain a day! He lies to the heart.
+    She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.
+  OTHELLO. Ha!
+  EMILIA. Do thy worst;
+    This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
+    Than thou wast worthy her.
+  OTHELLO.                     Peace, you were best.
+  EMILIA. Thou hast not half that power to do me harm
+    As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!
+    As ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed-  
+    I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known,
+    Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help!
+    The Moor hath kill'd my mistress! Murther, murther!
+
+              Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others.
+
+  MONTANO. What is the matter? How now, general?
+  EMILIA. O, are you come, Iago? You have done well,
+    That men must lay their murthers on your neck.
+  GRATIANO. What is the matter?
+  EMILIA. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man.
+    He says thou told'st him that his wife was false;
+    I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain.
+    Speak, for my heart is full.
+  IAGO. I told him what I thought, and told no more
+    Than what he found himself was apt and true.
+  EMILIA. But did you ever tell him she was false?
+  IAGO. I did.
+  EMILIA. You told a lie, an odious, damned lie;
+    Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie!  
+    She false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?
+  IAGO. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.
+  EMILIA. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.
+    My mistress here lies murther'd in her bed-
+  ALL. O heavens forfend!
+  EMILIA. And your reports have set the murther on.
+  OTHELLO. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true indeed.
+  GRATIANO. 'Tis a strange truth.
+  MONTANO. O monstrous act!
+  EMILIA.                   Villainy, villainy, villainy!
+    I think upon't, I think, I smell't, O villainy!
+    I thought so then. I'll kill myself for grief.
+    O villainy, villainy!
+  IAGO. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.
+  EMILIA. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak;
+    'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
+    Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.
+  OTHELLO. O! O! O!                                 Falls on the bed.
+  EMILIA.           Nay, lay thee down and roar;
+    For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent  
+    That e'er did lift up eye.
+  OTHELLO.            [Rises.] O, she was foul!
+    I scarce did know you, uncle; there lies your niece,
+    Whose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp'd.
+    I know this act shows horrible and grim.
+  GRATIANO. Poor Desdemon! I am glad thy father's dead.
+    Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
+    Shore his old thread in twain; did he live now,
+    This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
+    Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
+    And fall to reprobation.
+  OTHELLO. 'Tis pitiful, but yet Iago knows
+    That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
+    A thousand times committed. Cassio confess'd it,
+    And she did gratify his amorous works
+    With that recognizance and pledge of love
+    Which I first gave her. I saw it in his hand,
+    It was a handkerchief, an antique token
+    My father gave my mother.
+  EMILIA. O heaven! O heavenly powers!  
+  IAGO. 'Zounds! Hold your peace.
+  EMILIA.                         'Twill out, 'twill. I peace?
+    No, I will speak as liberal as the north;
+    Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,
+    All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
+  IAGO. Be wise, and get you home.
+  EMILIA.                          I will not.
+                                          Iago offers to stab Emilia.
+  GRATIANO.                                    Fie!
+    Your sword upon a woman?
+  EMILIA. O thou dull Moor! That handkerchief thou speak'st of
+    I found by fortune and did give my husband,
+    For often with a solemn earnestness,
+    More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,
+    He begg'd of me to steal it.
+  IAGO.                          Villainous whore!
+  EMILIA. She give it Cassio? No, alas, I found it,
+    And I did give't my husband.
+  IAGO.                          Filth, thou liest!
+  EMILIA. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.  
+    O murtherous coxcomb! What should such a fool
+    Do with so good a wife?
+  OTHELLO.                  Are there not stones in heaven
+    But what serve for thunder? Precious villain!
+                                         He runs at Iago, but Montano
+                                      disarms him. Iago stabs Emilia.
+  GRATIANO. The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his wife.
+  EMILIA. Ay, ay! O, lay me by my mistress' side.          Exit Iago.
+  GRATIANO. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.
+  MONTANO. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,
+    Which I have here recover'd from the Moor.
+    Come, guard the door without; let him not pass,
+    But kill him rather. I'll after that same villain,
+    For 'tis a damned slave.       Exeunt all but Othello and Emilia.
+  OTHELLO.                   I am not valiant neither,
+    But every puny whipster gets my sword.
+    But why should honor outlive honesty?
+    Let it go all.
+  EMILIA.          What did thy song bode, lady?
+    Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,  
+    And die in music. [Sings.] "Willow, willow, willow."
+    Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor;
+    So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
+    So speaking as I think, I die, I die.                       Dies.
+  OTHELLO. I have another weapon in this chamber;
+    It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper-
+    O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.
+  GRATIANO. [Within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear.
+    Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.
+  OTHELLO. Look in upon me then, and speak with me,
+    Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.
+
+                          Re-enter Gratiano.
+
+  GRATIANO. What is the matter?
+  OTHELLO.                      Behold, I have a weapon;
+    A better never did itself sustain
+    Upon a soldier's thigh. I have seen the day
+    That with this little arm and this good sword
+    I have made my way through more impediments  
+    Than twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast!
+    Who can control his fate? 'Tis not so now.
+    Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd;
+    Here is my journey's end, here is my butt
+    And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
+    Do you go back dismay'd? 'Tis a lost fear.
+    Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
+    And he retires. Where should Othello go?
+    Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench!
+    Pale as thy smock! When we shall meet at compt,
+    This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
+    And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
+    Even like thy chastity. O cursed, cursed slave!
+    Whip me, ye devils,
+    From the possession of this heavenly sight!
+    Blow me about in winds! Roast me in sulphur!
+    Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
+    O Desdemon! dead, Desdemon! dead!
+    O! O! O!
+  
+         Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair,
+                  and Officers with Iago, prisoner.
+
+  LODOVICO. Where is this rash and most unfortunate man?
+  OTHELLO. That's he that was Othello. Here I am.
+  LODOVICO. Where is that viper? Bring the villain forth.
+  OTHELLO. I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable.
+    If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.      Wounds Iago.
+  LODOVICO. Wrench his sword from him.
+  IAGO.                                I bleed, sir, but not kill'd.
+  OTHELLO. I am not sorry neither. I'ld have thee live,
+    For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.
+  LODOVICO. O thou Othello, that wert once so good,
+    Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave,
+    What shall be said to thee?
+  OTHELLO.                      Why, anything;
+    An honorable murtherer, if you will,
+    For nought did I in hate, but all in honor.
+  LODOVICO. This wretch hath part confess'd his villainy.
+    Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?  
+  OTHELLO. Ay.
+  CASSIO. Dear general, I never gave you cause.
+  OTHELLO. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
+    Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
+    Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?
+  IAGO. Demand me nothing; what you know, you know.
+    From this time forth I never will speak word.
+  LODOVICO. What, not to pray?
+  GRATIANO.                    Torments will ope your lips.
+  OTHELLO. Well, thou dost best.
+  LODOVICO. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n,
+    Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter
+    Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo,
+    And here another. The one of them imports
+    The death of Cassio to be undertook
+    By Roderigo.
+  OTHELLO. O villain!
+  CASSIO.             Most heathenish and most gross!
+  LODOVICO. Now here's another discontented paper,
+    Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,  
+    Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain;
+    But that, belike, Iago in the interim
+    Came in and satisfied him.
+  OTHELLO.                     O the pernicious caitiff!
+    How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief
+    That was my wife's?
+  CASSIO.               I found it in my chamber;
+    And he himself confess'd but even now
+    That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose
+    Which wrought to his desire.
+  OTHELLO.                       O fool! fool! fool!
+  CASSIO. There is besides in Roderigo's letter,
+    How he upbraids Iago, that he made him
+    Brave me upon the watch, whereon it came
+    That I was cast. And even but now he spake
+    After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,
+    Iago set him on.
+  LODOVICO. You must forsake this room, and go with us.
+    Your power and your command is taken off,
+    And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,  
+    If there be any cunning cruelty
+    That can torment him much and hold him long,
+    It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,
+    Till that the nature of your fault be known
+    To the Venetian state. Come, bring away.
+  OTHELLO. Soft you; a word or two before you go.
+    I have done the state some service, and they know't.
+    No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
+    When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
+    Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
+    Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak
+    Of one that loved not wisely but too well;
+    Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
+    Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,
+    Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
+    Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,
+    Albeit unused to the melting mood,
+    Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
+    Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;
+    And say besides, that in Aleppo once,  
+    Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
+    Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,
+    I took by the throat the circumcised dog
+    And smote him, thus.                               Stabs himself.
+  LODOVICO. O bloody period!
+  GRATIANO.                  All that's spoke is marr'd.
+  OTHELLO. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee. No way but this,
+    Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
+                                          Falls on the bed, and dies.
+  CASSIO. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon;
+    For he was great of heart.
+  LODOVICO.         [To Iago.] O Spartan dog,
+    More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
+    Look on the tragic loading of this bed;
+    This is thy work. The object poisons sight;
+    Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,
+    And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
+    For they succeed on you. To you, Lord Governor,
+    Remains the censure of this hellish villain,
+    The time, the place, the torture. O, enforce it!  
+    Myself will straight aboard, and to the state
+    This heavy act with heavy heart relate.                   Exeunt.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1596
+
+
+KING RICHARD THE SECOND
+
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  KING RICHARD THE SECOND
+  JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King
+  EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King
+  HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of
+    John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV
+  DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York
+  THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk
+  DUKE OF SURREY
+  EARL OF SALISBURY
+  EARL BERKELEY
+  BUSHY - favourites of King Richard
+  BAGOT -     "      "   "     "
+  GREEN -     "      "   "     "
+  EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND
+  HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son
+  LORD Ross                             LORD WILLOUGHBY
+  LORD FITZWATER                        BISHOP OF CARLISLE
+  ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER                  LORD MARSHAL
+  SIR STEPHEN SCROOP                    SIR PIERCE OF EXTON
+  CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen         TWO GARDENERS  
+
+  QUEEN to King Richard
+  DUCHESS OF YORK
+  DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock,
+    Duke of Gloucester
+  LADY attending on the Queen
+
+  Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger,
+    Groom, and other Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+England and Wales
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+London. The palace
+
+Enter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants
+
+  KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,
+    Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
+    Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,
+    Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal,
+    Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
+    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
+  GAUNT. I have, my liege.
+  KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him
+    If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,
+    Or worthily, as a good subject should,
+    On some known ground of treachery in him?
+  GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument,
+    On some apparent danger seen in him
+    Aim'd at your Highness-no inveterate malice.
+  KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face
+    And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear  
+    The accuser and the accused freely speak.
+    High-stomach'd are they both and full of ire,
+    In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
+
+         Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall
+    My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
+  MOWBRAY. Each day still better other's happiness
+    Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
+    Add an immortal title to your crown!
+  KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us,
+    As well appeareth by the cause you come;
+    Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
+    Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
+    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
+  BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech!
+    In the devotion of a subject's love,
+    Tend'ring the precious safety of my prince,
+    And free from other misbegotten hate,  
+    Come I appellant to this princely presence.
+    Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
+    And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
+    My body shall make good upon this earth,
+    Or my divine soul answer it in heaven-
+    Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
+    Too good to be so, and too bad to live,
+    Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
+    The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
+    Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
+    With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
+    And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move,
+    What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.
+  MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.
+    'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
+    The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
+    Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
+    The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
+    Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
+    As to be hush'd and nought at an to say.  
+    First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me
+    From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
+    Which else would post until it had return'd
+    These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
+    Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
+    And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
+    I do defy him, and I spit at him,
+    Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;
+    Which to maintain, I would allow him odds
+    And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
+    Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
+    Or any other ground inhabitable
+    Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
+    Meantime let this defend my loyalty-
+    By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie
+  BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
+    Disclaiming here the kindred of the King;
+    And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
+    Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
+    If guilty dread have left thee so much strength  
+    As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop.
+    By that and all the rites of knighthood else
+    Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
+    What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.
+  MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear
+    Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder
+    I'll answer thee in any fair degree
+    Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;
+    And when I mount, alive may I not light
+    If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
+  KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
+    It must be great that can inherit us
+    So much as of a thought of ill in him.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true-
+    That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles
+    In name of lendings for your Highness' soldiers,
+    The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments
+    Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
+    Besides, I say and will in battle prove-
+    Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge  
+    That ever was survey'd by English eye-
+    That all the treasons for these eighteen years
+    Complotted and contrived in this land
+    Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
+    Further I say, and further will maintain
+    Upon his bad life to make all this good,
+    That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
+    Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
+    And consequently, like a traitor coward,
+    Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood;
+    Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
+    Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
+    To me for justice and rough chastisement;
+    And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
+    This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
+  KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars!
+    Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
+  MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face
+    And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
+    Till I have told this slander of his blood  
+    How God and good men hate so foul a liar.
+  KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars.
+    Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
+    As he is but my father's brother's son,
+    Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow,
+    Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
+    Should nothing privilege him nor partialize
+    The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.
+    He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
+    Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
+  MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
+    Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
+    Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
+    Disburs'd I duly to his Highness' soldiers;
+    The other part reserv'd I by consent,
+    For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
+    Upon remainder of a dear account
+    Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
+    Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death-
+    I slew him not, but to my own disgrace  
+    Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
+    For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
+    The honourable father to my foe,
+    Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
+    A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;
+    But ere I last receiv'd the sacrament
+    I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
+    Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it.
+    This is my fault. As for the rest appeal'd,
+    It issues from the rancour of a villain,
+    A recreant and most degenerate traitor;
+    Which in myself I boldly will defend,
+    And interchangeably hurl down my gage
+    Upon this overweening traitor's foot
+    To prove myself a loyal gentleman
+    Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
+    In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
+    Your Highness to assign our trial day.
+  KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me;
+    Let's purge this choler without letting blood-  
+    This we prescribe, though no physician;
+    Deep malice makes too deep incision.
+    Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed:
+    Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
+    Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
+    We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
+  GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age.
+    Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.
+  KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
+  GAUNT. When, Harry, when?
+    Obedience bids I should not bid again.
+  KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid.
+    There is no boot.
+  MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot;
+    My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
+    The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
+    Despite of death, that lives upon my grave
+    To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
+    I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffl'd here;
+    Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,  
+    The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
+    Which breath'd this poison.
+  KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood:
+    Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame.
+  MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame,
+    And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
+    The purest treasure mortal times afford
+    Is spotless reputation; that away,
+    Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
+    A jewel in a ten-times barr'd-up chest
+    Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
+    Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
+    Take honour from me, and my life is done:
+    Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
+    In that I live, and for that will I die.
+  KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.
+  BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
+    Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?
+    Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
+    Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue  
+    Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong
+    Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
+    The slavish motive of recanting fear,
+    And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
+    Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.
+                                                      Exit GAUNT
+  KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command;
+    Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
+    Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
+    At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day.
+    There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
+    The swelling difference of your settled hate;
+    Since we can not atone you, we shall see
+    Justice design the victor's chivalry.
+    Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms
+    Be ready to direct these home alarms.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace
+
+Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER
+
+  GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood
+    Doth more solicit me than your exclaims
+    To stir against the butchers of his life!
+    But since correction lieth in those hands
+    Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
+    Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
+    Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,
+    Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
+  DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
+    Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
+    Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
+    Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,
+    Or seven fair branches springing from one root.
+    Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
+    Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
+    But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
+    One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,  
+    One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
+    Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;
+    Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
+    By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
+    Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,
+    That mettle, that self mould, that fashion'd thee,
+    Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,
+    Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent
+    In some large measure to thy father's death
+    In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
+    Who was the model of thy father's life.
+    Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair;
+    In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaught'red,
+    Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
+    Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.
+    That which in mean men we entitle patience
+    Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
+    What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life
+    The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.
+  GAUNT. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,  
+    His deputy anointed in His sight,
+    Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully,
+    Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
+    An angry arm against His minister.
+  DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?
+  GAUNT. To God, the widow's champion and defence.
+  DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
+    Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold
+    Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
+    O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
+    That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
+    Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
+    Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom
+    That they may break his foaming courser's back
+    And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
+    A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
+    Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife,
+    With her companion, Grief, must end her life.
+  GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry.
+    As much good stay with thee as go with me!  
+  DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls,
+    Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.
+    I take my leave before I have begun,
+    For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
+    Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.
+    Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so;
+    Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
+    I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what?-
+    With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
+    Alack, and what shall good old York there see
+    But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
+    Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
+    And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
+    Therefore commend me; let him not come there
+    To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
+    Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die;
+    The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+The lists at Coventry
+
+Enter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE
+
+  MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
+  AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.
+  MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold,
+    Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet.
+  AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay
+    For nothing but his Majesty's approach.
+
+     The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles,
+     GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set,
+     enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and
+     a HERALD
+
+  KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
+    The cause of his arrival here in arms;
+    Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
+    To swear him in the justice of his cause.
+  MARSHAL. In God's name and the King's, say who thou art,  
+    And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms;
+    Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel.
+    Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath;
+    As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
+  MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
+    Who hither come engaged by my oath-
+    Which God defend a knight should violate!-
+    Both to defend my loyalty and truth
+    To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,
+    Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;
+    And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
+    To prove him, in defending of myself,
+    A traitor to my God, my King, and me.
+    And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
+
+   The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford,
+            appellant, in armour, and a HERALD
+
+  KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
+    Both who he is and why he cometh hither  
+    Thus plated in habiliments of war;
+    And formally, according to our law,
+    Depose him in the justice of his cause.
+  MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither
+    Before King Richard in his royal lists?
+    Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
+    Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
+  BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
+    Am I; who ready here do stand in arms
+    To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,
+    In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
+    That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
+    To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.
+    And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
+  MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold
+    Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
+    Except the Marshal and such officers
+    Appointed to direct these fair designs.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,
+    And bow my knee before his Majesty;  
+    For Mowbray and myself are like two men
+    That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.
+    Then let us take a ceremonious leave
+    And loving farewell of our several friends.
+  MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness,
+    And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
+  KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms.
+    Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
+    So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
+    Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
+    Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
+  BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear
+    For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear.
+    As confident as is the falcon's flight
+    Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
+    My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
+    Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
+    Not sick, although I have to do with death,
+    But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
+    Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet  
+    The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
+    O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
+    Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
+    Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
+    To reach at victory above my head,
+    Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,
+    And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
+    That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat
+    And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt,
+    Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
+  GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
+    Be swift like lightning in the execution,
+    And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
+    Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
+    Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.
+    Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
+  MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot,
+    There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
+    A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.  
+    Never did captive with a freer heart
+    Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
+    His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
+    More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
+    This feast of battle with mine adversary.
+    Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
+    Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.
+    As gentle and as jocund as to jest
+    Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.
+  KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy
+    Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
+    Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.
+  MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
+    Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
+  BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.
+  MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas,
+      Duke of Norfolk.
+  FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
+    Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
+    On pain to be found false and recreant,  
+    To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
+    A traitor to his God, his King, and him;
+    And dares him to set forward to the fight.
+  SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
+    On pain to be found false and recreant,
+    Both to defend himself, and to approve
+    Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
+    To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,
+    Courageously and with a free desire
+    Attending but the signal to begin.
+  MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants.
+                                           [A charge sounded]
+    Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.
+  KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
+    And both return back to their chairs again.
+    Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound
+    While we return these dukes what we decree.
+
+    A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council
+  
+    Draw near,
+    And list what with our council we have done.
+    For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
+    With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
+    And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
+    Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;
+    And for we think the eagle-winged pride
+    Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
+    With rival-hating envy, set on you
+    To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
+    Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
+    Which so rous'd up with boist'rous untun'd drums,
+    With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
+    And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
+    Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
+    And make us wade even in our kindred's blood-
+    Therefore we banish you our territories.
+    You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
+    Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields
+    Shall not regreet our fair dominions,  
+    But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be-
+    That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,
+    And those his golden beams to you here lent
+    Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
+  KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
+    Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
+    The sly slow hours shall not determinate
+    The dateless limit of thy dear exile;
+    The hopeless word of 'never to return'
+    Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
+  MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
+    And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth.
+    A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
+    As to be cast forth in the common air,
+    Have I deserved at your Highness' hands.
+    The language I have learnt these forty years,
+    My native English, now I must forgo;
+    And now my tongue's use is to me no more
+    Than an unstringed viol or a harp;  
+    Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up
+    Or, being open, put into his hands
+    That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
+    Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
+    Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;
+    And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
+    Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
+    I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
+    Too far in years to be a pupil now.
+    What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,
+    Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
+  KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate;
+    After our sentence plaining comes too late.
+  MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv's light,
+    To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
+  KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee.
+    Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
+    Swear by the duty that you owe to God,
+    Our part therein we banish with yourselves,
+    To keep the oath that we administer:  
+    You never shall, so help you truth and God,
+    Embrace each other's love in banishment;
+    Nor never look upon each other's face;
+    Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
+    This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;
+    Nor never by advised purpose meet
+    To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
+    'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
+  BOLINGBROKE. I swear.
+  MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy.
+    By this time, had the King permitted us,
+    One of our souls had wand'red in the air,
+    Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
+    As now our flesh is banish'd from this land-
+    Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;
+    Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
+    The clogging burden of a guilty soul.
+  MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,
+    My name be blotted from the book of life,  
+    And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
+    But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know;
+    And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.
+    Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray:
+    Save back to England, an the world's my way.            Exit
+  KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
+    I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect
+    Hath from the number of his banish'd years
+    Pluck'd four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent,
+    Return with welcome home from banishment.
+  BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word!
+    Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
+    End in a word: such is the breath of Kings.
+  GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me
+    He shortens four years of my son's exile;
+    But little vantage shall I reap thereby,
+    For ere the six years that he hath to spend
+    Can change their moons and bring their times about,
+    My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
+    Shall be extinct with age and endless night;  
+    My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
+    And blindfold death not let me see my son.
+  KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
+  GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give:
+    Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow
+    And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
+    Thou can'st help time to furrow me with age,
+    But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
+    Thy word is current with him for my death,
+    But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
+  KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
+    Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.
+    Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?
+  GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
+    You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather
+    You would have bid me argue like a father.
+    O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
+    To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.
+    A partial slander sought I to avoid,
+    And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.  
+    Alas, I look'd when some of you should say
+    I was too strict to make mine own away;
+    But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
+    Against my will to do myself this wrong.
+  KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so.
+    Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
+                                  Flourish. Exit KING with train
+  AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know,
+    From where you do remain let paper show.
+  MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride
+    As far as land will let me by your side.
+  GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
+    That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?
+  BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you,
+    When the tongue's office should be prodigal
+    To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
+  GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
+  GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
+  BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.  
+  GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.
+  BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
+    Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
+  GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps
+    Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set
+    The precious jewel of thy home return.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
+    Will but remember me what a deal of world
+    I wander from the jewels that I love.
+    Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
+    To foreign passages; and in the end,
+    Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
+    But that I was a journeyman to grief?
+  GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits
+    Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
+    Teach thy necessity to reason thus:
+    There is no virtue like necessity.
+    Think not the King did banish thee,
+    But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit
+    Where it perceives it is but faintly home.  
+    Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
+    And not the King exil'd thee; or suppose
+    Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
+    And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
+    Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
+    To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st.
+    Suppose the singing birds musicians,
+    The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,
+    The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
+    Than a delightful measure or a dance;
+    For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
+    The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
+  BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand
+    By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
+    Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
+    By bare imagination of a feast?
+    Or wallow naked in December snow
+    By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
+    O, no! the apprehension of the good
+    Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.  
+    Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
+    Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.
+  GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way.
+    Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
+    My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
+    Where'er I wander, boast of this I can:
+    Though banish'd, yet a trueborn English man.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+London. The court
+
+Enter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door;
+and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another
+
+  KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
+    How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
+  AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
+    But to the next high way, and there I left him.
+  KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
+  AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,
+    Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
+    Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
+    Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
+  KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him?
+  AUMERLE. 'Farewell.'
+    And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
+    Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
+    To counterfeit oppression of such grief
+    That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
+    Marry, would the word 'farewell' have length'ned hours  
+    And added years to his short banishment,
+    He should have had a volume of farewells;
+    But since it would not, he had none of me.
+  KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
+    When time shall call him home from banishment,
+    Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
+    Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
+    Observ'd his courtship to the common people;
+    How he did seem to dive into their hearts
+    With humble and familiar courtesy;
+    What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
+    Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
+    And patient underbearing of his fortune,
+    As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
+    Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
+    A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
+    And had the tribute of his supple knee,
+    With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends';
+    As were our England in reversion his,
+    And he our subjects' next degree in hope.  
+  GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts!
+    Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
+    Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
+    Ere further leisure yicld them further means
+    For their advantage and your Highness' loss.
+  KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war;
+    And, for our coffers, with too great a court
+    And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
+    We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;
+    The revenue whereof shall furnish us
+    For our affairs in hand. If that come short,
+    Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
+    Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
+    They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,
+    And send them after to supply our wants;
+    For we will make for Ireland presently.
+
+                     Enter BUSHY
+
+    Bushy, what news?  
+  BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
+    Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste
+    To entreat your Majesty to visit him.
+  KING RICHARD. Where lies he?
+  BUSHY. At Ely House.
+  KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician's mind
+    To help him to his grave immediately!
+    The lining of his coffers shall make coats
+    To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
+    Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him.
+    Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!
+  ALL. Amen.                                              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
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+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+London. Ely House
+
+Enter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc.
+
+  GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last
+    In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?
+  YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;
+    For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
+  GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men
+    Enforce attention like deep harmony.
+    Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain;
+    For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain.
+    He that no more must say is listen'd more
+    Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
+    More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before.
+    The setting sun, and music at the close,
+    As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
+    Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
+    Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
+    My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
+  YORK. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,  
+    As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,
+    Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
+    The open ear of youth doth always listen;
+    Report of fashions in proud Italy,
+    Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
+    Limps after in base imitation.
+    Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-
+    So it be new, there's no respect how vile-
+    That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
+    Then all too late comes counsel to be heard
+    Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
+    Direct not him whose way himself will choose.
+    'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
+  GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd,
+    And thus expiring do foretell of him:
+    His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
+    For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
+    Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
+    He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
+    With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;  
+    Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
+    Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
+    This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle,
+    This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
+    This other Eden, demi-paradise,
+    This fortress built by Nature for herself
+    Against infection and the hand of war,
+    This happy breed of men, this little world,
+    This precious stone set in the silver sea,
+    Which serves it in the office of a wall,
+    Or as a moat defensive to a house,
+    Against the envy of less happier lands;
+    This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
+    This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
+    Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,
+    Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
+    For Christian service and true chivalry,
+    As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry
+    Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son;
+    This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,  
+    Dear for her reputation through the world,
+    Is now leas'd out-I die pronouncing it-
+    Like to a tenement or pelting farm.
+    England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
+    Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
+    Of wat'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
+    With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds;
+    That England, that was wont to conquer others,
+    Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
+    Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
+    How happy then were my ensuing death!
+
+    Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT,
+                Ross, and WILLOUGHBY
+
+  YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth,
+    For young hot colts being rag'd do rage the more.
+  QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?
+  KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt?
+  GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition!  
+    Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old.
+    Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
+    And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
+    For sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
+    Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt.
+    The pleasure that some fathers feed upon
+    Is my strict fast-I mean my children's looks;
+    And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.
+    Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
+    Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
+  KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names?
+  GAUNT. No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
+    Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
+    I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
+  KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live?
+  GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die.
+  KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.
+  GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.
+  KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.
+  GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;  
+    Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
+    Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
+    Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
+    And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
+    Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
+    Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
+    A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
+    Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
+    And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
+    The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
+    O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye
+    Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
+    From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
+    Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
+    Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
+    Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
+    It were a shame to let this land by lease;
+    But for thy world enjoying but this land,
+    Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
+    Landlord of England art thou now, not King.  
+    Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;
+    And thou-
+  KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool,
+    Presuming on an ague's privilege,
+    Darest with thy frozen admonition
+    Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
+    With fury from his native residence.
+    Now by my seat's right royal majesty,
+    Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
+    This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
+    Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.
+  GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
+    For that I was his father Edward's son;
+    That blood already, like the pelican,
+    Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd.
+    My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul-
+    Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!-
+    May be a precedent and witness good
+    That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood.
+    Join with the present sickness that I have;  
+    And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
+    To crop at once a too long withered flower.
+    Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
+    These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
+    Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.
+    Love they to live that love and honour have.
+                               Exit, borne out by his attendants
+  KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have;
+    For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
+  YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words
+    To wayward sickliness and age in him.
+    He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
+    As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.
+  KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;
+    As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.
+
+                Enter NORTHUMBERLAND
+
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.
+  KING RICHARD. What says he?  
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said.
+    His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
+    Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
+  YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
+    Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
+  KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
+    His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
+    So much for that. Now for our Irish wars.
+    We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,
+    Which live like venom where no venom else
+    But only they have privilege to live.
+    And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
+    Towards our assistance we do seize to us
+    The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
+    Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.
+  YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long
+    Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
+    Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment,
+    Nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
+    Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke  
+    About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
+    Have ever made me sour my patient cheek
+    Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
+    I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
+    Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.
+    In war was never lion rag'd more fierce,
+    In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
+    Than was that young and princely gentleman.
+    His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
+    Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
+    But when he frown'd, it was against the French
+    And not against his friends. His noble hand
+    Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
+    Which his triumphant father's hand had won.
+    His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,
+    But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
+    O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
+    Or else he never would compare between-
+  KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
+  YORK. O my liege,  
+    Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd
+    Not to be pardoned, am content withal.
+    Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
+    The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
+    Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?
+    Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?
+    Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
+    Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
+    Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time
+    His charters and his customary rights;
+    Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
+    Be not thyself-for how art thou a king
+    But by fair sequence and succession?
+    Now, afore God-God forbid I say true!-
+    If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
+    Call in the letters patents that he hath
+    By his attorneys-general to sue
+    His livery, and deny his off'red homage,
+    You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
+    You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,  
+    And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
+    Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
+  KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands
+    His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.
+  YORK. I'll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.
+    What will ensue hereof there's none can tell;
+    But by bad courses may be understood
+    That their events can never fall out good.              Exit
+  KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight;
+    Bid him repair to us to Ely House
+    To see this business. To-morrow next
+    We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow.
+    And we create, in absence of ourself,
+    Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England;
+    For he is just, and always lov'd us well.
+    Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part;
+    Be merry, for our time of stay is short.
+                   Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE,
+                                                GREEN, and BAGOT
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.  
+    Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke.
+  WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
+  ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
+    Ere't be disburdened with a liberal tongue.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more
+    That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!
+  WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?
+    If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
+    Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
+  ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him;
+    Unless you call it good to pity him,
+    Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne
+    In him, a royal prince, and many moe
+    Of noble blood in this declining land.
+    The King is not himself, but basely led
+    By flatterers; and what they will inform,
+    Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us an,
+    That will the King severely prosecute  
+    'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
+  ROSS. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes;
+    And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find
+    For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.
+  WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis'd,
+    As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;
+    But what, a God's name, doth become of this?
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,
+    But basely yielded upon compromise
+    That which his noble ancestors achiev'd with blows.
+    More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
+  ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
+  WILLOUGHBY. The King's grown bankrupt like a broken man.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.
+  ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars,
+    His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,
+    But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king!
+    But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
+    Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;  
+    We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
+    And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
+  ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
+    And unavoided is the danger now
+    For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
+    I spy life peering; but I dare not say
+    How near the tidings of our comfort is.
+  WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.
+  ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland.
+    We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,
+    Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay
+    In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence
+    That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
+    That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
+    His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
+    Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
+    Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint-
+    All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Britaine,  
+    With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
+    Are making hither with all due expedience,
+    And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.
+    Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
+    The first departing of the King for Ireland.
+    If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
+    Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
+    Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
+    Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,
+    And make high majesty look like itself,
+    Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
+    But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
+    Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
+  ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.
+  WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+Windsor Castle
+
+Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT
+
+  BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.
+    You promis'd, when you parted with the King,
+    To lay aside life-harming heaviness
+    And entertain a cheerful disposition.
+  QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself
+    I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
+    Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
+    Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
+    As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks
+    Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
+    Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
+    With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves
+    More than with parting from my lord the King.
+  BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
+    Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
+    For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
+    Divides one thing entire to many objects,  
+    Like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon,
+    Show nothing but confusion-ey'd awry,
+    Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,
+    Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
+    Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;
+    Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
+    Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,
+    More than your lord's departure weep not-more is not seen;
+    Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
+    Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
+  QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
+    Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,
+    I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad
+    As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-
+    Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
+  BUSHY. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
+  QUEEN. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd
+    From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
+    For nothing hath begot my something grief,
+    Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;  
+    'Tis in reversion that I do possess-
+    But what it is that is not yet known what,
+    I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
+
+                   Enter GREEN
+
+  GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.
+    I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
+  QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is;
+    For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.
+    Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?
+  GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power
+    And driven into despair an enemy's hope
+    Who strongly hath set footing in this land.
+    The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
+    And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
+    At Ravenspurgh.
+  QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid!
+  GREEN. Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse,
+    The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,  
+    The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
+    With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
+  BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
+    And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
+  GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester
+    Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
+    And all the household servants fled with him
+    To Bolingbroke.
+  QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
+    And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir.
+    Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;
+    And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
+    Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
+  BUSHY. Despair not, madam.
+  QUEEN. Who shall hinder me?
+    I will despair, and be at enmity
+    With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,
+    A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
+    Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
+    Which false hope lingers in extremity.  
+
+                    Enter YORK
+
+  GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York.
+  QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck.
+    O, full of careful business are his looks!
+    Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.
+  YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.
+    Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
+    Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.
+    Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
+    Whilst others come to make him lose at home.
+    Here am I left to underprop his land,
+    Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.
+    Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
+    Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.
+
+                   Enter a SERVINGMAN
+
+  SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came.  
+  YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will!
+    The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold
+    And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
+    Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
+    Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.
+    Hold, take my ring.
+  SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,
+    To-day, as I came by, I called there-
+    But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
+  YORK. What is't, knave?
+  SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died.
+  YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
+    Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
+    I know not what to do. I would to God,
+    So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,
+    The King had cut off my head with my brother's.
+    What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
+    How shall we do for money for these wars?
+    Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.
+    Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,  
+    And bring away the armour that is there.
+                                                 Exit SERVINGMAN
+    Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
+    If I know how or which way to order these affairs
+    Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
+    Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.
+    T'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
+    And duty bids defend; t'other again
+    Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd,
+    Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
+    Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin,
+    I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men
+    And meet me presently at Berkeley.
+    I should to Plashy too,
+    But time will not permit. All is uneven,
+    And everything is left at six and seven.
+                                           Exeunt YORK and QUEEN
+  BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland.
+    But none returns. For us to levy power
+    Proportionable to the enemy  
+    Is all unpossible.
+  GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love
+    Is near the hate of those love not the King.
+  BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love
+    Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,
+    By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
+  BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd.
+  BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,
+    Because we ever have been near the King.
+  GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.
+    The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
+  BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office
+    Will the hateful commons perform for us,
+    Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces.
+    Will you go along with us?
+  BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty.
+    Farewell. If heart's presages be not vain,
+    We three here part that ne'er shall meet again.
+  BUSHY. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
+  GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes  
+    Is numb'ring sands and drinking oceans dry.
+    Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
+    Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever.
+  BUSHY. Well, we may meet again.
+  BAGOT. I fear me, never.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+Gloucestershire
+
+Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord,
+    I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.
+    These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
+    Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome;
+    And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
+    Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
+    But I bethink me what a weary way
+    From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found
+    In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
+    Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
+    The tediousness and process of my travel.
+    But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have
+    The present benefit which I possess;
+    And hope to joy is little less in joy
+    Than hope enjoy'd. By this the weary lords
+    Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done  
+    By sight of what I have, your noble company.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company
+    Than your good words. But who comes here?
+
+                 Enter HARRY PERCY
+
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
+    Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
+    Harry, how fares your uncle?
+  PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen?
+  PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court,
+    Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd
+    The household of the King.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason?
+    He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together.
+  PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
+    But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
+    To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;
+    And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover  
+    What power the Duke of York had levied there;
+    Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
+  PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot
+    Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge,
+    I never in my life did look on him.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke.
+  PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
+    Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;
+    Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm
+    To more approved service and desert.
+  BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure
+    I count myself in nothing else so happy
+    As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;
+    And as my fortune ripens with thy love,
+    It shall be still thy true love's recompense.
+    My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir
+    Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
+  PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,  
+    Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard;
+    And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour-
+    None else of name and noble estimate.
+
+                  Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY
+
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,
+    Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues
+    A banish'd traitor. All my treasury
+    Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
+    Shall be your love and labour's recompense.
+  ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
+  WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
+    Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
+    Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
+
+                     Enter BERKELEY
+  
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
+  BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
+  BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-'to Lancaster';
+    And I am come to seek that name in England;
+    And I must find that title in your tongue
+    Before I make reply to aught you say.
+  BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning
+    To raze one title of your honour out.
+    To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will-
+    From the most gracious regent of this land,
+    The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
+    To take advantage of the absent time,
+    And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.
+
+                 Enter YORK, attended
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you;
+    Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle!
+                                                     [Kneels]
+  YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,  
+    Whose duty is deceivable and false.
+  BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle!-
+  YORK. Tut, tut!
+    Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.
+    I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace'
+    In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
+    Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
+    Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
+    But then more 'why?'-why have they dar'd to march
+    So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
+    Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war
+    And ostentation of despised arms?
+    Com'st thou because the anointed King is hence?
+    Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,
+    And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
+    Were I but now lord of such hot youth
+    As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
+    Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
+    From forth the ranks of many thousand French,
+    O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,  
+    Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the
+    And minister correction to thy fault!
+  BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;
+    On what condition stands it and wherein?
+  YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree-
+    In gross rebellion and detested treason.
+    Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
+    Before the expiration of thy time,
+    In braving arms against thy sovereign.
+  BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
+    But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
+    And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace
+    Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.
+    You are my father, for methinks in you
+    I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father,
+    Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
+    A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
+    Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
+    To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
+    If that my cousin king be King in England,  
+    It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
+    You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;
+    Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
+    He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father
+    To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.
+    I am denied to sue my livery here,
+    And yet my letters patents give me leave.
+    My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold;
+    And these and all are all amiss employ'd.
+    What would you have me do? I am a subject,
+    And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me;
+    And therefore personally I lay my claim
+    To my inheritance of free descent.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused.
+  ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right.
+  WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great.
+  YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this:
+    I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,
+    And labour'd all I could to do him right;
+    But in this kind to come, in braving arms,  
+    Be his own carver and cut out his way,
+    To find out right with wrong-it may not be;
+    And you that do abet him in this kind
+    Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is
+    But for his own; and for the right of that
+    We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
+    And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!
+  YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.
+    I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
+    Because my power is weak and all ill left;
+    But if I could, by Him that gave me life,
+    I would attach you all and make you stoop
+    Unto the sovereign mercy of the King;
+    But since I cannot, be it known unto you
+    I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;
+    Unless you please to enter in the castle,
+    And there repose you for this night.
+  BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
+    But we must win your Grace to go with us  
+    To Bristow Castle, which they say is held
+    By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
+    The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
+    Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
+  YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll pause,
+    For I am loath to break our country's laws.
+    Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.
+    Things past redress are now with me past care.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+A camp in Wales
+
+Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN
+
+  CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days
+    And hardly kept our countrymen together,
+    And yet we hear no tidings from the King;
+    Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.
+  SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman;
+    The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.
+  CAPTAIN. 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.
+    The bay trees in our country are all wither'd,
+    And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
+    The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
+    And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
+    Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap-
+    The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
+    The other to enjoy by rage and war.
+    These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
+    Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,
+    As well assur'd Richard their King is dead.             Exit  
+  SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind,
+    I see thy glory like a shooting star
+    Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
+    The sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
+    Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest;
+    Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;
+    And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.               Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+BOLINGBROKE'S camp at Bristol
+
+Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY,
+BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men.
+    Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls-
+    Since presently your souls must part your bodies-
+    With too much urging your pernicious lives,
+    For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
+    From off my hands, here in the view of men
+    I will unfold some causes of your deaths:
+    You have misled a prince, a royal king,
+    A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
+    By you unhappied and disfigured clean;
+    You have in manner with your sinful hours
+    Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;
+    Broke the possession of a royal bed,
+    And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
+    With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs;
+    Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth,  
+    Near to the King in blood, and near in love
+    Till you did make him misinterpret me-
+    Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries
+    And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
+    Eating the bitter bread of banishment,
+    Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
+    Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,
+    From my own windows torn my household coat,
+    Raz'd out my imprese, leaving me no sign
+    Save men's opinions and my living blood
+    To show the world I am a gentleman.
+    This and much more, much more than twice all this,
+    Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over
+    To execution and the hand of death.
+  BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me
+    Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.
+  GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls,
+    And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
+  BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.
+           Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners  
+    Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;
+    For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated.
+    Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
+    Take special care my greetings be delivered.
+  YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
+    With letters of your love to her at large.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,
+    To fight with Glendower and his complices.
+    Awhile to work, and after holiday.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+The coast of Wales. A castle in view
+
+Drums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,
+AUMERLE, and soldiers
+
+  KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand?
+  AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air
+    After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
+  KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy
+    To stand upon my kingdom once again.
+    Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
+    Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs.
+    As a long-parted mother with her child
+    Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,
+    So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,
+    And do thee favours with my royal hands.
+    Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
+    Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
+    But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
+    And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,
+    Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet  
+    Which with usurping steps do trample thee;
+    Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
+    And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
+    Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,
+    Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
+    Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
+    Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.
+    This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
+    Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
+    Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.
+  CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king
+    Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
+    The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd
+    And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
+    And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
+    The proffered means of succour and redress.
+  AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
+    Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
+    Grows strong and great in substance and in power.
+  KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not  
+    That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
+    Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
+    Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
+    In murders and in outrage boldly here;
+    But when from under this terrestrial ball
+    He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
+    And darts his light through every guilty hole,
+    Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
+    The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
+    Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
+    So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
+    Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
+    Whilst we were wand'ring with the Antipodes,
+    Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
+    His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
+    Not able to endure the sight of day,
+    But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
+    Not all the water in the rough rude sea
+    Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
+    The breath of worldly men cannot depose  
+    The deputy elected by the Lord.
+    For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd
+    To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
+    God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
+    A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,
+    Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.
+
+                 Enter SALISBURY
+
+    Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
+  SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
+    Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,
+    And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
+    One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,
+    Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
+    O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
+    And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
+    To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
+    O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
+    For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,  
+    Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled.
+  AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?
+  KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men
+    Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
+    And, till so much blood thither come again,
+    Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
+    All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;
+    For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
+  AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.
+  KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King?
+    Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.
+    Is not the King's name twenty thousand names?
+    Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
+    At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
+    Ye favourites of a king; are we not high?
+    High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York
+    Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?
+
+                   Enter SCROOP
+  
+  SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege
+    Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.
+  KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd.
+    The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
+    Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'twas my care,
+    And what loss is it to be rid of care?
+    Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
+    Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
+    We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so.
+    Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend;
+    They break their faith to God as well as us.
+    Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay-
+    The worst is death, and death will have his day.
+  SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd
+    To bear the tidings of calamity.
+    Like an unseasonable stormy day
+    Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
+    As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears,
+    So high above his limits swells the rage
+    Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land  
+    With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
+    White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
+    Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
+    Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
+    In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;
+    Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
+    Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
+    Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
+    Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
+    And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
+  KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so in.
+    Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?
+    What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?
+    That they have let the dangerous enemy
+    Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
+    If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
+    I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
+  SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
+  KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
+    Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!  
+    Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
+    Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
+    Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war
+    Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
+  SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
+    Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.
+    Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
+    With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse
+    Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound
+    And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.
+  AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
+  SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.
+  AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?
+  KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak.
+    Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
+    Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
+    Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
+    Let's choose executors and talk of wills;
+    And yet not so-for what can we bequeath
+    Save our deposed bodies to the ground?  
+    Our lands, our lives, and an, are Bolingbroke's.
+    And nothing can we can our own but death
+    And that small model of the barren earth
+    Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
+    For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
+    And tell sad stories of the death of kings:
+    How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,
+    Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd,
+    Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd,
+    All murder'd-for within the hollow crown
+    That rounds the mortal temples of a king
+    Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
+    Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;
+    Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
+    To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
+    Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
+    As if this flesh which walls about our life
+    Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
+    Comes at the last, and with a little pin
+    Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!  
+    Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
+    With solemn reverence; throw away respect,
+    Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;
+    For you have but mistook me all this while.
+    I live with bread like you, feel want,
+    Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
+    How can you say to me I am a king?
+  CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,
+    But presently prevent the ways to wail.
+    To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
+    Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,
+    And so your follies fight against yourself.
+    Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight;
+    And fight and die is death destroying death,
+    Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
+  AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him,
+    And learn to make a body of a limb.
+  KING RICHARD. Thou chid'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come
+    To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
+    This ague fit of fear is over-blown;  
+    An easy task it is to win our own.
+    Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
+    Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
+  SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
+    The state in inclination of the day;
+    So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
+    My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
+    I play the torturer, by small and small
+    To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
+    Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke;
+    And all your northern castles yielded up,
+    And all your southern gentlemen in arms
+    Upon his party.
+  KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough.
+      [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth
+    Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
+    What say you now? What comfort have we now?
+    By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly
+    That bids me be of comfort any more.
+    Go to Flint Castle; there I'll pine away;  
+    A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
+    That power I have, discharge; and let them go
+    To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
+    For I have none. Let no man speak again
+    To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
+  AUMERLE. My liege, one word.
+  KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong
+    That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
+    Discharge my followers; let them hence away,
+    From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+Wales. Before Flint Castle
+
+Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND,
+and forces
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn
+    The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury
+    Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed
+    With some few private friends upon this coast.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord.
+    Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
+  YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland
+    To say 'King Richard.' Alack the heavy day
+    When such a sacred king should hide his head!
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief,
+    Left I his title out.
+  YORK. The time hath been,
+    Would you have been so brief with him, he would
+    Have been so brief with you to shorten you,
+    For taking so the head, your whole head's length.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.  
+  YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,
+    Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads.
+  BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself
+    Against their will. But who comes here?
+
+                    Enter PERCY
+
+    Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?
+  PIERCY. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
+    Against thy entrance.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Royally!
+    Why, it contains no king?
+  PERCY. Yes, my good lord,
+    It doth contain a king; King Richard lies
+    Within the limits of yon lime and stone;
+    And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
+    Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
+    Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
+  BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord,  
+    Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
+    Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley
+    Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
+    Henry Bolingbroke
+    On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand,
+    And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
+    To his most royal person; hither come
+    Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
+    Provided that my banishment repeal'd
+    And lands restor'd again be freely granted;
+    If not, I'll use the advantage of my power
+    And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood
+    Rain'd from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen;
+    The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
+    It is such crimson tempest should bedrench
+    The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
+    My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
+    Go, signify as much, while here we march
+    Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
+           [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with a trumpet]  
+    Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum,
+    That from this castle's tottered battlements
+    Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
+    Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
+    With no less terror than the elements
+    Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock
+    At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
+    Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water;
+    The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain
+    My waters-on the earth, and not on him.
+    March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
+
+      Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish.
+      Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,
+      AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY
+
+    See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,
+    As doth the blushing discontented sun
+    From out the fiery portal of the east,
+    When he perceives the envious clouds are bent  
+    To dim his glory and to stain the track
+    Of his bright passage to the occident.
+  YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,
+    As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
+    Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,
+    That any harm should stain so fair a show!
+  KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz'd; and thus long
+      have we stood
+    To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
+    Because we thought ourself thy lawful King;
+    And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
+    To pay their awful duty to our presence?
+    If we be not, show us the hand of God
+    That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship;
+    For well we know no hand of blood and bone
+    Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,
+    Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
+    And though you think that all, as you have done,
+    Have torn their souls by turning them from us,
+    And we are barren and bereft of friends,  
+    Yet know-my master, God omnipotent,
+    Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
+    Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
+    Your children yet unborn and unbegot,
+    That lift your vassal hands against my head
+    And threat the glory of my precious crown.
+    Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands,
+    That every stride he makes upon my land
+    Is dangerous treason; he is come to open
+    The purple testament of bleeding war;
+    But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
+    Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
+    Shall ill become the flower of England's face,
+    Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
+    To scarlet indignation, and bedew
+    Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King
+    Should so with civil and uncivil arms
+    Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin,
+    Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;  
+    And by the honourable tomb he swears
+    That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones,
+    And by the royalties of both your bloods,
+    Currents that spring from one most gracious head,
+    And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
+    And by the worth and honour of himself,
+    Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
+    His coming hither hath no further scope
+    Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
+    Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;
+    Which on thy royal party granted once,
+    His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
+    His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
+    To faithful service of your Majesty.
+    This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
+    And as I am a gentleman I credit him.
+  KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns:
+    His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
+    And all the number of his fair demands
+    Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction.  
+    With all the gracious utterance thou hast
+    Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
+    [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,
+    To look so poorly and to speak so fair?
+    Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
+    Defiance to the traitor, and so die?
+  AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words
+    Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.
+  KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine
+    That laid the sentence of dread banishment
+    On yon proud man should take it off again
+    With words of sooth! O that I were as great
+    As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
+    Or that I could forget what I have been!
+    Or not remember what I must be now!
+    Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat,
+    Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
+  AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
+  KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit?
+    The King shall do it. Must he be depos'd?  
+    The King shall be contented. Must he lose
+    The name of king? A God's name, let it go.
+    I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
+    My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
+    My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
+    My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood,
+    My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff,
+    My subjects for a pair of carved saints,
+    And my large kingdom for a little grave,
+    A little little grave, an obscure grave-
+    Or I'll be buried in the king's high way,
+    Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet
+    May hourly trample on their sovereign's head;
+    For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,
+    And buried once, why not upon my head?
+    Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin!
+    We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
+    Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn
+    And make a dearth in this revolting land.
+    Or shall we play the wantons with our woes  
+    And make some pretty match with shedding tears?
+    As thus: to drop them still upon one place
+    Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
+    Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies
+    Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.
+    Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see
+    I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.
+    Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,
+    What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty
+    Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
+    You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend
+    To speak with you; may it please you to come down?
+  KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist'ring Phaethon,
+    Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
+    In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
+    To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace.
+    In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!
+    For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.
+                                               Exeunt from above  
+  BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty?
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart
+    Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man;
+    Yet he is come.
+
+          Enter the KING, and his attendants, below
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart,
+    And show fair duty to his Majesty.   [He kneels down]
+    My gracious lord-
+  KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee
+    To make the base earth proud with kissing it.
+    Me rather had my heart might feel your love
+    Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy.
+    Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
+    [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your
+      knee be low.
+  BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
+  KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
+  BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,  
+    As my true service shall deserve your love.
+  KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have
+    That know the strong'st and surest way to get.
+    Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes:
+    Tears show their love, but want their remedies.
+    Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
+    Though you are old enough to be my heir.
+    What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
+    For do we must what force will have us do.
+    Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so?
+  BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no.         Flourish. Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+The DUKE OF YORK's garden
+
+Enter the QUEEN and two LADIES
+
+  QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden
+    To drive away the heavy thought of care?
+  LADY. Madam, we'll play at bowls.
+  QUEEN. 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs
+    And that my fortune runs against the bias.
+  LADY. Madam, we'll dance.
+  QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight,
+    When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief;
+    Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.
+  LADY. Madam, we'll tell tales.
+  QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy?
+  LADY. Of either, madam.
+  QUEEN. Of neither, girl;
+    For if of joy, being altogether wanting,
+    It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
+    Or if of grief, being altogether had,
+    It adds more sorrow to my want of joy;  
+    For what I have I need not to repeat,
+    And what I want it boots not to complain.
+  LADY. Madam, I'll sing.
+  QUEEN. 'Tis well' that thou hast cause;
+    But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.
+  LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.
+  QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good,
+    And never borrow any tear of thee.
+
+           Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS
+
+    But stay, here come the gardeners.
+    Let's step into the shadow of these trees.
+    My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
+    They will talk of state, for every one doth so
+    Against a change: woe is forerun with woe.
+                                       [QUEEN and LADIES retire]
+  GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,
+    Which, like unruly children, make their sire
+    Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight;  
+    Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
+    Go thou, and Eke an executioner
+    Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays
+    That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
+    All must be even in our government.
+    You thus employ'd, I will go root away
+    The noisome weeds which without profit suck
+    The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
+  SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
+    Keep law and form and due proportion,
+    Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,
+    When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
+    Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up,
+    Her fruit trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd,
+    Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs
+    Swarming with caterpillars?
+  GARDENER. Hold thy peace.
+    He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring
+    Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;
+    The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,  
+    That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,
+    Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke-
+    I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
+  SERVANT. What, are they dead?
+  GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke
+    Hath seiz'd the wasteful King. O, what pity is it
+    That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land
+    As we this garden! We at time of year
+    Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,
+    Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
+    With too much riches it confound itself;
+    Had he done so to great and growing men,
+    They might have Ev'd to bear, and he to taste
+    Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches
+    We lop away, that bearing boughs may live;
+    Had he done so, himself had home the crown,
+    Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
+  SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed?
+  GARDENER. Depress'd he is already, and depos'd
+    'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night  
+    To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's
+    That tell black tidings.
+  QUEEN. O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking!
+                                                [Coming forward]
+    Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
+    How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
+    What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the
+    To make a second fall of cursed man?
+    Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd?
+    Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
+    Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
+    Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.
+  GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have
+    To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.
+    King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
+    Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh'd.
+    In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
+    And some few vanities that make him light;
+    But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
+    Besides himself, are all the English peers,  
+    And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
+    Post you to London, and you will find it so;
+    I speak no more than every one doth know.
+  QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
+    Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
+    And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest
+    To serve me last, that I may longest keep
+    Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go
+    To meet at London London's King in woe.
+    What, was I born to this, that my sad look
+    Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
+    Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe,
+    Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow!
+                                         Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES
+  GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,
+    I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
+    Here did she fall a tear; here in this place
+    I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.
+    Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
+    In the remembrance of a weeping queen.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1.
+Westminster Hall
+
+Enter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY,
+FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER,
+and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot.
+    Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind-
+    What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death;
+    Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'd
+    The bloody office of his timeless end.
+  BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.
+  BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
+    Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
+    In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted
+    I heard you say 'Is not my arm of length,
+    That reacheth from the restful English Court
+    As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?'
+    Amongst much other talk that very time  
+    I heard you say that you had rather refuse
+    The offer of an hundred thousand crowns
+    Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
+    Adding withal, how blest this land would be
+    In this your cousin's death.
+  AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords,
+    What answer shall I make to this base man?
+    Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars
+    On equal terms to give him chastisement?
+    Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
+    With the attainder of his slanderous lips.
+    There is my gage, the manual seal of death
+    That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,
+    And will maintain what thou hast said is false
+    In thy heart-blood, through being all too base
+    To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.
+  AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best
+    In all this presence that hath mov'd me so.
+  FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy,  
+    There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.
+    By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st,
+    I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,
+    That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death.
+    If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest;
+    And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
+    Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
+  AUMERLE. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day.
+  FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.
+  AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.
+  PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true
+    In this appeal as thou art an unjust;
+    And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
+    To prove it on thee to the extremest point
+    Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st.
+  AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of
+    And never brandish more revengeful steel
+    Over the glittering helmet of my foe!
+  ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;
+    And spur thee on with fun as many lies  
+    As may be halloa'd in thy treacherous ear
+    From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn;
+    Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.
+  AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I'll throw at all!
+    I have a thousand spirits in one breast
+    To answer twenty thousand such as you.
+  SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
+    The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
+  FITZWATER. 'Tis very true; you were in presence then,
+    And you can witness with me this is true.
+  SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
+  FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest.
+  SURREY. Dishonourable boy!
+    That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword
+    That it shall render vengeance and revenge
+    Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he
+    In earth as quiet as thy father's skull.
+    In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
+    Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.
+  FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!  
+    If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
+    I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
+    And spit upon him whilst I say he lies,
+    And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith,
+    To tie thee to my strong correction.
+    As I intend to thrive in this new world,
+    Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
+    Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say
+    That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
+    To execute the noble Duke at Calais.
+  AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage
+    That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this,
+    If he may be repeal'd to try his honour.
+  BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage
+    Till Norfolk be repeal'd-repeal'd he shall be
+    And, though mine enemy, restor'd again
+    To all his lands and signories. When he is return'd,
+    Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
+  CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen.
+    Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought  
+    For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,
+    Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
+    Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;
+    And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
+    To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave
+    His body to that pleasant country's earth,
+    And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,
+    Under whose colours he had fought so long.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?
+  CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom
+    Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,
+    Your differences shall all rest under gage
+    Till we assign you to your days of trial
+
+                 Enter YORK, attended
+
+  YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the
+    From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul
+    Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields  
+    To the possession of thy royal hand.
+    Ascend his throne, descending now from him-
+    And long live Henry, fourth of that name!
+  BOLINGBROKE. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.
+  CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid!
+    Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
+    Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
+    Would God that any in this noble presence
+    Were enough noble to be upright judge
+    Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would
+    Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
+    What subject can give sentence on his king?
+    And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?
+    Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear,
+    Although apparent guilt be seen in them;
+    And shall the figure of God's majesty,
+    His captain, steward, deputy elect,
+    Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
+    Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath,
+    And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,  
+    That in a Christian climate souls refin'd
+    Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
+    I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
+    Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king.
+    My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
+    Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king;
+    And if you crown him, let me prophesy-
+    The blood of English shall manure the ground,
+    And future ages groan for this foul act;
+    Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
+    And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
+    Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
+    Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,
+    Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
+    The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.
+    O, if you raise this house against this house,
+    It will the woefullest division prove
+    That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
+    Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,
+    Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe.  
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,
+    Of capital treason we arrest you here.
+    My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge
+    To keep him safely till his day of trial.
+    May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit?
+  BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
+    He may surrender; so we shall proceed
+    Without suspicion.
+  YORK. I will be his conduct.                              Exit
+  BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest,
+    Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
+    Little are we beholding to your love,
+    And little look'd for at your helping hands.
+
+      Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS
+                bearing the regalia
+
+  KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king,
+    Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
+    Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd  
+    To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.
+    Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
+    To this submission. Yet I well remember
+    The favours of these men. Were they not mine?
+    Did they not sometime cry 'All hail!' to me?
+    So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve,
+    Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.
+    God save the King! Will no man say amen?
+    Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen.
+    God save the King! although I be not he;
+    And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
+    To do what service am I sent for hither?
+  YORK. To do that office of thine own good will
+    Which tired majesty did make thee offer-
+    The resignation of thy state and crown
+    To Henry Bolingbroke.
+  KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown.
+    Here, cousin,
+    On this side my hand, and on that side thine.
+    Now is this golden crown like a deep well  
+    That owes two buckets, filling one another;
+    The emptier ever dancing in the air,
+    The other down, unseen, and full of water.
+    That bucket down and fun of tears am I,
+    Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
+  BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign.
+  KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine.
+    You may my glories and my state depose,
+    But not my griefs; still am I king of those.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown.
+  KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.
+    My care is loss of care, by old care done;
+    Your care is gain of care, by new care won.
+    The cares I give I have, though given away;
+    They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown?
+  KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;
+    Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
+    Now mark me how I will undo myself:
+    I give this heavy weight from off my head,  
+    And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
+    The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
+    With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
+    With mine own hands I give away my crown,
+    With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
+    With mine own breath release all duteous oaths;
+    All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
+    My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo;
+    My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny.
+    God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
+    God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!
+    Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd,
+    And thou with all pleas'd, that hast an achiev'd.
+    Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
+    And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit.
+    God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says,
+    And send him many years of sunshine days!
+    What more remains?
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read
+    These accusations, and these grievous crimes  
+    Committed by your person and your followers
+    Against the state and profit of this land;
+    That, by confessing them, the souls of men
+    May deem that you are worthily depos'd.
+  KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out
+    My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
+    If thy offences were upon record,
+    Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop
+    To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,
+    There shouldst thou find one heinous article,
+    Containing the deposing of a king
+    And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
+    Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven.
+    Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me
+    Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,
+    Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
+    Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates
+    Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
+    And water cannot wash away your sin.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o'er these  
+    articles.
+  KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see.
+    And yet salt water blinds them not so much
+    But they can see a sort of traitors here.
+    Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
+    I find myself a traitor with the rest;
+    For I have given here my soul's consent
+    T'undeck the pompous body of a king;
+    Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave,
+    Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord-
+  KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,
+    Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no tide-
+    No, not that name was given me at the font-
+    But 'tis usurp'd. Alack the heavy day,
+    That I have worn so many winters out,
+    And know not now what name to call myself!
+    O that I were a mockery king of snow,
+    Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke
+    To melt myself away in water drops!  
+    Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,
+    An if my word be sterling yet in England,
+    Let it command a mirror hither straight,
+    That it may show me what a face I have
+    Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.
+                                               Exit an attendant
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come.
+  KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied.
+  KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I'll read enough,
+    When I do see the very book indeed
+    Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.
+
+                Re-enter attendant with glass
+
+    Give me that glass, and therein will I read.
+    No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
+    So many blows upon this face of mine  
+    And made no deeper wounds? O flatt'ring glass,
+    Like to my followers in prosperity,
+    Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face
+    That every day under his household roof
+    Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face
+    That like the sun did make beholders wink?
+    Is this the face which fac'd so many follies
+    That was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
+    A brittle glory shineth in this face;
+    As brittle as the glory is the face;
+                        [Dashes the glass against the ground]
+    For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.
+    Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport-
+    How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.
+  BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
+    The shadow of your face.
+  KING RICHARD. Say that again.
+    The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see.
+    'Tis very true: my grief lies all within;
+    And these external manner of laments  
+    Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
+    That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul.
+    There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king,
+    For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
+    Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
+    How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
+    And then be gone and trouble you no more.
+    Shall I obtain it?
+  BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin.
+  KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king;
+    For when I was a king, my flatterers
+    Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
+    I have a king here to my flatterer.
+    Being so great, I have no need to beg.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask.
+  KING RICHARD. And shall I have?
+  BOLINGBROKE. You shall.
+  KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Whither?
+  KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights.  
+  BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.
+  KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all,
+    That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.
+                     Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard
+  BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
+    Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.
+                    Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the
+                                 BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE
+  ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
+  CARLISLE. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn
+    Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
+  AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
+    To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
+  ABBOT. My lord,
+    Before I freely speak my mind herein,
+    You shall not only take the sacrament
+    To bury mine intents, but also to effect
+    Whatever I shall happen to devise.
+    I see your brows are full of discontent,
+    Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.  
+    Come home with me to supper; I will lay
+    A plot shall show us all a merry day.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+London. A street leading to the Tower
+
+Enter the QUEEN, with her attendants
+
+  QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way
+    To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,
+    To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
+    Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.
+    Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
+    Have any resting for her true King's queen.
+
+            Enter KING RICHARD and Guard
+
+    But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
+    My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold,
+    That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
+    And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
+    Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;
+    Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
+    And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
+    Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,  
+    When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
+  KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
+    To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,
+    To think our former state a happy dream;
+    From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
+    Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
+    To grim Necessity; and he and
+    Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
+    And cloister thee in some religious house.
+    Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
+    Which our profane hours here have thrown down.
+  QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
+    Transform'd and weak'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos'd
+    Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?
+    The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw
+    And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
+    To be o'erpow'r'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
+    Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod,
+    And fawn on rage with base humility,
+    Which art a lion and the king of beasts?  
+  KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts,
+    I had been still a happy king of men.
+    Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France.
+    Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,
+    As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.
+    In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire
+    With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales
+    Of woeful ages long ago betid;
+    And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs
+    Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,
+    And send the hearers weeping to their beds;
+    For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
+    The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
+    And in compassion weep the fire out;
+    And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
+    For the deposing of a rightful king.
+
+             Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended
+
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd;  
+    You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
+    And, madam, there is order ta'en for you:
+    With all swift speed you must away to France.
+  KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
+    The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
+    The time shall not be many hours of age
+    More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head
+    Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think
+    Though he divide the realm and give thee half
+    It is too little, helping him to all;
+    And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way
+    To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
+    Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way
+    To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
+    The love of wicked men converts to fear;
+    That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both
+    To worthy danger and deserved death.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
+    Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
+  KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, you violate  
+    A twofold marriage-'twixt my crown and me,
+    And then betwixt me and my married wife.
+    Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
+    And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
+    Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
+    Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
+    My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp,
+    She came adorned hither like sweet May,
+    Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day.
+  QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part?
+  KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.
+  QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me.
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy.
+  QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go.
+  KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe.
+    Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
+    Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
+    Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.
+  QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans.
+  KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short,  
+    And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
+    Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
+    Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
+    One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
+    Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.
+  QUEEN. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part
+    To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
+    So, now I have mine own again, be gone.
+    That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
+  KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay.
+    Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+The DUKE OF YORK's palace
+
+Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS
+
+  DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
+    When weeping made you break the story off,
+    Of our two cousins' coming into London.
+  YORK. Where did I leave?
+  DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord,
+    Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops
+    Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.
+  YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
+    Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
+    Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
+    With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
+    Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke!'
+    You would have thought the very windows spake,
+    So many greedy looks of young and old
+    Through casements darted their desiring eyes
+    Upon his visage; and that all the walls
+    With painted imagery had said at once  
+    'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!'
+    Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
+    Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
+    Bespake them thus, 'I thank you, countrymen.'
+    And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
+  DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?
+  YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men
+    After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage
+    Are idly bent on him that enters next,
+    Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
+    Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
+    Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!'
+    No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
+    But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
+    Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
+    His face still combating with tears and smiles,
+    The badges of his grief and patience,
+    That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
+    The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
+    And barbarism itself have pitied him.  
+    But heaven hath a hand in these events,
+    To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
+    To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
+    Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
+  DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle.
+  YORK. Aumerle that was
+    But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
+    And madam, you must call him Rudand now.
+    I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
+    And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
+
+                  Enter AUMERLE
+
+  DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now
+    That strew the green lap of the new come spring?
+  AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.
+    God knows I had as lief be none as one.
+  YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
+    Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
+    What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?  
+  AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
+  YORK. You will be there, I know.
+  AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so.
+  YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom?
+    Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.
+  AUMERLE. My lord, 'tis nothing.
+  YORK. No matter, then, who see it.
+    I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.
+  AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;
+    It is a matter of small consequence
+    Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
+  YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
+    I fear, I fear-
+  DUCHESS. What should you fear?
+    'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent'red into
+    For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph-day.
+  YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond
+    That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
+    Boy, let me see the writing.
+  AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.  
+  YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
+                [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]
+    Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!
+  DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord?
+  YORK. Ho! who is within there?
+
+                    Enter a servant
+
+    Saddle my horse.
+    God for his mercy, what treachery is here!
+  DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord?
+  YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
+                                                    Exit servant
+    Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
+    I will appeach the villain.
+  DUCHESS. What is the matter?
+  YORK. Peace, foolish woman.
+  DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?
+  AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more
+    Than my poor life must answer.  
+  DUCHESS. Thy life answer!
+  YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
+
+              His man enters with his boots
+
+  DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.
+    Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.
+  YORK. Give me my boots, I say.
+  DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
+    Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
+    Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
+    Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
+    And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age
+    And rob me of a happy mother's name?
+    Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?
+  YORK. Thou fond mad woman,
+    Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
+    A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
+    And interchangeably set down their hands
+    To kill the King at Oxford.  
+  DUCHESS. He shall be none;
+    We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him?
+  YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son
+    I would appeach him.
+  DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan'd for him
+    As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
+    But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect
+    That I have been disloyal to thy bed
+    And that he is a bastard, not thy son.
+    Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.
+    He is as like thee as a man may be
+    Not like to me, or any of my kin,
+    And yet I love him.
+  YORK. Make way, unruly woman!                             Exit
+  DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;
+    Spur post, and get before him to the King,
+    And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
+    I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
+    I doubt not but to ride as fast as York;
+    And never will I rise up from the ground  
+    Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+Windsor Castle
+
+Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?
+    'Tis full three months since I did see him last.
+    If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
+    I would to God, my lords, he might be found.
+    Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
+    For there, they say, he daily doth frequent
+    With unrestrained loose companions,
+    Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes
+    And beat our watch and rob our passengers,
+    Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,
+    Takes on the point of honour to support
+    So dissolute a crew.
+  PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,
+    And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.
+  BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant?
+  PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews,
+    And from the common'st creature pluck a glove  
+    And wear it as a favour; and with that
+    He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
+  BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both
+    I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years
+    May happily bring forth. But who comes here?
+
+                Enter AUMERLE amazed
+
+  AUMERLE. Where is the King?
+  BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks
+    So wildly?
+  AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty,
+    To have some conference with your Grace alone.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
+                                          Exeunt PERCY and LORDS
+    What is the matter with our cousin now?
+  AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
+                                                    [Kneels]
+    My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
+    Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.  
+  BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault?
+    If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
+    To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
+  AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
+    That no man enter till my tale be done.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire.
+            [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth]
+  YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself;
+    Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
+  BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I'll make thee safe.
+  AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.
+  YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King.
+    Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
+    Open the door, or I will break it open.
+
+                    Enter YORK
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak;
+    Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
+    That we may arm us to encounter it.
+  YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know  
+    The treason that my haste forbids me show.
+  AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd.
+    I do repent me; read not my name there;
+    My heart is not confederate with my hand.
+  YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.
+    I tore it from the traitor's bosom, King;
+    Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.
+    Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
+    A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
+  BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!
+    O loyal father of a treacherous son!
+    Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
+    From whence this stream through muddy passages
+    Hath held his current and defil'd himself!
+    Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
+    And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
+    This deadly blot in thy digressing son.
+  YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
+    And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
+    As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.  
+    Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
+    Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies.
+    Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
+    The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
+  DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God's sake, let me in.
+  BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry?
+  DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; 'tis I.
+    Speak with me, pity me, open the door.
+    A beggar begs that never begg'd before.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt'red from a serious thing,
+    And now chang'd to 'The Beggar and the King.'
+    My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.
+    I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.
+  YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray,
+    More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
+    This fest'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
+    This let alone will all the rest confound.
+
+                 Enter DUCHESS
+  
+  DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!
+    Love loving not itself, none other can.
+  YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?
+    Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?
+  DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.
+                                                     [Kneels]
+  BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt.
+  DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech.
+    For ever will I walk upon my knees,
+    And never see day that the happy sees
+    Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy
+    By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
+  AUMERLE. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.
+                                                     [Kneels]
+  YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be.
+                                                     [Kneels]
+    Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
+  DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face;
+    His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
+    His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.  
+    He prays but faintly and would be denied;
+    We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.
+    His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
+    Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.
+    His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
+    Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
+    Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
+    That mercy which true prayer ought to have.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.
+  DUCHESS. do not say 'stand up';
+    Say 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
+    An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
+    'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech.
+    I never long'd to hear a word till now;
+    Say 'pardon,' King; let pity teach thee how.
+    The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
+    No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet.
+  YORK. Speak it in French, King, say 'pardonne moy.'
+  DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
+    Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,  
+    That sets the word itself against the word!
+    Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land;
+    The chopping French we do not understand.
+    Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there;
+    Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,
+    That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
+    Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.
+  DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand;
+    Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
+  BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
+  DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
+    Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.
+    Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain,
+    But makes one pardon strong.
+  BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart
+    I pardon him.
+  DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art.
+  BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,
+    With all the rest of that consorted crew,  
+    Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
+    Good uncle, help to order several powers
+    To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are.
+    They shall not live within this world, I swear,
+    But I will have them, if I once know where.
+    Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;
+    Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
+  DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new.      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+Windsor Castle
+
+Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant
+
+  EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?
+    'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?'
+    Was it not so?
+  SERVANT. These were his very words.
+  EXTON. 'Have I no friend?' quoth he. He spake it twice
+    And urg'd it twice together, did he not?
+  SERVANT. He did.
+  EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look'd on me,
+    As who should say 'I would thou wert the man
+    That would divorce this terror from my heart';
+    Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go.
+    I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle
+
+Enter KING RICHARD
+
+  KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare
+    This prison where I live unto the world
+    And, for because the world is populous
+    And here is not a creature but myself,
+    I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
+    My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
+    My soul the father; and these two beget
+    A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
+    And these same thoughts people this little world,
+    In humours like the people of this world,
+    For no thought is contented. The better sort,
+    As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
+    With scruples, and do set the word itself
+    Against the word,
+    As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again,
+    'It is as hard to come as for a camel
+    To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'  
+    Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
+    Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
+    May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
+    Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
+    And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
+    Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
+    That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
+    Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
+    Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,
+    That many have and others must sit there;
+    And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
+    Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
+    Of such as have before endur'd the like.
+    Thus play I in one person many people,
+    And none contented. Sometimes am I king;
+    Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
+    And so I am. Then crushing penury
+    Persuades me I was better when a king;
+    Then am I king'd again; and by and by
+    Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,  
+    And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,
+    Nor I, nor any man that but man is,
+    With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
+    With being nothing.                    [The music plays]
+    Music do I hear?
+    Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is
+    When time is broke and no proportion kept!
+    So is it in the music of men's lives.
+    And here have I the daintiness of ear
+    To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
+    But, for the concord of my state and time,
+    Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
+    I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
+    For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
+    My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar
+    Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
+    Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
+    Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
+    Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
+    Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,  
+    Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,
+    Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time
+    Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
+    While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.
+    This music mads me. Let it sound no more;
+    For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
+    In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
+    Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
+    For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
+    Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
+
+              Enter a GROOM of the stable
+
+  GROOM. Hail, royal Prince!
+  KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer!
+    The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
+    What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
+    Where no man never comes but that sad dog
+    That brings me food to make misfortune live?
+  GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,  
+    When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
+    With much ado at length have gotten leave
+    To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
+    O, how it ern'd my heart, when I beheld,
+    In London streets, that coronation-day,
+    When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary-
+    That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
+    That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!
+  KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
+    How went he under him?
+  GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.
+  KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
+    That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
+    This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
+    Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,
+    Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck
+    Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
+    Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,
+    Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
+    Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;  
+    And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
+    Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
+
+              Enter KEEPER with meat
+
+  KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.
+  KING RICHARD. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.
+  GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
+ Exit
+  KEEPER. My lord, will't please you to fall to?
+  KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.
+  KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,
+    Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.
+  KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!
+    Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
+                                           [Beats the KEEPER]
+  KEEPER. Help, help, help!
+    The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed
+  KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault?
+    Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.  
+                         [Snatching a weapon and killing one]
+    Go thou and fill another room in hell.
+              [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]
+    That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
+    That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
+    Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land.
+    Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
+    Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
+                                                       [Dies]
+  EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood.
+    Both have I spill'd. O, would the deed were good!
+    For now the devil, that told me I did well,
+    Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
+    This dead King to the living King I'll bear.
+    Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 6.
+Windsor Castle
+
+Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS
+and attendants
+
+  BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
+    Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire
+    Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire;
+    But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.
+
+              Enter NORTHUMBERLAND
+
+    Welcome, my lord. What is the news?
+  NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
+    The next news is, I have to London sent
+    The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.
+    The manner of their taking may appear
+    At large discoursed in this paper here.
+  BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
+    And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
+  
+                  Enter FITZWATER
+
+  FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
+    The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely;
+    Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
+    That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
+    Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
+
+         Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE
+
+  PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
+    With clog of conscience and sour melancholy,
+    Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
+    But here is Carlisle living, to abide
+    Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom:
+    Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
+    More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
+    So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife;  
+    For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
+    High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
+
+      Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin
+
+  EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present
+    Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies
+    The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
+    Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.
+  BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought
+    A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
+    Upon my head and all this famous land.
+  EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.
+  BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need,
+    Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,
+    I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
+    The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
+    But neither my good word nor princely favour;
+    With Cain go wander thorough shades of night,
+    And never show thy head by day nor light.  
+    Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe
+    That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.
+    Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
+    And put on sullen black incontinent.
+    I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
+    To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
+    March sadly after; grace my mournings here
+    In weeping after this untimely bier.                  Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1593
+
+KING RICHARD III
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  EDWARD THE FOURTH
+
+    Sons to the King
+  EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V
+  RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,
+
+    Brothers to the King
+  GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE,
+  RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III
+
+  A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick)
+  HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII
+  CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
+  THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK
+  JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY
+  DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
+  DUKE OF NORFOLK
+  EARL OF SURREY, his son
+  EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward's Queen
+  MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons
+  EARL OF OXFORD  
+  LORD HASTINGS
+  LORD LOVEL
+  LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY
+  SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN
+  SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF
+  SIR WILLIAM CATESBY
+  SIR JAMES TYRREL
+  SIR JAMES BLOUNT
+  SIR WALTER HERBERT
+  SIR WILLIAM BRANDON
+  SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower
+  CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest
+  LORD MAYOR OF LONDON
+  SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE
+  HASTINGS, a pursuivant
+  TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne
+  ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV
+  MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI
+  DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV
+  LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King  
+    Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester
+  A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet,
+    Countess of Salisbury)
+  Ghosts, of Richard's victims
+  Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops,
+    Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE: England
+
+King Richard the Third
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1.
+
+London. A street
+
+Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent
+    Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
+    And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
+    In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
+    Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
+    Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
+    Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
+    Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
+    Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front,
+    And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
+    To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
+    He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
+    To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
+    But I-that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
+    Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass-
+    I-that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
+    To strut before a wanton ambling nymph-  
+    I-that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
+    Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
+    Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
+    Into this breathing world scarce half made up,
+    And that so lamely and unfashionable
+    That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-
+    Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
+    Have no delight to pass away the time,
+    Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
+    And descant on mine own deformity.
+    And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
+    To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
+    I am determined to prove a villain
+    And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
+    Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
+    By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
+    To set my brother Clarence and the King
+    In deadly hate the one against the other;
+    And if King Edward be as true and just
+    As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,  
+    This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up-
+    About a prophecy which says that G
+    Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
+    Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.
+
+             Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY
+
+    Brother, good day. What means this armed guard
+    That waits upon your Grace?
+  CLARENCE. His Majesty,
+    Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed
+    This conduct to convey me to th' Tower.
+  GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause?
+  CLARENCE. Because my name is George.
+  GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours:
+    He should, for that, commit your godfathers.
+    O, belike his Majesty hath some intent
+    That you should be new-christ'ned in the Tower.
+    But what's the matter, Clarence? May I know?
+  CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest  
+    As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,
+    He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,
+    And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
+    And says a wizard told him that by G
+    His issue disinherited should be;
+    And, for my name of George begins with G,
+    It follows in his thought that I am he.
+    These, as I learn, and such like toys as these
+    Hath mov'd his Highness to commit me now.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by women:
+    'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;
+    My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
+    That tempers him to this extremity.
+    Was it not she and that good man of worship,
+    Antony Woodville, her brother there,
+    That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
+    From whence this present day he is delivered?
+    We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
+  CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure
+    But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds  
+    That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.
+    Heard you not what an humble suppliant
+    Lord Hastings was, for her delivery?
+  GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity
+    Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.
+    I'll tell you what-I think it is our way,
+    If we will keep in favour with the King,
+    To be her men and wear her livery:
+    The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,
+    Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
+    Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.
+  BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me:
+    His Majesty hath straitly given in charge
+    That no man shall have private conference,
+    Of what degree soever, with your brother.
+  GLOUCESTER. Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,
+    You may partake of any thing we say:
+    We speak no treason, man; we say the King
+    Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
+    Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;  
+    We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
+    A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
+    And that the Queen's kindred are made gentlefolks.
+    How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?
+  BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.
+  GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,
+    fellow,
+    He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
+    Were best to do it secretly alone.
+  BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord?
+  GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me?
+  BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and
+    withal
+    Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.
+  CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will
+    obey.
+  GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen's abjects and must obey.
+    Brother, farewell; I will unto the King;
+    And whatsoe'er you will employ me in-
+    Were it to call King Edward's widow sister-  
+    I will perform it to enfranchise you.
+    Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
+    Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
+  CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
+  GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
+    I will deliver or else lie for you.
+    Meantime, have patience.
+  CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell.
+                          Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard
+  GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
+    Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so
+    That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
+    If heaven will take the present at our hands.
+    But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?
+
+                       Enter LORD HASTINGS
+
+  HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!
+  GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!
+    Well are you welcome to the open air.  
+    How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?
+  HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;
+    But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
+    That were the cause of my imprisonment.
+  GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
+    For they that were your enemies are his,
+    And have prevail'd as much on him as you.
+  HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew'd
+    Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
+  GLOUCESTER. What news abroad?
+  HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home:
+    The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
+    And his physicians fear him mightily.
+  GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.
+    O, he hath kept an evil diet long
+    And overmuch consum'd his royal person!
+    'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
+    Where is he? In his bed?
+  HASTINGS. He is.
+  GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you.  
+                                                   Exit HASTINGS
+    He cannot live, I hope, and must not die
+    Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.
+    I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence
+    With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
+    And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
+    Clarence hath not another day to live;
+    Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
+    And leave the world for me to bustle in!
+    For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
+    What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
+    The readiest way to make the wench amends
+    Is to become her husband and her father;
+    The which will I-not all so much for love
+    As for another secret close intent
+    By marrying her which I must reach unto.
+    But yet I run before my horse to market.
+    Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;
+    When they are gone, then must I count my gains.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+London. Another street
+
+Enter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it;
+LADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY
+
+  ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load-
+    If honour may be shrouded in a hearse;
+    Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
+    Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
+    Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
+    Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
+    Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
+    Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost
+    To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
+    Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,
+    Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds.
+    Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life
+    I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
+    O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!
+    Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!  
+    Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
+    More direful hap betide that hated wretch
+    That makes us wretched by the death of thee
+    Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
+    Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
+    If ever he have child, abortive be it,
+    Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
+    Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
+    May fright the hopeful mother at the view,
+    And that be heir to his unhappiness!
+    If ever he have wife, let her be made
+    More miserable by the death of him
+    Than I am made by my young lord and thee!
+    Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
+    Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
+    And still as you are weary of this weight
+    Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.
+                                [The bearers take up the coffin]
+
+                      Enter GLOUCESTER  
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.
+  ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend
+    To stop devoted charitable deeds?
+  GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
+    I'll make a corse of him that disobeys!
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin
+    pass.
+  GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command.
+    Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
+    Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot
+    And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
+                               [The bearers set down the coffin]
+  ANNE. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?
+    Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,
+    And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
+    Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
+    Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
+    His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.
+  GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.  
+  ANNE. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence and trouble us not;
+    For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell
+    Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
+    If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
+    Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
+    O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds
+    Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.
+    Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,
+    For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
+    From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells;
+    Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural
+    Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
+    O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
+    O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!
+    Either, heav'n, with lightning strike the murd'rer dead;
+    Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
+    As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
+    Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered.
+  GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
+    Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.  
+  ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man:
+    No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
+  GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
+  ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
+  GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry.
+    Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
+    Of these supposed crimes to give me leave
+    By circumstance but to acquit myself.
+  ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
+    Of these known evils but to give me leave
+    By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self.
+  GLOUCESTER. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
+    Some patient leisure to excuse myself.
+  ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
+    No excuse current but to hang thyself.
+  GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself.
+  ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused
+    For doing worthy vengeance on thyself
+    That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
+  GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not?  
+  ANNE. Then say they were not slain.
+    But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
+  GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband.
+  ANNE. Why, then he is alive.
+  GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward's hands.
+  ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw
+    Thy murd'rous falchion smoking in his blood;
+    The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
+    But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
+  GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue
+    That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
+  ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
+    That never dream'st on aught but butcheries.
+    Didst thou not kill this king?
+  GLOUCESTER. I grant ye.
+  ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to
+    Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
+    O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!
+  GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath
+    him.  
+  ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.
+  GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him
+    thither,
+    For he was fitter for that place than earth.
+  ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
+  GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.
+  ANNE. Some dungeon.
+  GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber.
+  ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!
+  GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
+  ANNE. I hope so.
+  GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
+    To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
+    And fall something into a slower method-
+    Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
+    Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
+    As blameful as the executioner?
+  ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd effect.
+  GLOUCESTER. Your beauty was the cause of that effect-
+    Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep  
+    To undertake the death of all the world
+    So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
+  ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
+    These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
+  GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty's
+    wreck;
+    You should not blemish it if I stood by.
+    As all the world is cheered by the sun,
+    So I by that; it is my day, my life.
+  ANNE. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!
+  GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.
+  ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.
+  GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural,
+    To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.
+  ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
+    To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.
+  GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband
+    Did it to help thee to a better husband.
+  ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
+  GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could.  
+  ANNE. Name him.
+  GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet.
+  ANNE. Why, that was he.
+  GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature.
+  ANNE. Where is he?
+  GLOUCESTER. Here.  [She spits at him]  Why dost thou spit
+    at me?
+  ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!
+  GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place.
+  ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
+    Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
+  GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
+  ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead!
+  GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once;
+    For now they kill me with a living death.
+    Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
+    Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops-
+    These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,
+    No, when my father York and Edward wept
+    To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made  
+    When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him;
+    Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
+    Told the sad story of my father's death,
+    And twenty times made pause to sob and weep
+    That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks
+    Like trees bedash'd with rain-in that sad time
+    My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
+    And what these sorrows could not thence exhale
+    Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
+    I never sued to friend nor enemy;
+    My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;
+    But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
+    My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
+                                   [She looks scornfully at him]
+    Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
+    For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
+    If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
+    Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
+    Which if thou please to hide in this true breast
+    And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,  
+    I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
+    And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
+      [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword]
+    Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry-
+    But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
+    Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward-
+    But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
+                                           [She falls the sword]
+    Take up the sword again, or take up me.
+  ANNE. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,
+    I will not be thy executioner.
+  GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it;
+  ANNE. I have already.
+  GLOUCESTER. That was in thy rage.
+    Speak it again, and even with the word
+    This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,
+    Shall for thy love kill a far truer love;
+    To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
+  ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.
+  GLOUCESTER. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.  
+  ANNE. I fear me both are false.
+  GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true.
+  ANNE. well put up your sword.
+  GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made.
+  ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.
+  GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope?
+  ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.
+  GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
+  ANNE. To take is not to give.               [Puts on the ring]
+  GLOUCESTER. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger,
+    Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
+    Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
+    And if thy poor devoted servant may
+    But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
+    Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
+  ANNE. What is it?
+  GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs
+    To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,
+    And presently repair to Crosby House;
+    Where-after I have solemnly interr'd  
+    At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king,
+    And wet his grave with my repentant tears-
+    I will with all expedient duty see you.
+    For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
+    Grant me this boon.
+  ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too
+    To see you are become so penitent.
+    Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.
+  GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell.
+  ANNE. 'Tis more than you deserve;
+    But since you teach me how to flatter you,
+    Imagine I have said farewell already.
+                             Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE
+  GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse.
+  GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
+  GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming.
+                                       Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER
+    Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
+    Was ever woman in this humour won?
+    I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.  
+    What! I that kill'd her husband and his father-
+    To take her in her heart's extremest hate,
+    With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
+    The bleeding witness of my hatred by;
+    Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
+    And I no friends to back my suit at all
+    But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
+    And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
+    Ha!
+    Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
+    Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
+    Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
+    A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman-
+    Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,
+    Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal-
+    The spacious world cannot again afford;
+    And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
+    That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince
+    And made her widow to a woeful bed?
+    On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?  
+    On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?
+    My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
+    I do mistake my person all this while.
+    Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
+    Myself to be a marv'llous proper man.
+    I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
+    And entertain a score or two of tailors
+    To study fashions to adorn my body.
+    Since I am crept in favour with myself,
+    I will maintain it with some little cost.
+    But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave,
+    And then return lamenting to my love.
+    Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
+    That I may see my shadow as I pass.                     Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY
+
+  RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his Majesty
+    Will soon recover his accustom'd health.
+  GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse;
+    Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
+    And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on
+    me?
+  GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all
+    harms.
+  GREY. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son
+    To be your comforter when he is gone.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority
+    Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
+    A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
+  RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector?  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin'd, not concluded yet;
+    But so it must be, if the King miscarry.
+
+                     Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY
+
+  GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace!
+  DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord
+    of Derby,
+    To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.
+    Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife
+    And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd
+    I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
+  DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe
+    The envious slanders of her false accusers;
+    Or, if she be accus'd on true report,
+    Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds
+    From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of  
+    Derby?
+  DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I
+    Are come from visiting his Majesty.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment,
+    Lords?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks
+    cheerfully.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer
+    with him?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement
+    Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,
+    And between them and my Lord Chamberlain;
+    And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will
+    never be.
+    I fear our happiness is at the height.
+
+              Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET
+
+  GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.  
+    Who is it that complains unto the King
+    That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?
+    By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly
+    That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
+    Because I cannot flatter and look fair,
+    Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
+    Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
+    I must be held a rancorous enemy.
+    Cannot a plain man live and think no harm
+    But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
+    With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?
+  GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?
+  GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
+    When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong,
+    Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction?
+    A plague upon you all! His royal Grace-
+    Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-
+    Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while
+    But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the  
+    matter.
+    The King, on his own royal disposition
+    And not provok'd by any suitor else-
+    Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred
+    That in your outward action shows itself
+    Against my children, brothers, and myself-
+    Makes him to send that he may learn the ground.
+  GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad
+    That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
+    Since every Jack became a gentleman,
+    There's many a gentle person made a Jack.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning,
+    brother Gloucester:
+    You envy my advancement and my friends';
+    God grant we never may have need of you!
+  GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you.
+    Our brother is imprison'd by your means,
+    Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility
+    Held in contempt; while great promotions
+    Are daily given to ennoble those  
+    That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais'd me to this careful
+    height
+    From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
+    I never did incense his Majesty
+    Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
+    An earnest advocate to plead for him.
+    My lord, you do me shameful injury
+    Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
+  GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean
+    Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
+  RIVERS. She may, my lord; for-
+  GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows
+    not so?
+    She may do more, sir, than denying that:
+    She may help you to many fair preferments
+    And then deny her aiding hand therein,
+    And lay those honours on your high desert.
+    What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she-
+  RIVERS. What, marry, may she?  
+  GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,
+    A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.
+    Iwis your grandam had a worser match.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long
+    borne
+    Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.
+    By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty
+    Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd.
+    I had rather be a country servant-maid
+    Than a great queen with this condition-
+    To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at.
+
+                Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind
+
+    Small joy have I in being England's Queen.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. And less'ned be that small, God, I
+    beseech Him!
+    Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.
+  GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the
+    King?  
+    Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said
+    I will avouch't in presence of the King.
+    I dare adventure to be sent to th' Tow'r.
+    'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to
+    well:
+    Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,
+    And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband
+    King,
+    I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,
+    A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
+    A liberal rewarder of his friends;
+    To royalize his blood I spent mine own.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or
+    thine.
+  GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey
+    Were factious for the house of Lancaster;
+    And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband
+    In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain?  
+    Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
+    What you have been ere this, and what you are;
+    Withal, what I have been, and what I am.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.
+  GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick,
+    Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!-
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge!
+  GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward's party for the crown;
+    And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.
+    I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's,
+    Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine.
+    I am too childish-foolish for this world.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this
+    world,
+    Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is.
+  RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days
+    Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
+    We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king.
+    So should we you, if you should be our king.
+  GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar.  
+    Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
+    You should enjoy were you this country's king,
+    As little joy you may suppose in me
+    That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof;
+    For I am she, and altogether joyless.
+    I can no longer hold me patient.                 [Advancing]
+    Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
+    In sharing that which you have pill'd from me.
+    Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
+    If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects,
+    Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?
+    Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!
+  GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my
+    sight?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd,
+    That will I make before I let thee go.
+  GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in  
+    banishment
+    Than death can yield me here by my abode.
+    A husband and a son thou ow'st to me;
+    And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance.
+    This sorrow that I have by right is yours;
+    And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.
+  GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee,
+    When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper
+    And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
+    And then to dry them gav'st the Duke a clout
+    Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-
+    His curses then from bitterness of soul
+    Denounc'd against thee are all fall'n upon thee;
+    And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent.
+  HASTINGS. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
+    And the most merciless that e'er was heard of!
+  RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.
+  DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.  
+  QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came,
+    Ready to catch each other by the throat,
+    And turn you all your hatred now on me?
+    Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven
+    That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
+    Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment,
+    Should all but answer for that peevish brat?
+    Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
+    Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
+    Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
+    As ours by murder, to make him a king!
+    Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,
+    For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,
+    Die in his youth by like untimely violence!
+    Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
+    Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
+    Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's death,
+    And see another, as I see thee now,
+    Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
+    Long die thy happy days before thy death;  
+    And, after many length'ned hours of grief,
+    Die neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen!
+    Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,
+    And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son
+    Was stabb'd with bloody daggers. God, I pray him,
+    That none of you may live his natural age,
+    But by some unlook'd accident cut off!
+  GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd
+    hag.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou
+    shalt hear me.
+    If heaven have any grievous plague in store
+    Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
+    O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,
+    And then hurl down their indignation
+    On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
+    The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!
+    Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
+    And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
+    No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,  
+    Unless it be while some tormenting dream
+    Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
+    Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog,
+    Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
+    The slave of nature and the son of hell,
+    Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb,
+    Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins,
+    Thou rag of honour, thou detested-
+  GLOUCESTER. Margaret!
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Richard!
+  GLOUCESTER. Ha?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not.
+  GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think
+    That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply.
+    O, let me make the period to my curse!
+  GLOUCESTER. 'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath'd your curse
+    against yourself.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my  
+    fortune!
+    Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider
+    Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
+    Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
+    The day will come that thou shalt wish for me
+    To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back'd toad.
+  HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,
+    Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all
+    mov'd mine.
+  RIVERS. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your
+      duty.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me
+    duty,
+    Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects.
+    O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!
+  DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert;
+    Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.
+    O, that your young nobility could judge  
+    What 'twere to lose it and be miserable!
+    They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,
+    And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.
+  GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis.
+  DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high,
+    Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,
+    And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas!
+    Witness my son, now in the shade of death,
+    Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
+    Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
+    Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest.
+    O God that seest it, do not suffer it;
+    As it is won with blood, lost be it so!
+  BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity!
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me.
+    Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
+    And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd.
+    My charity is outrage, life my shame;  
+    And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!
+  BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy
+    hand
+    In sign of league and amity with thee.
+    Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!
+    Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,
+    Nor thou within the compass of my curse.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass
+    The lips of those that breathe them in the air.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky
+    And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
+    O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!
+    Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,
+    His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
+    Have not to do with him, beware of him;
+    Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him,
+    And all their ministers attend on him.
+  GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.  
+  QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle
+    counsel,
+    And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?
+    O, but remember this another day,
+    When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,
+    And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!
+    Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
+    And he to yours, and all of you to God's!               Exit
+  BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.
+  RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she's at liberty.
+  GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God's holy Mother,
+    She hath had too much wrong; and I repent
+    My part thereof that I have done to her.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge.
+  GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.
+    I was too hot to do somebody good
+    That is too cold in thinking of it now.
+    Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;
+    He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains;
+    God pardon them that are the cause thereof!  
+  RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,
+    To pray for them that have done scathe to us!
+  GLOUCESTER. So do I ever-  [Aside]  being well advis'd;
+    For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.
+
+                         Enter CATESBY
+
+  CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you,
+    And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go
+    with me?
+  RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace.
+                                       Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER
+  GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
+    The secret mischiefs that I set abroach
+    I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
+    Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,
+    I do beweep to many simple gulls;
+    Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham;
+    And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies  
+    That stir the King against the Duke my brother.
+    Now they believe it, and withal whet me
+    To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Grey;
+    But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture,
+    Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.
+    And thus I clothe my naked villainy
+    With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,
+    And seem a saint when most I play the devil.
+
+                       Enter two MURDERERS
+
+    But, soft, here come my executioners.
+    How now, my hardy stout resolved mates!
+    Are you now going to dispatch this thing?
+  FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the
+    warrant,
+    That we may be admitted where he is.
+  GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me.
+                                             [Gives the warrant]
+    When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.  
+    But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
+    Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
+    For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps
+    May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to
+    prate;
+    Talkers are no good doers. Be assur'd
+    We go to use our hands and not our tongues.
+  GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall
+    tears.
+    I like you, lads; about your business straight;
+    Go, go, dispatch.
+  FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+London. The Tower
+
+Enter CLARENCE and KEEPER
+
+  KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day?
+  CLARENCE. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
+    So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
+    That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
+    I would not spend another such a night
+    Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days-
+    So full of dismal terror was the time!
+  KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you
+    tell me.
+  CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower
+    And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
+    And in my company my brother Gloucester,
+    Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
+    Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England,
+    And cited up a thousand heavy times,
+    During the wars of York and Lancaster,
+    That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along  
+    Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
+    Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling
+    Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard
+    Into the tumbling billows of the main.
+    O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,
+    What dreadful noise of waters in my ears,
+    What sights of ugly death within my eyes!
+    Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks,
+    A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon,
+    Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
+    Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
+    All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea;
+    Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes
+    Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,
+    As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
+    That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep
+    And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatt'red by.
+  KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death
+    To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?
+  CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive  
+    To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood
+    Stopp'd in my soul and would not let it forth
+    To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;
+    But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
+    Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.
+  KEEPER. Awak'd you not in this sore agony?
+  CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life.
+    O, then began the tempest to my soul!
+    I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood
+    With that sour ferryman which poets write of,
+    Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
+    The first that there did greet my stranger soul
+    Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
+    Who spake aloud 'What scourge for perjury
+    Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
+    And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by
+    A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
+    Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud
+    'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
+    That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury.  
+    Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!'
+    With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
+    Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
+    Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,
+    I trembling wak'd, and for a season after
+    Could not believe but that I was in hell,
+    Such terrible impression made my dream.
+  KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
+    I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
+  CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things
+    That now give evidence against my soul
+    For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me!
+    O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,
+    But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
+    Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;
+    O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
+  KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile;
+    My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
+  KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.
+                                               [CLARENCE sleeps]  
+
+                  Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant
+
+  BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
+    Makes the night morning and the noontide night.
+    Princes have but their titles for their glories,
+    An outward honour for an inward toil;
+    And for unfelt imaginations
+    They often feel a world of restless cares,
+    So that between their tides and low name
+    There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
+
+                      Enter the two MURDERERS
+
+  FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who's here?
+  BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st
+    thou hither?
+  FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came
+    hither on my legs.
+  BRAKENBURY. What, so brief?  
+  SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let
+    him see our commission and talk no more.
+                                           [BRAKENBURY reads it]
+  BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver
+    The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.
+    I will not reason what is meant hereby,
+    Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.
+    There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys.
+    I'll to the King and signify to him
+    That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.
+  FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom. Fare
+    you well.                       Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER
+  SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?
+  FIRST MURDERER. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when
+    he wakes.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great
+    judgment-day.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him
+    sleeping.
+  SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath  
+    bred a kind of remorse in me.
+  FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid?
+  SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to
+    be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can
+    defend me.
+  FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute.
+  SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live.
+  FIRST MURDERER. I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester and
+    tell him so.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this
+    passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to
+    hold me but while one tells twenty.
+  FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now?
+    SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience
+    are yet within me.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed's
+    done.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Where's thy conscience now?
+  SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse!  
+  FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our
+    reward, thy conscience flies out.
+  SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few or
+    none will entertain it.
+  FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again?
+  SECOND MURDERER. I'll not meddle with it-it makes a man
+    coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man
+    cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his
+    neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shame-
+    fac'd spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man
+    full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold
+    that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.
+    It is turn'd out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;
+    and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust
+    to himself and live without it.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, 'tis even now at my elbow,
+    persuading me not to kill the Duke.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe
+    him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the
+    sigh.  
+  FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with
+    me.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy
+    reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?
+  FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of
+    thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the
+    next room.
+  SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of
+    him.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Strike!
+  FIRST MURDERER. No, we'll reason with him.
+  CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine.
+  SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord,
+    anon.
+  CLARENCE. In God's name, what art thou?
+  FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are.
+  CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal.
+  CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.  
+  FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King's, my looks
+    mine own.
+  CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
+    Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?
+    Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?
+  SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to-
+  CLARENCE. To murder me?
+  BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay.
+  CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
+    And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
+    Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?
+  FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King.
+  CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil'd to him again.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.
+  CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men
+    To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
+    Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?
+    What lawful quest have given their verdict up
+    Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc'd
+    The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?  
+    Before I be convict by course of law,
+    To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
+    I charge you, as you hope to have redemption
+    By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
+    That you depart and lay no hands on me.
+    The deed you undertake is damnable.
+  FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command.
+  SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our
+    King.
+  CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings
+    Hath in the tables of his law commanded
+    That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then
+    Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's?
+    Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand
+    To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
+  SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl
+    on thee
+    For false forswearing, and for murder too;
+    Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight
+    In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.  
+  FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God
+    Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade
+    Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sov'reign's son.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and
+    defend.
+  FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law
+    to us,
+    When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?
+  CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
+    For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.
+    He sends you not to murder me for this,
+    For in that sin he is as deep as I.
+    If God will be avenged for the deed,
+    O, know you yet He doth it publicly.
+    Take not the quarrel from His pow'rful arm;
+    He needs no indirect or lawless course
+    To cut off those that have offended Him.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister
+    When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,
+    That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?  
+  CLARENCE. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy
+    faults,
+    Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
+  CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me;
+    I am his brother, and I love him well.
+    If you are hir'd for meed, go back again,
+    And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
+    Who shall reward you better for my life
+    Than Edward will for tidings of my death.
+  SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv'd: your brother Gloucester
+    hates you.
+  CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.
+    Go you to him from me.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will.
+  CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York
+    Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm
+    And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,
+    He little thought of this divided friendship.
+    Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.  
+  FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep.
+  CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you
+    deceive yourself:
+    'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.
+    CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune
+    And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore with sobs
+    That he would labour my delivery.
+  FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
+    From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.
+  SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die,
+    my lord.
+  CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls
+    To counsel me to make my peace with God,
+    And are you yet to your own souls so blind
+    That you will war with God by murd'ring me?
+    O, sirs, consider: they that set you on
+    To do this deed will hate you for the deed.
+  SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do?
+  CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls.  
+  FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, 'tis cowardly and womanish.
+  CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.
+    Which of you, if you were a prince's son,
+    Being pent from liberty as I am now,
+    If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
+    Would not entreat for life?
+    My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;
+    O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
+    Come thou on my side and entreat for me-
+    As you would beg were you in my distress.
+    A begging prince what beggar pities not?
+  SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord.
+  FIRST MURDERER.  [Stabbing him]  Take that, and that. If all
+    this will not do,
+    I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.
+                                              Exit with the body
+  SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately
+    dispatch'd!
+    How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
+    Of this most grievous murder!  
+
+                       Re-enter FIRST MURDERER
+
+  FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean'st thou that thou
+    help'st me not?
+    By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have
+    been!
+  SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav'd his
+    brother!
+    Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;
+    For I repent me that the Duke is slain.                 Exit
+  FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.
+    Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole,
+    Till that the Duke give order for his burial;
+    And when I have my meed, I will away;
+    For this will out, and then I must not stay.            Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS,
+HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others
+
+  KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day's
+    work.
+    You peers, continue this united league.
+    I every day expect an embassage
+    From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;
+    And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven,
+    Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.
+    Hastings and Rivers, take each other's hand;
+    Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.
+  RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate;
+    And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.
+  HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!
+  KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king;
+    Lest He that is the supreme King of kings
+    Confound your hidden falsehood and award  
+    Either of you to be the other's end.
+  HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!
+  RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!
+  KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;
+    Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you:
+    You have been factious one against the other.
+    Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;
+    And what you do, do it unfeignedly.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more
+    remember
+    Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!
+  KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord
+    Marquis.
+  DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest,
+    Upon my part shall be inviolable.
+  HASTINGS. And so swear I.                       [They embrace]
+  KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this
+    league
+    With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
+    And make me happy in your unity.  
+  BUCKINGHAM.  [To the QUEEN]  Whenever Buckingham
+    doth turn his hate
+    Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love
+    Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me
+    With hate in those where I expect most love!
+    When I have most need to employ a friend
+    And most assured that he is a friend,
+    Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
+    Be he unto me! This do I beg of God
+    When I am cold in love to you or yours.
+                                                  [They embrace]
+  KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,
+    Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
+    There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here
+    To make the blessed period of this peace.
+  BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time,
+    Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke.
+
+                      Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF
+  
+  GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and
+    Queen;
+    And, princely peers, a happy time of day!
+  KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.
+    Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,
+    Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,
+    Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
+  GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.
+    Among this princely heap, if any here,
+    By false intelligence or wrong surmise,
+    Hold me a foe-
+    If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
+    Have aught committed that is hardly borne
+    To any in this presence, I desire
+    To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
+    'Tis death to me to be at enmity;
+    I hate it, and desire all good men's love.
+    First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,
+    Which I will purchase with my duteous service;
+    Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,  
+    If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us;
+    Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,
+    That all without desert have frown'd on me;
+    Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;
+    Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all.
+    I do not know that Englishman alive
+    With whom my soul is any jot at odds
+    More than the infant that is born to-night.
+    I thank my God for my humility.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.
+    I would to God all strifes were well compounded.
+    My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness
+    To take our brother Clarence to your grace.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off'red love for this,
+    To be so flouted in this royal presence?
+    Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?
+                                                [They all start]
+    You do him injury to scorn his corse.
+  KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows
+    he is?  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!
+  BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?
+  DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence
+    But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.
+  KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers'd.
+  GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died,
+    And that a winged Mercury did bear;
+    Some tardy cripple bare the countermand
+    That came too lag to see him buried.
+    God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
+    Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,
+    Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
+    And yet go current from suspicion!
+
+                           Enter DERBY
+
+  DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!
+  KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.
+  DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me.
+  KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests.  
+  DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;
+    Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman
+    Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
+  KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,
+    And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
+    My brother killed no man-his fault was thought,
+    And yet his punishment was bitter death.
+    Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,
+    Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd?
+    Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?
+    Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
+    The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?
+    Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury
+    When Oxford had me down, he rescued me
+    And said 'Dear Brother, live, and be a king'?
+    Who told me, when we both lay in the field
+    Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
+    Even in his garments, and did give himself,
+    All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?
+    All this from my remembrance brutish wrath  
+    Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
+    Had so much race to put it in my mind.
+    But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
+    Have done a drunken slaughter and defac'd
+    The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
+    You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
+    And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.        [DERBY rises]
+    But for my brother not a man would speak;
+    Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
+    For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
+    Have been beholding to him in his life;
+    Yet none of you would once beg for his life.
+    O God, I fear thy justice will take hold
+    On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!
+    Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!
+                                 Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN
+  GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark'd you not
+    How that the guilty kindred of the Queen
+    Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?
+    O, they did urge it still unto the King!  
+    God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go
+    To comfort Edward with our company?
+  BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE
+
+  SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?
+  DUCHESS. No, boy.
+  DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,
+    And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'?
+  SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
+    And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,
+    If that our noble father were alive?
+  DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;
+    I do lament the sickness of the King,
+    As loath to lose him, not your father's death;
+    It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.
+  SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.
+    The King mine uncle is to blame for it.
+    God will revenge it; whom I will importune
+    With earnest prayers all to that effect.
+  DAUGHTER. And so will I.  
+  DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you
+    well.
+    Incapable and shallow innocents,
+    You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death.
+  SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester
+    Told me the King, provok'd to it by the Queen,
+    Devis'd impeachments to imprison him.
+    And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
+    And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
+    Bade me rely on him as on my father,
+    And he would love me dearly as a child.
+  DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,
+    And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!
+    He is my son; ay, and therein my shame;
+    Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.
+  SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?
+  DUCHESS. Ay, boy.
+  SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?
+
+            Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her  
+                ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her
+
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and
+    weep,
+    To chide my fortune, and torment myself?
+    I'll join with black despair against my soul
+    And to myself become an enemy.
+  DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence.
+  EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.
+    Why grow the branches when the root is gone?
+    Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?
+    If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,
+    That our swift-winged souls may catch the King's,
+    Or like obedient subjects follow him
+    To his new kingdom of ne'er-changing night.
+  DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow
+    As I had title in thy noble husband!
+    I have bewept a worthy husband's death,
+    And liv'd with looking on his images;  
+    But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
+    Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,
+    And I for comfort have but one false glass,
+    That grieves me when I see my shame in him.
+    Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother
+    And hast the comfort of thy children left;
+    But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms
+    And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands-
+    Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I-
+    Thine being but a moiety of my moan-
+    To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?
+  SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death!
+    How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
+  DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd;
+    Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation;
+    I am not barren to bring forth complaints.
+    All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes
+    That I, being govern'd by the watery moon,
+    May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!  
+    Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!
+  CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!
+  DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he's
+    gone.
+  CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone.
+  DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss.
+  CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss.
+  DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss.
+    Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!
+    Their woes are parcell'd, mine is general.
+    She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:
+    I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she.
+    These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I:
+    I for an Edward weep, so do not they.
+    Alas, you three on me, threefold distress'd,
+    Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,
+    And I will pamper it with lamentation.
+  DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas'd  
+    That you take with unthankfulness his doing.
+    In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful
+    With dull unwillingness to repay a debt
+    Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
+    Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,
+    For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
+  RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,
+    Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him;
+    Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives.
+    Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,
+    And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.
+
+               Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY,
+                      HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause
+    To wail the dimming of our shining star;
+    But none can help our harms by wailing them.
+    Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;
+    I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee  
+    I crave your blessing.
+  DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,
+    Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!
+  GLOUCESTER. Amen!  [Aside]  And make me die a good old
+    man!
+    That is the butt end of a mother's blessing;
+    I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.
+  BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing
+    peers,
+    That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,
+    Now cheer each other in each other's love.
+    Though we have spent our harvest of this king,
+    We are to reap the harvest of his son.
+    The broken rancour of your high-swol'n hearts,
+    But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together,
+    Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept.
+    Me seemeth good that, with some little train,
+    Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet
+    Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.
+
+ RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of  
+    Buckingham?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude
+    The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out,
+    Which would be so much the more dangerous
+    By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd;
+    Where every horse bears his commanding rein
+    And may direct his course as please himself,
+    As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,
+    In my opinion, ought to be prevented.
+  GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us;
+    And the compact is firm and true in me.
+  RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an.
+    Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
+    To no apparent likelihood of breach,
+    Which haply by much company might be urg'd;
+    Therefore I say with noble Buckingham
+    That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.
+  HASTINGS. And so say I.
+  GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine
+    Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.  
+    Madam, and you, my sister, will you go
+    To give your censures in this business?
+                        Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER
+  BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,
+    For God sake, let not us two stay at home;
+    For by the way I'll sort occasion,
+    As index to the story we late talk'd of,
+    To part the Queen's proud kindred from the Prince.
+  GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel's consistory,
+    My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,
+    I, as a child, will go by thy direction.
+    Toward Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+London. A street
+
+Enter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other
+
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so
+    fast?
+  SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself.
+    Hear you the news abroad?
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the
+    better.
+    I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world.
+
+                        Enter another CITIZEN
+
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed!
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward's
+    death?
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!  
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous
+    world.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall
+    reign.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government,
+    Which, in his nonage, council under him,
+    And, in his full and ripened years, himself,
+    No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth
+    Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends,
+    God wot;
+    For then this land was famously enrich'd
+    With politic grave counsel; then the King
+    Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and
+    mother.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father,
+    Or by his father there were none at all;  
+    For emulation who shall now be nearest
+    Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.
+    O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!
+    And the Queen's sons and brothers haught and proud;
+    And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule,
+    This sickly land might solace as before.
+  FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be
+    well.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on
+    their cloaks;
+    When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
+    When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
+    Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.
+    All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
+    'Tis more than we deserve or I expect.
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear.
+    You cannot reason almost with a man
+    That looks not heavily and fun of dread.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so;
+    By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust  
+    Ensuing danger; as by proof we see
+    The water swell before a boist'rous storm.
+    But leave it all to God. Whither away?
+  SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.
+  THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I'll bear you company.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH,
+and the DUCHESS OF YORK
+
+  ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford,
+    And at Northampton they do rest to-night;
+    To-morrow or next day they will be here.
+  DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince.
+    I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York
+    Has almost overta'en him in his growth.
+  YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.
+  DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow.
+  YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,
+    My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
+    More than my brother. 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester
+    'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.'
+    And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
+    Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste.  
+  DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
+    In him that did object the same to thee.
+    He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,
+    So long a-growing and so leisurely
+    That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.
+  ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.
+  DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.
+  YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb'red,
+    I could have given my uncle's Grace a flout
+    To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.
+  DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.
+  YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast
+    That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old.
+    'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
+    Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.
+  DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this?
+  YORK. Grandam, his nurse.
+  DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast
+    born.
+  YORK. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too
+    shrewd.
+  ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears.
+
+                        Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news?
+  MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince?
+  MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health.
+  DUCHESS. What is thy news?
+  MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey
+    Are sent to Pomfret, and with them
+    Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.
+  DUCHESS. Who hath committed them?
+  MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.
+  ARCHBISHOP. For what offence?
+  MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd.
+    Why or for what the nobles were committed  
+    Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house!
+    The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind;
+    Insulting tyranny begins to jet
+    Upon the innocent and aweless throne.
+    Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!
+    I see, as in a map, the end of all.
+  DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,
+    How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
+    My husband lost his life to get the crown;
+    And often up and down my sons were toss'd
+    For me to joy and weep their gain and loss;
+    And being seated, and domestic broils
+    Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors
+    Make war upon themselves-brother to brother,
+    Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous
+    And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen,
+    Or let me die, to look on death no more!
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to
+    sanctuary.  
+    Madam, farewell.
+  DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause.
+  ARCHBISHOP.  [To the QUEEN]  My gracious lady, go.
+    And thither bear your treasure and your goods.
+    For my part, I'll resign unto your Grace
+    The seal I keep; and so betide to me
+    As well I tender you and all of yours!
+    Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1.
+
+London. A street
+
+The trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM,
+CATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your
+    chamber.
+  GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign.
+    The weary way hath made you melancholy.
+  PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way
+    Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy.
+    I want more uncles here to welcome me.
+  GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your
+    years
+    Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit;
+    Nor more can you distinguish of a man
+    Than of his outward show; which, God He knows,
+    Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.
+    Those uncles which you want were dangerous;
+    Your Grace attended to their sug'red words  
+    But look'd not on the poison of their hearts.
+    God keep you from them and from such false friends!
+  PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were
+    none.
+  GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet
+    you.
+
+                Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train
+
+  MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!
+  PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.
+    I thought my mother and my brother York
+    Would long ere this have met us on the way.
+    Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not
+    To tell us whether they will come or no!
+
+                        Enter LORD HASTINGS
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating
+    Lord.  
+  PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?
+  HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I,
+    The Queen your mother and your brother York
+    Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince
+    Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,
+    But by his mother was perforce withheld.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
+    Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace
+    Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York
+    Unto his princely brother presently?
+    If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him
+    And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.
+  CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory
+    Can from his mother win the Duke of York,
+    Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate
+    To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
+    We should infringe the holy privilege
+    Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land
+    Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.
+  BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,  
+    Too ceremonious and traditional.
+    Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,
+    You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
+    The benefit thereof is always granted
+    To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place
+    And those who have the wit to claim the place.
+    This Prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserv'd it,
+    And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.
+    Then, taking him from thence that is not there,
+    You break no privilege nor charter there.
+    Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;
+    But sanctuary children never till now.
+  CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o'errule my mind for once.
+    Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?
+  HASTINGS. I go, my lord.
+  PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.
+                                    Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS
+    Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,
+    Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?
+  GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self.  
+    If I may counsel you, some day or two
+    Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower,
+    Then where you please and shall be thought most fit
+    For your best health and recreation.
+  PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place.
+    Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?
+  BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,
+    Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.
+  PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported
+    Successively from age to age, he built it?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord.
+  PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist'red,
+    Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age,
+    As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,
+    Even to the general all-ending day.
+  GLOUCESTER.  [Aside]  So wise so young, they say, do never
+    live long.
+  PRINCE. What say you, uncle?
+  GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long.
+    [Aside]  Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,  
+    I moralize two meanings in one word.
+  PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man;
+    With what his valour did enrich his wit,
+    His wit set down to make his valour live.
+    Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
+    For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
+    I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham-
+  BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord?
+  PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man,
+    I'll win our ancient right in France again,
+    Or die a soldier as I liv'd a king.
+  GLOUCESTER.  [Aside]  Short summers lightly have a forward
+    spring.
+
+              Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of
+    York.
+  PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?
+  YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now.  
+  PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours.
+    Too late he died that might have kept that title,
+    Which by his death hath lost much majesty.
+  GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?
+  YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,
+    You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.
+    The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
+  GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord.
+  YORK. And therefore is he idle?
+  GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.
+  YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I.
+  GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign;
+    But you have power in me as in a kinsman.
+  YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.
+  GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart!
+  PRINCE. A beggar, brother?
+  YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,
+    And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.
+  GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.
+  YORK. A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it!  
+  GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.
+  YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts:
+    In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.
+  GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.
+  YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.
+  GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little
+    Lord?
+  YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me.
+  GLOUCESTER. How?
+  YORK. Little.
+  PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk.
+    Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.
+  YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me.
+    Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;
+    Because that I am little, like an ape,
+    He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.
+  BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!
+    To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle
+    He prettily and aptly taunts himself.
+    So cunning and so young is wonderful.  
+  GLOUCESTER. My lord, will't please you pass along?
+    Myself and my good cousin Buckingham
+    Will to your mother, to entreat of her
+    To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.
+  YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?
+  PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so.
+  YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.
+  GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear?
+  YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost.
+    My grandam told me he was murder'd there.
+  PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead.
+  GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope.
+  PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear.
+    But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,
+    Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.
+    A sennet.
+              Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY
+  BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York
+    Was not incensed by his subtle mother
+    To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?  
+  GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, 'tis a perilous boy;
+    Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.
+    He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.
+    Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend
+    As closely to conceal what we impart.
+    Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way.
+    What think'st thou? Is it not an easy matter
+    To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,
+    For the instalment of this noble Duke
+    In the seat royal of this famous isle?
+  CATESBY. He for his father's sake so loves the Prince
+    That he will not be won to aught against him.
+  BUCKINGHAM. What think'st thou then of Stanley? Will
+    not he?
+  CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle
+    Catesby,
+    And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings
+    How he doth stand affected to our purpose;  
+    And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,
+    To sit about the coronation.
+    If thou dost find him tractable to us,
+    Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons;
+    If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,
+    Be thou so too, and so break off the talk,
+    And give us notice of his inclination;
+    For we to-morrow hold divided councils,
+    Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.
+  GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him,
+    Catesby,
+    His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
+    To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle;
+    And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,
+    Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.
+  CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can.
+  GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?
+  CATESBY. You shall, my lord.
+  GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.  
+                                                    Exit CATESBY
+  BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we
+    perceive
+    Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?
+  GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will
+    determine.
+    And, look when I am King, claim thou of me
+    The earldom of Hereford and all the movables
+    Whereof the King my brother was possess'd.
+  BUCKINGHAM. I'll claim that promise at your Grace's hand.
+  GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.
+    Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards
+    We may digest our complots in some form.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+Before LORD HASTING'S house
+
+Enter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS
+
+  MESSENGER. My lord, my lord!                        [Knocking]
+  HASTINGS.  [Within]  Who knocks?
+  MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley.
+  HASTINGS.  [Within]  What is't o'clock?
+  MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four.
+
+                        Enter LORD HASTINGS
+
+  HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious
+    nights?
+  MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say.
+    First, he commends him to your noble self.
+  HASTINGS. What then?
+  MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night
+    He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm.
+    Besides, he says there are two councils kept,
+    And that may be determin'd at the one  
+    Which may make you and him to rue at th' other.
+    Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure-
+    If you will presently take horse with him
+    And with all speed post with him toward the north
+    To shun the danger that his soul divines.
+  HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;
+    Bid him not fear the separated council:
+    His honour and myself are at the one,
+    And at the other is my good friend Catesby;
+    Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us
+    Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
+    Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance;
+    And for his dreams, I wonder he's so simple
+    To trust the mock'ry of unquiet slumbers.
+    To fly the boar before the boar pursues
+    Were to incense the boar to follow us
+    And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.
+    Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;
+    And we will both together to the Tower,
+    Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.  
+  MESSENGER. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.
+ Exit
+
+                         Enter CATESBY
+
+  CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord!
+  HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring.
+    What news, what news, in this our tott'ring state?
+  CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord;
+    And I believe will never stand upright
+    Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.
+  HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the
+    crown?
+  CATESBY. Ay, my good lord.
+  HASTINGS. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my
+    shoulders
+    Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd.
+    But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?
+  CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward
+    Upon his party for the gain thereof;  
+    And thereupon he sends you this good news,
+    That this same very day your enemies,
+    The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.
+  HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
+    Because they have been still my adversaries;
+    But that I'll give my voice on Richard's side
+    To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
+    God knows I will not do it to the death.
+  CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!
+  HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence,
+    That they which brought me in my master's hate,
+    I live to look upon their tragedy.
+    Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,
+    I'll send some packing that yet think not on't.
+  CATESBY. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
+    When men are unprepar'd and look not for it.
+  HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out
+    With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so 'twill do
+    With some men else that think themselves as safe
+    As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear  
+    To princely Richard and to Buckingham.
+  CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you-
+    [Aside]  For they account his head upon the bridge.
+  HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it.
+
+                      Enter LORD STANLEY
+
+    Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?
+    Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?
+  STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby.
+    You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,
+    I do not like these several councils, I.
+  HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours,
+    And never in my days, I do protest,
+    Was it so precious to me as 'tis now.
+    Think you, but that I know our state secure,
+    I would be so triumphant as I am?
+  STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from
+    London,
+    Were jocund and suppos'd their states were sure,  
+    And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;
+    But yet you see how soon the day o'ercast.
+    This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt;
+    Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.
+    What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent.
+  HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my
+    Lord?
+    To-day the lords you talk'd of are beheaded.
+  STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their
+    heads
+    Than some that have accus'd them wear their hats.
+    But come, my lord, let's away.
+
+                 Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant
+
+  HASTINGS. Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.
+                                      Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY
+    How now, Hastings! How goes the world with thee?
+  PURSUIVANT. The better that your lordship please to ask.
+  HASTINGS. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now  
+    Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet:
+    Then was I going prisoner to the Tower
+    By the suggestion of the Queen's allies;
+    But now, I tell thee-keep it to thyself-
+    This day those enernies are put to death,
+    And I in better state than e'er I was.
+  PURSUIVANT. God hold it, to your honour's good content!
+  HASTINGS. Gramercy, Hastings; there, drink that for me.
+                                          [Throws him his purse]
+  PURSUIVANT. I thank your honour.                          Exit
+
+                            Enter a PRIEST
+
+  PRIEST. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.
+  HASTINGS. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.
+    I am in your debt for your last exercise;
+    Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.
+                                        [He whispers in his ear]
+  PRIEST. I'll wait upon your lordship.
+  
+                            Enter BUCKINGHAM
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. What, talking with a priest, Lord
+    Chamberlain!
+    Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest:
+    Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.
+  HASTINGS. Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
+    The men you talk of came into my mind.
+    What, go you toward the Tower?
+  BUCKINGHAM. I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there;
+    I shall return before your lordship thence.
+  HASTINGS. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.
+  BUCKINGHAM.  [Aside]  And supper too, although thou
+    knowest it not.-
+    Come, will you go?
+  HASTINGS. I'll wait upon your lordship.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+Pomfret Castle
+
+Enter SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying the Nobles,
+RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN, to death
+
+  RIVERS. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:
+    To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
+    For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.
+  GREY. God bless the Prince from all the pack of you!
+    A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.
+  VAUGHAN. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.
+  RATCLIFF. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.
+  RIVERS. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
+    Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
+    Within the guilty closure of thy walls
+  RICHARD the Second here was hack'd to death;
+    And for more slander to thy dismal seat,
+    We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.
+  GREY. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,
+    When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I,  
+    For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.
+  RIVERS. Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she
+    Buckingham,
+    Then curs'd she Hastings. O, remember, God,
+    To hear her prayer for them, as now for us!
+    And for my sister, and her princely sons,
+    Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
+    Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.
+  RATCLIFF. Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.
+  RIVERS. Come, Grey; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace.
+    Farewell, until we meet again in heaven.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4
+
+London. The Tower
+
+Enter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL,
+with others and seat themselves at a table
+
+  HASTINGS. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met
+    Is to determine of the coronation.
+    In God's name speak-when is the royal day?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Is all things ready for the royal time?
+  DERBY. It is, and wants but nomination.
+  BISHOP OF ELY. To-morrow then I judge a happy day.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Who knows the Lord Protector's mind
+    herein?
+    Who is most inward with the noble Duke?
+  BISHOP OF ELY. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know
+    his mind.
+  BUCKINGHAM. We know each other's faces; for our hearts,
+    He knows no more of mine than I of yours;
+    Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.
+    Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.  
+  HASTINGS. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well;
+    But for his purpose in the coronation
+    I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd
+    His gracious pleasure any way therein.
+    But you, my honourable lords, may name the time;
+    And in the Duke's behalf I'll give my voice,
+    Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.
+
+                       Enter GLOUCESTER
+
+  BISHOP OF ELY. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself.
+  GLOUCESTER. My noble lords and cousins an, good morrow.
+    I have been long a sleeper, but I trust
+    My absence doth neglect no great design
+    Which by my presence might have been concluded.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,
+  WILLIAM Lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part-
+    I mean, your voice for crowning of the King.
+  GLOUCESTER. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be
+    bolder;  
+    His lordship knows me well and loves me well.
+    My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn
+    I saw good strawberries in your garden there.
+    I do beseech you send for some of them.
+  BISHOP of ELY. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart.
+ Exit
+  GLOUCESTER. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.
+                                               [Takes him aside]
+    Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,
+    And finds the testy gentleman so hot
+    That he will lose his head ere give consent
+    His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it,
+    Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Withdraw yourself awhile; I'll go with you.
+                                Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM
+  DERBY. We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
+    To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden;
+    For I myself am not so well provided
+    As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.
+  
+                    Re-enter the BISHOP OF ELY
+
+  BISHOP OF ELY. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester?
+    I have sent for these strawberries.
+  HASTINGS. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this
+    morning;
+    There's some conceit or other likes him well
+    When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.
+    I think there's never a man in Christendom
+    Can lesser hide his love or hate than he;
+    For by his face straight shall you know his heart.
+  DERBY. What of his heart perceive you in his face
+    By any livelihood he show'd to-day?
+  HASTINGS. Marry, that with no man here he is offended;
+    For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.
+
+               Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM
+
+  GLOUCESTER. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve
+    That do conspire my death with devilish plots  
+    Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd
+    Upon my body with their hellish charms?
+  HASTINGS. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord,
+    Makes me most forward in this princely presence
+    To doom th' offenders, whosoe'er they be.
+    I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
+  GLOUCESTER. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.
+    Look how I am bewitch'd; behold, mine arm
+    Is like a blasted sapling wither'd up.
+    And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
+    Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,
+    That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
+  HASTINGS. If they have done this deed, my noble lord-
+  GLOUCESTER. If?-thou protector of this damned strumpet,
+    Talk'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor.
+    Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear
+    I will not dine until I see the same.
+    Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done.
+    The rest that love me, rise and follow me.
+                    Exeunt all but HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF  
+  HASTINGS. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;
+    For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
+  STANLEY did dream the boar did raze our helms,
+    And I did scorn it and disdain to fly.
+    Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
+    And started when he look'd upon the Tower,
+    As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
+    O, now I need the priest that spake to me!
+    I now repent I told the pursuivant,
+    As too triumphing, how mine enemies
+    To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,
+    And I myself secure in grace and favour.
+    O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
+    Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!
+  RATCLIFF. Come, come, dispatch; the Duke would be at
+    dinner.
+    Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.
+  HASTINGS. O momentary grace of mortal men,
+    Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
+    Who builds his hope in air of your good looks  
+    Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
+    Ready with every nod to tumble down
+    Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
+  LOVEL. Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.
+  HASTINGS. O bloody Richard! Miserable England!
+    I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee
+    That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.
+    Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.
+    They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+
+London. The Tower-walls
+
+Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM in rotten armour, marvellous ill-favoured
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change
+    thy colour,
+    Murder thy breath in middle of a word,
+    And then again begin, and stop again,
+    As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
+    Speak and look back, and pry on every side,
+    Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
+    Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks
+    Are at my service, like enforced smiles;
+    And both are ready in their offices
+    At any time to grace my stratagems.
+    But what, is Catesby gone?
+  GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.
+
+                 Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY  
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor-
+  GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there!
+  BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum.
+  GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o'erlook the walls.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent-
+  GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies.
+  BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us!
+
+           Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head
+
+  GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel.
+  LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
+    The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.
+  GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov'd the man that I must weep.
+    I took him for the plainest harmless creature
+    That breath'd upon the earth a Christian;
+    Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded
+    The history of all her secret thoughts.
+    So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue  
+    That, his apparent open guilt omitted,
+    I mean his conversation with Shore's wife-
+    He liv'd from all attainder of suspects.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelt'red
+    traitor
+    That ever liv'd.
+    Would you imagine, or almost believe-
+    Were't not that by great preservation
+    We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor
+    This day had plotted, in the council-house,
+    To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester.
+  MAYOR. Had he done so?
+  GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?
+    Or that we would, against the form of law,
+    Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death
+    But that the extreme peril of the case,
+    The peace of England and our persons' safety,
+    Enforc'd us to this execution?
+  MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv'd his death;
+    And your good Graces both have well proceeded  
+    To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
+    I never look'd for better at his hands
+    After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin'd he should die
+    Until your lordship came to see his end-
+    Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
+    Something against our meanings, have prevented-
+    Because, my lord, I would have had you heard
+    The traitor speak, and timorously confess
+    The manner and the purpose of his treasons:
+    That you might well have signified the same
+    Unto the citizens, who haply may
+    Misconster us in him and wail his death.
+  MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace's words shall serve
+    As well as I had seen and heard him speak;
+    And do not doubt, right noble Princes both,
+    But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
+    With all your just proceedings in this cause.
+  GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here,
+    T' avoid the the the censures of the carping world.  
+  BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent,
+    Yet witness what you hear we did intend.
+    And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.
+                                                 Exit LORD MAYOR
+  GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
+    The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post.
+    There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,
+    Infer the bastardy of Edward's children.
+    Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen
+    Only for saying he would make his son
+    Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house,
+    Which by the sign thereof was termed so.
+    Moreover, urge his hateful luxury
+    And bestial appetite in change of lust,
+    Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives,
+    Even where his raging eye or savage heart
+    Without control lusted to make a prey.
+    Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:
+    Tell them, when that my mother went with child
+    Of that insatiate Edward, noble York  
+    My princely father then had wars in France
+    And, by true computation of the time,
+    Found that the issue was not his begot;
+    Which well appeared in his lineaments,
+    Being nothing like the noble Duke my father.
+    Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off;
+    Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator
+    As if the golden fee for which I plead
+    Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu.
+  GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's
+    Castle;
+    Where you shall find me well accompanied
+    With reverend fathers and well learned bishops.
+  BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o'clock
+    Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.           Exit
+  GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw.
+    [To CATESBY]  Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both
+    Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.
+                                       Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER  
+    Now will I go to take some privy order
+    To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,
+    And to give order that no manner person
+    Have any time recourse unto the Princes.                Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 6.
+
+London. A street
+
+Enter a SCRIVENER
+
+  SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
+    Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd
+    That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's.
+    And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
+    Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,
+    For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;
+    The precedent was full as long a-doing;
+    And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd,
+    Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty.
+    Here's a good world the while! Who is so gros
+    That cannot see this palpable device?
+    Yet who's so bold but says he sees it not?
+    Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
+    When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.          Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 7.
+
+London. Baynard's Castle
+
+Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors
+
+  GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord,
+    The citizens are mum, say not a word.
+  GLOUCESTER. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's
+    children?
+  BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
+    And his contract by deputy in France;
+    Th' insatiate greediness of his desire,
+    And his enforcement of the city wives;
+    His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
+    As being got, your father then in France,
+    And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.
+    Withal I did infer your lineaments,
+    Being the right idea of your father,
+    Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
+    Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
+    Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,  
+    Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;
+    Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose
+    Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse.
+    And when mine oratory drew toward end
+    I bid them that did love their country's good
+    Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal King!'
+  GLOUCESTER. And did they so?
+  BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
+    But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,
+    Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale.
+    Which when I saw, I reprehended them,
+    And ask'd the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence.
+    His answer was, the people were not used
+    To be spoke to but by the Recorder.
+    Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again.
+    'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd'-
+    But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
+    When he had done, some followers of mine own
+    At lower end of the hall hurl'd up their caps,
+    And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!'  
+    And thus I took the vantage of those few-
+    'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I
+    'This general applause and cheerful shout
+    Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.'
+    And even here brake off and came away.
+  GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would
+    they not speak?
+    Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?
+  BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;
+    Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit;
+    And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
+    And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;
+    For on that ground I'll make a holy descant;
+    And be not easily won to our requests.
+    Play the maid's part: still answer nay, and take it.
+  GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them
+    As I can say nay to thee for myself,
+    No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor
+    knocks.                                      Exit GLOUCESTER  
+
+           Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens
+
+    Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here;
+    I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.
+
+                         Enter CATESBY
+
+    Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request?
+  CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,
+    To visit him to-morrow or next day.
+    He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
+    Divinely bent to meditation;
+    And in no worldly suits would he be mov'd,
+    To draw him from his holy exercise.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;
+    Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen,
+    In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
+    No less importing than our general good,
+    Are come to have some conference with his Grace.  
+  CATESBY. I'll signify so much unto him straight.          Exit
+  BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
+    He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,
+    But on his knees at meditation;
+    Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
+    But meditating with two deep divines;
+    Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
+    But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.
+    Happy were England would this virtuous prince
+    Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof;
+    But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it.
+  MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay!
+  BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.
+
+                          Re-enter CATESBY
+
+    Now, Catesby, what says his Grace?
+  CATESBY. My lord,
+    He wonders to what end you have assembled
+    Such troops of citizens to come to him.  
+    His Grace not being warn'd thereof before,
+    He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should
+    Suspect me that I mean no good to him.
+    By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;
+    And so once more return and tell his Grace.
+                                                    Exit CATESBY
+    When holy and devout religious men
+    Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence,
+    So sweet is zealous contemplation.
+
+           Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS.
+                      CATESBY returns
+
+  MAYOR. See where his Grace stands 'tween two clergymen!
+  BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,
+    To stay him from the fall of vanity;
+    And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
+    True ornaments to know a holy man.
+    Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,  
+    Lend favourable ear to our requests,
+    And pardon us the interruption
+    Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.
+  GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology:
+    I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,
+    Who, earnest in the service of my God,
+    Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.
+    But, leaving this, what is your Grace's pleasure?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
+    And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.
+  GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence
+    That seems disgracious in the city's eye,
+    And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
+  BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please
+    your Grace,
+    On our entreaties, to amend your fault!
+  GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign
+    The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
+    The scept'red office of your ancestors,  
+    Your state of fortune and your due of birth,
+    The lineal glory of your royal house,
+    To the corruption of a blemish'd stock;
+    Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
+    Which here we waken to our country's good,
+    The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
+    Her face defac'd with scars of infamy,
+    Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
+    And almost should'red in the swallowing gulf
+    Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.
+    Which to recure, we heartily solicit
+    Your gracious self to take on you the charge
+    And kingly government of this your land-
+    Not as protector, steward, substitute,
+    Or lowly factor for another's gain;
+    But as successively, from blood to blood,
+    Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
+    For this, consorted with the citizens,
+    Your very worshipful and loving friends,
+    And by their vehement instigation,  
+    In this just cause come I to move your Grace.
+  GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence
+    Or bitterly to speak in your reproof
+    Best fitteth my degree or your condition.
+    If not to answer, you might haply think
+    Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
+    To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
+    Which fondly you would here impose on me;
+    If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
+    So season'd with your faithful love to me,
+    Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.
+    Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first,
+    And then, in speaking, not to incur the last-
+    Definitively thus I answer you:
+    Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert
+    Unmeritable shuns your high request.
+    First, if all obstacles were cut away,
+    And that my path were even to the crown,
+    As the ripe revenue and due of birth,
+    Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,  
+    So mighty and so many my defects,
+    That I would rather hide me from my greatness-
+    Being a bark to brook no mighty sea-
+    Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
+    And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
+    But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me-
+    And much I need to help you, were there need.
+    The royal tree hath left us royal fruit
+    Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
+    Will well become the seat of majesty
+    And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
+    On him I lay that you would lay on me-
+    The right and fortune of his happy stars,
+    Which God defend that I should wring from him.
+  BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your
+    Grace;
+    But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
+    All circumstances well considered.
+    You say that Edward is your brother's son.
+    So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;  
+    For first was he contract to Lady Lucy-
+    Your mother lives a witness to his vow-
+    And afterward by substitute betroth'd
+    To Bona, sister to the King of France.
+    These both put off, a poor petitioner,
+    A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,
+    A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
+    Even in the afternoon of her best days,
+    Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
+    Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree
+    To base declension and loath'd bigamy.
+    By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
+    This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.
+    More bitterly could I expostulate,
+    Save that, for reverence to some alive,
+    I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
+    Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
+    This proffer'd benefit of dignity;
+    If not to bless us and the land withal,
+    Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry  
+    From the corruption of abusing times
+    Unto a lineal true-derived course.
+  MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.
+  CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!
+  GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me?
+    I am unfit for state and majesty.
+    I do beseech you, take it not amiss:
+    I cannot nor I will not yield to you.
+  BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal,
+    Loath to depose the child, your brother's son;
+    As well we know your tenderness of heart
+    And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
+    Which we have noted in you to your kindred
+    And egally indeed to all estates-
+    Yet know, whe'er you accept our suit or no,
+    Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
+    But we will plant some other in the throne
+    To the disgrace and downfall of your house;
+    And in this resolution here we leave you.  
+    Come, citizens. Zounds, I'll entreat no more.
+  GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.
+                          Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens
+  CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit.
+    If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
+  GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?
+    Call them again. I am not made of stones,
+    But penetrable to your kind entreaties,
+    Albeit against my conscience and my soul.
+
+                  Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest
+
+    Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men,
+    Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
+    To bear her burden, whe'er I will or no,
+    I must have patience to endure the load;
+    But if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach
+    Attend the sequel of your imposition,
+    Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
+    From all the impure blots and stains thereof;  
+    For God doth know, and you may partly see,
+    How far I am from the desire of this.
+  MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it.
+  GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title-
+    Long live King Richard, England's worthy King!
+  ALL. Amen.
+  BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd?
+  GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so.
+  BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace;
+    And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.
+  GLOUCESTER.  [To the BISHOPS]  Come, let us to our holy
+    work again.
+    Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1.
+
+London. Before the Tower
+
+Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one door;
+ANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET,
+CLARENCE's young daughter, at another door
+
+  DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet,
+    Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
+    Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,
+    On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes.
+    Daughter, well met.
+  ANNE. God give your Graces both
+    A happy and a joyful time of day!
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither
+    away?
+  ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,
+    Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
+    To gratulate the gentle Princes there.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter  
+    all together.
+
+                       Enter BRAKENBURY
+
+    And in good time, here the lieutenant comes.
+    Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
+    How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?
+  BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience,
+    I may not suffer you to visit them.
+    The King hath strictly charg'd the contrary.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who's that?
+  BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly
+    title!
+    Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
+    I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?
+  DUCHESS. I am their father's mother; I will see them.
+  ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.
+    Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame,
+    And take thy office from thee on my peril.  
+  BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so;
+    I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.            Exit
+
+                         Enter STANLEY
+
+  STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
+    And I'll salute your Grace of York as mother
+    And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.
+    [To ANNE]  Come, madam, you must straight to
+    Westminster,
+    There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder
+    That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,
+    Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!
+  ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
+  DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee
+    gone!
+    Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels;
+    Thy mother's name is ominous to children.  
+    If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
+    And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
+    Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
+    Lest thou increase the number of the dead,
+    And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,
+    Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.
+  STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
+    Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
+    You shall have letters from me to my son
+    In your behalf, to meet you on the way.
+    Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.
+  DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
+    O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
+    A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
+    Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
+  STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.
+  ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go.
+    O, would to God that the inclusive verge
+    Of golden metal that must round my brow
+    Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains!  
+    Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
+    And die ere men can say 'God save the Queen!'
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.
+    To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
+  ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now
+    Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse;
+    When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands
+    Which issued from my other angel husband,
+    And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd-
+    O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
+    This was my wish: 'Be thou' quoth I 'accurs'd
+    For making me, so young, so old a widow;
+    And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
+    And be thy wife, if any be so mad,
+    More miserable by the life of thee
+    Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death.'
+    Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
+    Within so small a time, my woman's heart
+    Grossly grew captive to his honey words
+    And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse,  
+    Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;
+    For never yet one hour in his bed
+    Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
+    But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
+    Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
+    And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.
+  ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
+  DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!
+  ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!
+  DUCHESS.  [To DORSET]  Go thou to Richmond, and good
+    fortune guide thee!
+    [To ANNE]  Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend
+    thee!  [To QUEEN ELIZABETH]  Go thou to sanctuary, and good
+    thoughts possess thee!
+    I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
+    Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
+    And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the
+    Tower.  
+    Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
+    Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls,
+    Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.
+    Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
+    For tender princes, use my babies well.
+    So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Sound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY,
+RATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others
+
+  KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!
+  BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign?
+  KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand.
+                           [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound]
+    Thus high, by thy advice
+    And thy assistance, is King Richard seated.
+    But shall we wear these glories for a day;
+    Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last!
+  KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
+    To try if thou be current gold indeed.
+    Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.  
+  KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? 'Tis so; but Edward lives.
+  BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince.
+  KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence:
+    That Edward still should live-true noble Prince!
+    Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.
+    Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead.
+    And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
+    What say'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure.
+  KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.
+    Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause,
+    dear Lord,
+    Before I positively speak in this.
+    I will resolve you herein presently.                    Exit
+  CATESBY.  [Aside to another]  The King is angry; see, he
+    gnaws his lip.
+  KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools
+                                      [Descends from the throne]
+    And unrespective boys; none are for me  
+    That look into me with considerate eyes.
+    High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
+    Boy!
+  PAGE. My lord?
+  KING RICHARD. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting
+    gold
+    Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?
+  PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman
+    Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.
+    Gold were as good as twenty orators,
+    And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.
+  KING RICHARD. What is his name?
+  PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.
+  KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither,
+    boy.                                               Exit PAGE
+    The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
+    No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels.
+    Hath he so long held out with me, untir'd,
+    And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.
+  
+                            Enter STANLEY
+
+    How now, Lord Stanley! What's the news?
+  STANLEY. Know, my loving lord,
+    The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
+    To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.    [Stands apart]
+  KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad
+    That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;
+    I will take order for her keeping close.
+    Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,
+    Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter-
+    The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
+    Look how thou dream'st! I say again, give out
+    That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die.
+    About it; for it stands me much upon
+    To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
+                                                    Exit CATESBY
+    I must be married to my brother's daughter,
+    Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
+    Murder her brothers, and then marry her!  
+    Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
+    So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.
+    Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
+
+                     Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL
+
+    Is thy name Tyrrel?
+  TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.
+  KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed?
+  TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Dar'st'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
+  TYRREL. Please you;
+    But I had rather kill two enemies.
+  KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies,
+    Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,
+    Are they that I would have thee deal upon.
+  TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
+  TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them,
+    And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
+  KING RICHARD. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come  
+    hither, Tyrrel.
+    Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear.      [Whispers]
+    There is no more but so: say it is done,
+    And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.
+  TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight.                      Exit
+
+                    Re-enter BUCKINGHAM
+
+    BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
+    The late request that you did sound me in.
+  KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to
+    Richmond.
+  BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife's son: well, look
+    unto it.
+  BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,
+    For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd:
+    Th' earldom of Hereford and the movables
+    Which you have promised I shall possess.
+  KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey  
+    Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
+  BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request?
+  KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth
+    Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,
+    When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
+    A king!-perhaps-
+  BUCKINGHAM. My lord-
+  KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that
+    time
+    Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
+  BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom-
+  KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
+    The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle
+    And call'd it Rugemount, at which name I started,
+    Because a bard of Ireland told me once
+    I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
+  BUCKINGHAM. My lord-
+  KING RICHARD. Ay, what's o'clock?
+  BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind
+    Of what you promis'd me.  
+  KING RICHARD. Well, but o'clock?
+  BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten.
+  KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike?
+  KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep'st the
+    stroke
+    Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
+    I am not in the giving vein to-day.
+  BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit.
+  KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.
+                                       Exeunt all but Buckingham
+  BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service
+    With such contempt? Made I him King for this?
+    O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
+    To Brecknock while my fearful head is on!               Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+London. The palace
+
+Enter TYRREL
+
+  TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done,
+    The most arch deed of piteous massacre
+    That ever yet this land was guilty of.
+    Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn
+    To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
+    Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
+    Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,
+    Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story.
+    'O, thus' quoth Dighton 'lay the gentle babes'-
+    'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest 'girdling one another
+    Within their alabaster innocent arms.
+    Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
+    And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
+    A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
+    Which once,' quoth Forrest 'almost chang'd my mind;
+    But, O, the devil'-there the villain stopp'd;
+    When Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered  
+    The most replenished sweet work of nature
+    That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
+    Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse
+    They could not speak; and so I left them both,
+    To bear this tidings to the bloody King.
+
+                        Enter KING RICHARD
+
+    And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!
+  KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
+  TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
+    Beget your happiness, be happy then,
+    For it is done.
+  KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead?
+  TYRREL. I did, my lord.
+  KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
+  TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
+    But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
+  KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
+    When thou shalt tell the process of their death.  
+    Meantime, but think how I may do thee good
+    And be inheritor of thy desire.
+    Farewell till then.
+  TYRREL. I humbly take my leave.                           Exit
+  KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
+    His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
+    The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
+    And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.
+    Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims
+    At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
+    And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,
+    To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.
+
+                           Enter RATCLIFF
+
+  RATCLIFF. My lord!
+  KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so
+    bluntly?
+  RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;
+    And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,  
+    Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
+  KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
+    Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
+    Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting
+    Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
+    Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary.
+    Then fiery expedition be my wing,
+    Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
+    Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.
+    We must be brief when traitors brave the field.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+London. Before the palace
+
+Enter old QUEEN MARGARET
+
+  QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow
+    And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
+    Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd
+    To watch the waning of mine enemies.
+    A dire induction am I witness to,
+    And will to France, hoping the consequence
+    Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
+    Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?
+                                                       [Retires]
+
+           Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK
+
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender
+    babes!
+    My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
+    If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
+    And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,  
+    Hover about me with your airy wings
+    And hear your mother's lamentation.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right
+    Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.
+  DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz'd my voice
+    That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
+    Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,
+    Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle
+    lambs
+    And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
+    When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?
+  QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet
+    son.
+  DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,
+    Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,
+    Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
+    Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,    [Sitting down]
+    Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a
+    grave
+    As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
+    Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
+    Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?
+                                           [Sitting down by her]
+  QUEEN MARGARET.  [Coming forward]  If ancient sorrow be
+    most reverend,
+    Give mine the benefit of seniory,
+    And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
+    If sorrow can admit society,        [Sitting down with them]
+    Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine.
+    I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
+    I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:
+    Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
+    Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.
+  DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
+    I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard
+    kill'd him.  
+    From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
+    A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.
+    That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes
+    To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,
+    That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
+    That excellent grand tyrant of the earth
+    That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
+    Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.
+    O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
+    How do I thank thee that this carnal cur
+    Preys on the issue of his mother's body
+    And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!
+  DUCHESS. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!
+    God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
+    And now I cloy me with beholding it.
+    Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
+    The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
+    Young York he is but boot, because both they
+    Match'd not the high perfection of my loss.  
+    Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward;
+    And the beholders of this frantic play,
+    Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
+    Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
+    Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
+    Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls
+    And send them thither. But at hand, at hand,
+    Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.
+    Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,
+    To have him suddenly convey'd from hence.
+    Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
+    That I may live and say 'The dog is dead.'
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would
+      come
+    That I should wish for thee to help me curse
+    That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!
+  QUEEN MARGARET. I Call'd thee then vain flourish of my
+      fortune;
+    I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen,
+    The presentation of but what I was,  
+    The flattering index of a direful pageant,
+    One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below,
+    A mother only mock'd with two fair babes,
+    A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag
+    To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
+    A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,
+    A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
+    Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?
+    Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?
+    Who sues, and kneels, and says 'God save the Queen'?
+    Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?
+    Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?
+    Decline an this, and see what now thou art:
+    For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
+    For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
+    For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues;
+    For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
+    For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
+    For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
+    For she commanding all, obey'd of none.  
+    Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about
+    And left thee but a very prey to time,
+    Having no more but thought of what thou wast
+    To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
+    Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
+    Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
+    Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke,
+    From which even here I slip my weary head
+    And leave the burden of it all on thee.
+    Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance;
+    These English woes shall make me smile in France.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile
+    And teach me how to curse mine enemies!
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the
+      days;
+    Compare dead happiness with living woe;
+    Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,
+    And he that slew them fouler than he is.
+    Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;
+    Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them
+    with thine!
+  QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and
+    pierce like mine.                                       Exit
+  DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes,
+    Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
+    Poor breathing orators of miseries,
+    Let them have scope; though what they will impart
+    Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart.
+  DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,
+    And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
+    My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd.
+    The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims.
+
+         Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with
+                     drums and trumpets
+
+  KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition?
+  DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee,  
+    By strangling thee in her accursed womb,
+    From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden
+    crown
+    Where't should be branded, if that right were right,
+    The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown,
+    And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?
+    Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?
+  DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother
+    Clarence?
+    And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan,
+    Grey?
+  DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings?
+  KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!
+    Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
+    Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say!
+                                             [Flourish. Alarums]
+    Either be patient and entreat me fair,
+    Or with the clamorous report of war  
+    Thus will I drown your exclamations.
+  DUCHESS. Art thou my son?
+  KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
+  DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience.
+  KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition
+    That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
+  DUCHESS. O, let me speak!
+  KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I'll not hear.
+  DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words.
+  KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.
+  DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,
+    God knows, in torment and in agony.
+  KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you?
+  DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well
+    Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
+    A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
+    Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
+    Thy school-days frightful, desp'rate, wild, and furious;
+    Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;
+    Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,  
+    More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred.
+    What comfortable hour canst thou name
+    That ever grac'd me with thy company?
+  KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
+    your Grace
+    To breakfast once forth of my company.
+    If I be so disgracious in your eye,
+    Let me march on and not offend you, madam.
+    Strike up the drum.
+  DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak.
+  KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly.
+  DUCHESS. Hear me a word;
+    For I shall never speak to thee again.
+  KING RICHARD. So.
+  DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance
+    Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
+    Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
+    And never more behold thy face again.
+    Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,
+    Which in the day of battle tire thee more  
+    Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
+    My prayers on the adverse party fight;
+    And there the little souls of Edward's children
+    Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
+    And promise them success and victory.
+    Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.
+    Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.        Exit
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less
+      spirit to curse
+    Abides in me; I say amen to her.
+  KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood
+    For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,
+    They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
+    And therefore level not to hit their lives.
+  KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth.
+    Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her
+      live,
+    And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,  
+    Slander myself as false to Edward's bed,
+    Throw over her the veil of infamy;
+    So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
+    I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
+  KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal
+    Princess.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I'll say she is not so.
+  KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her
+      brothers.
+  KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were
+      contrary.
+  KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.
+    My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
+    If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
+  KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle
+      cozen'd  
+    Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
+    Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
+    Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction.
+    No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt
+    Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart
+    To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
+    But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame,
+    My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
+    Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
+    And I, in such a desp'rate bay of death,
+    Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
+    Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
+  KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
+    And dangerous success of bloody wars,
+    As I intend more good to you and yours
+    Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover'd with the face of
+      heaven,
+    To be discover'd, that can do me good?
+  KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle  
+    lady.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their
+    heads?
+  KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune,
+    The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it;
+    Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
+    Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
+  KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all
+    Will I withal endow a child of thine;
+    So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
+    Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
+    Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
+      kindness
+    Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
+  KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy
+    daughter.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
+    soul.  
+  KING RICHARD. What do you think?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from
+      thy soul.
+    So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers,
+    And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.
+  KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.
+    I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter
+    And do intend to make her Queen of England.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be
+    her king?
+  KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else
+    should be?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou?
+  KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it?
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her?
+  KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you,
+    As one being best acquainted with her humour.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me?
+  KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her  
+    brothers,
+    A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave
+    'Edward' and 'York.' Then haply will she weep;
+    Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret
+    Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood-
+    A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
+    The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
+    And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
+    If this inducement move her not to love,
+    Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
+    Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
+    Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake
+    Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
+  KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way
+    To win your daughter.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way;
+    Unless thou couldst put on some other shape
+    And not be Richard that hath done all this.
+  KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but  
+      hate thee,
+    Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
+  KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended.
+    Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
+    Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.
+    If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
+    To make amends I'll give it to your daughter.
+    If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
+    To quicken your increase I will beget
+    Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
+    A grandam's name is little less in love
+    Than is the doating title of a mother;
+    They are as children but one step below,
+    Even of your metal, of your very blood;
+    Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
+    Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
+    Your children were vexation to your youth;
+    But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
+    The loss you have is but a son being King,
+    And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.  
+    I cannot make you what amends I would,
+    Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
+    Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
+    Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
+    This fair alliance quickly shall can home
+    To high promotions and great dignity.
+    The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,
+    Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
+    Again shall you be mother to a king,
+    And all the ruins of distressful times
+    Repair'd with double riches of content.
+    What! we have many goodly days to see.
+    The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
+    Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,
+    Advantaging their loan with interest
+    Of ten times double gain of happiness.
+    Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
+    Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
+    Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
+    Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame  
+    Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes
+    With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.
+    And when this arm of mine hath chastised
+    The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
+    Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
+    And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
+    To whom I will retail my conquest won,
+    And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar's Caesar.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father's
+      brother
+    Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?
+    Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
+    Under what title shall I woo for thee
+    That God, the law, my honour, and her love
+    Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
+  KING RICHARD. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with
+    still-lasting war.
+  KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command,
+    entreats.  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King's
+    King forbids.
+  KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
+  KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title 'ever' last?
+  KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life
+    last?
+  KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it.
+  KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such
+    sovereignty.
+  KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly
+    told.
+  KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
+  KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and
+      dead-
+    Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.
+  KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings
+    break.
+  KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my
+    crown-
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third
+    usurp'd.
+  KING RICHARD. I swear-
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath:
+    Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour;
+    Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
+    Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory.
+    If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd,
+    Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.
+  KING RICHARD. Then, by my self-
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus'd.
+  KING RICHARD. Now, by the world-  
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
+  KING RICHARD. My father's death-
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour'd.
+  KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God-
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. God's wrong is most of all.
+    If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,
+    The unity the King my husband made
+    Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.
+    If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
+    Th' imperial metal, circling now thy head,
+    Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
+    And both the Princes had been breathing here,
+    Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,
+    Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms.
+    What canst thou swear by now?
+  KING RICHARD. The time to come.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time
+    o'erpast;
+    For I myself have many tears to wash
+    Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.  
+    The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd,
+    Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;
+    The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed,
+    Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.
+    Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
+    Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast.
+  KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent,
+    So thrive I in my dangerous affairs
+    Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!
+    Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
+    Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
+    Be opposite all planets of good luck
+    To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart's love,
+    Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
+    I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.
+    In her consists my happiness and thine;
+    Without her, follows to myself and thee,
+    Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,
+    Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.
+    It cannot be avoided but by this;  
+    It will not be avoided but by this.
+    Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so-
+    Be the attorney of my love to her;
+    Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
+    Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.
+    Urge the necessity and state of times,
+    And be not peevish-fond in great designs.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
+  KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself?
+  KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong
+    yourself.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children.
+  KING RICHARD. But in your daughter's womb I bury them;
+    Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed
+    Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
+  KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed.
+  QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly,
+    And you shall understand from me her mind.  
+  KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.
+                               Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH
+    Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!
+
+                 Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following
+
+    How now! what news?
+  RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast
+    Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores
+    Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
+    Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back.
+    'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
+    And there they hull, expecting but the aid
+    Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.
+  KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of
+    Norfolk.
+    Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he?
+  CATESBY. Here, my good lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke.
+  CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste.  
+  KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury;
+    When thou com'st thither-  [To CATESBY]  Dull,
+    unmindfull villain,
+    Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke?
+  CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure,
+    What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.
+  KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight
+    The greatest strength and power that he can make
+    And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
+  CATESBY. I go.                                            Exit
+  RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?
+  KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I
+    go?
+  RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before.
+  KING RICHARD. My mind is chang'd.
+
+                           Enter LORD STANLEY
+
+  STANLEY, what news with you?
+  STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with  
+    the hearing;
+    Nor none so bad but well may be reported.
+  KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
+    What need'st thou run so many miles about,
+    When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?
+    Once more, what news?
+  STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas.
+  KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
+    White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?
+  STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
+  KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess?
+  STANLEY. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
+    He makes for England here to claim the crown.
+  KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd?
+    Is the King dead, the empire unpossess'd?
+    What heir of York is there alive but we?
+    And who is England's King but great York's heir?
+    Then tell me what makes he upon the seas.
+  STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
+  KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,  
+    You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
+    Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.
+  STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.
+  KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back?
+    Where be thy tenants and thy followers?
+    Are they not now upon the western shore,
+    Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?
+  STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.
+  KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the
+    north,
+    When they should serve their sovereign in the west?
+  STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King.
+    Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,
+    I'll muster up my friends and meet your Grace
+    Where and what time your Majesty shall please.
+  KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with
+    Richmond;
+    But I'll not trust thee.
+  STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign,
+    You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.  
+    I never was nor never will be false.
+  KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind
+    Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,
+    Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
+  STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you.         Exit
+
+                          Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
+    As I by friends am well advertised,
+    Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,
+    Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
+    With many moe confederates, are in arms.
+
+                         Enter another MESSENGER
+
+  SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in
+    arms;
+    And every hour more competitors
+    Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.  
+
+                         Enter another MESSENGER
+
+  THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham-
+  KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of
+    death?                                      [He strikes him]
+    There, take thou that till thou bring better news.
+  THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty
+    Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters
+    Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd;
+    And he himself wand'red away alone,
+    No man knows whither.
+  KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy.
+    There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
+    Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
+    Reward to him that brings the traitor in?
+  THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made,
+    my Lord.
+
+                      Enter another MESSENGER  
+
+  FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis
+    Dorset,
+    'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
+    But this good comfort bring I to your Highness-
+    The Britaine navy is dispers'd by tempest.
+    Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat
+    Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
+    If they were his assistants, yea or no;
+    Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham
+    Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,
+    Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Britaine.
+  KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in
+    arms;
+    If not to fight with foreign enemies,
+    Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
+
+                          Re-enter CATESBY
+
+  CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken-  
+    That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond
+    Is with a mighty power landed at Milford
+    Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.
+  KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason
+    here
+    A royal battle might be won and lost.
+    Some one take order Buckingham be brought
+    To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.
+    Flourish.                                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+
+LORD DERBY'S house
+
+Enter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK
+
+  STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
+    That in the sty of the most deadly boar
+    My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;
+    If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
+    The fear of that holds off my present aid.
+    So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord.
+    Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented
+    He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
+    But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
+  CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford west in Wales.
+  STANLEY. What men of name resort to him?
+  CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
+  SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,
+  OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
+    And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;
+    And many other of great name and worth;
+    And towards London do they bend their power,  
+    If by the way they be not fought withal.
+  STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;
+    My letter will resolve him of my mind.
+    Farewell.                                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+
+Salisbury. An open place
+
+Enter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution
+
+  BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with
+    him?
+  SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, and
+    Rivers,
+    Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
+    Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
+    By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
+    If that your moody discontented souls
+    Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
+    Even for revenge mock my destruction!
+    This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not?
+  SHERIFF. It is, my lord.
+  BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's
+    doomsday.
+    This is the day which in King Edward's time  
+    I wish'd might fall on me when I was found
+    False to his children and his wife's allies;
+    This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
+    By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;
+    This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
+    Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs;
+    That high All-Seer which I dallied with
+    Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head
+    And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
+    Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men
+    To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms.
+    Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck.
+    'When he' quoth she 'shall split thy heart with sorrow,
+    Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'
+    Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;
+    Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2.
+
+Camp near Tamworth
+
+Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and others,
+with drum and colours
+
+  RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
+    Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,
+    Thus far into the bowels of the land
+    Have we march'd on without impediment;
+    And here receive we from our father Stanley
+    Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
+    The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
+    That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,
+    Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
+    In your embowell'd bosoms-this foul swine
+    Is now even in the centre of this isle,
+    Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn.
+    From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.
+    In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends,
+    To reap the harvest of perpetual peace  
+    By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
+  OXFORD. Every man's conscience is a thousand men,
+    To fight against this guilty homicide.
+  HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.
+  BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,
+    Which in his dearest need will fly from him.
+  RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God's name march.
+    True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings;
+    Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3.
+
+Bosworth Field
+
+Enter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF,
+the EARL of SURREYS and others
+
+  KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth
+    field.
+    My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?
+  SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
+  KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk!
+  NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege.
+  KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we
+    not?
+  NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night;
+                      [Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S tent]
+    But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that.
+    Who hath descried the number of the traitors?
+  NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
+  KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account;
+    Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength,  
+    Which they upon the adverse faction want.
+    Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen,
+    Let us survey the vantage of the ground.
+    Call for some men of sound direction.
+    Let's lack no discipline, make no delay;
+    For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.                  Exeunt
+
+             Enter, on the other side of the field,
+          RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET,
+              and others. Some pitch RICHMOND'S tent
+
+  RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set,
+    And by the bright tract of his fiery car
+    Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.
+    Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
+    Give me some ink and paper in my tent.
+    I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
+    Limit each leader to his several charge,
+    And part in just proportion our small power.
+    My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon-  
+    And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me.
+    The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;
+    Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,
+    And by the second hour in the morning
+    Desire the Earl to see me in my tent.
+    Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me-
+    Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?
+  BLUNT. Unless I have mista'en his colours much-
+    Which well I am assur'd I have not done-
+    His regiment lies half a mile at least
+    South from the mighty power of the King.
+  RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible,
+    Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him
+    And give him from me this most needful note.
+  BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it;
+    And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!
+  RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come,
+    gentlemen,
+    Let us consult upon to-morrow's business.
+    In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold.  
+                                   [They withdraw into the tent]
+
+            Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK,
+                       RATCLIFF, and CATESBY
+
+  KING RICHARD. What is't o'clock?
+  CATESBY. It's supper-time, my lord;
+    It's nine o'clock.
+  KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night.
+    Give me some ink and paper.
+    What, is my beaver easier than it was?
+    And all my armour laid into my tent?
+  CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.
+  KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;
+    Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.
+  NORFOLK. I go, my lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.
+  NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord.                          Exit
+  KING RICHARD. Catesby!
+  CATESBY. My lord?  
+  KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms
+    To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
+    Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
+    Into the blind cave of eternal night.           Exit CATESBY
+    Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
+    Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
+    Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
+    Ratcliff!
+  RATCLIFF. My lord?
+  KING RICHARD. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord
+    Northumberland?
+  RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,
+    Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop
+    Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.
+  KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine.
+    I have not that alacrity of spirit
+    Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.
+    Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?
+  RATCLIFF. It is, my lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me.  
+  RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent
+    And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.
+                                   Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps
+
+               Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent;
+                        LORDS attending
+
+  DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!
+  RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford
+    Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
+    Tell me, how fares our loving mother?
+  DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,
+    Who prays continually for Richmond's good.
+    So much for that. The silent hours steal on,
+    And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
+    In brief, for so the season bids us be,
+    Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
+    And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
+    Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
+    I, as I may-that which I would I cannot-  
+    With best advantage will deceive the time
+    And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms;
+    But on thy side I may not be too forward,
+    Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
+    Be executed in his father's sight.
+    Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time
+    Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
+    And ample interchange of sweet discourse
+    Which so-long-sund'red friends should dwell upon.
+    God give us leisure for these rites of love!
+    Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well!
+  RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.
+    I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,
+    Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow
+    When I should mount with wings of victory.
+    Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.
+                                         Exeunt all but RICHMOND
+    O Thou, whose captain I account myself,
+    Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
+    Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,  
+    That they may crush down with a heavy fall
+    The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
+    Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,
+    That we may praise Thee in the victory!
+    To Thee I do commend my watchful soul
+    Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.
+    Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!            [Sleeps]
+
+            Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD,
+                    son to HENRY THE SIXTH
+
+  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Let me sit heavy on thy soul
+    to-morrow!
+    Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth
+    At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die!
+    [To RICHMOND]  Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged
+    souls
+    Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf.
+    King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.
+  
+              Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH
+
+  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  When I was mortal, my anointed
+    body
+    By thee was punched full of deadly holes.
+    Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die.
+    Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.
+    [To RICHMOND]  Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!
+    Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King,
+    Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish!
+
+                   Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE
+
+  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Let me sit heavy in thy soul
+    to-morrow! I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,
+    Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death!
+    To-morrow in the battle think on me,
+    And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!
+    [To RICHMOND]  Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,
+    The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee.  
+    Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish!
+
+           Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN
+
+  GHOST OF RIVERS.  [To RICHARD]  Let me sit heavy in thy
+    soul to-morrow,
+    Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die!
+  GHOST OF GREY.  [To RICHARD]  Think upon Grey, and let
+    thy soul despair!
+  GHOST OF VAUGHAN.  [To RICHARD]  Think upon Vaughan,
+    and with guilty fear
+    Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!
+  ALL.  [To RICHMOND]  Awake, and think our wrongs in
+    Richard's bosom
+    Will conquer him. Awake and win the day.
+
+                Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS
+
+  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,
+    And in a bloody battle end thy days!  
+    Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die.
+    [To RICHMOND]   Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!
+    Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!
+
+         Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES
+
+  GHOSTS.  [To RICHARD]  Dream on thy cousins smothered in
+    the Tower.
+    Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,
+    And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
+    Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die.
+    [To RICHMOND]  Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and
+    wake in joy;
+    Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!
+    Live, and beget a happy race of kings!
+    Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.
+
+          Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife
+
+  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Richard, thy wife, that wretched  
+    Anne thy wife
+    That never slept a quiet hour with thee
+    Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.
+    To-morrow in the battle think on me,
+    And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die.
+    [To RICHMOND]  Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;
+    Dream of success and happy victory.
+    Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.
+
+                   Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM
+
+  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  The first was I that help'd thee
+    to the crown;
+    The last was I that felt thy tyranny.
+    O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
+    And die in terror of thy guiltiness!
+    Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;
+    Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!
+    [To RICHMOND]  I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid;
+    But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd:  
+    God and good angels fight on Richmond's side;
+    And Richard falls in height of all his pride.
+            [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream]
+  KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds.
+    Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.
+    O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
+    The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
+    Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
+    What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
+    Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
+    Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.
+    Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why-
+    Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself!
+    Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
+    That I myself have done unto myself?
+    O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself
+    For hateful deeds committed by myself!
+    I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.
+    Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.
+    My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,  
+    And every tongue brings in a several tale,
+    And every tale condemns me for a villain.
+    Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree;
+    Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree;
+    All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
+    Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!'
+    I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
+    And if I die no soul will pity me:
+    And wherefore should they, since that I myself
+    Find in myself no pity to myself?
+    Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
+    Came to my tent, and every one did threat
+    To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
+
+                            Enter RATCLIFF
+
+  RATCLIFF. My lord!
+  KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there?
+  RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock
+    Hath twice done salutation to the morn;  
+    Your friends are up and buckle on their armour.
+  KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!
+    What think'st thou-will our friends prove all true?
+  RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord.
+  KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.
+  RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.
+  KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
+    Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard
+    Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
+    Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.
+    'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;
+    Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
+    To see if any mean to shrink from me.                 Exeunt
+
+          Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent
+
+  LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond!
+  RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
+    That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
+  LORDS. How have you slept, my lord?  
+  RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams
+    That ever ent'red in a drowsy head
+    Have I since your departure had, my lords.
+    Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd
+    Came to my tent and cried on victory.
+    I promise you my soul is very jocund
+    In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
+    How far into the morning is it, lords?
+  LORDS. Upon the stroke of four.
+  RICHMOND. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.
+
+                 His ORATION to his SOLDIERS
+
+    More than I have said, loving countrymen,
+    The leisure and enforcement of the time
+    Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this:
+    God and our good cause fight upon our side;
+    The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,
+    Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
+    Richard except, those whom we fight against  
+    Had rather have us win than him they follow.
+    For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,
+    A bloody tyrant and a homicide;
+    One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
+    One that made means to come by what he hath,
+    And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;
+    A base foul stone, made precious by the foil
+    Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
+    One that hath ever been God's enemy.
+    Then if you fight against God's enemy,
+    God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;
+    If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
+    You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
+    If you do fight against your country's foes,
+    Your country's foes shall pay your pains the hire;
+    If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
+    Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
+    If you do free your children from the sword,
+    Your children's children quits it in your age.
+    Then, in the name of God and all these rights,  
+    Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
+    For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
+    Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
+    But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
+    The least of you shall share his part thereof.
+    Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;
+    God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!           Exeunt
+
+           Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants,
+                         and forces
+
+  KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching
+    Richmond?
+  RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms.
+  KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey
+    then?
+  RATCLIFF. He smil'd, and said 'The better for our purpose.'
+  KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is.
+                                                 [Clock strikes]
+    Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.  
+    Who saw the sun to-day?
+  RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord.
+  KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book
+    He should have brav'd the east an hour ago.
+    A black day will it be to somebody.
+    Ratcliff!
+  RATCLIFF. My lord?
+  KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day;
+    The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
+    I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
+    Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
+    More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven
+    That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.
+
+                       Enter NORFOLK
+
+  NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.
+  KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse;
+    Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power.
+    I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,  
+    And thus my battle shall be ordered:
+    My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
+    Consisting equally of horse and foot;
+    Our archers shall be placed in the midst.
+    John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
+    Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
+    They thus directed, we will follow
+    In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
+    Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
+    This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou,
+    Norfolk?
+  NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign.
+    This found I on my tent this morning.
+                                        [He sheweth him a paper]
+  KING RICHARD.                                          [Reads]
+    'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,
+    For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'
+    A thing devised by the enemy.
+    Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.
+    Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;  
+    Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
+    Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe.
+    Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
+    March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell;
+    If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.
+
+                      His ORATION to his ARMY
+
+    What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
+    Remember whom you are to cope withal-
+    A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,
+    A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants,
+    Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
+    To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction.
+    You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
+    You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives,
+    They would restrain the one, distain the other.
+    And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
+    Long kept in Britaine at our mother's cost?
+    A milk-sop, one that never in his life  
+    Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?
+    Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
+    Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,
+    These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
+    Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
+    For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves.
+    If we be conquered, let men conquer us,
+    And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers
+    Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
+    And, in record, left them the heirs of shame.
+    Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives,
+    Ravish our daughters?  [Drum afar off]  Hark! I hear their
+    drum.
+    Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!
+    Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
+    Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
+    Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
+
+                        Enter a MESSENGER
+  
+    What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?
+  MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come.
+  KING RICHARD. Off with his son George's head!
+  NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh.
+    After the battle let George Stanley die.
+  KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my
+    bosom.
+    Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
+    Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
+    Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
+    Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 4.
+
+Another part of the field
+
+Alarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY
+
+  CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
+    The King enacts more wonders than a man,
+    Daring an opposite to every danger.
+    His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
+    Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
+    Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost.
+
+                     Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD
+
+  KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
+  CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I'll help you to a horse.
+  KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast
+    And I Will stand the hazard of the die.
+    I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
+    Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
+    A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!             Exeunt  
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 5.
+
+Another part of the field
+
+Alarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain.
+Retreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown,
+with other LORDS
+
+  RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais'd, victorious friends;
+    The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.
+  DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!
+    Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty
+    From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
+    Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal.
+    Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.
+  RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!
+    But, teLL me is young George Stanley living.
+  DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,
+    Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.
+  RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side?
+  DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,
+    Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.
+  RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.  
+    Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
+    That in submission will return to us.
+    And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
+    We will unite the white rose and the red.
+    Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
+    That long have frown'd upon their emnity!
+    What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?
+    England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
+    The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
+    The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
+    The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire;
+    All this divided York and Lancaster,
+    Divided in their dire division,
+    O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
+    The true succeeders of each royal house,
+    By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
+    And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,
+    Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace,
+    With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!
+    Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,  
+    That would reduce these bloody days again
+    And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
+    Let them not live to taste this land's increase
+    That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
+    Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again-
+    That she may long live here, God say Amen!            Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1595
+
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  Chorus.
+
+  Escalus, Prince of Verona.
+  Paris, a young Count, kinsman to the Prince.
+  Montague, heads of two houses at variance with each other.
+  Capulet, heads of two houses at variance with each other.
+  An old Man, of the Capulet family.
+  Romeo, son to Montague.
+  Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet.
+  Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo.
+  Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo
+  Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet.
+  Friar Laurence, Franciscan.
+  Friar John, Franciscan.
+  Balthasar, servant to Romeo.
+  Abram, servant to Montague.
+  Sampson, servant to Capulet.
+  Gregory, servant to Capulet.
+  Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse.
+  An Apothecary.  
+  Three Musicians.
+  An Officer.
+
+  Lady Montague, wife to Montague.
+  Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet.
+  Juliet, daughter to Capulet.
+  Nurse to Juliet.
+
+  Citizens of Verona; Gentlemen and Gentlewomen of both houses;
+    Maskers, Torchbearers, Pages, Guards, Watchmen, Servants, and
+    Attendants.
+
+                            SCENE.--Verona; Mantua.
+
+
+
+                        THE PROLOGUE
+
+                        Enter Chorus.
+
+  Chor. Two households, both alike in dignity,
+    In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
+    From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
+    Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
+    From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
+    A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
+    Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
+    Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
+    The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
+    And the continuance of their parents' rage,
+    Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,
+    Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
+    The which if you with patient ears attend,
+    What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
+                                                         [Exit.]
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT I. Scene I.
+Verona. A public place.
+
+Enter Sampson and Gregory (with swords and bucklers) of the house of Capulet.
+
+  Samp. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals.
+  Greg. No, for then we should be colliers.
+  Samp. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
+  Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar.
+  Samp. I strike quickly, being moved.
+  Greg. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
+  Samp. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
+  Greg. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.
+    Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
+  Samp. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the
+    wall of any man or maid of Montague's.
+  Greg. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the
+    wall.
+  Samp. 'Tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are
+    ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push Montague's men
+    from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall.
+  Greg. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.  
+  Samp. 'Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant. When I have fought
+    with the men, I will be cruel with the maids- I will cut off
+    their heads.
+  Greg. The heads of the maids?
+  Samp. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads.
+    Take it in what sense thou wilt.
+  Greg. They must take it in sense that feel it.
+  Samp. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and 'tis known I
+    am a pretty piece of flesh.
+  Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been
+    poor-John. Draw thy tool! Here comes two of the house of
+    Montagues.
+
+           Enter two other Servingmen [Abram and Balthasar].
+
+  Samp. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back thee.
+  Greg. How? turn thy back and run?
+  Samp. Fear me not.
+  Greg. No, marry. I fear thee!
+  Samp. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.  
+  Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
+  Samp. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is
+    disgrace to them, if they bear it.
+  Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
+  Samp. I do bite my thumb, sir.
+  Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
+  Samp. [aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay?
+  Greg. [aside to Sampson] No.
+  Samp. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my
+    thumb, sir.
+  Greg. Do you quarrel, sir?
+  Abr. Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
+  Samp. But if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you.
+  Abr. No better.
+  Samp. Well, sir.
+
+                        Enter Benvolio.
+
+  Greg. [aside to Sampson] Say 'better.' Here comes one of my
+    master's kinsmen.  
+  Samp. Yes, better, sir.
+  Abr. You lie.
+  Samp. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.
+                                                     They fight.
+  Ben. Part, fools! [Beats down their swords.]
+    Put up your swords. You know not what you do.
+
+                          Enter Tybalt.
+
+  Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
+    Turn thee Benvolio! look upon thy death.
+  Ben. I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword,
+    Or manage it to part these men with me.
+  Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word
+    As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
+    Have at thee, coward!                            They fight.
+
+     Enter an officer, and three or four Citizens with clubs or
+                          partisans.
+  
+  Officer. Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! beat them down!
+  Citizens. Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
+
+           Enter Old Capulet in his gown, and his Wife.
+
+  Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
+  Wife. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
+  Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come
+    And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
+
+                 Enter Old Montague and his Wife.
+
+  Mon. Thou villain Capulet!- Hold me not, let me go.
+  M. Wife. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
+
+                Enter Prince Escalus, with his Train.
+
+  Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
+    Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel-
+    Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,  
+    That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
+    With purple fountains issuing from your veins!
+    On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
+    Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground
+    And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
+    Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word
+    By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
+    Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets
+    And made Verona's ancient citizens
+    Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments
+    To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
+    Cank'red with peace, to part your cank'red hate.
+    If ever you disturb our streets again,
+    Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
+    For this time all the rest depart away.
+    You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
+    And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
+    To know our farther pleasure in this case,
+    To old Freetown, our common judgment place.
+    Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.  
+              Exeunt [all but Montague, his Wife, and Benvolio].
+  Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
+    Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
+  Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary
+    And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
+    I drew to part them. In the instant came
+    The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
+    Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
+    He swung about his head and cut the winds,
+    Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
+    While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
+    Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
+    Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
+  M. Wife. O, where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day?
+    Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
+  Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
+    Peer'd forth the golden window of the East,
+    A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
+    Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
+    That westward rooteth from the city's side,  
+    So early walking did I see your son.
+    Towards him I made; but he was ware of me
+    And stole into the covert of the wood.
+    I- measuring his affections by my own,
+    Which then most sought where most might not be found,
+    Being one too many by my weary self-
+    Pursu'd my humour, not Pursuing his,
+    And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
+  Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
+    With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
+    Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
+    But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
+    Should in the farthest East bean to draw
+    The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
+    Away from light steals home my heavy son
+    And private in his chamber pens himself,
+    Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight
+    And makes himself an artificial night.
+    Black and portentous must this humour prove
+    Unless good counsel may the cause remove.  
+  Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
+  Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him
+  Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
+  Mon. Both by myself and many other friend;
+    But he, his own affections' counsellor,
+    Is to himself- I will not say how true-
+    But to himself so secret and so close,
+    So far from sounding and discovery,
+    As is the bud bit with an envious worm
+    Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air
+    Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
+    Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
+    We would as willingly give cure as know.
+
+                       Enter Romeo.
+
+  Ben. See, where he comes. So please you step aside,
+    I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
+  Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
+    To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away,  
+                                     Exeunt [Montague and Wife].
+  Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
+  Rom. Is the day so young?
+  Ben. But new struck nine.
+  Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long.
+    Was that my father that went hence so fast?
+  Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
+  Rom. Not having that which having makes them short.
+  Ben. In love?
+  Rom. Out-
+  Ben. Of love?
+  Rom. Out of her favour where I am in love.
+  Ben. Alas that love, so gentle in his view,
+    Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
+  Rom. Alas that love, whose view is muffled still,
+    Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
+    Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
+    Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
+    Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
+    Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!  
+    O anything, of nothing first create!
+    O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
+    Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
+    Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
+    Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is
+    This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
+    Dost thou not laugh?
+  Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
+  Rom. Good heart, at what?
+  Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
+  Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
+    Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
+    Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
+    With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
+    Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
+    Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
+    Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
+    Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.
+    What is it else? A madness most discreet,
+    A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.  
+    Farewell, my coz.
+  Ben. Soft! I will go along.
+    An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
+  Rom. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here:
+    This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
+  Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love?
+  Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
+  Ben. Groan? Why, no;
+    But sadly tell me who.
+  Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will.
+    Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!
+    In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
+  Ben. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.
+  Rom. A right good markman! And she's fair I love.
+  Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
+  Rom. Well, in that hit you miss. She'll not be hit
+    With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit,
+    And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
+    From Love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
+    She will not stay the siege of loving terms,  
+    Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,
+    Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
+    O, she's rich in beauty; only poor
+    That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
+  Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
+  Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
+    For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
+    Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
+    She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
+    To merit bliss by making me despair.
+    She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
+    Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
+  Ben. Be rul'd by me: forget to think of her.
+  Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think!
+  Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes.
+    Examine other beauties.
+  Rom. 'Tis the way
+    To call hers (exquisite) in question more.
+    These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
+    Being black puts us in mind they hide the fair.  
+    He that is strucken blind cannot forget
+    The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
+    Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
+    What doth her beauty serve but as a note
+    Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
+    Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.
+  Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.      Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+A Street.
+
+Enter Capulet, County Paris, and [Servant] -the Clown.
+
+  Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,
+    In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
+    For men so old as we to keep the peace.
+  Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,
+    And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long.
+    But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
+  Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
+    My child is yet a stranger in the world,
+    She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
+    Let two more summers wither in their pride
+    Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
+  Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
+  Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
+    The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;
+    She is the hopeful lady of my earth.
+    But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;
+    My will to her consent is but a part.  
+    An she agree, within her scope of choice
+    Lies my consent and fair according voice.
+    This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
+    Whereto I have invited many a guest,
+    Such as I love; and you among the store,
+    One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
+    At my poor house look to behold this night
+    Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.
+    Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
+    When well apparell'd April on the heel
+    Of limping Winter treads, even such delight
+    Among fresh female buds shall you this night
+    Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,
+    And like her most whose merit most shall be;
+    Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,
+    May stand in number, though in reck'ning none.
+    Come, go with me. [To Servant, giving him a paper] Go, sirrah,
+      trudge about
+    Through fair Verona; find those persons out
+    Whose names are written there, and to them say,  
+    My house and welcome on their pleasure stay-
+                                     Exeunt [Capulet and Paris].
+  Serv. Find them out whose names are written here? It is written
+    that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor
+    with his last, the fisher with his pencil and the painter with
+    his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are
+    here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath
+    here writ. I must to the learned. In good time!
+
+                   Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
+
+  Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
+    One pain is lessoned by another's anguish;
+    Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
+    One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
+    Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
+    And the rank poison of the old will die.
+  Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
+  Ben. For what, I pray thee?
+  Rom. For your broken shin.  
+  Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
+  Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;
+    Shut up in Prison, kept without my food,
+    Whipp'd and tormented and- God-den, good fellow.
+  Serv. God gi' go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?
+  Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
+  Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book. But I pray, can you
+    read anything you see?
+  Rom. Ay, If I know the letters and the language.
+  Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry!
+  Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read.                       He reads.
+
+      'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
+      County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;
+      The lady widow of Vitruvio;
+      Signior Placentio and His lovely nieces;
+      Mercutio and his brother Valentine;
+      Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;
+      My fair niece Rosaline and Livia;
+      Signior Valentio and His cousin Tybalt;  
+      Lucio and the lively Helena.'
+
+    [Gives back the paper.] A fair assembly. Whither should they come?
+  Serv. Up.
+  Rom. Whither?
+  Serv. To supper, to our house.
+  Rom. Whose house?
+  Serv. My master's.
+  Rom. Indeed I should have ask'd you that before.
+  Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich
+    Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come
+    and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry!               Exit.
+  Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
+    Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st;
+    With all the admired beauties of Verona.
+    Go thither, and with unattainted eye
+    Compare her face with some that I shall show,
+    And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
+  Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
+    Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;  
+    And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,
+    Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
+    One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun
+    Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
+  Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
+    Herself pois'd with herself in either eye;
+    But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd
+    Your lady's love against some other maid
+    That I will show you shining at this feast,
+    And she shall scant show well that now seems best.
+  Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
+    But to rejoice in splendour of my own.              [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Capulet's house.
+
+Enter Capulet's Wife, and Nurse.
+
+  Wife. Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.
+  Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,
+    I bade her come. What, lamb! what ladybird!
+    God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!
+
+                         Enter Juliet.
+
+  Jul. How now? Who calls?
+  Nurse. Your mother.
+  Jul. Madam, I am here.
+    What is your will?
+  Wife. This is the matter- Nurse, give leave awhile,
+    We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again;
+    I have rememb'red me, thou's hear our counsel.
+    Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age.
+  Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
+  Wife. She's not fourteen.  
+  Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth-
+    And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four-
+    She is not fourteen. How long is it now
+    To Lammastide?
+  Wife. A fortnight and odd days.
+  Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
+    Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.
+    Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls!)
+    Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God;
+    She was too good for me. But, as I said,
+    On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen;
+    That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
+    'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
+    And she was wean'd (I never shall forget it),
+    Of all the days of the year, upon that day;
+    For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
+    Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall.
+    My lord and you were then at Mantua.
+    Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said,
+    When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple  
+    Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
+    To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!
+    Shake, quoth the dovehouse! 'Twas no need, I trow,
+    To bid me trudge.
+    And since that time it is eleven years,
+    For then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood,
+    She could have run and waddled all about;
+    For even the day before, she broke her brow;
+    And then my husband (God be with his soul!
+    'A was a merry man) took up the child.
+    'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
+    Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
+    Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidam,
+    The pretty wretch left crying, and said 'Ay.'
+    To see now how a jest shall come about!
+    I warrant, an I should live a thousand yeas,
+    I never should forget it. 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he,
+    And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said 'Ay.'
+  Wife. Enough of this. I pray thee hold thy peace.
+  Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh  
+    To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'
+    And yet, I warrant, it bad upon it brow
+    A bump as big as a young cock'rel's stone;
+    A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.
+    'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face?
+    Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;
+    Wilt thou not, Jule?' It stinted, and said 'Ay.'
+  Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
+  Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
+    Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd.
+    An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
+  Wife. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
+    I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
+    How stands your disposition to be married?
+  Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
+  Nurse. An honour? Were not I thine only nurse,
+    I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
+  Wife. Well, think of marriage now. Younger than you,
+    Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
+    Are made already mothers. By my count,  
+    I was your mother much upon these years
+    That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:
+    The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
+  Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man
+    As all the world- why he's a man of wax.
+  Wife. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
+  Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith- a very flower.
+  Wife. What say you? Can you love the gentleman?
+    This night you shall behold him at our feast.
+    Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
+    And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
+    Examine every married lineament,
+    And see how one another lends content;
+    And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies
+    Find written in the margent of his eyes,
+    This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
+    To beautify him only lacks a cover.
+    The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride
+    For fair without the fair within to hide.
+    That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,  
+    That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
+    So shall you share all that he doth possess,
+    By having him making yourself no less.
+  Nurse. No less? Nay, bigger! Women grow by men
+  Wife. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
+  Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move;
+    But no more deep will I endart mine eye
+    Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
+
+                        Enter Servingman.
+
+  Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you call'd, my
+    young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and
+    everything in extremity. I must hence to wait. I beseech you
+    follow straight.
+  Wife. We follow thee.                       Exit [Servingman].
+    Juliet, the County stays.
+  Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+A street.
+
+Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers; Torchbearers.
+
+  Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
+    Or shall we on without apology?
+  Ben. The date is out of such prolixity.
+    We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,
+    Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
+    Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper;
+    Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
+    After the prompter, for our entrance;
+    But, let them measure us by what they will,
+    We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
+  Rom. Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling.
+    Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
+  Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
+  Rom. Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes
+    With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead
+    So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.  
+  Mer. You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings
+    And soar with them above a common bound.
+  Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
+    To soar with his light feathers; and so bound
+    I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.
+    Under love's heavy burthen do I sink.
+  Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burthen love-
+    Too great oppression for a tender thing.
+  Rom. Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
+    Too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like thorn.
+  Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
+    Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
+    Give me a case to put my visage in.
+    A visor for a visor! What care I
+    What curious eye doth quote deformities?
+    Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
+  Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
+    But every man betake him to his legs.
+  Rom. A torch for me! Let wantons light of heart
+    Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;  
+    For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,
+    I'll be a candle-holder and look on;
+    The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
+  Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word!
+    If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
+    Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st
+    Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!
+  Rom. Nay, that's not so.
+  Mer. I mean, sir, in delay
+    We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
+    Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
+    Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
+  Rom. And we mean well, in going to this masque;
+    But 'tis no wit to go.
+  Mer. Why, may one ask?
+  Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
+  Mer. And so did I.
+  Rom. Well, what was yours?
+  Mer. That dreamers often lie.
+  Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.  
+  Mer. O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
+    She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
+    In shape no bigger than an agate stone
+    On the forefinger of an alderman,
+    Drawn with a team of little atomies
+    Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
+    Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
+    The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
+    Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;
+    Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
+    Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
+    Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
+    Not half so big as a round little worm
+    Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
+    Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
+    Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
+    Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
+    And in this state she 'gallops night by night
+    Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
+    O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight;  
+    O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
+    O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
+    Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
+    Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
+    Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
+    And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
+    And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
+    Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
+    Then dreams he of another benefice.
+    Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
+    And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
+    Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
+    Of healths five fadom deep; and then anon
+    Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
+    And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
+    And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
+    That plats the manes of horses in the night
+    And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish, hairs,
+    Which once untangled much misfortune bodes
+    This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,  
+    That presses them and learns them first to bear,
+    Making them women of good carriage.
+    This is she-
+  Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
+    Thou talk'st of nothing.
+  Mer. True, I talk of dreams;
+    Which are the children of an idle brain,
+    Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
+    Which is as thin of substance as the air,
+    And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
+    Even now the frozen bosom of the North
+    And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
+    Turning his face to the dew-dropping South.
+  Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves.
+    Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
+  Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives
+    Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
+    Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
+    With this night's revels and expire the term
+    Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,  
+    By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
+    But he that hath the steerage of my course
+    Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen!
+  Ben. Strike, drum.
+                           They march about the stage. [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Capulet's house.
+
+Servingmen come forth with napkins.
+
+  1. Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away?
+    He shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!
+  2. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands,
+    and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.
+  1. Serv. Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cubbert, look
+    to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane and, as
+    thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.
+    Anthony, and Potpan!
+  2. Serv. Ay, boy, ready.
+  1. Serv. You are look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought
+    for, in the great chamber.
+  3. Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys!
+    Be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.      Exeunt.
+
+    Enter the Maskers, Enter, [with Servants,] Capulet, his Wife,
+              Juliet, Tybalt, and all the Guests
+               and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.  
+
+  Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes
+    Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.
+    Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
+    Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,
+    She I'll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now?
+    Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
+    That I have worn a visor and could tell
+    A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
+    Such as would please. 'Tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone!
+    You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.
+    A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.
+                                    Music plays, and they dance.
+    More light, you knaves! and turn the tables up,
+    And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
+    Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
+    Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet,
+    For you and I are past our dancing days.
+    How long is't now since last yourself and I
+    Were in a mask?  
+  2. Cap. By'r Lady, thirty years.
+  Cap. What, man? 'Tis not so much, 'tis not so much!
+    'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,
+    Come Pentecost as quickly as it will,
+    Some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd.
+  2. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more! His son is elder, sir;
+    His son is thirty.
+  Cap. Will you tell me that?
+    His son was but a ward two years ago.
+  Rom. [to a Servingman] What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand
+    Of yonder knight?
+  Serv. I know not, sir.
+  Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
+    It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
+    Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear-
+    Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
+    So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
+    As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
+    The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand
+    And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.  
+    Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
+    For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
+  Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
+    Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave
+    Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
+    To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
+    Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
+    To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
+  Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? Wherefore storm you so?
+  Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
+    A villain, that is hither come in spite
+    To scorn at our solemnity this night.
+  Cap. Young Romeo is it?
+  Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
+  Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.
+    'A bears him like a portly gentleman,
+    And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
+    To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
+    I would not for the wealth of all this town
+    Here in my house do him disparagement.  
+    Therefore be patient, take no note of him.
+    It is my will; the which if thou respect,
+    Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,
+    An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
+  Tyb. It fits when such a villain is a guest.
+    I'll not endure him.
+  Cap. He shall be endur'd.
+    What, goodman boy? I say he shall. Go to!
+    Am I the master here, or you? Go to!
+    You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul!
+    You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
+    You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
+  Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
+  Cap. Go to, go to!
+    You are a saucy boy. Is't so, indeed?
+    This trick may chance to scathe you. I know what.
+    You must contrary me! Marry, 'tis time.-
+    Well said, my hearts!- You are a princox- go!
+    Be quiet, or- More light, more light!- For shame!
+    I'll make you quiet; what!- Cheerly, my hearts!  
+  Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
+    Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
+    I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
+    Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall.          Exit.
+  Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest hand
+    This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
+    My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
+    To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
+  Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
+    Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
+    For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
+    And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
+  Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
+  Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray'r.
+  Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!
+    They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
+  Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
+  Rom. Then move not while my prayer's effect I take.
+    Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd.  [Kisses her.]
+  Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.  
+  Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!
+    Give me my sin again.                          [Kisses her.]
+  Jul. You kiss by th' book.
+  Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
+  Rom. What is her mother?
+  Nurse. Marry, bachelor,
+    Her mother is the lady of the house.
+    And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
+    I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal.
+    I tell you, he that can lay hold of her
+    Shall have the chinks.
+  Rom. Is she a Capulet?
+    O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
+  Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.
+  Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
+  Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
+    We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
+    Is it e'en so? Why then, I thank you all.
+    I thank you, honest gentlemen. Good night.
+    More torches here! [Exeunt Maskers.] Come on then, let's to bed.  
+    Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;
+    I'll to my rest.
+                              Exeunt [all but Juliet and Nurse].
+  Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?
+  Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
+  Jul. What's he that now is going out of door?
+  Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
+  Jul. What's he that follows there, that would not dance?
+  Nurse. I know not.
+  Jul. Go ask his name.- If he be married,
+    My grave is like to be my wedding bed.
+  Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague,
+    The only son of your great enemy.
+  Jul. My only love, sprung from my only hate!
+    Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
+    Prodigious birth of love it is to me
+    That I must love a loathed enemy.
+  Nurse. What's this? what's this?
+  Jul. A rhyme I learnt even now
+    Of one I danc'd withal.  
+                                     One calls within, 'Juliet.'
+  Nurse. Anon, anon!
+    Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.        Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+PROLOGUE
+
+Enter Chorus.
+
+  Chor. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
+    And young affection gapes to be his heir;
+    That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,
+    With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
+    Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,
+    Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
+    But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,
+    And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks.
+    Being held a foe, he may not have access
+    To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear,
+    And she as much in love, her means much less
+    To meet her new beloved anywhere;
+    But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
+    Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.
+Exit.
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. Scene I.
+A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.
+
+Enter Romeo alone.
+
+  Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here?
+    Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
+                     [Climbs the wall and leaps down within it.]
+
+                   Enter Benvolio with Mercutio.
+
+  Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo!
+  Mer. He is wise,
+    And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.
+  Ben. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall.
+    Call, good Mercutio.
+  Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.
+    Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
+    Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh;
+    Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied!
+    Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove';
+    Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,  
+    One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
+    Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim
+    When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar maid!
+    He heareth not, he stirreth not, be moveth not;
+    The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
+    I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes.
+    By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
+    By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
+    And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
+    That in thy likeness thou appear to us!
+  Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
+  Mer. This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger him
+    To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
+    Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
+    Till she had laid it and conjur'd it down.
+    That were some spite; my invocation
+    Is fair and honest: in his mistress' name,
+    I conjure only but to raise up him.
+  Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees
+    To be consorted with the humorous night.  
+    Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
+  Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
+    Now will he sit under a medlar tree
+    And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
+    As maids call medlars when they laugh alone.
+    O, Romeo, that she were, O that she were
+    An open et cetera, thou a pop'rin pear!
+    Romeo, good night. I'll to my truckle-bed;
+    This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.
+    Come, shall we go?
+  Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vain
+    'To seek him here that means not to be found.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Capulet's orchard.
+
+Enter Romeo.
+
+  Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
+
+                     Enter Juliet above at a window.
+
+    But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
+    It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!
+    Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
+    Who is already sick and pale with grief
+    That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
+    Be not her maid, since she is envious.
+    Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
+    And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
+    It is my lady; O, it is my love!
+    O that she knew she were!
+    She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
+    Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
+    I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks.  
+    Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
+    Having some business, do entreat her eyes
+    To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
+    What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
+    The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
+    As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
+    Would through the airy region stream so bright
+    That birds would sing and think it were not night.
+    See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
+    O that I were a glove upon that hand,
+    That I might touch that cheek!
+  Jul. Ay me!
+  Rom. She speaks.
+    O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
+    As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
+    As is a winged messenger of heaven
+    Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
+    Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
+    When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
+    And sails upon the bosom of the air.  
+  Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
+    Deny thy father and refuse thy name!
+    Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
+    And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
+  Rom. [aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
+  Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
+    Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
+    What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
+    Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
+    Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
+    What's in a name? That which we call a rose
+    By any other name would smell as sweet.
+    So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
+    Retain that dear perfection which he owes
+    Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
+    And for that name, which is no part of thee,
+    Take all myself.
+  Rom. I take thee at thy word.
+    Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
+    Henceforth I never will be Romeo.  
+  Jul. What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night,
+    So stumblest on my counsel?
+  Rom. By a name
+    I know not how to tell thee who I am.
+    My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
+    Because it is an enemy to thee.
+    Had I it written, I would tear the word.
+  Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
+    Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound.
+    Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
+  Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
+  Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
+    The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
+    And the place death, considering who thou art,
+    If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
+  Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls;
+    For stony limits cannot hold love out,
+    And what love can do, that dares love attempt.
+    Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
+  Jul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee.  
+  Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
+    Than twenty of their swords! Look thou but sweet,
+    And I am proof against their enmity.
+  Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here.
+  Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
+    And but thou love me, let them find me here.
+    My life were better ended by their hate
+    Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
+  Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?
+  Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire.
+    He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
+    I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
+    As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
+    I would adventure for such merchandise.
+  Jul. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face;
+    Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
+    For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
+    Fain would I dwell on form- fain, fain deny
+    What I have spoke; but farewell compliment!
+    Dost thou love me, I know thou wilt say 'Ay';  
+    And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st,
+    Thou mayst prove false. At lovers' perjuries,
+    They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
+    If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.
+    Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,
+    I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
+    So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
+    In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
+    And therefore thou mayst think my haviour light;
+    But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
+    Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
+    I should have been more strange, I must confess,
+    But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
+    My true-love passion. Therefore pardon me,
+    And not impute this yielding to light love,
+    Which the dark night hath so discovered.
+  Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
+    That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-
+  Jul. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon,
+    That monthly changes in her circled orb,  
+    Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
+  Rom. What shall I swear by?
+  Jul. Do not swear at all;
+    Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
+    Which is the god of my idolatry,
+    And I'll believe thee.
+  Rom. If my heart's dear love-
+  Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,
+    I have no joy of this contract to-night.
+    It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;
+    Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
+    Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!
+    This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
+    May prove a beauteous flow'r when next we meet.
+    Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest
+    Come to thy heart as that within my breast!
+  Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
+  Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
+  Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.
+  Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;  
+    And yet I would it were to give again.
+  Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?
+  Jul. But to be frank and give it thee again.
+    And yet I wish but for the thing I have.
+    My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
+    My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
+    The more I have, for both are infinite.
+    I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu!
+                                           [Nurse] calls within.
+    Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
+    Stay but a little, I will come again.                [Exit.]
+  Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
+    Being in night, all this is but a dream,
+    Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
+
+                       Enter Juliet above.
+
+  Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
+    If that thy bent of love be honourable,
+    Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,  
+    By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
+    Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
+    And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
+    And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
+  Nurse. (within) Madam!
+  Jul. I come, anon.- But if thou meanest not well,
+    I do beseech thee-
+  Nurse. (within) Madam!
+  Jul. By-and-by I come.-
+    To cease thy suit and leave me to my grief.
+    To-morrow will I send.
+  Rom. So thrive my soul-
+  Jul. A thousand times good night!                        Exit.
+  Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light!
+    Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books;
+    But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.
+
+                     Enter Juliet again, [above].
+
+  Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer's voice  
+    To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
+    Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud;
+    Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
+    And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
+    With repetition of my Romeo's name.
+    Romeo!
+  Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name.
+    How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
+    Like softest music to attending ears!
+  Jul. Romeo!
+  Rom. My dear?
+  Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
+    Shall I send to thee?
+  Rom. By the hour of nine.
+  Jul. I will not fail. 'Tis twenty years till then.
+    I have forgot why I did call thee back.
+  Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it.
+  Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
+    Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
+  Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,  
+    Forgetting any other home but this.
+  Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone-
+    And yet no farther than a wanton's bird,
+    That lets it hop a little from her hand,
+    Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
+    And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
+    So loving-jealous of his liberty.
+  Rom. I would I were thy bird.
+  Jul. Sweet, so would I.
+    Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
+    Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
+    That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
+                                                         [Exit.]
+  Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
+    Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
+    Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
+    His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Friar Laurence's cell.
+
+Enter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket.
+
+  Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,
+    Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light;
+    And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
+    From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels.
+    Non, ere the sun advance his burning eye
+    The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,
+    I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
+    With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
+    The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb.
+    What is her burying gave, that is her womb;
+    And from her womb children of divers kind
+    We sucking on her natural bosom find;
+    Many for many virtues excellent,
+    None but for some, and yet all different.
+    O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
+    In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities;
+    For naught so vile that on the earth doth live  
+    But to the earth some special good doth give;
+    Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use,
+    Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
+    Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
+    And vice sometime's by action dignified.
+    Within the infant rind of this small flower
+    Poison hath residence, and medicine power;
+    For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
+    Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
+    Two such opposed kings encamp them still
+    In man as well as herbs- grace and rude will;
+    And where the worser is predominant,
+    Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
+
+                        Enter Romeo.
+
+  Rom. Good morrow, father.
+  Friar. Benedicite!
+    What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
+    Young son, it argues a distempered head  
+    So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.
+    Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
+    And where care lodges sleep will never lie;
+    But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
+    Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
+    Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
+    Thou art uprous'd with some distemp'rature;
+    Or if not so, then here I hit it right-
+    Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
+  Rom. That last is true-the sweeter rest was mine.
+  Friar. God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?
+  Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.
+    I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
+  Friar. That's my good son! But where hast thou been then?
+  Rom. I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
+    I have been feasting with mine enemy,
+    Where on a sudden one hath wounded me
+    That's by me wounded. Both our remedies
+    Within thy help and holy physic lies.
+    I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,  
+    My intercession likewise steads my foe.
+  Friar. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift
+    Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
+  Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set
+    On the fair daughter of rich Capulet;
+    As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine,
+    And all combin'd, save what thou must combine
+    By holy marriage. When, and where, and how
+    We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
+    I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
+    That thou consent to marry us to-day.
+  Friar. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here!
+    Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
+    So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies
+    Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
+    Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine
+    Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
+    How much salt water thrown away in waste,
+    To season love, that of it doth not taste!
+    The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,  
+    Thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears.
+    Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
+    Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet.
+    If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
+    Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
+    And art thou chang'd? Pronounce this sentence then:
+    Women may fall when there's no strength in men.
+  Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
+  Friar. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
+  Rom. And bad'st me bury love.
+  Friar. Not in a grave
+    To lay one in, another out to have.
+  Rom. I pray thee chide not. She whom I love now
+    Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.
+    The other did not so.
+  Friar. O, she knew well
+    Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.
+    But come, young waverer, come go with me.
+    In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
+    For this alliance may so happy prove  
+    To turn your households' rancour to pure love.
+  Rom. O, let us hence! I stand on sudden haste.
+  Friar. Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+A street.
+
+Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
+
+  Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?
+    Came he not home to-night?
+  Ben. Not to his father's. I spoke with his man.
+  Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
+    Torments him so that he will sure run mad.
+  Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
+    Hath sent a letter to his father's house.
+  Mer. A challenge, on my life.
+  Ben. Romeo will answer it.
+  Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter.
+  Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being
+    dared.
+  Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd with a white
+    wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love song; the
+    very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;
+    and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
+  Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?  
+  Mer. More than Prince of Cats, I can tell you. O, he's the
+    courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing
+    pricksong-keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his
+    minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom! the very
+    butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist! a gentleman of
+    the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the
+    immortal passado! the punto reverse! the hay.
+  Ben. The what?
+  Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes- these
+    new tuners of accent! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall
+    man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
+    grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange
+    flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardona-mi's, who stand so
+    much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old
+    bench? O, their bones, their bones!
+
+                               Enter Romeo.
+
+  Ben. Here comes Romeo! here comes Romeo!
+  Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art  
+    thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed
+    in. Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench (marry, she had a
+    better love to berhyme her), Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypsy,
+    Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, This be a gray eye or so,
+    but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French
+    salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
+    fairly last night.
+  Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
+  Mer. The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive?
+  Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great, and in such a
+    case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
+  Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a
+    man to bow in the hams.
+  Rom. Meaning, to cursy.
+  Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
+  Rom. A most courteous exposition.
+  Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
+  Rom. Pink for flower.
+  Mer. Right.
+  Rom. Why, then is my pump well-flower'd.  
+  Mer. Well said! Follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy
+    pump, that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may
+    remain, after the wearing, solely singular.
+  Rom. O single-sold jest, solely singular for the singleness!
+  Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio! My wits faint.
+  Rom. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs! or I'll cry a match.
+  Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done; for thou
+    hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I
+    have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose?
+  Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there
+    for the goose.
+  Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
+  Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not!
+  Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
+  Rom. And is it not, then, well serv'd in to a sweet goose?
+  Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch
+    narrow to an ell broad!
+  Rom. I stretch it out for that word 'broad,' which, added to the
+    goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
+  Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art  
+    thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by
+    art as well as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a
+    great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in
+    a hole.
+  Ben. Stop there, stop there!
+  Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
+  Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
+  Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd! I would have made it short; for I was
+    come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy
+    the argument no longer.
+  Rom. Here's goodly gear!
+
+                      Enter Nurse and her Man [Peter].
+
+  Mer. A sail, a sail!
+  Ben. Two, two! a shirt and a smock.
+  Nurse. Peter!
+  Peter. Anon.
+  Nurse. My fan, Peter.
+  Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face of  
+    the two.
+  Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
+  Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
+  Nurse. Is it good-den?
+  Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now
+    upon the prick of noon.
+  Nurse. Out upon you! What a man are you!
+  Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
+  Nurse. By my troth, it is well said. 'For himself to mar,' quoth
+    'a? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young
+    Romeo?
+  Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have
+    found him than he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of
+    that name, for fault of a worse.
+  Nurse. You say well.
+  Mer. Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i' faith! wisely,
+    wisely.
+  Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
+  Ben. She will endite him to some supper.
+  Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!  
+  Rom. What hast thou found?
+  Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is
+    something stale and hoar ere it be spent
+                                     He walks by them and sings.
+
+                   An old hare hoar,
+                   And an old hare hoar,
+                Is very good meat in Lent;
+                   But a hare that is hoar
+                   Is too much for a score
+                When it hoars ere it be spent.
+
+    Romeo, will you come to your father's? We'll to dinner thither.
+  Rom. I will follow you.
+  Mer. Farewell, ancient lady. Farewell,
+    [sings] lady, lady, lady.
+                                      Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio.
+  Nurse. Marry, farewell! I Pray you, Sir, what saucy merchant was
+    this that was so full of his ropery?
+  Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk and will  
+    speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
+  Nurse. An 'a speak anything against me, I'll take him down, an 'a
+    were lustier than he is, and twenty such jacks; and if I cannot,
+    I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his
+    flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand
+    by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure!
+  Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure. If I had, my weapon
+    should quickly have been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as soon
+    as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law
+    on my side.
+  Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me
+    quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word; and, as I told you,
+    my young lady bid me enquire you out. What she bid me say, I will
+    keep to myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her
+    into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of
+    behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young; and
+    therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an
+    ill thing to be off'red to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
+  Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto
+    thee-  
+  Nurse. Good heart, and I faith I will tell her as much. Lord,
+    Lord! she will be a joyful woman.
+  Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? Thou dost not mark me.
+  Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take
+    it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
+  Rom. Bid her devise
+    Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
+    And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell
+    Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.
+  Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.
+  Rom. Go to! I say you shall.
+  Nurse. This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
+  Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall.
+    Within this hour my man shall be with thee
+    And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,
+    Which to the high topgallant of my joy
+    Must be my convoy in the secret night.
+    Farewell. Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.
+    Farewell. Commend me to thy mistress.
+  Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.  
+  Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse?
+  Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
+    Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
+  Rom. I warrant thee my man's as true as steel.
+  Nurse. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord!
+    when 'twas a little prating thing- O, there is a nobleman in
+    town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good
+    soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger
+    her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but
+    I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout
+    in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with
+    a letter?
+  Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? Both with an R.
+  Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the- No; I know
+    it begins with some other letter; and she hath the prettiest
+    sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good
+    to hear it.
+  Rom. Commend me to thy lady.
+  Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit Romeo.] Peter!
+  Peter. Anon.  
+  Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before, and apace.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Capulet's orchard.
+
+Enter Juliet.
+
+  Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
+    In half an hour she 'promis'd to return.
+    Perchance she cannot meet him. That's not so.
+    O, she is lame! Love's heralds should be thoughts,
+    Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams
+    Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.
+    Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,
+    And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
+    Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
+    Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve
+    Is three long hours; yet she is not come.
+    Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
+    She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
+    My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
+    And his to me,
+    But old folks, many feign as they were dead-
+    Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.  
+
+                      Enter Nurse [and Peter].
+
+    O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?
+    Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
+  Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.
+                                                   [Exit Peter.]
+  Jul. Now, good sweet nurse- O Lord, why look'st thou sad?
+    Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
+    If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news
+    By playing it to me with so sour a face.
+  Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.
+    Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!
+  Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.
+    Nay, come, I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse, speak.
+  Nurse. Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile?
+    Do you not see that I am out of breath?
+  Jul. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath
+    To say to me that thou art out of breath?
+    The excuse that thou dost make in this delay  
+    Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
+    Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that.
+    Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance.
+    Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?
+  Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to
+    choose a man. Romeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than
+    any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand and a
+    foot, and a body, though they be not to be talk'd on, yet they
+    are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll
+    warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God.
+    What, have you din'd at home?
+  Jul. No, no. But all this did I know before.
+    What says he of our marriage? What of that?
+  Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I!
+    It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
+    My back o' t' other side,- ah, my back, my back!
+    Beshrew your heart for sending me about
+    To catch my death with jauncing up and down!
+  Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.
+    Sweet, sweet, Sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?  
+  Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous,
+    and a kind, and a handsome; and, I warrant, a virtuous- Where is
+    your mother?
+  Jul. Where is my mother? Why, she is within.
+    Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!
+    'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
+    "Where is your mother?"'
+  Nurse. O God's Lady dear!
+    Are you so hot? Marry come up, I trow.
+    Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
+    Henceforward do your messages yourself.
+  Jul. Here's such a coil! Come, what says Romeo?
+  Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
+  Jul. I have.
+  Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;
+    There stays a husband to make you a wife.
+    Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks:
+    They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
+    Hie you to church; I must another way,
+    To fetch a ladder, by the which your love  
+    Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark.
+    I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
+    But you shall bear the burthen soon at night.
+    Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.
+  Jul. Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene VI.
+Friar Laurence's cell.
+
+Enter Friar [Laurence] and Romeo.
+
+  Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act
+    That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!
+  Rom. Amen, amen! But come what sorrow can,
+    It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
+    That one short minute gives me in her sight.
+    Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
+    Then love-devouring death do what he dare-
+    It is enough I may but call her mine.
+  Friar. These violent delights have violent ends
+    And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
+    Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey
+    Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
+    And in the taste confounds the appetite.
+    Therefore love moderately: long love doth so;
+    Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
+
+                     Enter Juliet.  
+
+    Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot
+    Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.
+    A lover may bestride the gossamer
+    That idles in the wanton summer air,
+    And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
+  Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
+  Friar. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
+  Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
+  Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
+    Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
+    To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
+    This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
+    Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
+    Receive in either by this dear encounter.
+  Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
+    Brags of his substance, not of ornament.
+    They are but beggars that can count their worth;
+    But my true love is grown to such excess
+    cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.  
+  Friar. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
+    For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
+    Till Holy Church incorporate two in one.
+                                                       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+ACT III. Scene I.
+A public place.
+
+Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Men.
+
+  Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire.
+    The day is hot, the Capulets abroad.
+    And if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,
+    For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
+  Mer. Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the
+    confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table and says
+    'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second
+    cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.
+  Ben. Am I like such a fellow?
+  Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a jack in thy mood as any in
+    Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be
+    moved.
+  Ben. And what to?
+  Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for
+    one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man
+    that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast.
+    Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other  
+    reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye
+    would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as
+    an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as
+    addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrell'd with a man
+    for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that
+    hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a
+    tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter, with another
+    for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt
+    tutor me from quarrelling!
+  Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy
+    the fee simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
+  Mer. The fee simple? O simple!
+
+                       Enter Tybalt and others.
+
+  Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
+  Mer. By my heel, I care not.
+  Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
+    Gentlemen, good den. A word with one of you.
+  Mer. And but one word with one of us?  
+    Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.
+  Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me
+    occasion.
+  Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving
+  Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.
+  Mer. Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? An thou make
+    minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here's my
+    fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!
+  Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men.
+    Either withdraw unto some private place
+    And reason coldly of your grievances,
+    Or else depart. Here all eyes gaze on us.
+  Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
+    I will not budge for no man's pleasure,
+
+                        Enter Romeo.
+
+  Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man.
+  Mer. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery.
+    Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower!  
+    Your worship in that sense may call him man.
+  Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
+    No better term than this: thou art a villain.
+  Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
+    Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
+    To such a greeting. Villain am I none.
+    Therefore farewell. I see thou knowest me not.
+  Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
+    That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
+  Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee,
+    But love thee better than thou canst devise
+    Till thou shalt know the reason of my love;
+    And so good Capulet, which name I tender
+    As dearly as mine own, be satisfied.
+  Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
+    Alla stoccata carries it away.                      [Draws.]
+    Tybalt, you ratcatcher, will you walk?
+  Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me?
+  Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. That I
+    mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter,  
+    dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of
+    his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears
+    ere it be out.
+  Tyb. I am for you.                                    [Draws.]
+  Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
+  Mer. Come, sir, your passado!
+                                                   [They fight.]
+  Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
+    Gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage!
+    Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath
+    Forbid this bandying in Verona streets.
+    Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!
+         Tybalt under Romeo's arm thrusts Mercutio in, and flies
+                                           [with his Followers].
+  Mer. I am hurt.
+    A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
+    Is he gone and hath nothing?
+  Ben. What, art thou hurt?
+  Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, 'tis enough.
+    Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.  
+                                                    [Exit Page.]
+  Rom. Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much.
+  Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door;
+    but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you
+    shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this
+    world. A plague o' both your houses! Zounds, a dog, a rat, a
+    mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a
+    villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil
+    came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.
+  Rom. I thought all for the best.
+  Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio,
+    Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
+    They have made worms' meat of me. I have it,
+    And soundly too. Your houses!
+                                 [Exit. [supported by Benvolio].
+  Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally,
+    My very friend, hath got this mortal hurt
+    In my behalf- my reputation stain'd
+    With Tybalt's slander- Tybalt, that an hour
+    Hath been my kinsman. O sweet Juliet,  
+    Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
+    And in my temper soft'ned valour's steel
+
+                      Enter Benvolio.
+
+  Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!
+    That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
+    Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
+  Rom. This day's black fate on moe days doth depend;
+    This but begins the woe others must end.
+
+                       Enter Tybalt.
+
+  Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
+  Rom. Alive in triumph, and Mercutio slain?
+    Away to heaven respective lenity,
+    And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!
+    Now, Tybalt, take the 'villain' back again
+    That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul
+    Is but a little way above our heads,  
+    Staying for thine to keep him company.
+    Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.
+  Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
+    Shalt with him hence.
+  Rom. This shall determine that.
+                                       They fight. Tybalt falls.
+  Ben. Romeo, away, be gone!
+    The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
+    Stand not amaz'd. The Prince will doom thee death
+    If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!
+  Rom. O, I am fortune's fool!
+  Ben. Why dost thou stay?
+                                                     Exit Romeo.
+                      Enter Citizens.
+
+  Citizen. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
+    Tybalt, that murtherer, which way ran he?
+  Ben. There lies that Tybalt.
+  Citizen. Up, sir, go with me.
+    I charge thee in the Prince's name obey.  
+
+  Enter Prince [attended], Old Montague, Capulet, their Wives,
+                     and [others].
+
+  Prince. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
+  Ben. O noble Prince. I can discover all
+    The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.
+    There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
+    That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
+  Cap. Wife. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!
+    O Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill'd
+    Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
+    For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.
+    O cousin, cousin!
+  Prince. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
+  Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did stay.
+    Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
+    How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
+    Your high displeasure. All this- uttered
+    With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd-  
+    Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
+    Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
+    With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
+    Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
+    And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
+    Cold death aside and with the other sends
+    It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
+    Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,
+    'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue,
+    His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
+    And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
+    An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
+    Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
+    But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,
+    Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
+    And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
+    Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
+    And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
+    This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
+  Cap. Wife. He is a kinsman to the Montague;  
+    Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.
+    Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
+    And all those twenty could but kill one life.
+    I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give.
+    Romeo slew Tybalt; Romeo must not live.
+  Prince. Romeo slew him; he slew Mercutio.
+    Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
+  Mon. Not Romeo, Prince; he was Mercutio's friend;
+    His fault concludes but what the law should end,
+    The life of Tybalt.
+  Prince. And for that offence
+    Immediately we do exile him hence.
+    I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
+    My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
+    But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
+    That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
+    I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
+    Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.
+    Therefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste,
+    Else, when he is found, that hour is his last.  
+    Bear hence this body, and attend our will.
+    Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Capulet's orchard.
+
+Enter Juliet alone.
+
+  Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
+    Towards Phoebus' lodging! Such a wagoner
+    As Phaeton would whip you to the West
+    And bring in cloudy night immediately.
+    Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
+    That runaway eyes may wink, and Romeo
+    Leap to these arms untalk'd of and unseen.
+    Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
+    By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
+    It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
+    Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
+    And learn me how to lose a winning match,
+    Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
+    Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
+    With thy black mantle till strange love, grown bold,
+    Think true love acted simple modesty.
+    Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;  
+    For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
+    Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back.
+    Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night;
+    Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
+    Take him and cut him out in little stars,
+    And he will make the face of heaven so fine
+    That all the world will be in love with night
+    And pay no worship to the garish sun.
+    O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
+    But not possess'd it; and though I am sold,
+    Not yet enjoy'd. So tedious is this day
+    As is the night before some festival
+    To an impatient child that hath new robes
+    And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
+
+                Enter Nurse, with cords.
+
+    And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
+    But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
+    Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords  
+    That Romeo bid thee fetch?
+  Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.
+                                             [Throws them down.]
+  Jul. Ay me! what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands
+  Nurse. Ah, weraday! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
+    We are undone, lady, we are undone!
+    Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
+  Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
+  Nurse. Romeo can,
+    Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo!
+    Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
+  Jul. What devil art thou that dost torment me thus?
+    This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
+    Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but 'I,'
+    And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more
+    Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.
+    I am not I, if there be such an 'I';
+    Or those eyes shut that make thee answer 'I.'
+    If be be slain, say 'I'; or if not, 'no.'
+    Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.  
+  Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
+    (God save the mark!) here on his manly breast.
+    A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
+    Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
+    All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.
+  Jul. O, break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once!
+    To prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty!
+    Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here,
+    And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
+  Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
+    O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman
+    That ever I should live to see thee dead!
+  Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary?
+    Is Romeo slaught'red, and is Tybalt dead?
+    My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?
+    Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
+    For who is living, if those two are gone?
+  Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
+    Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.
+  Jul. O God! Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?  
+  Nurse. It did, it did! alas the day, it did!
+  Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
+    Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
+    Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
+    Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
+    Despised substance of divinest show!
+    Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st-
+    A damned saint, an honourable villain!
+    O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell
+    When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
+    In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
+    Was ever book containing such vile matter
+    So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
+    In such a gorgeous palace!
+  Nurse. There's no trust,
+    No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd,
+    All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
+    Ah, where's my man? Give me some aqua vitae.
+    These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
+    Shame come to Romeo!  
+  Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue
+    For such a wish! He was not born to shame.
+    Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit;
+    For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
+    Sole monarch of the universal earth.
+    O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
+  Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?
+  Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
+    Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name
+    When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
+    But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
+    That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband.
+    Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring!
+    Your tributary drops belong to woe,
+    Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
+    My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
+    And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband.
+    All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
+    Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
+    That murd'red me. I would forget it fain;  
+    But O, it presses to my memory
+    Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds!
+    'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo- banished.'
+    That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
+    Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
+    Was woe enough, if it had ended there;
+    Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
+    And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
+    Why followed not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'
+    Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
+    Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
+    But with a rearward following Tybalt's death,
+    'Romeo is banished'- to speak that word
+    Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
+    All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished'-
+    There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
+    In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
+    Where is my father and my mother, nurse?
+  Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse.
+    Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.  
+  Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? Mine shall be spent,
+    When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
+    Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil'd,
+    Both you and I, for Romeo is exil'd.
+    He made you for a highway to my bed;
+    But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
+    Come, cords; come, nurse. I'll to my wedding bed;
+    And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
+  Nurse. Hie to your chamber. I'll find Romeo
+    To comfort you. I wot well where he is.
+    Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.
+    I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
+  Jul. O, find him! give this ring to my true knight
+    And bid him come to take his last farewell.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Friar Laurence's cell.
+
+Enter Friar [Laurence].
+
+  Friar. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.
+    Affliction is enanmour'd of thy parts,
+    And thou art wedded to calamity.
+
+                         Enter Romeo.
+
+  Rom. Father, what news? What is the Prince's doom
+    What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand
+    That I yet know not?
+  Friar. Too familiar
+    Is my dear son with such sour company.
+    I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.
+  Rom. What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom?
+  Friar. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips-
+    Not body's death, but body's banishment.
+  Rom. Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say 'death';
+    For exile hath more terror in his look,  
+    Much more than death. Do not say 'banishment.'
+  Friar. Hence from Verona art thou banished.
+    Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
+  Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
+    But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
+    Hence banished is banish'd from the world,
+    And world's exile is death. Then 'banishment'
+    Is death misterm'd. Calling death 'banishment,'
+    Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe
+    And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
+  Friar. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
+    Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince,
+    Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
+    And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
+    This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
+  Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here,
+    Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
+    And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
+    Live here in heaven and may look on her;
+    But Romeo may not. More validity,  
+    More honourable state, more courtship lives
+    In carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize
+    On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
+    And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
+    Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
+    Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
+    But Romeo may not- he is banished.
+    This may flies do, when I from this must fly;
+    They are free men, but I am banished.
+    And sayest thou yet that exile is not death?
+    Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
+    No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
+    But 'banished' to kill me- 'banished'?
+    O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
+    Howling attends it! How hast thou the heart,
+    Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
+    A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
+    To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
+  Friar. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak.
+  Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.  
+  Friar. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
+    Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
+    To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
+  Rom. Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!
+    Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
+    Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
+    It helps not, it prevails not. Talk no more.
+  Friar. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
+  Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
+  Friar. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
+  Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.
+    Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
+    An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
+    Doting like me, and like me banished,
+    Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
+    And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
+    Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
+                                                 Knock [within].
+  Friar. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.
+  Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,  
+    Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.          Knock.
+  Friar. Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;
+    Thou wilt be taken.- Stay awhile!- Stand up;          Knock.
+    Run to my study.- By-and-by!- God's will,
+    What simpleness is this.- I come, I come!             Knock.
+    Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? What's your will
+  Nurse. [within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand.
+    I come from Lady Juliet.
+  Friar. Welcome then.
+
+                       Enter Nurse.
+
+  Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar
+    Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?
+  Friar. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
+  Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case,
+    Just in her case!
+  Friar. O woeful sympathy!
+    Piteous predicament!
+  Nurse. Even so lies she,  
+    Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
+    Stand up, stand up! Stand, an you be a man.
+    For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand!
+    Why should you fall into so deep an O?
+  Rom. (rises) Nurse-
+  Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.
+  Rom. Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
+    Doth not she think me an old murtherer,
+    Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
+    With blood remov'd but little from her own?
+    Where is she? and how doth she! and what says
+    My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?
+  Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
+    And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
+    And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
+    And then down falls again.
+  Rom. As if that name,
+    Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
+    Did murther her; as that name's cursed hand
+    Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,  
+    In what vile part of this anatomy
+    Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack
+    The hateful mansion.                     [Draws his dagger.]
+  Friar. Hold thy desperate hand.
+    Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art;
+    Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
+    The unreasonable fury of a beast.
+    Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
+    Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
+    Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order,
+    I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
+    Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?
+    And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
+    By doing damned hate upon thyself?
+    Why railest thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
+    Since birth and heaven and earth, all three do meet
+    In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
+    Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit,
+    Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
+    And usest none in that true use indeed  
+    Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
+    Thy noble shape is but a form of wax
+    Digressing from the valour of a man;
+    Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
+    Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
+    Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
+    Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
+    Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask,
+    is get afire by thine own ignorance,
+    And thou dismemb'red with thine own defence.
+    What, rouse thee, man! Thy Juliet is alive,
+    For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.
+    There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
+    But thou slewest Tybalt. There art thou happy too.
+    The law, that threat'ned death, becomes thy friend
+    And turns it to exile. There art thou happy.
+    A pack of blessings light upon thy back;
+    Happiness courts thee in her best array;
+    But, like a misbhav'd and sullen wench,
+    Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love.  
+    Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
+    Go get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
+    Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her.
+    But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
+    For then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
+    Where thou shalt live till we can find a time
+    To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
+    Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back
+    With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
+    Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
+    Go before, nurse. Commend me to thy lady,
+    And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
+    Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.
+    Romeo is coming.
+  Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night
+    To hear good counsel. O, what learning is!
+    My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
+  Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
+  Nurse. Here is a ring she bid me give you, sir.
+    Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.           Exit.  
+  Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
+  Friar. Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:
+    Either be gone before the watch be set,
+    Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence.
+    Sojourn in Mantua. I'll find out your man,
+    And he shall signify from time to time
+    Every good hap to you that chances here.
+    Give me thy hand. 'Tis late. Farewell; good night.
+  Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
+    It were a grief so brief to part with thee.
+    Farewell.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+Capulet's house
+
+Enter Old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris.
+
+  Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily
+    That we have had no time to move our daughter.
+    Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
+    And so did I. Well, we were born to die.
+    'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night.
+    I promise you, but for your company,
+    I would have been abed an hour ago.
+  Par. These times of woe afford no tune to woo.
+    Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.
+  Lady. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
+    To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.
+  Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
+    Of my child's love. I think she will be rul'd
+    In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
+    Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
+    Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love
+    And bid her (mark you me?) on Wednesday next-  
+    But, soft! what day is this?
+  Par. Monday, my lord.
+  Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon.
+    Thursday let it be- a Thursday, tell her
+    She shall be married to this noble earl.
+    Will you be ready? Do you like this haste?
+    We'll keep no great ado- a friend or two;
+    For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
+    It may be thought we held him carelessly,
+    Being our kinsman, if we revel much.
+    Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
+    And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
+  Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
+  Cap. Well, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.
+    Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed;
+    Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day.
+    Farewell, My lord.- Light to my chamber, ho!
+    Afore me, It is so very very late
+    That we may call it early by-and-by.
+    Good night.  
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Capulet's orchard.
+
+Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft, at the Window.
+
+  Jul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
+    It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
+    That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear.
+    Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.
+    Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
+  Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn;
+    No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
+    Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East.
+    Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
+    Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
+    I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
+  Jul. Yond light is not daylight; I know it, I.
+    It is some meteor that the sun exhales
+    To be to thee this night a torchbearer
+    And light thee on the way to Mantua.
+    Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
+  Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death.  
+    I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
+    I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
+    'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
+    Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat
+    The vaulty heaven so high above our heads.
+    I have more care to stay than will to go.
+    Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
+    How is't, my soul? Let's talk; it is not day.
+  Jul. It is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away!
+    It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
+    Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
+    Some say the lark makes sweet division;
+    This doth not so, for she divideth us.
+    Some say the lark and loathed toad chang'd eyes;
+    O, now I would they had chang'd voices too,
+    Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
+    Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day!
+    O, now be gone! More light and light it grows.
+  Rom. More light and light- more dark and dark our woes!
+  
+                          Enter Nurse.
+
+  Nurse. Madam!
+  Jul. Nurse?
+  Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
+    The day is broke; be wary, look about.
+  Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
+                                                         [Exit.]
+  Rom. Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll descend.
+                                                  He goeth down.
+  Jul. Art thou gone so, my lord, my love, my friend?
+    I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
+    For in a minute there are many days.
+    O, by this count I shall be much in years
+    Ere I again behold my Romeo!
+  Rom. Farewell!
+    I will omit no opportunity
+    That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
+  Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
+  Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve  
+    For sweet discourses in our time to come.
+  Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
+    Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
+    As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.
+    Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
+  Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you.
+    Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
+Exit.
+  Jul. O Fortune, Fortune! all men call thee fickle.
+    If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
+    That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, Fortune,
+    For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long
+    But send him back.
+  Lady. [within] Ho, daughter! are you up?
+  Jul. Who is't that calls? It is my lady mother.
+    Is she not down so late, or up so early?
+    What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?
+
+                       Enter Mother.
+  
+  Lady. Why, how now, Juliet?
+  Jul. Madam, I am not well.
+  Lady. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
+    What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
+    An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live.
+    Therefore have done. Some grief shows much of love;
+    But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
+  Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
+  Lady. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
+    Which you weep for.
+  Jul. Feeling so the loss,
+    I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
+  Lady. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death
+    As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
+  Jul. What villain, madam?
+  Lady. That same villain Romeo.
+  Jul. [aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-
+    God pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
+    And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
+  Lady. That is because the traitor murderer lives.  
+  Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands.
+    Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!
+  Lady. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.
+    Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
+    Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
+    Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram
+    That he shall soon keep Tybalt company;
+    And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.
+  Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied
+    With Romeo till I behold him- dead-
+    Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd.
+    Madam, if you could find out but a man
+    To bear a poison, I would temper it;
+    That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
+    Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
+    To hear him nam'd and cannot come to him,
+    To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt
+    Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!
+  Lady. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
+    But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.  
+  Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time.
+    What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
+  Lady. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;
+    One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
+    Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy
+    That thou expects not nor I look'd not for.
+  Jul. Madam, in happy time! What day is that?
+  Lady. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn
+    The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
+    The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church,
+    Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
+  Jul. Now by Saint Peter's Church, and Peter too,
+    He shall not make me there a joyful bride!
+    I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
+    Ere he that should be husband comes to woo.
+    I pray you tell my lord and father, madam,
+    I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear
+    It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
+    Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!
+  Lady. Here comes your father. Tell him so yourself,  
+    And see how be will take it at your hands.
+
+                   Enter Capulet and Nurse.
+
+  Cap. When the sun sets the air doth drizzle dew,
+    But for the sunset of my brother's son
+    It rains downright.
+    How now? a conduit, girl? What, still in tears?
+    Evermore show'ring? In one little body
+    Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind:
+    For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
+    Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is
+    Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs,
+    Who, raging with thy tears and they with them,
+    Without a sudden calm will overset
+    Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?
+    Have you delivered to her our decree?
+  Lady. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
+    I would the fool were married to her grave!
+  Cap. Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife.  
+    How? Will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?
+    Is she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,
+    Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
+    So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
+  Jul. Not proud you have, but thankful that you have.
+    Proud can I never be of what I hate,
+    But thankful even for hate that is meant love.
+  Cap. How, how, how, how, choplogic? What is this?
+    'Proud'- and 'I thank you'- and 'I thank you not'-
+    And yet 'not proud'? Mistress minion you,
+    Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
+    But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next
+    To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,
+    Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
+    Out, you green-sickness carrion I out, you baggage!
+    You tallow-face!
+  Lady. Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
+  Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
+    Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
+  Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!  
+    I tell thee what- get thee to church a Thursday
+    Or never after look me in the face.
+    Speak not, reply not, do not answer me!
+    My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest
+    That God had lent us but this only child;
+    But now I see this one is one too much,
+    And that we have a curse in having her.
+    Out on her, hilding!
+  Nurse. God in heaven bless her!
+    You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
+  Cap. And why, my Lady Wisdom? Hold your tongue,
+    Good Prudence. Smatter with your gossips, go!
+  Nurse. I speak no treason.
+  Cap. O, God-i-god-en!
+  Nurse. May not one speak?
+  Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool!
+    Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
+    For here we need it not.
+  Lady. You are too hot.
+  Cap. God's bread I it makes me mad. Day, night, late, early,  
+    At home, abroad, alone, in company,
+    Waking or sleeping, still my care hath been
+    To have her match'd; and having now provided
+    A gentleman of princely parentage,
+    Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
+    Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
+    Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man-
+    And then to have a wretched puling fool,
+    A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
+    To answer 'I'll not wed, I cannot love;
+    I am too young, I pray you pardon me'!
+    But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you.
+    Graze where you will, you shall not house with me.
+    Look to't, think on't; I do not use to jest.
+    Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
+    An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
+    An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,
+    For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
+    Nor what is mine shall never do thee good.
+    Trust to't. Bethink you. I'll not be forsworn.         Exit.  
+  Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds
+    That sees into the bottom of my grief?
+    O sweet my mother, cast me not away!
+    Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
+    Or if you do not, make the bridal bed
+    In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
+  Lady. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word.
+    Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.            Exit.
+  Jul. O God!- O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
+    My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven.
+    How shall that faith return again to earth
+    Unless that husband send it me from heaven
+    By leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me.
+    Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
+    Upon so soft a subject as myself!
+    What say'st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?
+    Some comfort, nurse.
+  Nurse. Faith, here it is.
+    Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing
+    That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;  
+    Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
+    Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
+    I think it best you married with the County.
+    O, he's a lovely gentleman!
+    Romeo's a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,
+    Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
+    As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
+    I think you are happy in this second match,
+    For it excels your first; or if it did not,
+    Your first is dead- or 'twere as good he were
+    As living here and you no use of him.
+  Jul. Speak'st thou this from thy heart?
+  Nurse. And from my soul too; else beshrew them both.
+  Jul. Amen!
+  Nurse. What?
+  Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
+    Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,
+    Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,
+    To make confession and to be absolv'd.
+  Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.           Exit.  
+  Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
+    Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
+    Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
+    Which she hath prais'd him with above compare
+    So many thousand times? Go, counsellor!
+    Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
+    I'll to the friar to know his remedy.
+    If all else fail, myself have power to die.            Exit.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. Scene I.
+Friar Laurence's cell.
+
+Enter Friar, [Laurence] and County Paris.
+
+  Friar. On Thursday, sir? The time is very short.
+  Par. My father Capulet will have it so,
+    And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.
+  Friar. You say you do not know the lady's mind.
+    Uneven is the course; I like it not.
+  Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
+    And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
+    For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
+    Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
+    That she do give her sorrow so much sway,
+    And in his wisdom hastes our marriage
+    To stop the inundation of her tears,
+    Which, too much minded by herself alone,
+    May be put from her by society.
+    Now do you know the reason of this haste.
+  Friar. [aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.-
+    Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.  
+
+                    Enter Juliet.
+
+  Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife!
+  Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
+  Par. That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.
+  Jul. What must be shall be.
+  Friar. That's a certain text.
+  Par. Come you to make confession to this father?
+  Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you.
+  Par. Do not deny to him that you love me.
+  Jul. I will confess to you that I love him.
+  Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.
+  Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price,
+    Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.
+  Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.
+  Jul. The tears have got small victory by that,
+    For it was bad enough before their spite.
+  Par. Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report.
+  Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;  
+    And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
+  Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast sland'red it.
+  Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.
+    Are you at leisure, holy father, now,
+    Or shall I come to you at evening mass
+  Friar. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
+    My lord, we must entreat the time alone.
+  Par. God shield I should disturb devotion!
+    Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye.
+    Till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss.             Exit.
+  Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so,
+    Come weep with me- past hope, past cure, past help!
+  Friar. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
+    It strains me past the compass of my wits.
+    I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
+    On Thursday next be married to this County.
+  Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
+    Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.
+    If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,
+    Do thou but call my resolution wise  
+    And with this knife I'll help it presently.
+    God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
+    And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo's seal'd,
+    Shall be the label to another deed,
+    Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
+    Turn to another, this shall slay them both.
+    Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time,
+    Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
+    'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
+    Shall play the empire, arbitrating that
+    Which the commission of thy years and art
+    Could to no issue of true honour bring.
+    Be not so long to speak. I long to die
+    If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
+  Friar. Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,
+    Which craves as desperate an execution
+    As that is desperate which we would prevent.
+    If, rather than to marry County Paris
+    Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,
+    Then is it likely thou wilt undertake  
+    A thing like death to chide away this shame,
+    That cop'st with death himself to scape from it;
+    And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.
+  Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
+    From off the battlements of yonder tower,
+    Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk
+    Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears,
+    Or shut me nightly in a charnel house,
+    O'ercover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
+    With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;
+    Or bid me go into a new-made grave
+    And hide me with a dead man in his shroud-
+    Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble-
+    And I will do it without fear or doubt,
+    To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.
+  Friar. Hold, then. Go home, be merry, give consent
+    To marry Paris. Wednesday is to-morrow.
+    To-morrow night look that thou lie alone;
+    Let not the nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.
+    Take thou this vial, being then in bed,  
+    And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
+    When presently through all thy veins shall run
+    A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse
+    Shall keep his native progress, but surcease;
+    No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
+    The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
+    To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall
+    Like death when he shuts up the day of life;
+    Each part, depriv'd of supple government,
+    Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death;
+    And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
+    Thou shalt continue two-and-forty hours,
+    And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
+    Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes
+    To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.
+    Then, as the manner of our country is,
+    In thy best robes uncovered on the bier
+    Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
+    Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
+    In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,  
+    Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift;
+    And hither shall he come; and he and I
+    Will watch thy waking, and that very night
+    Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
+    And this shall free thee from this present shame,
+    If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear
+    Abate thy valour in the acting it.
+  Jul. Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!
+  Friar. Hold! Get you gone, be strong and prosperous
+    In this resolve. I'll send a friar with speed
+    To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.
+  Jul. Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford.
+    Farewell, dear father.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Capulet's house.
+
+Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Servingmen,
+                        two or three.
+
+  Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.
+                                            [Exit a Servingman.]
+    Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
+  Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick
+    their fingers.
+  Cap. How canst thou try them so?
+  Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own
+    fingers. Therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with
+    me.
+  Cap. Go, begone.
+                                                Exit Servingman.
+    We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.
+    What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?
+  Nurse. Ay, forsooth.
+  Cap. Well, be may chance to do some good on her.
+    A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.  
+
+                        Enter Juliet.
+
+  Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look.
+  Cap. How now, my headstrong? Where have you been gadding?
+  Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
+    Of disobedient opposition
+    To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
+    By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here
+    To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you!
+    Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.
+  Cap. Send for the County. Go tell him of this.
+    I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
+  Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell
+    And gave him what becomed love I might,
+    Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
+  Cap. Why, I am glad on't. This is well. Stand up.
+    This is as't should be. Let me see the County.
+    Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
+    Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar,  
+    All our whole city is much bound to him.
+  Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet
+    To help me sort such needful ornaments
+    As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?
+  Mother. No, not till Thursday. There is time enough.
+  Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. We'll to church to-morrow.
+                                        Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.
+  Mother. We shall be short in our provision.
+    'Tis now near night.
+  Cap. Tush, I will stir about,
+    And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.
+    Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.
+    I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone.
+    I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho!
+    They are all forth; well, I will walk myself
+    To County Paris, to prepare him up
+    Against to-morrow. My heart is wondrous light,
+    Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Juliet's chamber.
+
+Enter Juliet and Nurse.
+
+  Jul. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,
+    I pray thee leave me to myself to-night;
+    For I have need of many orisons
+    To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
+    Which, well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin.
+
+                          Enter Mother.
+
+  Mother. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?
+  Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
+    As are behooffull for our state to-morrow.
+    So please you, let me now be left alone,
+    And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
+    For I am sure you have your hands full all
+    In this so sudden business.
+  Mother. Good night.
+    Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.  
+                                      Exeunt [Mother and Nurse.]
+  Jul. Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.
+    I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
+    That almost freezes up the heat of life.
+    I'll call them back again to comfort me.
+    Nurse!- What should she do here?
+    My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
+    Come, vial.
+    What if this mixture do not work at all?
+    Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?
+    No, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.
+                                             Lays down a dagger.
+    What if it be a poison which the friar
+    Subtilly hath minist'red to have me dead,
+    Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd
+    Because he married me before to Romeo?
+    I fear it is; and yet methinks it should not,
+    For he hath still been tried a holy man.
+    I will not entertain so bad a thought.
+    How if, when I am laid into the tomb,  
+    I wake before the time that Romeo
+    Come to redeem me? There's a fearful point!
+    Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
+    To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
+    And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
+    Or, if I live, is it not very like
+    The horrible conceit of death and night,
+    Together with the terror of the place-
+    As in a vault, an ancient receptacle
+    Where for this many hundred years the bones
+    Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
+    Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
+    Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say,
+    At some hours in the night spirits resort-
+    Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
+    So early waking- what with loathsome smells,
+    And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
+    That living mortals, hearing them, run mad-
+    O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
+    Environed with all these hideous fears,  
+    And madly play with my forefathers' joints,
+    And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud.,
+    And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone
+    As with a club dash out my desp'rate brains?
+    O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
+    Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
+    Upon a rapier's point. Stay, Tybalt, stay!
+    Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
+
+        She [drinks and] falls upon her bed within the curtains.
+
+
+
+
+Scene IV.
+Capulet's house.
+
+Enter Lady of the House and Nurse.
+
+  Lady. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse.
+  Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.
+
+                       Enter Old Capulet.
+
+  Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow'd,
+    The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock.
+    Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica;
+    Spare not for cost.
+  Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go,
+    Get you to bed! Faith, you'll be sick to-morrow
+    For this night's watching.
+  Cap. No, not a whit. What, I have watch'd ere now
+    All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.
+  Lady. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;
+    But I will watch you from such watching now.
+                                          Exeunt Lady and Nurse.  
+  Cap. A jealous hood, a jealous hood!
+
+  Enter three or four [Fellows, with spits and logs and baskets.
+
+    What is there? Now, fellow,
+  Fellow. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.
+  Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit Fellow.] Sirrah, fetch drier
+      logs.
+    Call Peter; he will show thee where they are.
+  Fellow. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs
+    And never trouble Peter for the matter.
+  Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
+    Thou shalt be loggerhead. [Exit Fellow.] Good faith, 'tis day.
+    The County will be here with music straight,
+    For so he said he would.                         Play music.
+    I hear him near.
+    Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!
+
+                              Enter Nurse.  
+    Go waken Juliet; go and trim her up.
+    I'll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste,
+    Make haste! The bridegroom he is come already:
+    Make haste, I say.
+                                                       [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+Scene V.
+Juliet's chamber.
+
+[Enter Nurse.]
+
+  Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.
+    Why, lamb! why, lady! Fie, you slug-abed!
+    Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! Why, bride!
+    What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now!
+    Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
+    The County Paris hath set up his rest
+    That you shall rest but little. God forgive me!
+    Marry, and amen. How sound is she asleep!
+    I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!
+    Ay, let the County take you in your bed!
+    He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?
+                                     [Draws aside the curtains.]
+    What, dress'd, and in your clothes, and down again?
+    I must needs wake you. Lady! lady! lady!
+    Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady's dead!
+    O weraday that ever I was born!
+    Some aqua-vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!  
+
+                           Enter Mother.
+
+  Mother. What noise is here?
+  Nurse. O lamentable day!
+  Mother. What is the matter?
+  Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day!
+  Mother. O me, O me! My child, my only life!
+    Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
+    Help, help! Call help.
+
+                            Enter Father.
+
+  Father. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
+  Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd; she's dead! Alack the day!
+  Mother. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!
+  Cap. Ha! let me see her. Out alas! she's cold,
+    Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
+    Life and these lips have long been separated.
+    Death lies on her like an untimely frost  
+    Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
+  Nurse. O lamentable day!
+  Mother. O woful time!
+  Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
+    Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.
+
+  Enter Friar [Laurence] and the County [Paris], with Musicians.
+
+  Friar. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
+  Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
+    O son, the night before thy wedding day
+    Hath Death lain with thy wife. See, there she lies,
+    Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
+    Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
+    My daughter he hath wedded. I will die
+    And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death's.
+  Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
+    And doth it give me such a sight as this?
+  Mother. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
+    Most miserable hour that e'er time saw  
+    In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
+    But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
+    But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
+    And cruel Death hath catch'd it from my sight!
+  Nurse. O woe? O woful, woful, woful day!
+    Most lamentable day, most woful day
+    That ever ever I did yet behold!
+    O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
+    Never was seen so black a day as this.
+    O woful day! O woful day!
+  Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
+    Most detestable Death, by thee beguil'd,
+    By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
+    O love! O life! not life, but love in death
+  Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
+    Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now
+    To murther, murther our solemnity?
+    O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
+    Dead art thou, dead! alack, my child is dead,
+    And with my child my joys are buried!  
+  Friar. Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion's cure lives not
+    In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
+    Had part in this fair maid! now heaven hath all,
+    And all the better is it for the maid.
+    Your part in her you could not keep from death,
+    But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
+    The most you sought was her promotion,
+    For 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd;
+    And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd
+    Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
+    O, in this love, you love your child so ill
+    That you run mad, seeing that she is well.
+    She's not well married that lives married long,
+    But she's best married that dies married young.
+    Dry up your tears and stick your rosemary
+    On this fair corse, and, as the custom is,
+    In all her best array bear her to church;
+    For though fond nature bids us all lament,
+    Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.
+  Cap. All things that we ordained festival  
+    Turn from their office to black funeral-
+    Our instruments to melancholy bells,
+    Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
+    Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
+    Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse;
+    And all things change them to the contrary.
+  Friar. Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
+    And go, Sir Paris. Every one prepare
+    To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
+    The heavens do low'r upon you for some ill;
+    Move them no more by crossing their high will.
+                           Exeunt. Manent Musicians [and Nurse].
+  1. Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
+  Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up!
+    For well you know this is a pitiful case.            [Exit.]
+  1. Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
+
+                         Enter Peter.
+
+  Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's ease'!  
+    O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.'
+  1. Mus. Why 'Heart's ease'',
+  Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full
+    of woe.' O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.
+  1. Mus. Not a dump we! 'Tis no time to play now.
+  Pet. You will not then?
+  1. Mus. No.
+  Pet. I will then give it you soundly.
+  1. Mus. What will you give us?
+  Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you the
+     minstrel.
+  1. Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature.
+  Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate.
+    I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you, I'll fa you. Do you note
+    me?
+  1. Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us.
+  2. Mus. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
+  Pet. Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron
+    wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.
+  
+           'When griping grief the heart doth wound,
+             And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
+           Then music with her silver sound'-
+
+    Why 'silver sound'? Why 'music with her silver sound'?
+    What say you, Simon Catling?
+  1. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
+  Pet. Pretty! What say You, Hugh Rebeck?
+  2. Mus. I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver.
+  Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?
+  3. Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.
+  Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer. I will say for you. It
+    is 'music with her silver sound' because musicians have no gold
+    for sounding.
+
+           'Then music with her silver sound
+             With speedy help doth lend redress.'         [Exit.
+
+  1. Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same?
+  2. Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here, tarry for the  
+    mourners, and stay dinner.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. Scene I.
+Mantua. A street.
+
+Enter Romeo.
+
+  Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep
+    My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
+    My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne,
+    And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit
+    Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
+    I dreamt my lady came and found me dead
+    (Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think!)
+    And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips
+    That I reviv'd and was an emperor.
+    Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
+    When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!
+
+                Enter Romeo's Man Balthasar, booted.
+
+    News from Verona! How now, Balthasar?
+    Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
+    How doth my lady? Is my father well?  
+    How fares my Juliet? That I ask again,
+    For nothing can be ill if she be well.
+  Man. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
+    Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
+    And her immortal part with angels lives.
+    I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault
+    And presently took post to tell it you.
+    O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
+    Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
+  Rom. Is it e'en so? Then I defy you, stars!
+    Thou knowest my lodging. Get me ink and paper
+    And hire posthorses. I will hence to-night.
+  Man. I do beseech you, sir, have patience.
+    Your looks are pale and wild and do import
+    Some misadventure.
+  Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd.
+    Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.
+    Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
+  Man. No, my good lord.
+  Rom. No matter. Get thee gone  
+    And hire those horses. I'll be with thee straight.
+                                               Exit [Balthasar].
+    Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
+    Let's see for means. O mischief, thou art swift
+    To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
+    I do remember an apothecary,
+    And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
+    In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows,
+    Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks,
+    Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
+    And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
+    An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
+    Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
+    A beggarly account of empty boxes,
+    Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
+    Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
+    Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.
+    Noting this penury, to myself I said,
+    'An if a man did need a poison now
+    Whose sale is present death in Mantua,  
+    Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.'
+    O, this same thought did but forerun my need,
+    And this same needy man must sell it me.
+    As I remember, this should be the house.
+    Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary!
+
+                        Enter Apothecary.
+
+  Apoth. Who calls so loud?
+  Rom. Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor.
+    Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have
+    A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
+    As will disperse itself through all the veins
+    That the life-weary taker mall fall dead,
+    And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath
+    As violently as hasty powder fir'd
+    Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.
+  Apoth. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law
+    Is death to any he that utters them.
+  Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness  
+    And fearest to die? Famine is in thy cheeks,
+    Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes,
+    Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back:
+    The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
+    The world affords no law to make thee rich;
+    Then be not poor, but break it and take this.
+  Apoth. My poverty but not my will consents.
+  Rom. I pay thy poverty and not thy will.
+  Apoth. Put this in any liquid thing you will
+    And drink it off, and if you had the strength
+    Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.
+  Rom. There is thy gold- worse poison to men's souls,
+    Doing more murther in this loathsome world,
+    Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
+    I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none.
+    Farewell. Buy food and get thyself in flesh.
+    Come, cordial and not poison, go with me
+    To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.
+                                                         Exeunt.
+
+
+
+
+Scene II.
+Verona. Friar Laurence's cell.
+
+Enter Friar John to Friar Laurence.
+
+  John. Holy Franciscan friar, brother, ho!
+
+                      Enter Friar Laurence.
+
+  Laur. This same should be the voice of Friar John.
+    Welcome from Mantua. What says Romeo?
+    Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.
+  John. Going to find a barefoot brother out,
+    One of our order, to associate me
+    Here in this city visiting the sick,
+    And finding him, the searchers of the town,
+    Suspecting that we both were in a house
+    Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
+    Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth,
+    So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.
+  Laur. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
+  John. I could not send it- here it is again-  
+    Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
+    So fearful were they of infection.
+  Laur. Unhappy fortune! By my brotherhood,
+    The letter was not nice, but full of charge,
+    Of dear import; and the neglecting it
+    May do much danger. Friar John, go hence,
+    Get me an iron crow and bring it straight
+    Unto my cell.
+  John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.                 Exit.
+  Laur. Now, must I to the monument alone.
+    Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake.
+    She will beshrew me much that Romeo
+    Hath had no notice of these accidents;
+    But I will write again to Mantua,
+    And keep her at my cell till Romeo come-
+    Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb!        Exit.
+
+
+
+
+Scene III.
+Verona. A churchyard; in it the monument of the Capulets.
+
+Enter Paris and his Page with flowers and [a torch].
+
+  Par. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof.
+    Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
+    Under yond yew tree lay thee all along,
+    Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground.
+    So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread
+    (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
+    But thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me,
+    As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
+    Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
+  Page. [aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone
+    Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.     [Retires.]
+  Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew
+    (O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones)
+    Which with sweet water nightly I will dew;
+    Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans.
+    The obsequies that I for thee will keep
+    Nightly shall be to strew, thy grave and weep.  
+                                                    Whistle Boy.
+    The boy gives warning something doth approach.
+    What cursed foot wanders this way to-night
+    To cross my obsequies and true love's rite?
+    What, with a torch? Muffle me, night, awhile.     [Retires.]
+
+       Enter Romeo, and Balthasar with a torch, a mattock,
+                    and a crow of iron.
+
+  Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
+    Hold, take this letter. Early in the morning
+    See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
+    Give me the light. Upon thy life I charge thee,
+    Whate'er thou hearest or seest, stand all aloof
+    And do not interrupt me in my course.
+    Why I descend into this bed of death
+    Is partly to behold my lady's face,
+    But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
+    A precious ring- a ring that I must use
+    In dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone.  
+    But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
+    In what I farther shall intend to do,
+    By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint
+    And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.
+    The time and my intents are savage-wild,
+    More fierce and more inexorable far
+    Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
+  Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
+  Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.
+    Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow.
+  Bal. [aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout.
+    His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.        [Retires.]
+  Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
+    Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth,
+    Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,
+    And in despite I'll cram thee with more food.
+                                           Romeo opens the tomb.
+  Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague
+    That murd'red my love's cousin- with which grief
+    It is supposed the fair creature died-  
+    And here is come to do some villanous shame
+    To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.
+    Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!
+    Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death?
+    Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.
+    Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.
+  Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I hither.
+    Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man.
+    Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone;
+    Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
+    But not another sin upon my head
+    By urging me to fury. O, be gone!
+    By heaven, I love thee better than myself,
+    For I come hither arm'd against myself.
+    Stay not, be gone. Live, and hereafter say
+    A madman's mercy bid thee run away.
+  Par. I do defy thy, conjuration
+    And apprehend thee for a felon here.
+  Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!
+                                                     They fight.  
+  Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.
+                                            [Exit. Paris falls.]
+  Par. O, I am slain! If thou be merciful,
+    Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.                   [Dies.]
+  Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.
+    Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
+    What said my man when my betossed soul
+    Did not attend him as we rode? I think
+    He told me Paris should have married Juliet.
+    Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
+    Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet
+    To think it was so? O, give me thy hand,
+    One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
+    I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave.
+    A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red youth,
+    For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
+    This vault a feasting presence full of light.
+    Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.
+                                         [Lays him in the tomb.]
+    How oft when men are at the point of death  
+    Have they been merry! which their keepers call
+    A lightning before death. O, how may I
+    Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife!
+    Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
+    Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
+    Thou art not conquer'd. Beauty's ensign yet
+    Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
+    And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
+    Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
+    O, what more favour can I do to thee
+    Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
+    To sunder his that was thine enemy?
+    Forgive me, cousin.' Ah, dear Juliet,
+    Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe
+    That unsubstantial Death is amorous,
+    And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
+    Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
+    For fear of that I still will stay with thee
+    And never from this palace of dim night
+    Depart again. Here, here will I remain  
+    With worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here
+    Will I set up my everlasting rest
+    And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
+    From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!
+    Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
+    The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
+    A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
+    Come, bitter conduct; come, unsavoury guide!
+    Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
+    The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark!
+    Here's to my love! [Drinks.] O true apothecary!
+    Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.          Falls.
+
+    Enter Friar [Laurence], with lanthorn, crow, and spade.
+
+  Friar. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
+    Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there?
+  Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
+  Friar. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
+    What torch is yond that vainly lends his light  
+    To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,
+    It burneth in the Capels' monument.
+  Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
+    One that you love.
+  Friar. Who is it?
+  Bal. Romeo.
+  Friar. How long hath he been there?
+  Bal. Full half an hour.
+  Friar. Go with me to the vault.
+  Bal. I dare not, sir.
+    My master knows not but I am gone hence,
+    And fearfully did menace me with death
+    If I did stay to look on his intents.
+  Friar. Stay then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me.
+    O, much I fear some ill unthrifty thing.
+  Bal. As I did sleep under this yew tree here,
+    I dreamt my master and another fought,
+    And that my master slew him.
+  Friar. Romeo!
+    Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains  
+    The stony entrance of this sepulchre?
+    What mean these masterless and gory swords
+    To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? [Enters the tomb.]
+    Romeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too?
+    And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour
+    Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs.
+                                                   Juliet rises.
+  Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord?
+    I do remember well where I should be,
+    And there I am. Where is my Romeo?
+  Friar. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest
+    Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.
+    A greater power than we can contradict
+    Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.
+    Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
+    And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee
+    Among a sisterhood of holy nuns.
+    Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
+    Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.
+  Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.  
+                                                   Exit [Friar].
+    What's here? A cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?
+    Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.
+    O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
+    To help me after? I will kiss thy lips.
+    Haply some poison yet doth hang on them
+    To make me die with a restorative.             [Kisses him.]
+    Thy lips are warm!
+  Chief Watch. [within] Lead, boy. Which way?
+    Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!
+                                      [Snatches Romeo's dagger.]
+    This is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die.
+                  She stabs herself and falls [on Romeo's body].
+
+                Enter [Paris's] Boy and Watch.
+
+  Boy. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.
+  Chief Watch. 'the ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard.
+    Go, some of you; whoe'er you find attach.
+                                     [Exeunt some of the Watch.]  
+    Pitiful sight! here lies the County slain;
+    And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,
+    Who here hath lain this two days buried.
+    Go, tell the Prince; run to the Capulets;
+    Raise up the Montagues; some others search.
+                                   [Exeunt others of the Watch.]
+    We see the ground whereon these woes do lie,
+    But the true ground of all these piteous woes
+    We cannot without circumstance descry.
+
+     Enter [some of the Watch,] with Romeo's Man [Balthasar].
+
+  2. Watch. Here's Romeo's man. We found him in the churchyard.
+  Chief Watch. Hold him in safety till the Prince come hither.
+
+          Enter Friar [Laurence] and another Watchman.
+
+  3. Watch. Here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.
+    We took this mattock and this spade from him
+    As he was coming from this churchyard side.  
+  Chief Watch. A great suspicion! Stay the friar too.
+
+              Enter the Prince [and Attendants].
+
+  Prince. What misadventure is so early up,
+    That calls our person from our morning rest?
+
+            Enter Capulet and his Wife [with others].
+
+  Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?
+  Wife. The people in the street cry 'Romeo,'
+    Some 'Juliet,' and some 'Paris'; and all run,
+    With open outcry, toward our monument.
+  Prince. What fear is this which startles in our ears?
+  Chief Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain;
+    And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before,
+    Warm and new kill'd.
+  Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.
+  Chief Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man,
+    With instruments upon them fit to open  
+    These dead men's tombs.
+  Cap. O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!
+    This dagger hath mista'en, for, lo, his house
+    Is empty on the back of Montague,
+    And it missheathed in my daughter's bosom!
+  Wife. O me! this sight of death is as a bell
+    That warns my old age to a sepulchre.
+
+               Enter Montague [and others].
+
+  Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up
+    To see thy son and heir more early down.
+  Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night!
+    Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath.
+    What further woe conspires against mine age?
+  Prince. Look, and thou shalt see.
+  Mon. O thou untaught! what manners is in this,
+    To press before thy father to a grave?
+  Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
+    Till we can clear these ambiguities  
+    And know their spring, their head, their true descent;
+    And then will I be general of your woes
+    And lead you even to death. Meantime forbear,
+    And let mischance be slave to patience.
+    Bring forth the parties of suspicion.
+  Friar. I am the greatest, able to do least,
+    Yet most suspected, as the time and place
+    Doth make against me, of this direful murther;
+    And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
+    Myself condemned and myself excus'd.
+  Prince. Then say it once what thou dost know in this.
+  Friar. I will be brief, for my short date of breath
+    Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
+    Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
+    And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife.
+    I married them; and their stol'n marriage day
+    Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death
+    Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city;
+    For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd.
+    You, to remove that siege of grief from her,  
+    Betroth'd and would have married her perforce
+    To County Paris. Then comes she to me
+    And with wild looks bid me devise some mean
+    To rid her from this second marriage,
+    Or in my cell there would she kill herself.
+    Then gave I her (so tutored by my art)
+    A sleeping potion; which so took effect
+    As I intended, for it wrought on her
+    The form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo
+    That he should hither come as this dire night
+    To help to take her from her borrowed grave,
+    Being the time the potion's force should cease.
+    But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
+    Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight
+    Return'd my letter back. Then all alone
+    At the prefixed hour of her waking
+    Came I to take her from her kindred's vault;
+    Meaning to keep her closely at my cell
+    Till I conveniently could send to Romeo.
+    But when I came, some minute ere the time  
+    Of her awaking, here untimely lay
+    The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
+    She wakes; and I entreated her come forth
+    And bear this work of heaven with patience;
+    But then a noise did scare me from the tomb,
+    And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
+    But, as it seems, did violence on herself.
+    All this I know, and to the marriage
+    Her nurse is privy; and if aught in this
+    Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
+    Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time,
+    Unto the rigour of severest law.
+  Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man.
+    Where's Romeo's man? What can he say in this?
+  Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death;
+    And then in post he came from Mantua
+    To this same place, to this same monument.
+    This letter he early bid me give his father,
+    And threat'ned me with death, going in the vault,
+    If I departed not and left him there.  
+  Prince. Give me the letter. I will look on it.
+    Where is the County's page that rais'd the watch?
+    Sirrah, what made your master in this place?
+  Boy. He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave;
+    And bid me stand aloof, and so I did.
+    Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb;
+    And by-and-by my master drew on him;
+    And then I ran away to call the watch.
+  Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words,
+    Their course of love, the tidings of her death;
+    And here he writes that he did buy a poison
+    Of a poor pothecary, and therewithal
+    Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.
+    Where be these enemies? Capulet, Montage,
+    See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
+    That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!
+    And I, for winking at you, discords too,
+    Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish'd.
+  Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand.
+    This is my daughter's jointure, for no more  
+    Can I demand.
+  Mon. But I can give thee more;
+    For I will raise her Statue in pure gold,
+    That whiles Verona by that name is known,
+    There shall no figure at such rate be set
+    As that of true and faithful Juliet.
+  Cap. As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie-
+    Poor sacrifices of our enmity!
+  Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it brings.
+    The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
+    Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
+    Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;
+    For never was a story of more woe
+    Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
+                                                   Exeunt omnes.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+1594
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+    Persons in the Induction
+  A LORD
+  CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker
+  HOSTESS
+  PAGE
+  PLAYERS
+  HUNTSMEN
+  SERVANTS
+
+  BAPTISTA MINOLA, a gentleman of Padua
+  VINCENTIO, a Merchant of Pisa
+  LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca
+  PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katherina
+
+    Suitors to Bianca
+  GREMIO
+  HORTENSIO
+
+    Servants to Lucentio
+  TRANIO  
+  BIONDELLO
+
+    Servants to Petruchio
+  GRUMIO
+  CURTIS
+
+  A PEDANT
+
+    Daughters to Baptista
+  KATHERINA, the shrew
+  BIANCA
+
+  A WIDOW
+
+  Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and
+    Petruchio
+
+                             SCENE:
+            Padua, and PETRUCHIO'S house in the country
+
+SC_1
+                      INDUCTION. SCENE I.
+                  Before an alehouse on a heath
+
+                      Enter HOSTESS and SLY
+
+  SLY. I'll pheeze you, in faith.
+  HOSTESS. A pair of stocks, you rogue!
+  SLY. Y'are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues. Look in the
+    chronicles: we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas
+    pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa!
+  HOSTESS. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
+  SLY. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed
+    and warm thee.
+  HOSTESS. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.
+ Exit
+  SLY. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law.
+    I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly.
+                                                  [Falls asleep]
+
+       Wind horns. Enter a LORD from bunting, with his train
+
+  LORD. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;  
+    Brach Merriman, the poor cur, is emboss'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.
+  FIRST HUNTSMAN. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
+    He cried upon it at the merest loss,
+    And twice to-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, and look unto them all;
+    To-morrow I intend to hunt again.
+  FIRST HUNTSMAN. I will, my lord.
+  LORD. What's here? One dead, or drunk?
+    See, doth he breathe?
+  SECOND HUNTSMAN. 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 practise 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 brave attendants near him when he wakes,
+    Would not the beggar then forget himself?
+  FIRST HUNTSMAN. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
+  SECOND HUNTSMAN. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd.
+  LORD. Even as a flatt'ring dream or worthless 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 in warm distilled waters,
+    And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet;
+    Procure me music 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 basin  
+    Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers;
+    Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
+    And say 'Will'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 lunatic,
+    And, 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;
+    It will be pastime passing excellent,
+    If it be husbanded with modesty.
+  FIRST HUNTSMAN. My lord, I warrant you we will play our part
+    As he shall think by our 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.
+                          [SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds]
+    Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds-  
+                                                    Exit SERVANT
+    Belike some noble gentleman that means,
+    Travelling some journey, to repose him here.
+
+                         Re-enter a SERVINGMAN
+
+    How now! who is it?
+  SERVANT. An't please your honour, players
+    That offer service to your lordship.
+  LORD. Bid them come near.
+
+                             Enter PLAYERS
+
+    Now, fellows, you are welcome.
+  PLAYERS. We thank your honour.
+  LORD. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?
+  PLAYER. So please your lordship to accept our duty.
+  LORD. With all my heart. This fellow I 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 perform'd.
+  PLAYER. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.
+  LORD. 'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.
+    Well, you are come to me in happy time,
+    The rather for I 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 into some merry passion
+    And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,
+    If you should smile, he grows impatient.
+  PLAYER. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,
+    Were he the veriest antic in the world.
+  LORD. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
+    And give them friendly welcome every one;
+    Let them want nothing that my house affords.
+                                       Exit one with the PLAYERS  
+    Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page,
+    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 courtesy,
+    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 restor'd to health,
+    Who for this 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 dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst;
+    Anon I'll give thee more instructions.     Exit a SERVINGMAN
+    I know the boy will well usurp the grace,
+    Voice, gait, and 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.             Exeunt
+
+SC_2
+                            SCENE II.
+               A bedchamber in the LORD'S house
+
+    Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin
+             and ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD
+
+  SLY. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?
+  SECOND SERVANT. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?
+  THIRD SERVANT. What raiment will your honour wear to-day?
+  SLY. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship.' I
+    ne'er 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, sometime more feet than
+    shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
+  LORD. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
+    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, old
+    Sly's son of Burton Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a  
+    cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present
+    profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, 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 lying'st knave in
+    Christendom. What! I am not bestraught.  [Taking a pot of ale]
+    Here's-
+  THIRD SERVANT. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!
+  SECOND SERVANT. O, this is it that makes your servants droop!
+  LORD. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns 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 music? Hark! Apollo plays,            [Music]
+    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?
+    Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
+    And fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
+    As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee
+      straight
+    Adonis painted by a running brook,
+    And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
+    Which seem to move and wanton with her breath
+    Even as the waving sedges play wi' th' 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.
+  THIRD SERVANT. 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 more beautiful
+    Than any woman in this waning age.
+  FIRST SERVANT. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee
+    Like envious floods o'er-run 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 I dream? Or have I dream'd till now?
+    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 Christopher Sly.
+    Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
+    And once again, a pot o' th' smallest ale.
+  SECOND SERVANT. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
+    O, how we joy to see your wit restor'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.
+  SLY. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
+    But did I never speak of all that time?
+  FIRST SERVANT. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words;
+    For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
+    Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door;
+    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 for Cicely Hacket.
+  SLY. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
+  THIRD SERVANT. 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 Turph, 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!
+  ALL. Amen.  
+
+           Enter the PAGE as a lady, with ATTENDANTS
+
+  SLY. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.
+  PAGE. How fares my noble lord?
+  SLY. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.
+    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?
+    My men should call me 'lord'; I am your goodman.
+  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 dream'd
+    And slept above some fifteen year or 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.
+                                                 Exeunt SERVANTS
+    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 former malady,
+    That I should yet absent me from your bed.
+    I hope this reason stands for my excuse.
+  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 flesh and the blood.
+
+                       Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  MESSENGER. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,
+    Are come 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.
+  SLY. Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a comonty a
+    Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?
+  PAGE. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
+  SLY. What, household stuff?
+  PAGE. It is a kind of history.
+  SLY. 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]
+
+          A flourish of trumpets announces the play
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Padua. A public place
+
+Enter LUCENTIO and his man TRANIO
+
+  LUCENTIO. 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,
+    My trusty servant well approv'd in all,
+    Here let us breathe, and haply 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 traffic through the world,
+    Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii;
+    Vincentio's son, 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
+    Will I apply that treats of happiness
+    By virtue specially to be achiev'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 quench his thirst.
+  TRANIO. Mi perdonato, 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 Stoics nor no stocks, I pray,
+    Or so devote to Aristotle's checks
+    As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd.
+    Balk logic with acquaintance that you have,
+    And practise rhetoric in your common talk;
+    Music and poesy use to quicken you;
+    The mathematics and the metaphysics,  
+    Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you.
+    No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en;
+    In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
+  LUCENTIO. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou 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.
+
+      Enter BAPTISTA with his two daughters, KATHERINA
+        and BIANCA; GREMIO, a pantaloon; HORTENSIO,
+        suitor to BIANCA. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by
+
+    But stay awhile; what company is this?
+  TRANIO. Master, some show to welcome us to town.
+  BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, importune me no farther,
+    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 Katherina,  
+    Because I know you well and love you well,
+    Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.
+  GREMIO. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me.
+    There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?
+  KATHERINA.  [To BAPTISTA]  I pray you, sir, is it your will
+    To make a stale of me amongst these mates?
+  HORTENSIO. Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,
+    Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.
+  KATHERINA. I' faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;
+    Iwis it is not halfway 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.
+  HORTENSIO. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!
+  GREMIO. And me, too, good Lord!
+  TRANIO. Husht, master! Here's some good pastime toward;
+    That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.
+  LUCENTIO. But in the other's silence do I see
+    Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.
+    Peace, Tranio!  
+  TRANIO. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.
+  BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
+    What I have said- Bianca, get you in;
+    And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,
+    For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.
+  KATHERINA. A pretty peat! it is best
+    Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.
+  BIANCA. 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.
+  LUCENTIO. Hark, Tranio, thou mayst hear Minerva speak!
+  HORTENSIO. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?
+    Sorry am I that our good will effects
+    Bianca's grief.
+  GREMIO. Why will you mew her up,
+    Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,
+    And make her bear the penance of her tongue?
+  BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd.
+    Go in, Bianca.                                   Exit BIANCA  
+    And for I know she taketh most delight
+    In music, instruments, and poetry,
+    Schoolmasters will I keep within my house
+    Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,
+    Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,
+    Prefer them hither; for to cunning men
+    I will be very kind, and liberal
+    To mine own children in good bringing-up;
+    And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;
+    For I have more to commune with Bianca.                 Exit
+  KATHERINA. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?
+    What! shall I be appointed hours, as though, belike,
+    I knew not what to take and what to leave? Ha!          Exit
+  GREMIO. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts are so good
+    here's none will hold you. There! 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.  
+  HORTENSIO. SO Will I, Signior Gremio; but a word, I pray. Though
+    the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, upon
+    advice, it toucheth us both- that we may yet again have access to
+    our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love- to
+    labour and effect one thing specially.
+  GREMIO. What's that, I pray?
+  HORTENSIO. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.
+  GREMIO. A husband? a devil.
+  HORTENSIO. I say a husband.
+  GREMIO. I say a devil. Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father
+    be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?
+  HORTENSIO. 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 enough.
+  GREMIO. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this
+    condition: to be whipp'd at the high cross every morning.
+  HORTENSIO. 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 maintain'd 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! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you,
+    Signior Gremio?
+  GREMIO. I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in
+    Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her,
+    and bed her, and rid the house of her! Come on.
+                                     Exeunt GREMIO and HORTENSIO
+  TRANIO. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible
+    That love should of a sudden take such hold?
+  LUCENTIO. O Tranio, 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 I know thou canst;  
+    Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.
+  TRANIO. 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 queas minimo.'
+  LUCENTIO. Gramercies, lad. Go forward; this contents;
+    The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.
+  TRANIO. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid.
+    Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.
+  LUCENTIO. 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.
+  TRANIO. 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?
+  LUCENTIO. 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.
+  TRANIO. 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 elder 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 will not be annoy'd with suitors.
+  LUCENTIO. 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?
+  TRANIO. Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now 'tis plotted.
+  LUCENTIO. I have it, Tranio.
+  TRANIO. Master, for my hand,
+    Both our inventions meet and jump in one.
+  LUCENTIO. Tell me thine first.
+  TRANIO. You will be schoolmaster,
+    And undertake the teaching of the maid-
+    That's your device.
+  LUCENTIO. It is. May it be done?
+  TRANIO. 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 banquet them?
+  LUCENTIO. Basta, content thee, for I have it full.
+    We have not yet been seen in any house,
+    Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces
+    For man or master. Then it follows thus:
+    Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,
+    Keep house and port and servants, as I should;
+    I will some other be- some Florentine,
+    Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.
+    'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so. Tranio, at once
+    Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak.
+    When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;
+    But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.
+  TRANIO. So had you need.                [They exchange habits]
+    In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,
+    And I am tied to be obedient-
+    For so your father charg'd me at our parting:
+    'Be serviceable to my son' quoth he,  
+    Although I think 'twas in another sense-
+    I am content to be Lucentio,
+    Because so well I love Lucentio.
+  LUCENTIO. Tranio, be so because Lucentio loves;
+    And let me be a slave t' achieve that maid
+    Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.
+
+                       Enter BIONDELLO.
+
+    Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?
+  BIONDELLO. Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you?
+    Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes?
+    Or you stol'n his? or both? Pray, what's the news?
+  LUCENTIO. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest,
+    And therefore frame your manners to the time.
+    Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,
+    Puts my apparel and my count'nance on,
+    And I for my escape have put on his;
+    For in a quarrel since I came ashore
+    I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried.  
+    Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,
+    While I make way from hence to save my life.
+    You understand me?
+  BIONDELLO. I, sir? Ne'er a whit.
+  LUCENTIO. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:
+    Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio.
+  BIONDELLO. The better for him; would I were so too!
+  TRANIO. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,
+    That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.
+    But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master's, I advise
+    You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies.
+    When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;
+    But in all places else your master Lucentio.
+  LUCENTIO. Tranio, let's go.
+    One thing more rests, that thyself execute-
+    To make one among these wooers. If thou ask me why-
+    Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty.      Exeunt
+
+                 The Presenters above speak
+  
+  FIRST SERVANT. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.
+  SLY. Yes, by Saint Anne do I. A good matter, surely; comes there
+    any more of it?
+  PAGE. My lord, 'tis but begun.
+  SLY. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady
+    Would 'twere done!                        [They sit and mark]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Padua. Before HORTENSIO'S house
+
+Enter PETRUCHIO and his man GRUMIO
+
+  PETRUCHIO. Verona, for a while I take my leave,
+    To see my friends in Padua; but of all
+    My best beloved and approved friend,
+    Hortensio; and I trow this is his house.
+    Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.
+ GRUMIO. Knock, sir! Whom should I knock?
+    Is there any man has rebus'd your worship?
+  PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.
+  GRUMIO. Knock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I
+    should knock you here, sir?
+  PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate,
+    And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.
+  GRUMIO. My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,
+    And then I know after who comes by the worst.
+  PETRUCHIO. Will it not be?
+    Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock I'll ring it;
+    I'll try how you can sol-fa, and sing it.
+                                     [He wrings him by the ears]  
+  GRUMIO. Help, masters, help! My master is mad.
+  PETRUCHIO. Now knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!
+
+                        Enter HORTENSIO
+
+  HORTENSIO. How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio and my
+    good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?
+  PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?
+    'Con tutto il cuore ben trovato' may I say.
+  HORTENSIO. Alla nostra casa ben venuto,
+    Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio.
+    Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel.
+  GRUMIO. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin. If this
+    be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service- look you, sir:
+    he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir. Well, was it fit
+    for a servant to use his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I
+    see, two and thirty, a pip out?
+    Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first,
+    Then had not Grumio come by the worst.
+  PETRUCHIO. A senseless villain! Good Hortensio,  
+    I bade the rascal knock upon your gate,
+    And could not get him for my heart to do it.
+  GRUMIO. Knock at the gate? O heavens! Spake you not these words
+    plain: 'Sirrah knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and
+    knock me soundly'? And come you now with 'knocking at the gate'?
+  PETRUCHIO. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.
+  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge;
+    Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,
+    Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
+    And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale
+    Blows you to Padua here from old Verona?
+  PETRUCHIO. Such wind as scatters young men through the world
+    To seek their fortunes farther than at home,
+    Where small experience grows. But in a few,
+    Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:
+    Antonio, my father, is deceas'd,
+    And I have thrust myself into this maze,
+    Haply to wive and thrive as best I may;
+    Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,
+    And so am come abroad to see the world.  
+  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee
+    And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?
+    Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel,
+    And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich,
+    And very rich; but th'art too much my friend,
+    And I'll not wish thee to her.
+  PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we
+    Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know
+    One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,
+    As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,
+    Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,
+    As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd
+    As Socrates' Xanthippe or a worse-
+    She moves me not, or not removes, at least,
+    Affection's edge in me, were she as rough
+    As are the swelling Adriatic seas.
+    I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;
+    If wealthily, then happily in Padua.
+  GRUMIO. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is.
+    Why, give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an  
+    aglet-baby, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though
+    she has as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why, nothing
+    comes amiss, so money comes withal.
+  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in,
+    I will continue that I broach'd in jest.
+    I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
+    With wealth enough, and young and beauteous;
+    Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman;
+    Her only fault, and that is faults enough,
+    Is- that she is intolerable curst,
+    And shrewd and froward so beyond all measure
+    That, were my state far worser than it is,
+    I would not wed her for a mine of gold.
+  PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect.
+    Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough;
+    For I will board her though she chide as loud
+    As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.
+  HORTENSIO. Her father is Baptista Minola,
+    An affable and courteous gentleman;
+    Her name is Katherina Minola,  
+    Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.
+  PETRUCHIO. I know her father, though I know not her;
+    And he knew my deceased father well.
+    I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;
+    And therefore let me be thus bold with you
+    To give you over at this first encounter,
+    Unless you will accompany me thither.
+  GRUMIO. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O' my
+    word, and she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding
+    would do little good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a
+    score knaves or so. Why, that's nothing; and he begin once, he'll
+    rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir: an she stand
+    him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so
+    disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see
+    withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.
+  HORTENSIO. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
+    For in Baptista's keep my treasure is.
+    He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
+    His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca;
+    And her withholds from me, and other more,  
+    Suitors to her and rivals in my love;
+    Supposing it a thing impossible-
+    For those defects I have before rehears'd-
+    That ever Katherina will be woo'd.
+    Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,
+    That none shall have access unto Bianca
+    Till Katherine the curst have got a husband.
+  GRUMIO. Katherine the curst!
+    A title for a maid of all titles the worst.
+  HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,
+    And offer me disguis'd in sober robes
+    To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
+    Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca;
+    That so I may by this device at least
+    Have leave and leisure to make love to her,
+    And unsuspected court her by herself.
+
+        Enter GREMIO with LUCENTIO disguised as CAMBIO
+
+  GRUMIO. Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the  
+    young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about
+    you. Who goes there, ha?
+  HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio,
+    stand by awhile.
+  GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous!
+                                              [They stand aside]
+  GREMIO. O, very well; I have perus'd the note.
+    Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound-
+    All books of love, see that at any hand;
+    And see you read no other lectures to her.
+    You understand me- over and beside
+    Signior Baptista's liberality,
+    I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too,
+    And let me have them very well perfum'd;
+    For she is sweeter than perfume itself
+    To whom they go to. What will you read to her?
+  LUCENTIO. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you
+    As for my patron, stand you so assur'd,
+    As firmly as yourself were still in place;
+    Yea, and perhaps with more successful words  
+    Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.
+  GREMIO. O this learning, what a thing it is!
+  GRUMIO. O this woodcock, what an ass it is!
+  PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah!
+  HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum!                       [Coming forward]
+    God save you, Signior Gremio!
+  GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio.
+    Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.
+    I promis'd to enquire carefully
+    About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;
+    And by good fortune I have lighted well
+    On this young man; for learning and behaviour
+    Fit for her turn, well read in poetry
+    And other books- good ones, I warrant ye.
+  HORTENSIO. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman
+    Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
+    A fine musician to instruct our mistress;
+    So shall I no whit be behind in duty
+    To fair Bianca, so beloved of me.
+  GREMIO. Beloved of me- and that my deeds shall prove.  
+  GRUMIO. And that his bags shall prove.
+  HORTENSIO. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love.
+    Listen to me, and if you speak me fair
+    I'll tell you news indifferent good for either.
+    Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met,
+    Upon agreement from us to his liking,
+    Will undertake to woo curst Katherine;
+    Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.
+  GREMIO. So said, so done, is well.
+    Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?
+  PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold;
+    If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
+  GREMIO. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman?
+  PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son.
+    My father dead, my fortune lives for me;
+    And I do hope good days and long to see.
+  GREMIO. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange!
+    But if you have a stomach, to't a God's name;
+    You shall have me assisting you in all.
+    But will you woo this wild-cat?  
+  PETRUCHIO. Will I live?
+  GRUMIO. Will he woo her? Ay, or I'll hang her.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why came I hither but to that intent?
+    Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
+    Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
+    Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds,
+    Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?
+    Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
+    And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
+    Have I not in a pitched battle heard
+    Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?
+    And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
+    That gives not half so great a blow to hear
+    As will a chestnut in a fariner's fire?
+    Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs.
+  GRUMIO. For he fears none.
+  GREMIO. Hortensio, hark:
+    This gentleman is happily arriv'd,
+    My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.
+  HORTENSIO. I promis'd we would be contributors  
+    And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.
+  GREMIO. And so we will- provided that he win her.
+  GRUMIO. I would I were as sure of a good dinner.
+
+    Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled as LUCENTIO, and BIONDELLO
+
+  TRANIO. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold,
+    Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
+    To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?
+  BIONDELLO. He that has the two fair daughters; is't he you mean?
+  TRANIO. Even he, Biondello.
+  GREMIO. Hark you, sir, you mean not her to-
+  TRANIO. Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?
+  PETRUCHIO. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.
+  TRANIO. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away.
+  LUCENTIO.  [Aside]  Well begun, Tranio.
+  HORTENSIO. Sir, a word ere you go.
+    Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?
+  TRANIO. And if I be, sir, is it any offence?
+  GREMIO. No; if without more words you will get you hence.  
+  TRANIO. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
+    For me as for you?
+  GREMIO. But so is not she.
+
+  TRANIO. For what reason, I beseech you?
+  GREMIO. For this reason, if you'll know,
+    That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.
+  HORTENSIO. That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.
+  TRANIO. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,
+    Do me this right- hear me with patience.
+    Baptista is a noble gentleman,
+    To whom my father is not all unknown,
+    And, were his daughter fairer than she is,
+    She may more suitors have, and me for one.
+    Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers;
+    Then well one more may fair Bianca have;
+    And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one,
+    Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.
+  GREMIO. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all!
+  LUCENTIO. Sir, give him head; I know he'll prove a jade.  
+  PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, to what end are all these words?
+  HORTENSIO. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,
+    Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?
+  TRANIO. No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two:
+    The one as famous for a scolding tongue
+    As is the other for beauteous modesty.
+  PETRUCHIO. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by.
+  GREMIO. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules,
+    And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.
+  PETRUCHIO. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth:
+    The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,
+    Her father keeps from all access of suitors,
+    And will not promise her to any man
+    Until the elder sister first be wed.
+    The younger then is free, and not before.
+  TRANIO. If it be so, sir, that you are the man
+    Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest;
+    And if you break the ice, and do this feat,
+    Achieve the elder, set the younger free
+    For our access- whose hap shall be to have her  
+    Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.
+  HORTENSIO. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive;
+    And since you do profess to be a suitor,
+    You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
+    To whom we all rest generally beholding.
+  TRANIO. Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,
+    Please ye we may contrive this afternoon,
+    And quaff carouses to our mistress' health;
+    And do as adversaries do in law-
+    Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
+  GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone.
+  HORTENSIO. The motion's good indeed, and be it so.
+    Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT Il. SCENE I.
+Padua. BAPTISTA'S house
+
+Enter KATHERINA and BIANCA
+
+  BIANCA. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,
+    To make a bondmaid and a slave of me-
+    That I disdain; but for these other gawds,
+    Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
+    Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;
+    Or what you will command me will I do,
+    So well I know my duty to my elders.
+  KATHERINA. Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell
+    Whom thou lov'st best. See thou dissemble not.
+  BIANCA. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive
+    I never yet beheld that special face
+    Which I could fancy more than any other.
+  KATHERINA. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio?
+  BIANCA. If you affect him, sister, here I swear
+    I'll plead for you myself but you shall have him.
+  KATHERINA. O then, belike, you fancy riches more:
+    You will have Gremio to keep you fair.  
+  BIANCA. Is it for him you do envy me so?
+    Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive
+    You have but jested with me all this while.
+    I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
+  KATHERINA. [Strikes her]  If that be jest, then an the rest was so.
+
+                            Enter BAPTISTA
+
+  BAPTISTA. Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence?
+    Bianca, stand aside- poor girl! she weeps.
+                                                [He unbinds her]
+    Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.
+    For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
+    Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
+    When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
+  KATHERINA. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd.
+                                            [Flies after BIANCA]
+  BAPTISTA. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.
+                                                     Exit BIANCA
+  KATHERINA. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see  
+    She is your treasure, she must have a husband;
+    I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,
+    And for your love to her lead apes in hell.
+    Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep,
+    Till I can find occasion of revenge.          Exit KATHERINA
+  BAPTISTA. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I?
+    But who comes here?
+
+        Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit of a mean man;
+         PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO as a musician; and TRANIO,
+    as LUCENTIO, with his boy, BIONDELLO, bearing a lute and books
+
+  GREMIO. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.
+  BAPTISTA. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio.
+    God save you, gentlemen!
+  PETRUCHIO. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter
+    Call'd Katherina, fair and virtuous?
+  BAPTISTA. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katherina.
+  GREMIO. You are too blunt; go to it orderly.
+  PETRUCHIO. You wrong me, Signior Gremio; give me leave.  
+    I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
+    That, hearing of her beauty and her wit,
+    Her affability and bashful modesty,
+    Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour,
+    Am bold to show myself a forward guest
+    Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
+    Of that report which I so oft have heard.
+    And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
+    I do present you with a man of mine,
+                                          [Presenting HORTENSIO]
+    Cunning in music and the mathematics,
+    To instruct her fully in those sciences,
+    Whereof I know she is not ignorant.
+    Accept of him, or else you do me wrong-
+    His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
+  BAPTISTA. Y'are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake;
+    But for my daughter Katherine, this I know,
+    She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
+  PETRUCHIO. I see you do not mean to part with her;
+    Or else you like not of my company.  
+  BAPTISTA. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.
+    Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name?
+  PETRUCHIO. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son,
+    A man well known throughout all Italy.
+  BAPTISTA. I know him well; you are welcome for his sake.
+  GREMIO. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
+    Let us that are poor petitioners speak too.
+    Bacare! you are marvellous forward.
+  PETRUCHIO. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio! I would fain be doing.
+  GREMIO. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing.
+    Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To
+    express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly
+    beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young
+    scholar  [Presenting LUCENTIO]  that hath been long studying at
+    Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the
+    other in music and mathematics. His name is Cambio. Pray accept
+    his service.
+  BAPTISTA. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio.
+    [To TRANIO]  But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger.
+    May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?  
+  TRANIO. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own
+    That, being a stranger in this city here,
+    Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,
+    Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
+    Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me
+    In the preferment of the eldest sister.
+    This liberty is all that I request-
+    That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
+    I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,
+    And free access and favour as the rest.
+    And toward the education of your daughters
+    I here bestow a simple instrument,
+    And this small packet of Greek and Latin books.
+    If you accept them, then their worth is great.
+  BAPTISTA. Lucentio is your name? Of whence, I pray?
+  TRANIO. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.
+  BAPTISTA. A mighty man of Pisa. By report
+    I know him well. You are very welcome, sir.
+    Take you the lute, and you the set of books;
+    You shall go see your pupils presently.  
+    Holla, within!
+
+                         Enter a SERVANT
+
+    Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
+    To my daughters; and tell them both
+    These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.
+
+                Exit SERVANT leading HORTENSIO carrying the lute
+                                     and LUCENTIO with the books
+
+    We will go walk a little in the orchard,
+    And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
+    And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
+  PETRUCHIO. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
+    And every day I cannot come to woo.
+    You knew my father well, and in him me,
+    Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
+    Which I have bettered rather than decreas'd.
+    Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,  
+    What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
+  BAPTISTA. After my death, the one half of my lands
+    And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.
+  PETRUCHIO. And for that dowry, I'll assure her of
+    Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
+    In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
+    Let specialities be therefore drawn between us,
+    That covenants may be kept on either hand.
+  BAPTISTA. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,
+    That is, her love; for that is all in all.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,
+    I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
+    And where two raging fires meet together,
+    They do consume the thing that feeds their fury.
+    Though little fire grows great with little wind,
+    Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all.
+    So I to her, and so she yields to me;
+    For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.
+  BAPTISTA. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed
+    But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.  
+  PETRUCHIO. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
+    That shake not though they blow perpetually.
+
+             Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broke
+
+  BAPTISTA. How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?
+  HORTENSIO. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
+  BAPTISTA. What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
+  HORTENSIO. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier:
+    Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
+  BAPTISTA. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?
+  HORTENSIO. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.
+    I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
+    And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering,
+    When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
+    'Frets, call you these?' quoth she 'I'll fume with them.'
+    And with that word she struck me on the head,
+    And through the instrument my pate made way;
+    And there I stood amazed for a while,
+    As on a pillory, looking through the lute,  
+    While she did call me rascal fiddler
+    And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,
+    As she had studied to misuse me so.
+  PETRUCHIO. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
+    I love her ten times more than e'er I did.
+    O, how I long to have some chat with her!
+  BAPTISTA. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited;
+    Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;
+    She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.
+    Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,
+    Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
+  PETRUCHIO. I pray you do.             Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO
+    I'll attend her here,
+    And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
+    Say that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain
+    She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.
+    Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear
+    As morning roses newly wash'd with dew.
+    Say she be mute, and will not speak a word;
+    Then I'll commend her volubility,  
+    And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
+    If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
+    As though she bid me stay by her a week;
+    If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
+    When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.
+    But here she comes; :Lnd.now, Petruchio, speak.
+
+                        Enter KATHERINA
+
+    Good morrow, Kate- for that's your name, I hear.
+  KATHERINA. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:
+    They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
+  PETRUCHIO. You lie, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate,
+    And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;
+    But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,
+    Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
+    For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,
+    Take this of me, Kate of my consolation-
+    Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town,
+    Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,  
+    Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,
+    Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.
+  KATHERINA. Mov'd! in good time! Let him that mov'd you hither
+    Remove you hence. I knew you at the first
+    You were a moveable.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, what's a moveable?
+  KATHERINA. A join'd-stool.
+  PETRUCHIO. Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me.
+  KATHERINA. Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
+  PETRUCHIO. Women are made to bear, and so are you.
+  KATHERINA. No such jade as you, if me you mean.
+  PETRUCHIO. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee!
+    For, knowing thee to be but young and light-
+  KATHERINA. Too light for such a swain as you to catch;
+    And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
+  PETRUCHIO. Should be! should- buzz!
+  KATHERINA. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.
+  PETRUCHIO. O, slow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?
+  KATHERINA. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
+  PETRUCHIO. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.  
+  KATHERINA. If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
+  PETRUCHIO. My remedy is then to pluck it out.
+  KATHERINA. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
+  PETRUCHIO. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
+    In his tail.
+  KATHERINA. In his tongue.
+  PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue?
+  KATHERINA. Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.
+  PETRUCHIO. What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,
+    Good Kate; I am a gentleman.
+  KATHERINA. That I'll try.                    [She strikes him]
+  PETRUCHIO. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.
+  KATHERINA. So may you lose your arms.
+    If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
+    And if no gentleman, why then no arms.
+  PETRUCHIO. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!
+  KATHERINA. What is your crest- a coxcomb?
+  PETRUCHIO. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
+  KATHERINA. No cock of mine: you crow too like a craven.
+  PETRUCHIO. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.  
+  KATHERINA. It is my fashion, when I see a crab.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.
+  KATHERINA. There is, there is.
+  PETRUCHIO. Then show it me.
+  KATHERINA. Had I a glass I would.
+  PETRUCHIO. What, you mean my face?
+  KATHERINA. Well aim'd of such a young one.
+  PETRUCHIO. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
+  KATHERINA. Yet you are wither'd.
+  PETRUCHIO. 'Tis with cares.
+  KATHERINA. I care not.
+  PETRUCHIO. Nay, hear you, Kate- in sooth, you scape not so.
+  KATHERINA. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.
+  PETRUCHIO. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.
+    'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
+    And now I find report a very liar;
+    For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
+    But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers.
+    Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
+    Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,  
+    Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
+    But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers;
+    With gentle conference, soft and affable.
+    Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
+    O sland'rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
+    Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
+    As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
+    O, let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt.
+  KATHERINA. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.
+  PETRUCHIO. Did ever Dian so become a grove
+    As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
+    O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
+    And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!
+  KATHERINA. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
+  PETRUCHIO. It is extempore, from my mother wit.
+  KATHERINA. A witty mother! witless else her son.
+  PETRUCHIO. Am I not wise?
+  KATHERINA. Yes, keep you warm.
+  PETRUCHIO. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed.
+    And therefore, setting all this chat aside,  
+    Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented
+    That you shall be my wife your dowry greed on;
+    And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
+    Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
+    For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
+    Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,
+    Thou must be married to no man but me;
+    For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,
+    And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
+    Conformable as other household Kates.
+
+               Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO
+
+    Here comes your father. Never make denial;
+    I must and will have Katherine to my wife.
+  BAPTISTA. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?
+  PETRUCHIO. How but well, sir? how but well?
+    It were impossible I should speed amiss.
+  BAPTISTA. Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?
+  KATHERINA. Call you me daughter? Now I promise you  
+    You have show'd a tender fatherly regard
+    To wish me wed to one half lunatic,
+    A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,
+    That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
+  PETRUCHIO. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world
+    That talk'd of her have talk'd amiss of her.
+    If she be curst, it is for policy,
+    For,she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
+    She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
+    For patience she will prove a second Grissel,
+    And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.
+    And, to conclude, we have 'greed so well together
+    That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
+  KATHERINA. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
+  GREMIO. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee hang'd first.
+  TRANIO. Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!
+  PETRUCHIO. Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself;
+    If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?
+    'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
+    That she shall still be curst in company.  
+    I tell you 'tis incredible to believe.
+    How much she loves me- O, the kindest Kate!
+    She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
+    She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,
+    That in a twink she won me to her love.
+    O, you are novices! 'Tis a world to see,
+    How tame, when men and women are alone,
+    A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.
+    Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice,
+    To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day.
+    Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;
+    I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.
+  BAPTISTA. I know not what to say; but give me your hands.
+    God send you joy, Petruchio! 'Tis a match.
+  GREMIO, TRANIO. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
+  PETRUCHIO. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.
+    I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace;
+    We will have rings and things, and fine array;
+    And kiss me, Kate; we will be married a Sunday.
+                        Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA severally  
+  GREMIO. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?
+  BAPTISTA. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
+    And venture madly on a desperate mart.
+  TRANIO. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;
+    'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
+  BAPTISTA. The gain I seek is quiet in the match.
+  GREMIO. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
+    But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter:
+    Now is the day we long have looked for;
+    I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.
+  TRANIO. And I am one that love Bianca more
+    Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess.
+  GREMIO. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.
+  TRANIO. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.
+  GREMIO. But thine doth fry.
+    Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth.
+  TRANIO. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.
+  BAPTISTA. Content you, gentlemen; I will compound this strife.
+    'Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both
+    That can assure my daughter greatest dower  
+    Shall have my Bianca's love.
+    Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?
+  GREMIO. First, as you know, my house within the city
+    Is richly furnished with plate and gold,
+    Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;
+    My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;
+    In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns;
+    In cypress chests my arras counterpoints,
+    Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,
+    Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl,
+    Valance of Venice gold in needle-work;
+    Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs
+    To house or housekeeping. Then at my farm
+    I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
+    Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls,
+    And all things answerable to this portion.
+    Myself am struck in years, I must confess;
+    And if I die to-morrow this is hers,
+    If whilst I live she will be only mine.
+  TRANIO. That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me:  
+    I am my father's heir and only son;
+    If I may have your daughter to my wife,
+    I'll leave her houses three or four as good
+    Within rich Pisa's walls as any one
+    Old Signior Gremio has in Padua;
+    Besides two thousand ducats by the year
+    Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.
+    What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio?
+  GREMIO. Two thousand ducats by the year of land!
+    [Aside]  My land amounts not to so much in all.-
+    That she shall have, besides an argosy
+    That now is lying in Marseilles road.
+    What, have I chok'd you with an argosy?
+  TRANIO. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less
+    Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses,
+    And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her,
+    And twice as much whate'er thou off'rest next.
+  GREMIO. Nay, I have off'red all; I have no more;
+    And she can have no more than all I have;
+    If you like me, she shall have me and mine.  
+  TRANIO. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world
+    By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.
+  BAPTISTA. I must confess your offer is the best;
+    And let your father make her the assurance,
+    She is your own. Else, you must pardon me;
+    If you should die before him, where's her dower?
+  TRANIO. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young.
+  GREMIO. And may not young men die as well as old?
+  BAPTISTA. Well, gentlemen,
+    I am thus resolv'd: on Sunday next you know
+    My daughter Katherine is to be married;
+    Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca
+    Be bride to you, if you make this assurance;
+    If not, to Signior Gremio.
+    And so I take my leave, and thank you both.
+  GREMIO. Adieu, good neighbour.                   Exit BAPTISTA
+    Now, I fear thee not.
+    Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool
+    To give thee all, and in his waning age
+    Set foot under thy table. Tut, a toy!  
+    An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.              Exit
+  TRANIO. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide!
+    Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten.
+    'Tis in my head to do my master good:
+    I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio
+    Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio;
+    And that's a wonder- fathers commonly
+    Do get their children; but in this case of wooing
+    A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.
+ Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Padua. BAPTISTA'S house
+
+Enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, HORTENSIO as LICIO, and BIANCA
+
+  LUCENTIO. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.
+    Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
+    Her sister Katherine welcome'd you withal?
+  HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is
+    The patroness of heavenly harmony.
+    Then give me leave to have prerogative;
+    And when in music we have spent an hour,
+    Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.
+  LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far
+    To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
+    Was it not to refresh the mind of man
+    After his studies or his usual pain?
+    Then give me leave to read philosophy,
+    And while I pause serve in your harmony.
+  HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
+  BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong
+    To strive for that which resteth in my choice.  
+    I arn no breeching scholar in the schools,
+    I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,
+    But learn my lessons as I please myself.
+    And to cut off all strife: here sit we down;
+    Take you your instrument, play you the whiles!
+    His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd.
+  HORTENSIO. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
+  LUCENTIO. That will be never- tune your instrument.
+  BIANCA. Where left we last?
+  LUCENTIO. Here, madam:
+    'Hic ibat Simois, hic est Sigeia tellus,
+    Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'
+  BIANCA. Construe them.
+  LUCENTIO. 'Hic ibat' as I told you before- 'Simois' I am Lucentio-
+    'hic est' son unto Vincentio of Pisa- 'Sigeia tellus' disguised
+    thus to get your love- 'Hic steterat' and that Lucentio that
+    comes a-wooing- 'Priami' is my man Tranio- 'regia' bearing my
+    port- 'celsa senis' that we might beguile the old pantaloon.
+  HORTENSIO. Madam, my instrument's in tune.
+  BIANCA. Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.  
+  LUCENTIO. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
+  BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois' I
+    know you not- 'hic est Sigeia tellus' I trust you not- 'Hic
+    steterat Priami' take heed he hear us not- 'regia' presume not-
+   'celsa senis' despair not.
+  HORTENSIO. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
+  LUCENTIO. All but the bass.
+  HORTENSIO. The bass is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
+    [Aside]  How fiery and forward our pedant is!
+    Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love.
+    Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.
+  BIANCA. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
+  LUCENTIO. Mistrust it not- for sure, AEacides
+    Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
+  BIANCA. I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
+    I should be arguing still upon that doubt;
+    But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.
+    Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,
+    That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
+  HORTENSIO.  [To LUCENTIO]  You may go walk and give me leave  
+      awhile;
+    My lessons make no music in three Parts.
+  LUCENTIO. Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,
+    [Aside]  And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
+    Our fine musician groweth amorous.
+  HORTENSIO. Madam, before you touch the instrument
+    To learn the order of my fingering,
+    I must begin with rudiments of art,
+    To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
+    More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
+    Than hath been taught by any of my trade;
+    And there it is in writing fairly drawn.
+  BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
+  HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
+  BIANCA.  [Reads]
+         '"Gamut" I am, the ground of all accord-
+         "A re" to plead Hortensio's passion-
+         "B mi" Bianca, take him for thy lord-
+         "C fa ut" that loves with all affection-
+         "D sol re" one clef, two notes have I-  
+         "E la mi" show pity or I die.'
+    Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not!
+    Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice
+    To change true rules for odd inventions.
+
+                       Enter a SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books
+    And help to dress your sister's chamber up.
+    You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.
+  BIANCA. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be gone.
+                                       Exeunt BIANCA and SERVANT
+  LUCENTIO. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.
+ Exit
+  HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
+    Methinks he looks as though he were in love.
+    Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble
+    To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale-
+    Seize thee that list. If once I find thee ranging,
+  HORTENSIO will be quit with thee by changing.             Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Padua. Before BAPTISTA'So house
+
+Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO as LUCENTIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA,
+LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  BAPTISTA.  [To TRANIO]  Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day
+    That Katherine and Petruchio should be married,
+    And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
+    What will be said? What mockery will it be
+    To want the bridegroom when the priest attends
+    To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!
+    What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?
+  KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd
+    To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,
+    Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen,
+    Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure.
+    I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
+    Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;
+    And, to be noted for a merry man,
+    He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
+    Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns;  
+    Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
+    Now must the world point at poor Katherine,
+    And say 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
+    If it would please him come and marry her!'
+  TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.
+    Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
+    Whatever fortune stays him from his word.
+    Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
+    Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.
+  KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though!
+                    Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others
+  BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,
+    For such an injury would vex a very saint;
+    Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.
+
+                           Enter BIONDELLO
+
+    Master, master! News, and such old news as you never heard of!
+  BAPTISTA. Is it new and old too? How may that be?
+  BIONDELLO. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming?  
+  BAPTISTA. Is he come?
+  BIONDELLO. Why, no, sir.
+  BAPTISTA. What then?
+  BIONDELLO. He is coming.
+  BAPTISTA. When will he be here?
+  BIONDELLO. When he stands where I am and sees you there.
+  TRANIO. But, say, what to thine old news?
+  BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming- in a new hat and an old
+    jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots
+    that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd; an old
+    rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt,
+    and chapeless; with two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with an
+    old motley saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess'd
+    with the glanders and like to mose in the chine, troubled with
+    the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped
+    with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives,
+    stark spoil'd with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, sway'd in
+    the back and shoulder-shotten, near-legg'd before, and with a
+    half-cheek'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather which,
+    being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often  
+    burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six times piec'd,
+    and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her
+    name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with
+    pack-thread.
+  BAPTISTA. Who comes with him?
+  BIONDELLO. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like
+    the horse- with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose
+    on the other, gart'red with a red and blue list; an old hat, and
+    the humour of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather; a
+    monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
+    footboy or a gentleman's lackey.
+  TRANIO. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
+    Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell'd.
+  BAPTISTA. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.
+  BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not.
+  BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes?
+  BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came?
+  BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came.
+  BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes with him on his back.
+  BAPTISTA. Why, that's all one.  
+  BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy,
+             I hold you a penny,
+             A horse and a man
+             Is more than one,
+             And yet not many.
+
+                  Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO
+
+  PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who's at home?
+  BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir.
+  PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well.
+  BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not.
+  TRANIO. Not so well apparell'd
+    As I wish you were.
+  PETRUCHIO. Were it better, I should rush in thus.
+    But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?
+    How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;
+    And wherefore gaze this goodly company
+    As if they saw some wondrous monument,
+    Some comet or unusual prodigy?  
+  BAPTISTA. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day.
+    First were we sad, fearing you would not come;
+    Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
+    Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,
+    An eye-sore to our solemn festival!
+  TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import
+    Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
+    And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
+  PETRUCHIO. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;
+    Sufficeth I am come to keep my word,
+    Though in some part enforced to digress,
+    Which at more leisure I will so excuse
+    As you shall well be satisfied withal.
+    But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
+    The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.
+  TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
+    Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
+  PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her.
+  BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
+  PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words;  
+    To me she's married, not unto my clothes.
+    Could I repair what she will wear in me
+    As I can change these poor accoutrements,
+    'Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
+    But what a fool am I to chat with you,
+    When I should bid good-morrow to my bride
+    And seal the title with a lovely kiss!
+                                  Exeunt PETRUCHIO and PETRUCHIO
+  TRANIO. He hath some meaning in his mad attire.
+    We will persuade him, be it possible,
+    To put on better ere he go to church.
+  BAPTISTA. I'll after him and see the event of this.
+              Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO, BIONDELLO, and ATTENDENTS
+  TRANIO. But to her love concerneth us to ad
+    Her father's liking; which to bring to pass,
+    As I before imparted to your worship,
+    I am to get a man- whate'er he be
+    It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turn-
+    And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,
+    And make assurance here in Padua  
+    Of greater sums than I have promised.
+    So shall you quietly enjoy your hope
+    And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
+  LUCENTIO. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster
+    Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,
+    'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
+    Which once perform'd, let all the world say no,
+    I'll keep mine own despite of all the world.
+  TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into
+    And watch our vantage in this business;
+    We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,
+    The narrow-prying father, Minola,
+    The quaint musician, amorous Licio-
+    All for my master's sake, Lucentio.
+
+                           Re-enter GREMIO
+
+    Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
+  GREMIO. As willingly as e'er I came from school.
+  TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?  
+  GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? 'Tis a groom indeed,
+    A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
+  TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, 'tis impossible.
+  GREMIO. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
+  TRANIO. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.
+  GREMIO. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him!
+    I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest
+    Should ask if Katherine should be his wife,
+    'Ay, by gogs-wouns' quoth he, and swore so loud
+    That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book;
+    And as he stoop'd again to take it up,
+    This mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff
+    That down fell priest and book, and book and priest.
+    'Now take them up,' quoth he 'if any list.'
+  TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again?
+  GREMIO. Trembled and shook, for why he stamp'd and swore
+    As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
+    But after many ceremonies done
+    He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if
+    He had been abroad, carousing to his mates  
+    After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel,
+    And threw the sops all in the sexton's face,
+    Having no other reason
+    But that his beard grew thin and hungerly
+    And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
+    This done, he took the bride about the neck,
+    And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack
+    That at the parting all the church did echo.
+    And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;
+    And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
+    Such a mad marriage never was before.
+    Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.         [Music plays]
+
+       Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO,
+                         GRUMIO, and train
+
+  PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains.
+    I know you think to dine with me to-day,
+    And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer
+    But so it is- my haste doth call me hence,  
+    And therefore here I mean to take my leave.
+  BAPTISTA. Is't possible you will away to-night?
+  PETRUCHIO. I must away to-day before night come.
+    Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,
+    You would entreat me rather go than stay.
+    And, honest company, I thank you all
+    That have beheld me give away myself
+    To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.
+    Dine with my father, drink a health to me.
+    For I must hence; and farewell to you all.
+  TRANIO. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
+  PETRUCHIO. It may not be.
+  GREMIO. Let me entreat you.
+  PETRUCHIO. It cannot be.
+  KATHERINA. Let me entreat you.
+  PETRUCHIO. I am content.
+  KATHERINA. Are you content to stay?
+  PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay;
+    But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
+  KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay.  
+  PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse.
+  GRUMIO. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.
+  KATHERINA. Nay, then,
+    Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
+    No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself.
+    The door is open, sir; there lies your way;
+    You may be jogging whiles your boots are green;
+    For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself.
+    'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom
+    That take it on you at the first so roundly.
+  PETRUCHIO. O Kate, content thee; prithee be not angry.
+  KATHERINA. I will be angry; what hast thou to do?
+    Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.
+  GREMIO. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
+  KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner.
+    I see a woman may be made a fool
+    If she had not a spirit to resist.
+  PETRUCHIO. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
+    Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
+    Go to the feast, revel and domineer,  
+    Carouse full measure to her maidenhead;
+    Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves.
+    But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
+    Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
+    I will be master of what is mine own-
+    She is my goods, my chattels, she is my house,
+    My household stuff, my field, my barn,
+    My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing,
+    And here she stands; touch her whoever dare;
+    I'll bring mine action on the proudest he
+    That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,
+    Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;
+    Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
+    Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;
+    I'll buckler thee against a million.
+                         Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, and GRUMIO
+  BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
+  GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.
+  TRANIO. Of all mad matches, never was the like.
+  LUCENTIO. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?  
+  BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated.
+  GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
+  BAPTISTA. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants
+    For to supply the places at the table,
+    You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
+    Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place;
+    And let Bianca take her sister's room.
+  TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?
+  BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+PETRUCHIO'S country house
+
+Enter GRUMIO
+
+  GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all
+    foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray'd? Was
+    ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are
+    coming after to warm them. Now were not I a little pot and soon
+    hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof
+    of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to
+    thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for,
+    considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold.
+    Holla, ho! Curtis!
+
+                            Enter CURTIS
+
+  CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly?
+  GRUMIO. A piece of ice. If thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my
+    shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my
+    neck. A fire, good Curtis.
+  CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?  
+  GRUMIO. O, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no
+    water.
+  CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?
+  GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou know'st
+    winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd my old
+    master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.
+  CURTIS. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.
+  GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot, and so long
+    am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain
+    on thee to our mistress, whose hand- she being now at hand- thou
+    shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot
+    office?
+  CURTIS. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me how goes the world?
+  GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and
+    therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and
+    mistress are almost frozen to death.
+  CURTIS. There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news?
+  GRUMIO. Why, 'Jack boy! ho, boy!' and as much news as thou wilt.
+  CURTIS. Come, you are so full of cony-catching!
+  GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold.  
+    Where's the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimm'd, rushes
+    strew'd, cobwebs swept, the serving-men in their new fustian,
+    their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on?
+    Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets
+    laid, and everything in order?
+  CURTIS. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.
+  GRUMIO. First know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fall'n
+    out.
+  CURTIS. How?
+  GRUMIO. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a
+    tale.
+  CURTIS. Let's ha't, good Grumio.
+  GRUMIO. Lend thine ear.
+  CURTIS. Here.
+  GRUMIO. There.                                  [Striking him]
+  CURTIS. This 'tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
+  GRUMIO. And therefore 'tis call'd a sensible tale; and this cuff
+    was but to knock at your car and beseech list'ning. Now I begin:
+    Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my
+    mistress-  
+  CURTIS. Both of one horse?
+  GRUMIO. What's that to thee?
+  CURTIS. Why, a horse.
+  GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale. But hadst thou not cross'd me, thou
+    shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her horse;
+    thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was
+    bemoil'd, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he beat me
+    because her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt to
+    pluck him off me, how he swore, how she pray'd that never pray'd
+    before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle was
+    burst, how I lost my crupper- with many things of worthy memory,
+    which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd to
+    thy grave.
+  CURTIS. By this reck'ning he is more shrew than she.
+  GRUMIO. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find
+    when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth
+    Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the
+    rest; let their heads be sleekly comb'd, their blue coats brush'd
+    and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with
+    their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my mastcr's  
+    horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?
+  CURTIS. They are.
+  GRUMIO. Call them forth.
+  CURTIS. Do you hear, ho? You must meet my master, to countenance my
+    mistress.
+  GRUMIO. Why, she hath a face of her own.
+  CURTIS. Who knows not that?
+  GRUMIO. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.
+  CURTIS. I call them forth to credit her.
+  GRUMIO. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.
+
+                     Enter four or five SERVINGMEN
+
+  NATHANIEL. Welcome home, Grumio!
+  PHILIP. How now, Grumio!
+  JOSEPH. What, Grumio!
+  NICHOLAS. Fellow Grumio!
+  NATHANIEL. How now, old lad!
+  GRUMIO. Welcome, you!- how now, you!- what, you!- fellow, you!- and
+    thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready,  
+    and all things neat?
+  NATHANIEL. All things is ready. How near is our master?
+  GRUMIO. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not-
+   Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master.
+
+                     Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA
+
+  PETRUCHIO. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
+    To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse!
+    Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?
+  ALL SERVANTS. Here, here, sir; here, sir.
+  PETRUCHIO. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
+    You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms!
+    What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?
+    Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
+  GRUMIO. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.
+  PETRUCHIO. YOU peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
+    Did I not bid thee meet me in the park
+    And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?
+  GRUMIO. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made,  
+    And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' heel;
+    There was no link to colour Peter's hat,
+    And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing;
+    There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;
+    The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
+    Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
+  PETRUCHIO. Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.
+                                   Exeunt some of the SERVINGMEN
+
+    [Sings]  Where is the life that late I led?
+             Where are those-
+
+    Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud!
+
+                 Re-enter SERVANTS with supper
+
+    Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
+    Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when?
+
+    [Sings]  It was the friar of orders grey,  
+             As he forth walked on his way-
+
+    Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry;
+    Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.
+                                                   [Strikes him]
+    Be merry, Kate. Some water, here, what, ho!
+
+                      Enter one with water
+
+    Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,
+    And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:
+                                                 Exit SERVINGMAN
+    One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.
+    Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?
+    Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
+    You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?    [Strikes him]
+  KATHERINA. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling.
+  PETRUCHIO. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!
+    Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
+    Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?  
+    What's this? Mutton?
+  FIRST SERVANT. Ay.
+  PETRUCHIO. Who brought it?
+  PETER. I.
+  PETRUCHIO. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.
+    What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook?
+    How durst you villains bring it from the dresser
+    And serve it thus to me that love it not?
+    There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all;
+                                [Throws the meat, etc., at them]
+    You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves!
+    What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.
+                                                 Exeunt SERVANTS
+  KATHERINA. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;
+    The meat was well, if you were so contented.
+  PETRUCHIO. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away,
+    And I expressly am forbid to touch it;
+    For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
+    And better 'twere that both of us did fast,
+    Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,  
+    Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
+    Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended.
+    And for this night we'll fast for company.
+    Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.        Exeunt
+
+                     Re-enter SERVANTS severally
+
+  NATHANIEL. Peter, didst ever see the like?
+  PETER. He kills her in her own humour.
+
+                            Re-enter CURTIS
+
+  GRUMIO. Where is he?
+  CURTIS. In her chamber. Making a sermon of continency to her,
+    And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,
+    Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak.
+    And sits as one new risen from a dream.
+    Away, away! for he is coming hither.                  Exeunt
+
+                       Re-enter PETRUCHIO  
+
+  PETRUCHIO. Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
+    And 'tis my hope to end successfully.
+    My falcon now is sharp and passing empty.
+    And till she stoop she must not be full-gorg'd,
+    For then she never looks upon her lure.
+    Another way I have to man my haggard,
+    To make her come, and know her keeper's call,
+    That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
+    That bate and beat, and will not be obedient.
+    She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;
+    Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not;
+    As with the meat, some undeserved fault
+    I'll find about the making of the bed;
+    And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
+    This way the coverlet, another way the sheets;
+    Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
+    That all is done in reverend care of her-
+    And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night;
+    And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl  
+    And with the clamour keep her still awake.
+    This is a way to kill a wife with kindness,
+    And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour.
+    He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
+    Now let him speak; 'tis charity to show.                Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house
+
+Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and HORTENSIO as LICIO
+
+  TRANIO. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca
+    Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
+    I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
+  HORTENSIO. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
+    Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.
+                                              [They stand aside]
+
+               Enter BIANCA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO
+
+  LUCENTIO. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?
+  BIANCA. What, master, read you, First resolve me that.
+  LUCENTIO. I read that I profess, 'The Art to Love.'
+  BIANCA. And may you prove, sir, master of your art!
+  LUCENTIO. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.
+                                                   [They retire]
+  HORTENSIO. Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,
+    You that durst swear that your Mistress Blanca  
+    Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio.
+  TRANIO. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!
+    I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
+  HORTENSIO. Mistake no more; I am not Licio.
+    Nor a musician as I seem to be;
+    But one that scorn to live in this disguise
+    For such a one as leaves a gentleman
+    And makes a god of such a cullion.
+    Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.
+  TRANIO. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
+    Of your entire affection to Bianca;
+    And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
+    I will with you, if you be so contented,
+    Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.
+  HORTENSIO. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,
+    Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
+    Never to woo her more, but do forswear her,
+    As one unworthy all the former favours
+    That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.
+  TRANIO. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,  
+    Never to marry with her though she would entreat;
+    Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!
+  HORTENSIO. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
+    For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
+    I will be married to a wealtlly widow
+    Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd me
+    As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard.
+    And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
+    Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
+    Shall win my love; and so I take my leave,
+    In resolution as I swore before.                        Exit
+  TRANIO. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
+    As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!
+    Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love,
+    And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
+  BIANCA. Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?
+  TRANIO. Mistress, we have.
+  LUCENTIO. Then we are rid of Licio.
+  TRANIO. I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,
+    That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day.  
+  BIANCA. God give him joy!
+  TRANIO. Ay, and he'll tame her.
+  BIANCA. He says so, Tranio.
+  TRANIO. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.
+  BIANCA. The taming-school! What, is there such a place?
+  TRANIO. Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,
+    That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
+    To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.
+
+                       Enter BIONDELLO
+
+  BIONDELLO. O master, master, have watch'd so long
+    That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied
+    An ancient angel coming down the hill
+    Will serve the turn.
+  TRANIO. What is he, Biondello?
+  BIONDELLO. Master, a mercatante or a pedant,
+    I know not what; but formal in apparel,
+    In gait and countenance surely like a father.
+  LUCENTIO. And what of him, Tranio?  
+  TRANIO. If he be credulous and trust my tale,
+    I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio,
+    And give assurance to Baptista Minola
+    As if he were the right Vincentio.
+    Take in your love, and then let me alone.
+                                      Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA
+
+                         Enter a PEDANT
+
+  PEDANT. God save you, sir!
+  TRANIO. And you, sir; you are welcome.
+    Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?
+  PEDANT. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two;
+    But then up farther, and as far as Rome;
+    And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.
+  TRANIO. What countryman, I pray?
+  PEDANT. Of Mantua.
+  TRANIO. Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,
+    And come to Padua, careless of your life!
+  PEDANT. My life, sir! How, I pray? For that goes hard.  
+  TRANIO. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua
+    To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?
+    Your ships are stay'd at Venice; and the Duke,
+    For private quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him,
+    Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly.
+    'Tis marvel- but that you are but newly come,
+    You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.
+  PEDANT. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so!
+    For I have bills for money by exchange
+    From Florence, and must here deliver them.
+  TRANIO. Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
+    This will I do, and this I will advise you-
+    First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?
+  PEDANT. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
+    Pisa renowned for grave citizens.
+  TRANIO. Among them know you one Vincentio?
+  PEDANT. I know him not, but I have heard of him,
+    A merchant of incomparable wealth.
+  TRANIO. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
+    In count'nance somewhat doth resemble you.  
+  BIONDELLO.  [Aside]  As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all
+    one.
+  TRANIO. To save your life in this extremity,
+    This favour will I do you for his sake;
+    And think it not the worst of all your fortunes
+    That you are like to Sir Vincentio.
+    His name and credit shall you undertake,
+    And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd;
+    Look that you take upon you as you should.
+    You understand me, sir. So shall you stay
+    Till you have done your business in the city.
+    If this be court'sy, sir, accept of it.
+  PEDANT. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever
+    The patron of my life and liberty.
+  TRANIO. Then go with me to make the matter good.
+    This, by the way, I let you understand:
+    My father is here look'd for every day
+    To pass assurance of a dow'r in marriage
+    'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here.
+    In all these circumstances I'll instruct you.  
+    Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+PETRUCHIO'S house
+
+Enter KATHERINA and GRUMIO
+
+  GRUMIO. No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.
+  KATHERINA. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.
+    What, did he marry me to famish me?
+    Beggars that come unto my father's door
+    Upon entreaty have a present alms;
+    If not, elsewhere they meet with charity;
+    But I, who never knew how to entreat,
+    Nor never needed that I should entreat,
+    Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;
+    With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed;
+    And that which spites me more than all these wants-
+    He does it under name of perfect love;
+    As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,
+    'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
+    I prithee go and get me some repast;
+    I care not what, so it be wholesome food.
+  GRUMIO. What say you to a neat's foot?  
+  KATHERINA. 'Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.
+  GRUMIO. I fear it is too choleric a meat.
+    How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd?
+  KATHERINA. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.
+  GRUMIO. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
+    What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
+  KATHERINA. A dish that I do love to feed upon.
+  GRUMIO. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
+  KATHERINA. Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.
+  GRUMIO. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard,
+    Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
+  KATHERINA. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.
+  GRUMIO. Why then the mustard without the beef.
+  KATHERINA. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,
+                                                     [Beats him]
+    That feed'st me with the very name of meat.
+    Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you
+    That triumph thus upon my misery!
+    Go, get thee gone, I say.
+  
+               Enter PETRUCHIO, and HORTENSIO with meat
+
+  PETRUCHIO. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?
+  HORTENSIO. Mistress, what cheer?
+  KATHERINA. Faith, as cold as can be.
+  PETRUCHIO. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me.
+    Here, love, thou seest how diligent I am,
+    To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee.
+    I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
+    What, not a word? Nay, then thou lov'st it not,
+    And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
+    Here, take away this dish.
+  KATHERINA. I pray you, let it stand.
+  PETRUCHIO. The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
+    And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
+  KATHERINA. I thank you, sir.
+  HORTENSIO. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
+    Come, Mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.
+  PETRUCHIO.  [Aside]  Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.-
+    Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!  
+    Kate, eat apace. And now, my honey love,
+    Will we return unto thy father's house
+    And revel it as bravely as the best,
+    With silken coats and caps, and golden rings,
+    With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things,
+    With scarfs and fans and double change of brav'ry.
+    With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry.
+    What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure,
+    To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.
+
+                          Enter TAILOR
+
+    Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;
+    Lay forth the gown.
+
+                        Enter HABERDASHER
+
+    What news with you, sir?
+  HABERDASHER. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, this was moulded on a porringer;  
+    A velvet dish. Fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy;
+    Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
+    A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap.
+    Away with it. Come, let me have a bigger.
+  KATHERINA. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,
+    And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
+  PETRUCHIO. When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
+    And not till then.
+  HORTENSIO.  [Aside]  That will not be in haste.
+  KATHERINA. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;
+    And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.
+    Your betters have endur'd me say my mind,
+    And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
+    My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
+    Or else my heart, concealing it, will break;
+    And rather than it shall, I will be free
+    Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,
+    A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;
+    I love thee well in that thou lik'st it not.  
+  KATHERINA. Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
+    And it I will have, or I will have none.    Exit HABERDASHER
+  PETRUCHIO. Thy gown? Why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see't.
+    O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?
+    What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon.
+    What, up and down, carv'd like an appletart?
+    Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
+    Like to a censer in a barber's shop.
+    Why, what a devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?
+  HORTENSIO.  [Aside]  I see she's like to have neither cap nor gown.
+  TAILOR. You bid me make it orderly and well,
+    According to the fashion and the time.
+  PETRUCHIO. Marry, and did; but if you be rememb'red,
+    I did not bid you mar it to the time.
+    Go, hop me over every kennel home,
+    For you shall hop without my custom, sir.
+    I'll none of it; hence! make your best of it.
+  KATHERINA. I never saw a better fashion'd gown,
+    More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;
+    Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.  
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.
+  TAILOR. She says your worship means to make a puppet of her.
+  PETRUCHIO. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou
+      thimble,
+    Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail,
+    Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou-
+    Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread!
+    Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant;
+    Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard
+    As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st!
+    I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown.
+  TAILOR. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made
+    Just as my master had direction.
+    Grumio gave order how it should be done.
+  GRUMIO. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.
+  TAILOR. But how did you desire it should be made?
+  GRUMIO. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
+  TAILOR. But did you not request to have it cut?
+  GRUMIO. Thou hast fac'd many things.
+  TAILOR. I have.  
+  GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast brav'd many men; brave not me. I
+    will neither be fac'd nor brav'd. I say unto thee, I bid thy
+    master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces.
+    Ergo, thou liest.
+  TAILOR. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.
+  PETRUCHIO. Read it.
+  GRUMIO. The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so.
+  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown'-
+  GRUMIO. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the
+    skirts of it and beat me to death with a bottom of brown bread; I
+    said a gown.
+  PETRUCHIO. Proceed.
+  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'With a small compass'd cape'-
+  GRUMIO. I confess the cape.
+  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'With a trunk sleeve'-
+  GRUMIO. I confess two sleeves.
+  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'The sleeves curiously cut.'
+  PETRUCHIO. Ay, there's the villainy.
+  GRUMIO. Error i' th' bill, sir; error i' th' bill! I commanded the
+    sleeves should be cut out, and sew'd up again; and that I'll  
+    prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.
+  TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where, thou
+    shouldst know it.
+  GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy
+    meteyard, and spare not me.
+  HORTENSIO. God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.
+  PETRUCHIO. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.
+  GRUMIO. You are i' th' right, sir; 'tis for my mistress.
+  PETRUCHIO. Go, take it up unto thy master's use.
+  GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress' gown for
+    thy master's use!
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that?
+  GRUMIO. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.
+    Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use!
+    O fie, fie, fie!
+  PETRUCHIO.  [Aside]  Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.-
+    Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.
+  HORTENSIO. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow;
+    Take no unkindness of his hasty words.
+    Away, I say; commend me to thy master.           Exit TAILOR  
+  PETRUCHIO. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's
+    Even in these honest mean habiliments;
+    Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
+    For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
+    And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
+    So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
+    What, is the jay more precious than the lark
+    Because his feathers are more beautiful?
+    Or is the adder better than the eel
+    Because his painted skin contents the eye?
+    O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
+    For this poor furniture and mean array.
+    If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me;
+    And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith
+    To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
+    Go call my men, and let us straight to him;
+    And bring our horses unto Long-lane end;
+    There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.
+    Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock,
+    And well we may come there by dinner-time.  
+  KATHERINA. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two,
+    And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there.
+  PETRUCHIO. It shall be seven ere I go to horse.
+    Look what I speak, or do, or think to do,
+    You are still crossing it. Sirs, let 't alone;
+    I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
+    It shall be what o'clock I say it is.
+  HORTENSIO. Why, so this gallant will command the sun.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house
+
+Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and the PEDANT dressed like VINCENTIO
+
+  TRANIO. Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call?
+  PEDANT. Ay, what else? And, but I be deceived,
+    Signior Baptista may remember me
+    Near twenty years ago in Genoa,
+    Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.
+  TRANIO. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,
+    With such austerity as longeth to a father.
+
+                       Enter BIONDELLO
+
+  PEDANT. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;
+    'Twere good he were school'd.
+  TRANIO. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
+    Now do your duty throughly, I advise you.
+    Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.
+  BIONDELLO. Tut, fear not me.  
+  TRANIO. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?
+  BIONDELLO. I told him that your father was at Venice,
+    And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.
+  TRANIO. Th'art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.
+    Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.
+
+                 Enter BAPTISTA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO
+
+    Signior Baptista, you are happily met.
+    [To To the PEDANT] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;
+    I pray you stand good father to me now;
+    Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
+  PEDANT. Soft, son!
+    Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua
+    To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
+    Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
+    Of love between your daughter and himself;
+    And- for the good report I hear of you,
+    And for the love he beareth to your daughter,
+    And she to him- to stay him not too long,  
+    I am content, in a good father's care,
+    To have him match'd; and, if you please to like
+    No worse than I, upon some agreement
+    Me shall you find ready and willing
+    With one consent to have her so bestow'd;
+    For curious I cannot be with you,
+    Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.
+  BAPTISTA. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say.
+    Your plainness and your shortness please me well.
+    Right true it is your son Lucentio here
+    Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him,
+    Or both dissemble deeply their affections;
+    And therefore, if you say no more than this,
+    That like a father you will deal with him,
+    And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,
+    The match is made, and all is done-
+    Your son shall have my daughter with consent.
+  TRANIO. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best
+    We be affied, and such assurance ta'en
+    As shall with either part's agreement stand?  
+  BAPTISTA. Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know
+    Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants;
+    Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still,
+    And happily we might be interrupted.
+  TRANIO. Then at my lodging, an it like you.
+    There doth my father lie; and there this night
+    We'll pass the business privately and well.
+    Send for your daughter by your servant here;
+    My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
+    The worst is this, that at so slender warning
+    You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.
+  BAPTISTA. It likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,
+    And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
+    And, if you will, tell what hath happened-
+    Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua,
+    And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.      Exit LUCENTIO
+  BIONDELLO. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart.
+  TRANIO. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
+                                                  Exit BIONDELLO
+    Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?  
+    Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;
+    Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.
+  BAPTISTA. I follow you.                                 Exeunt
+
+            Re-enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and BIONDELLO
+
+  BIONDELLO. Cambio.
+  LUCENTIO. What say'st thou, Biondello?
+  BIONDELLO. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?
+  LUCENTIO. Biondello, what of that?
+  BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound
+    the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.
+  LUCENTIO. I pray thee moralize them.
+  BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving
+    father of a deceitful son.
+  LUCENTIO. And what of him?
+  BIONDELLO. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.
+  LUCENTIO. And then?
+  BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command
+    at all hours.  
+  LUCENTIO. And what of all this?
+  BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a
+    counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, cum privilegio
+    ad imprimendum solum; to th' church take the priest, clerk, and
+    some sufficient honest witnesses.
+    If this be not that you look for, I have more to say,
+    But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.
+  LUCENTIO. Hear'st thou, Biondello?
+  BIONDELLO. I cannot tarry. I knew a wench married in an afternoon
+    as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so
+    may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to
+    go to Saint Luke's to bid the priest be ready to come against you
+    come with your appendix.
+ Exit
+  LUCENTIO. I may and will, if she be so contented.
+    She will be pleas'd; then wherefore should I doubt?
+    Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her;
+    It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.              Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+A public road
+
+Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and SERVANTS
+
+  PETRUCHIO. Come on, a God's name; once more toward our father's.
+    Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!
+  KATHERINA. The moon? The sun! It is not moonlight now.
+  PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon that shines so bright.
+  KATHERINA. I know it is the sun that shines so bright.
+  PETRUCHIO. Now by my mother's son, and that's myself,
+    It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
+    Or ere I journey to your father's house.
+    Go on and fetch our horses back again.
+    Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!
+  HORTENSIO. Say as he says, or we shall never go.
+  KATHERINA. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
+    And be it moon, or sun, or what you please;
+    And if you please to call it a rush-candle,
+    Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.
+  PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon.
+  KATHERINA. I know it is the moon.  
+  PETRUCHIO. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.
+  KATHERINA. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun;
+    But sun it is not, when you say it is not;
+    And the moon changes even as your mind.
+    What you will have it nam'd, even that it is,
+    And so it shall be so for Katherine.
+  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won.
+  PETRUCHIO. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,
+    And not unluckily against the bias.
+    But, soft! Company is coming here.
+
+                            Enter VINCENTIO
+
+    [To VINCENTIO]  Good-morrow, gentle mistress; where away?-
+    Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
+    Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
+    Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
+    What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty
+    As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
+    Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.  
+    Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.
+  HORTENSIO. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.
+  KATHERINA. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
+    Whither away, or where is thy abode?
+    Happy the parents of so fair a child;
+    Happier the man whom favourable stars
+    Allots thee for his lovely bed-fellow.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not mad!
+    This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, withered,
+    And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.
+  KATHERINA. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
+    That have been so bedazzled with the sun
+    That everything I look on seemeth green;
+    Now I perceive thou art a reverend father.
+    Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.
+  PETRUCHIO. Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known
+    Which way thou travellest- if along with us,
+    We shall be joyful of thy company.
+  VINCENTIO. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
+    That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me,  
+    My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa,
+    And bound I am to Padua, there to visit
+    A son of mine, which long I have not seen.
+  PETRUCHIO. What is his name?
+  VINCENTIO. Lucentio, gentle sir.
+  PETRUCHIO. Happily met; the happier for thy son.
+    And now by law, as well as reverend age,
+    I may entitle thee my loving father:
+    The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
+    Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
+    Nor be not grieved- she is of good esteem,
+    Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
+    Beside, so qualified as may beseem
+    The spouse of any noble gentleman.
+    Let me embrace with old Vincentio;
+    And wander we to see thy honest son,
+    Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.
+  VINCENTIO. But is this true; or is it else your pleasure,
+    Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
+    Upon the company you overtake?  
+  HORTENSIO. I do assure thee, father, so it is.
+  PETRUCHIO. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
+    For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.
+                                        Exeunt all but HORTENSIO
+  HORTENSIO. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
+    Have to my widow; and if she be froward,
+    Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S house
+
+Enter BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and BIANCA; GREMIO is out before
+
+  BIONDELLO. Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.
+  LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need the at
+    home, therefore leave us.
+  BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I'll see the church a your back, and then
+    come back to my master's as soon as I can.
+                          Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO
+  GREMIO. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.
+
+           Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, VINCENTIO, GRUMIO,
+                          and ATTENDANTS
+
+  PETRUCHIO. Sir, here's the door; this is Lucentio's house;
+    My father's bears more toward the market-place;
+    Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
+  VINCENTIO. You shall not choose but drink before you go;
+    I think I shall command your welcome here,  
+    And by all likelihood some cheer is toward.         [Knocks]
+  GREMIO. They're busy within; you were best knock louder.
+                                [PEDANT looks out of the window]
+  PEDANT. What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?
+  VINCENTIO. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
+  PEDANT. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.
+  VINCENTIO. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make
+    merry withal?
+  PEDANT. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need none so
+    long as I live.
+  PETRUCHIO. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do
+    you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell
+    Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here
+    at the door to speak with him.
+  PEDANT. Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking
+    out at the window.
+  VINCENTIO. Art thou his father?
+  PEDANT. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.
+  PETRUCHIO.  [To VINCENTIO]  Why, how now, gentleman!
+    Why, this is flat knavery to take upon you another man's name.  
+  PEDANT. Lay hands on the villain; I believe 'a means to cozen
+    somebody in this city under my countenance.
+
+                       Re-enter BIONDELLO
+
+  BIONDELLO. I have seen them in the church together. God send 'em
+    good shipping! But who is here? Mine old master, Vicentio! Now we
+    are undone and brought to nothing.
+  VINCENTIO.  [Seeing BIONDELLO]  Come hither, crack-hemp.
+  BIONDELLO. I hope I may choose, sir.
+  VINCENTIO. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?
+  BIONDELLO. Forgot you! No, sir. I could not forget you, for I never
+    saw you before in all my life.
+  VINCENTIO. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy
+    master's father, Vincentio?
+  BIONDELLO. What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see
+    where he looks out of the window.
+  VINCENTIO. Is't so, indeed?               [He beats BIONDELLO]
+  BIONDELLO. Help, help, help! Here's a madman will murder me.
+ Exit  
+  PEDANT. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!     Exit from above
+  PETRUCHIO. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of this
+    controversy.                              [They stand aside]
+
+       Re-enter PEDANT below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and SERVANTS
+
+  TRANIO. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?
+  VINCENTIO. What am I, sir? Nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods!
+    O fine villain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak,
+    and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the
+    good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the
+    university.
+  TRANIO. How now! what's the matter?
+  BAPTISTA. What, is the man lunatic?
+  TRANIO. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but
+    your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I
+    wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to
+    maintain it.
+  VINCENTIO. Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.
+  BAPTISTA. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you  
+    think is his name?
+  VINCENTIO. His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him
+    up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio.
+  PEDANT. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine
+    only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vicentio.
+  VINCENTIO. Lucentio! O, he hath murd'red his master! Lay hold on
+    him, I charge you, in the Duke's name. O, my son, my son! Tell
+    me, thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio?
+  TRANIO. Call forth an officer.
+
+                      Enter one with an OFFICER
+
+    Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you
+    see that he be forthcoming.
+  VINCENTIO. Carry me to the gaol!
+  GREMIO. Stay, Officer; he shall not go to prison.
+  BAPTISTA. Talk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison.
+  GREMIO. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catch'd in
+    this business; I dare swear this is the right Vincentio.
+  PEDANT. Swear if thou dar'st.  
+  GREMIO. Nay, I dare not swear it.
+  TRANIO. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.
+  GREMIO. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
+  BAPTISTA. Away with the dotard; to the gaol with him!
+  VINCENTIO. Thus strangers may be hal'd and abus'd. O monstrous
+    villain!
+
+          Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA
+
+  BIONDELLO. O, we are spoil'd; and yonder he is! Deny him, forswear
+    him, or else we are all undone.
+         Exeunt BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and PEDANT, as fast as may be
+  LUCENTIO.  [Kneeling]  Pardon, sweet father.
+  VINCENTIO. Lives my sweet son?
+  BIANCA. Pardon, dear father.
+  BAPTISTA. How hast thou offended?
+    Where is Lucentio?
+  LUCENTIO. Here's Lucentio,
+    Right son to the right Vincentio,
+    That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,  
+    While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne.
+  GREMIO. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!
+  VINCENTIO. Where is that damned villain, Tranio,
+    That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so?
+  BAPTISTA. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?
+  BIANCA. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio.
+  LUCENTIO. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love
+    Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
+    While he did bear my countenance in the town;
+    And happily I have arrived at the last
+    Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
+    What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to;
+    Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
+  VINCENTIO. I'll slit the villain's nose that would have sent me to
+    the gaol.
+  BAPTISTA.  [To LUCENTIO]  But do you hear, sir? Have you married my
+    daughter without asking my good will?
+  VINCENTIO. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to; but I
+    will in to be revenged for this villainy.               Exit
+  BAPTISTA. And I to sound the depth of this knavery.       Exit  
+  LUCENTIO. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.
+                                      Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA
+  GREMIO. My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest;
+    Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.           Exit
+  KATHERINA. Husband, let's follow to see the end of this ado.
+  PETRUCHIO. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
+  KATHERINA. What, in the midst of the street?
+  PETRUCHIO. What, art thou asham'd of me?
+  KATHERINA. No, sir; God forbid; but asham'd to kiss.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, then, let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away.
+  KATHERINA. Nay, I will give thee a kiss; now pray thee, love, stay.
+  PETRUCHIO. Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:
+    Better once than never, for never too late.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+LUCENTIO'S house
+
+Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the PEDANT, LUCENTIO, BIANCA,
+PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and WIDOW. The SERVINGMEN with TRANIO,
+BIONDELLO, and GRUMIO, bringing in a banquet
+
+  LUCENTIO. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree;
+    And time it is when raging war is done
+    To smile at scapes and perils overblown.
+    My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
+    While I with self-same kindness welcome thine.
+    Brother Petruchio, sister Katherina,
+    And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
+    Feast with the best, and welcome to my house.
+    My banquet is to close our stomachs up
+    After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;
+    For now we sit to chat as well as eat.            [They sit]
+  PETRUCHIO. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!
+  BAPTISTA. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.
+  PETRUCHIO. Padua affords nothing but what is kind.  
+  HORTENSIO. For both our sakes I would that word were true.
+  PETRUCHIO. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.
+  WIDOW. Then never trust me if I be afeard.
+  PETRUCHIO. YOU are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
+    I mean Hortensio is afeard of you.
+  WIDOW. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
+  PETRUCHIO. Roundly replied.
+  KATHERINA. Mistress, how mean you that?
+  WIDOW. Thus I conceive by him.
+  PETRUCHIO. Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?
+  HORTENSIO. My widow says thus she conceives her tale.
+  PETRUCHIO. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.
+  KATHERINA. 'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.'
+    I pray you tell me what you meant by that.
+  WIDOW. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew,
+    Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe;
+    And now you know my meaning.
+  KATHERINA. A very mean meaning.
+  WIDOW. Right, I mean you.
+  KATHERINA. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.  
+  PETRUCHIO. To her, Kate!
+  HORTENSIO. To her, widow!
+  PETRUCHIO. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.
+  HORTENSIO. That's my office.
+  PETRUCHIO. Spoke like an officer- ha' to thee, lad.
+                                           [Drinks to HORTENSIO]
+  BAPTISTA. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?
+  GREMIO. Believe me, sir, they butt together well.
+  BIANCA. Head and butt! An hasty-witted body
+    Would say your head and butt were head and horn.
+  VINCENTIO. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awakened you?
+  BIANCA. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again.
+  PETRUCHIO. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun,
+    Have at you for a bitter jest or two.
+  BIANCA. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,
+    And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
+    You are welcome all.
+                             Exeunt BIANCA, KATHERINA, and WIDOW
+  PETRUCHIO. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio,
+    This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not;  
+    Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd.
+  TRANIO. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound,
+    Which runs himself, and catches for his master.
+  PETRUCHIO. A good swift simile, but something currish.
+  TRANIO. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself;
+    'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.
+  BAPTISTA. O, O, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.
+  LUCENTIO. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.
+  HORTENSIO. Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here?
+  PETRUCHIO. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess;
+    And, as the jest did glance away from me,
+    'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.
+  BAPTISTA. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
+    I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.
+  PETRUCHIO. Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance,
+    Let's each one send unto his wife,
+    And he whose wife is most obedient,
+    To come at first when he doth send for her,
+    Shall win the wager which we will propose.
+  HORTENSIO. Content. What's the wager?  
+  LUCENTIO. Twenty crowns.
+  PETRUCHIO. Twenty crowns?
+    I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
+    But twenty times so much upon my wife.
+  LUCENTIO. A hundred then.
+  HORTENSIO. Content.
+  PETRUCHIO. A match! 'tis done.
+  HORTENSIO. Who shall begin?
+  LUCENTIO. That will I.
+    Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
+  BIONDELLO. I go.                                          Exit
+  BAPTISTA. Son, I'll be your half Bianca comes.
+  LUCENTIO. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.
+
+                          Re-enter BIONDELLO
+
+    How now! what news?
+  BIONDELLO. Sir, my mistress sends you word
+    That she is busy and she cannot come.
+  PETRUCHIO. How! She's busy, and she cannot come!  
+    Is that an answer?
+  GREMIO. Ay, and a kind one too.
+    Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
+  PETRUCHIO. I hope better.
+  HORTENSIO. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
+    To come to me forthwith.                      Exit BIONDELLO
+  PETRUCHIO. O, ho! entreat her!
+    Nay, then she must needs come.
+  HORTENSIO. I am afraid, sir,
+    Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
+
+                            Re-enter BIONDELLO
+
+    Now, where's my wife?
+  BIONDELLO. She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
+    She will not come; she bids you come to her.
+  PETRUCHIO. Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
+    Intolerable, not to be endur'd!
+    Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
+    Say I command her come to me.                    Exit GRUMIO  
+  HORTENSIO. I know her answer.
+  PETRUCHIO. What?
+  HORTENSIO. She will not.
+  PETRUCHIO. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.
+
+                             Re-enter KATHERINA
+
+  BAPTISTA. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!
+  KATHERINA. What is your sir, that you send for me?
+  PETRUCHIO. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?
+  KATHERINA. They sit conferring by the parlour fire.
+  PETRUCHIO. Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come.
+    Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.
+    Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
+                                                  Exit KATHERINA
+  LUCENTIO. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
+  HORTENSIO. And so it is. I wonder what it bodes.
+  PETRUCHIO. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,
+    An awful rule, and right supremacy;
+    And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy.  
+  BAPTISTA. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio!
+    The wager thou hast won; and I will ad
+    Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
+    Another dowry to another daughter,
+    For she is chang'd, as she had never been.
+  PETRUCHIO. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
+    And show more sign of her obedience,
+    Her new-built virtue and obedience.
+
+                 Re-enter KATHERINA with BIANCA and WIDOW
+
+    See where she comes, and brings your froward wives
+    As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
+    Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:
+    Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot.
+                                            [KATHERINA complies]
+  WIDOW. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh
+    Till I be brought to such a silly pass!
+  BIANCA. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?
+  LUCENTIO. I would your duty were as foolish too;  
+    The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
+    Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!
+  BIANCA. The more fool you for laying on my duty.
+  PETRUCHIO. Katherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women
+    What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.
+  WIDOW. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling.
+  PETRUCHIO. Come on, I say; and first begin with her.
+  WIDOW. She shall not.
+  PETRUCHIO. I say she shall. And first begin with her.
+  KATHERINA. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
+    And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
+    To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.
+    It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
+    Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
+    And in no sense is meet or amiable.
+    A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled-
+    Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
+    And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
+    Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
+    Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,  
+    Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
+    And for thy maintenance commits his body
+    To painful labour both by sea and land,
+    To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
+    Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
+    And craves no other tribute at thy hands
+    But love, fair looks, and true obedience-
+    Too little payment for so great a debt.
+    Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
+    Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
+    And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
+    And not obedient to his honest will,
+    What is she but a foul contending rebel
+    And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
+    I am asham'd that women are so simple
+    To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
+    Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
+    When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
+    Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
+    Unapt to toll and trouble in the world,  
+    But that our soft conditions and our hearts
+    Should well agree with our external parts?
+    Come, come, you froward and unable worins!
+    My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
+    My heart as great, my reason haply more,
+    To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
+    But now I see our lances are but straws,
+    Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
+    That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
+    Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
+    And place your hands below your husband's foot;
+    In token of which duty, if he please,
+    My hand is ready, may it do him ease.
+  PETRUCHIO. Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.
+  LUCENTIO. Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha't.
+  VINCENTIO. 'Tis a good hearing when children are toward.
+  LUCENTIO. But a harsh hearing when women are froward.
+  PETRUCHIO. Come, Kate, we'll to bed.
+    We three are married, but you two are sped.
+    [To LUCENTIO]  'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white;  
+    And being a winner, God give you good night!
+                                  Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA
+  HORTENSIO. Now go thy ways; thou hast tam'd a curst shrow.
+  LUCENTIO. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1612
+
+THE TEMPEST
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  ALONSO, King of Naples
+  SEBASTIAN, his brother
+  PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan
+  ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan
+  FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples
+  GONZALO, an honest old counsellor
+
+    Lords
+  ADRIAN
+  FRANCISCO
+  CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave
+  TRINCULO, a jester
+  STEPHANO, a drunken butler
+  MASTER OF A SHIP
+  BOATSWAIN
+  MARINERS
+
+  MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero
+
+  ARIEL, an airy spirit  
+
+    Spirits
+  IRIS
+  CERES
+  JUNO
+  NYMPHS
+  REAPERS
+  Other Spirits attending on Prospero
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+SCENE:
+A ship at sea; afterwards an uninhabited island
+
+
+
+THE TEMPEST
+ACT I. SCENE 1
+
+On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard
+
+Enter a SHIPMASTER and a BOATSWAIN
+
+  MASTER. Boatswain!
+  BOATSWAIN. Here, master; what cheer?
+  MASTER. Good! Speak to th' mariners; fall to't yarely, or
+    we run ourselves aground; bestir, bestir.               Exit
+
+                       Enter MARINERS
+
+  BOATSWAIN. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!
+    yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to th' master's
+    whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough.
+
+          Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND
+                     GONZALO, and OTHERS
+
+  ALONSO. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?  
+    Play the men.
+  BOATSWAIN. I pray now, keep below.
+  ANTONIO. Where is the master, boson?
+  BOATSWAIN. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour;
+    keep your cabins; you do assist the storm.
+  GONZALO. Nay, good, be patient.
+  BOATSWAIN. When the sea is. Hence! What cares these
+    roarers for the name of king? To cabin! silence! Trouble
+    us not.
+  GONZALO. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.
+  BOATSWAIN. None that I more love than myself. You are
+    counsellor; if you can command these elements to
+    silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not
+    hand a rope more. Use your authority; if you cannot, give
+    thanks you have liv'd so long, and make yourself ready
+    in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so
+    hap.-Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our way, I say.
+ Exit
+  GONZALO. I have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks
+    he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is  
+    perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging;
+    make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth
+    little advantage. If he be not born to be hang'd, our
+    case is miserable.                                    Exeunt
+
+                     Re-enter BOATSWAIN
+
+  BOATSWAIN. Down with the topmast. Yare, lower, lower!
+    Bring her to try wi' th' maincourse.  [A cry within]  A
+    plague upon this howling! They are louder than the
+    weather or our office.
+
+           Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO
+
+    Yet again! What do you here? Shall we give o'er, and
+    drown? Have you a mind to sink?
+  SEBASTIAN. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
+    incharitable dog!
+  BOATSWAIN. Work you, then.
+  ANTONIO. Hang, cur; hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker;  
+    we are less afraid to be drown'd than thou art.
+  GONZALO. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were
+    no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched
+    wench.
+  BOATSWAIN. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two courses; off
+    to sea again; lay her off.
+
+                    Enter MARINERS, Wet
+  MARINERS. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!
+                                                          Exeunt
+  BOATSWAIN. What, must our mouths be cold?
+  GONZALO. The King and Prince at prayers!
+    Let's assist them,
+    For our case is as theirs.
+  SEBASTIAN. I am out of patience.
+  ANTONIO. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.
+    This wide-chopp'd rascal-would thou mightst lie drowning
+    The washing of ten tides!
+  GONZALO. He'll be hang'd yet,
+    Though every drop of water swear against it,  
+    And gape at wid'st to glut him.
+    [A confused noise within: Mercy on us!
+    We split, we split! Farewell, my wife and children!
+    Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split!]
+  ANTONIO. Let's all sink wi' th' King.
+  SEBASTIAN. Let's take leave of him.
+                                    Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN
+  GONZALO. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for
+    an acre of barren ground-long heath, brown furze, any
+    thing. The wills above be done, but I would fain die
+    dry death.                                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2
+
+The Island. Before PROSPERO'S cell
+
+Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA
+
+  MIRANDA. If by your art, my dearest father, you have
+    Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
+    The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
+    But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek,
+    Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
+    With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,
+    Who had no doubt some noble creature in her,
+    Dash'd all to pieces! O, the cry did knock
+    Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd.
+    Had I been any god of power, I would
+    Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
+    It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
+    The fraughting souls within her.
+  PROSPERO. Be conected;
+    No more amazement; tell your piteous heart
+    There's no harm done.
+  MIRANDA. O, woe the day!  
+  PROSPERO. No harm.
+    I have done nothing but in care of thee,
+    Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
+    Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
+    Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
+    Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
+    And thy no greater father.
+  MIRANDA. More to know
+    Did never meddle with my thoughts.
+  PROSPERO. 'Tis time
+    I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
+    And pluck my magic garment from me. So,
+                                          [Lays down his mantle]
+    Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
+    The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
+    The very virtue of compassion in thee,
+    I have with such provision in mine art
+    So safely ordered that there is no soul-
+    No, not so much perdition as an hair
+    Betid to any creature in the vessel  
+    Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.
+    Sit down, for thou must now know farther.
+  MIRANDA. You have often
+    Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd,
+    And left me to a bootless inquisition,
+    Concluding 'Stay; not yet.'
+  PROSPERO. The hour's now come;
+    The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.
+    Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember
+    A time before we came unto this cell?
+    I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not
+    Out three years old.
+  MIRANDA. Certainly, sir, I can.
+  PROSPERO. By what? By any other house, or person?
+    Of any thing the image, tell me, that
+    Hath kept with thy remembrance?
+  MIRANDA. 'Tis far off,
+    And rather like a dream than an assurance
+    That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
+    Four, or five, women once, that tended me?  
+  PROSPERO. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
+    That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
+    In the dark backward and abysm of time?
+    If thou rememb'rest aught, ere thou cam'st here,
+    How thou cam'st here thou mayst.
+  MIRANDA. But that I do not.
+  PROSPERO. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
+    Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and
+    A prince of power.
+  MIRANDA. Sir, are not you my father?
+  PROSPERO. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
+    She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
+    Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir
+    And princess no worse issued.
+  MIRANDA. O, the heavens!
+    What foul play had we that we came from thence?
+    Or blessed was't we did?
+  PROSPERO. Both, both, my girl.
+    By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence;
+    But blessedly holp hither.  
+  MIRANDA. O, my heart bleeds
+    To think o' th' teen that I have turn'd you to,
+    Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther.
+  PROSPERO. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio-
+    I pray thee, mark me that a brother should
+    Be so perfidious. He, whom next thyself
+    Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put
+    The manage of my state; as at that time
+    Through all the signories it was the first,
+    And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
+    In dignity, and for the liberal arts
+    Without a parallel, those being all my study-
+    The government I cast upon my brother
+    And to my state grew stranger, being transported
+    And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-
+    Dost thou attend me?
+  MIRANDA. Sir, most heedfully.
+  PROSPERO. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
+    How to deny them, who t' advance, and who
+    To trash for over-topping, new created  
+    The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,
+    Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
+    Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state
+    To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
+    The ivy which had hid my princely trunk
+    And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.
+  MIRANDA. O, good sir, I do!
+  PROSPERO. I pray thee, mark me.
+    I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
+    To closeness and the bettering of my mind
+    With that which, but by being so retir'd,
+    O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother
+    Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust,
+    Like a good parent, did beget of him
+    A falsehood, in its contrary as great
+    As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
+    A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
+    Not only with what my revenue yielded,
+    But what my power might else exact, like one
+    Who having into truth, by telling of it,  
+    Made such a sinner of his memory,
+    To credit his own lie-he did believe
+    He was indeed the Duke; out o' th' substitution,
+    And executing th' outward face of royalty
+    With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing-
+    Dost thou hear?
+  MIRANDA. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
+  PROSPERO. To have no screen between this part he play'd
+    And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
+    Absolute Milan. Me, poor man-my library
+    Was dukedom large enough-of temporal royalties
+    He thinks me now incapable; confederates,
+    So dry he was for sway, wi' th' King of Naples,
+    To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
+    Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend
+    The dukedom, yet unbow'd-alas, poor Milan!-
+    To most ignoble stooping.
+  MIRANDA. O the heavens!
+  PROSPERO. Mark his condition, and th' event, then tell me
+    If this might be a brother.  
+  MIRANDA. I should sin
+    To think but nobly of my grandmother:
+    Good wombs have borne bad sons.
+  PROSPERO. Now the condition:
+    This King of Naples, being an enemy
+    To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
+    Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' premises,
+    Of homage, and I know not how much tribute,
+    Should presently extirpate me and mine
+    Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan
+    With all the honours on my brother. Whereon,
+    A treacherous army levied, one midnight
+    Fated to th' purpose, did Antonio open
+    The gates of Milan; and, i' th' dead of darkness,
+    The ministers for th' purpose hurried thence
+    Me and thy crying self.
+  MIRANDA. Alack, for pity!
+    I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then,
+    Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint
+    That wrings mine eyes to't.  
+  PROSPERO. Hear a little further,
+    And then I'll bring thee to the present busines
+    Which now's upon 's; without the which this story
+    Were most impertinent.
+  MIRANDA. Wherefore did they not
+    That hour destroy us?
+  PROSPERO. Well demanded, wench!
+    My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
+    So dear the love my people bore me; nor set
+    A mark so bloody on the business; but
+    With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
+    In few, they hurried us aboard a bark;
+    Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared
+    A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd,
+    Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
+    Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,
+    To cry to th' sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh
+    To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again,
+    Did us but loving wrong.
+  MIRANDA. Alack, what trouble  
+    Was I then to you!
+  PROSPERO. O, a cherubin
+    Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile,
+    Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
+    When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
+    Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me
+    An undergoing stomach, to bear up
+    Against what should ensue.
+  MIRANDA. How came we ashore?
+  PROSPERO. By Providence divine.
+    Some food we had and some fresh water that
+    A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
+    Out of his charity, who being then appointed
+    Master of this design, did give us, with
+    Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,
+    Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
+    Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me
+    From mine own library with volumes that
+    I prize above my dukedom.
+  MIRANDA. Would I might  
+    But ever see that man!
+  PROSPERO. Now I arise.                    [Puts on his mantle]
+    Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
+    Here in this island we arriv'd; and here
+    Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
+    Than other princess' can, that have more time
+    For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.
+  MIRANDA. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you,
+      sir,
+    For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
+    For raising this sea-storm?
+  PROSPERO. Know thus far forth:
+    By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
+    Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
+    Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
+    I find my zenith doth depend upon
+    A most auspicious star, whose influence
+    If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
+    Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions;
+    Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dullness,  
+    And give it way. I know thou canst not choose.
+                                                [MIRANDA sleeps]
+    Come away, servant; come; I am ready now.
+    Approach, my Ariel. Come.
+
+                        Enter ARIEL
+
+  ARIEL. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
+    To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
+    To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
+    On the curl'd clouds. To thy strong bidding task
+    Ariel and all his quality.
+  PROSPERO. Hast thou, spirit,
+    Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?
+  ARIEL. To every article.
+    I boarded the King's ship; now on the beak,
+    Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
+    I flam'd amazement. Sometime I'd divide,
+    And burn in many places; on the topmast,
+    The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,  
+    Then meet and join Jove's lightning, the precursors
+    O' th' dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
+    And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
+    Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
+    Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,
+    Yea, his dread trident shake.
+  PROSPERO. My brave spirit!
+    Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
+    Would not infect his reason?
+  ARIEL. Not a soul
+    But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
+    Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
+    Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel,
+    Then all afire with me; the King's son, Ferdinand,
+    With hair up-staring-then like reeds, not hair-
+    Was the first man that leapt; cried 'Hell is empty,
+    And all the devils are here.'
+  PROSPERO. Why, that's my spirit!
+    But was not this nigh shore?
+  ARIEL. Close by, my master.  
+  PROSPERO. But are they, Ariel, safe?
+  ARIEL. Not a hair perish'd;
+    On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
+    But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me,
+    In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle.
+    The King's son have I landed by himself,
+    Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
+    In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,
+    His arms in this sad knot.
+  PROSPERO. Of the King's ship,
+    The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd,
+    And all the rest o' th' fleet?
+  ARIEL. Safely in harbour
+    Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where once
+    Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
+    From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid;
+    The mariners all under hatches stowed,
+    Who, with a charm join'd to their suff'red labour,
+    I have left asleep; and for the rest o' th' fleet,
+    Which I dispers'd, they all have met again,  
+    And are upon the Mediterranean flote
+    Bound sadly home for Naples,
+    Supposing that they saw the King's ship wreck'd,
+    And his great person perish.
+  PROSPERO. Ariel, thy charge
+    Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work.
+    What is the time o' th' day?
+  ARIEL. Past the mid season.
+  PROSPERO. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now
+    Must by us both be spent most preciously.
+  ARIEL. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
+    Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd,
+    Which is not yet perform'd me.
+  PROSPERO. How now, moody?
+    What is't thou canst demand?
+  ARIEL. My liberty.
+  PROSPERO. Before the time be out? No more!
+  ARIEL. I prithee,
+    Remember I have done thee worthy service,
+    Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd  
+    Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou didst promise
+    To bate me a full year.
+  PROSPERO. Dost thou forget
+    From what a torment I did free thee?
+  ARIEL. No.
+  PROSPERO. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze
+    Of the salt deep,
+    To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
+    To do me business in the veins o' th' earth
+    When it is bak'd with frost.
+  ARIEL. I do not, sir.
+  PROSPERO. Thou liest, malignant thing. Hast thou forgot
+    The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
+    Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?
+  ARIEL. No, sir.
+  PROSPERO. Thou hast. Where was she born?
+    Speak; tell me.
+  ARIEL. Sir, in Argier.
+  PROSPERO. O, was she so? I must
+    Once in a month recount what thou hast been,  
+    Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,
+    For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible
+    To enter human hearing, from Argier
+    Thou know'st was banish'd; for one thing she did
+    They would not take her life. Is not this true?
+  ARIEL. Ay, sir.
+  PROSPERO. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child,
+    And here was left by th'sailors. Thou, my slave,
+    As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;
+    And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
+    To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
+    Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
+    By help of her more potent ministers,
+    And in her most unmitigable rage,
+    Into a cloven pine; within which rift
+    Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
+    A dozen years; within which space she died,
+    And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans
+    As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island-
+    Save for the son that she did litter here,  
+    A freckl'd whelp, hag-born-not honour'd with
+    A human shape.
+  ARIEL. Yes, Caliban her son.
+  PROSPERO. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
+    Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
+    What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
+    Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts
+    Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment
+    To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
+    Could not again undo. It was mine art,
+    When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape
+    The pine, and let thee out.
+  ARIEL. I thank thee, master.
+  PROSPERO. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak
+    And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till
+    Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.
+  ARIEL. Pardon, master;
+    I will be correspondent to command,
+    And do my spriting gently.
+  PROSPERO. Do so; and after two days  
+    I will discharge thee.
+  ARIEL. That's my noble master!
+    What shall I do? Say what. What shall I do?
+  PROSPERO. Go make thyself like a nymph o' th' sea; be subject
+    To no sight but thine and mine, invisible
+    To every eyeball else. Go take this shape,
+    And hither come in 't. Go, hence with diligence!
+                                                      Exit ARIEL
+    Awake, dear heart, awake; thou hast slept well;
+    Awake.
+  MIRANDA. The strangeness of your story put
+    Heaviness in me.
+  PROSPERO. Shake it off. Come on,
+    We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
+    Yields us kind answer.
+  MIRANDA. 'Tis a villain, sir,
+    I do not love to look on.
+  PROSPERO. But as 'tis,
+    We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
+    Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices  
+    That profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!
+    Thou earth, thou! Speak.
+  CALIBAN.   [ Within]  There's wood enough within.
+  PROSPERO. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee.
+    Come, thou tortoise! when?
+
+             Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph
+
+    Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
+    Hark in thine ear.
+  ARIEL. My lord, it shall be done.                         Exit
+  PROSPERO. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
+    Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!
+
+                       Enter CALIBAN
+
+  CALIBAN. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
+    With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
+    Drop on you both! A south-west blow on ye
+    And blister you all o'er!  
+  PROSPERO. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
+    Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
+    Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
+    All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd
+    As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
+    Than bees that made 'em.
+  CALIBAN. I must eat my dinner.
+    This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
+    Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first,
+    Thou strok'st me and made much of me, wouldst give me
+    Water with berries in't, and teach me how
+    To name the bigger light, and how the less,
+    That burn by day and night; and then I lov'd thee,
+    And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle,
+    The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile.
+    Curs'd be I that did so! All the charms
+    Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
+    For I am all the subjects that you have,
+    Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me
+    In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me  
+    The rest o' th' island.
+  PROSPERO. Thou most lying slave,
+    Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us'd thee,
+    Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg'd thee
+    In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
+    The honour of my child.
+  CALIBAN. O ho, O ho! Would't had been done.
+    Thou didst prevent me; I had peopl'd else
+    This isle with Calibans.
+  MIRANDA. Abhorred slave,
+    Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
+    Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
+    Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
+    One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage,
+    Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
+    A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
+    With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
+    Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures
+    Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
+    Deservedly confin'd into this rock, who hadst  
+    Deserv'd more than a prison.
+  CALIBAN. You taught me language, and my profit on't
+    Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you
+    For learning me your language!
+  PROSPERO. Hag-seed, hence!
+    Fetch us in fuel. And be quick, thou 'rt best,
+    To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
+    If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
+    What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
+    Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,
+    That beasts shall tremble at thy din.
+  CALIBAN. No, pray thee.
+    [Aside]  I must obey. His art is of such pow'r,
+    It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
+    And make a vassal of him.
+  PROSPERO. So, slave; hence!                       Exit CALIBAN
+
+         Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing ad singing;
+                     FERDINAND following
+  
+                          ARIEL'S SONG.
+            Come unto these yellow sands,
+              And then take hands;
+            Curtsied when you have and kiss'd,
+              The wild waves whist,
+            Foot it featly here and there,
+            And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
+              Hark, hark!
+            [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.]
+              The watch dogs bark.
+            [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.]
+              Hark, hark! I hear
+            The strain of strutting chanticleer
+              Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.
+  FERDINAND. Where should this music be? I' th' air or th'
+    earth?
+    It sounds no more; and sure it waits upon
+    Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank,
+    Weeping again the King my father's wreck,
+    This music crept by me upon the waters,  
+    Allaying both their fury and my passion
+    With its sweet air; thence I have follow'd it,
+    Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.
+    No, it begins again.
+
+                   ARIEL'S SONG
+         Full fathom five thy father lies;
+           Of his bones are coral made;
+         Those are pearls that were his eyes;
+           Nothing of him that doth fade
+         But doth suffer a sea-change
+         Into something rich and strange.
+         Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
+           [Burden: Ding-dong.]
+         Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong bell.
+
+  FERDINAND. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
+    This is no mortal business, nor no sound
+    That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.
+  PROSPERO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,  
+    And say what thou seest yond.
+  MIRANDA. What is't? a spirit?
+    Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
+    It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.
+  PROSPERO. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses
+    As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest
+    Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd
+    With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him
+    A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows,
+    And strays about to find 'em.
+  MIRANDA. I might call him
+    A thing divine; for nothing natural
+    I ever saw so noble.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  It goes on, I see,
+    As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee
+    Within two days for this.
+  FERDINAND. Most sure, the goddess
+    On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my pray'r
+    May know if you remain upon this island;
+    And that you will some good instruction give  
+    How I may bear me here. My prime request,
+    Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
+    If you be maid or no?
+  MIRANDA. No wonder, sir;
+    But certainly a maid.
+  FERDINAND. My language? Heavens!
+    I am the best of them that speak this speech,
+    Were I but where 'tis spoken.
+  PROSPERO. How? the best?
+    What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?
+  FERDINAND. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
+    To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;
+    And that he does I weep. Myself am Naples,
+    Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
+    The King my father wreck'd.
+  MIRANDA. Alack, for mercy!
+  FERDINAND. Yes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan
+    And his brave son being twain.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  The Duke of Milan
+    And his more braver daughter could control thee,  
+    If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight
+    They have chang'd eyes. Delicate Ariel,
+    I'll set thee free for this.  [To FERDINAND]  A word, good
+    sir;
+    I fear you have done yourself some wrong; a word.
+  MIRANDA. Why speaks my father so ungently? This
+    Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first
+    That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father
+    To be inclin'd my way!
+  FERDINAND. O, if a virgin,
+    And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
+    The Queen of Naples.
+  PROSPERO. Soft, Sir! one word more.
+    [Aside]  They are both in either's pow'rs; but this swift
+    busines
+    I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
+    Make the prize light.  [To FERDINAND]  One word more; I
+    charge thee
+    That thou attend me; thou dost here usurp
+    The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself  
+    Upon this island as a spy, to win it
+    From me, the lord on't.
+  FERDINAND. No, as I am a man.
+  MIRANDA. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple.
+    If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
+    Good things will strive to dwell with't.
+  PROSPERO. Follow me.
+    Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come;
+    I'll manacle thy neck and feet together.
+    Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
+    The fresh-brook mussels, wither'd roots, and husks
+    Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
+  FERDINAND. No;
+    I will resist such entertainment till
+    Mine enemy has more power.
+                          [He draws, and is charmed from moving]
+  MIRANDA. O dear father,
+    Make not too rash a trial of him, for
+    He's gentle, and not fearful.
+  PROSPERO. What, I say,  
+    My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
+    Who mak'st a show but dar'st not strike, thy conscience
+    Is so possess'd with guilt. Come from thy ward;
+    For I can here disarm thee with this stick
+    And make thy weapon drop.
+  MIRANDA. Beseech you, father!
+  PROSPERO. Hence! Hang not on my garments.
+  MIRANDA. Sir, have pity;
+    I'll be his surety.
+  PROSPERO. Silence! One word more
+    Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
+    An advocate for an impostor! hush!
+    Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,
+    Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish wench!
+    To th' most of men this is a Caliban,
+    And they to him are angels.
+  MIRANDA. My affections
+    Are then most humble; I have no ambition
+    To see a goodlier man.
+  PROSPERO. Come on; obey.  
+    Thy nerves are in their infancy again,
+    And have no vigour in them.
+  FERDINAND. So they are;
+    My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
+    My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
+    The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats
+    To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me,
+    Might I but through my prison once a day
+    Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth
+    Let liberty make use of; space enough
+    Have I in such a prison.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  It works.  [To FERDINAND]  Come on.-
+    Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!  [To FERDINAND]  Follow
+    me.
+    [To ARIEL]  Hark what thou else shalt do me.
+  MIRANDA. Be of comfort;
+    My father's of a better nature, sir,
+    Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted
+    Which now came from him.
+  PROSPERO.  [To ARIEL]  Thou shalt be as free  
+    As mountain winds; but then exactly do
+    All points of my command.
+  ARIEL. To th' syllable.
+  PROSPERO.  [To FERDINAND]  Come, follow.  [To MIRANDA]
+    Speak not for him.                                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1
+
+Another part of the island
+
+Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS
+
+  GONZALO. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
+    So have we all, of joy; for our escape
+    Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
+    Is common; every day, some sailor's wife,
+    The masters of some merchant, and the merchant,
+    Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
+    I mean our preservation, few in millions
+    Can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir, weigh
+    Our sorrow with our comfort.
+  ALONSO. Prithee, peace.
+  SEBASTIAN. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
+  ANTONIO. The visitor will not give him o'er so.
+  SEBASTIAN. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by
+    and by it will strike.
+  GONZALO. Sir-
+  SEBASTIAN. One-Tell.  
+  GONZALO. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
+    Comes to th' entertainer-
+  SEBASTIAN. A dollar.
+  GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken
+    truer than you purpos'd.
+  SEBASTIAN. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you
+    should.
+  GONZALO. Therefore, my lord-
+  ANTONIO. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
+  ALONSO. I prithee, spare.
+  GONZALO. Well, I have done; but yet-
+  SEBASTIAN. He will be talking.
+  ANTONIO. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first
+    begins to crow?
+  SEBASTIAN. The old cock.
+  ANTONIO. The cock'rel.
+  SEBASTIAN. Done. The wager?
+  ANTONIO. A laughter.
+  SEBASTIAN. A match!
+  ADRIAN. Though this island seem to be desert-  
+  ANTONIO. Ha, ha, ha!
+  SEBASTIAN. So, you're paid.
+  ADRIAN. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible-
+  SEBASTIAN. Yet-
+  ADRIAN. Yet-
+  ANTONIO. He could not miss't.
+  ADRIAN. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate
+    temperance.
+  ANTONIO. Temperance was a delicate wench.
+  SEBASTIAN. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly
+    deliver'd.
+  ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
+  SEBASTIAN. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
+  ANTONIO. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen.
+  GONZALO. Here is everything advantageous to life.
+  ANTONIO. True; save means to live.
+  SEBASTIAN. Of that there's none, or little.
+  GONZALO. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
+  ANTONIO. The ground indeed is tawny.
+  SEBASTIAN. With an eye of green in't.  
+  ANTONIO. He misses not much.
+  SEBASTIAN. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.
+  GONZALO. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost
+    beyond credit-
+  SEBASTIAN. As many vouch'd rarities are.
+  GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drench'd
+    in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and
+    glosses, being rather new-dy'd, than stain'd with salt
+    water.
+  ANTONIO. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it
+    not say he lies?
+  SEBASTIAN. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.
+  GONZALO. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when
+    we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the
+    King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.
+  SEBASTIAN. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in
+    our return.
+  ADRIAN. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon
+    to their queen.
+  GONZALO. Not since widow Dido's time.  
+  ANTONIO. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 'widow'
+    in? Widow Dido!
+  SEBASTIAN. What if he had said 'widower Aeneas' too?
+    Good Lord, how you take it!
+  ADRIAN. 'Widow Dido' said you? You make me study of
+    that. She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
+  GONZALO. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
+  ADRIAN. Carthage?
+  GONZALO. I assure you, Carthage.
+  ANTONIO. His word is more than the miraculous harp.
+  SEBASTIAN. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.
+  ANTONIO. What impossible matter will he make easy next?
+  SEBASTIAN. I think he will carry this island home in his
+    pocket, and give it his son for an apple.
+  ANTONIO. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
+    forth more islands.
+  GONZALO. Ay.
+  ANTONIO. Why, in good time.
+  GONZALO. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now
+    as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of  
+    your daughter, who is now Queen.
+  ANTONIO. And the rarest that e'er came there.
+  SEBASTIAN. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
+  ANTONIO. O, widow Dido! Ay, widow Dido.
+  GONZALO. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
+    wore it? I mean, in a sort.
+  ANTONIO. That 'sort' was well fish'd for.
+  GONZALO. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?
+  ALONSO. You cram these words into mine ears against
+    The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
+    Married my daughter there; for, coming thence,
+    My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,
+    Who is so far from Italy removed
+    I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
+    Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
+    Hath made his meal on thee?
+  FRANCISCO. Sir, he may live;
+    I saw him beat the surges under him,
+    And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
+    Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted  
+    The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head
+    'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared
+    Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
+    To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed,
+    As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt
+    He came alive to land.
+  ALONSO. No, no, he's gone.
+  SEBASTIAN. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,
+    That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,
+    But rather lose her to an African;
+    Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye,
+    Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.
+  ALONSO. Prithee, peace.
+  SEBASTIAN. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise
+    By all of us; and the fair soul herself
+    Weigh'd between loathness and obedience at
+    Which end o' th' beam should bow. We have lost your son,
+    I fear, for ever. Milan and Naples have
+    Moe widows in them of this business' making,
+    Than we bring men to comfort them;  
+    The fault's your own.
+  ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' loss.
+  GONZALO. My lord Sebastian,
+    The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
+    And time to speak it in; you rub the sore,
+    When you should bring the plaster.
+  SEBASTIAN. Very well.
+  ANTONIO. And most chirurgeonly.
+  GONZALO. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
+    When you are cloudy.
+  SEBASTIAN. Foul weather?
+  ANTONIO. Very foul.
+  GONZALO. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord-
+  ANTONIO. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed.
+  SEBASTIAN. Or docks, or mallows.
+  GONZALO. And were the king on't, what would I do?
+  SEBASTIAN. Scape being drunk for want of wine.
+  GONZALO. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries
+    Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
+    Would I admit; no name of magistrate;  
+    Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
+    And use of service, none; contract, succession,
+    Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
+    No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
+    No occupation; all men idle, all;
+    And women too, but innocent and pure;
+    No sovereignty-
+  SEBASTIAN. Yet he would be king on't.
+  ANTONIO. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
+    beginning.
+  GONZALO. All things in common nature should produce
+    Without sweat or endeavour. Treason, felony,
+    Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
+    Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
+    Of it own kind, all foison, all abundance,
+    To feed my innocent people.
+  SEBASTIAN. No marrying 'mong his subjects?
+  ANTONIO. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.
+  GONZALO. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
+    T' excel the golden age.  
+  SEBASTIAN. Save his Majesty!
+  ANTONIO. Long live Gonzalo!
+  GONZALO. And-do you mark me, sir?
+  ALONSO. Prithee, no more; thou dost talk nothing to me.
+  GONZALO. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to
+    minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such
+    sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh
+    at nothing.
+  ANTONIO. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.
+  GONZALO. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to
+    you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.
+  ANTONIO. What a blow was there given!
+  SEBASTIAN. An it had not fall'n flat-long.
+  GONZALO. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would
+    lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue
+    in it five weeks without changing.
+
+          Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music
+
+  SEBASTIAN. We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.  
+  ANTONIO. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.
+  GONZALO. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my
+    discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am
+    very heavy?
+  ANTONIO. Go sleep, and hear us.
+                   [All sleep but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]
+  ALONSO. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
+    Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts; I find
+    They are inclin'd to do so.
+  SEBASTIAN. Please you, sir,
+    Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
+    It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
+    It is a comforter.
+  ANTONIO. We two, my lord,
+    Will guard your person while you take your rest,
+    And watch your safety.
+  ALONSO. Thank you-wondrous heavy!
+                                     [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL]
+  SEBASTIAN. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
+  ANTONIO. It is the quality o' th' climate.  
+  SEBASTIAN. Why
+    Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
+    Myself dispos'd to sleep.
+  ANTONIO. Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
+    They fell together all, as by consent;
+    They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
+    Worthy Sebastian? O, what might! No more!
+    And yet methinks I see it in thy face,
+    What thou shouldst be; th' occasion speaks thee; and
+    My strong imagination sees a crown
+    Dropping upon thy head.
+  SEBASTIAN. What, art thou waking?
+  ANTONIO. Do you not hear me speak?
+  SEBASTIAN. I do; and surely
+    It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st
+    Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
+    This is a strange repose, to be asleep
+    With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
+    And yet so fast asleep.
+  ANTONIO. Noble Sebastian,  
+    Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st
+    Whiles thou art waking.
+  SEBASTIAN. Thou dost snore distinctly;
+    There's meaning in thy snores.
+  ANTONIO. I am more serious than my custom; you
+    Must be so too, if heed me; which to do
+    Trebles thee o'er.
+  SEBASTIAN. Well, I am standing water.
+  ANTONIO. I'll teach you how to flow.
+  SEBASTIAN. Do so: to ebb,
+    Hereditary sloth instructs me.
+  ANTONIO. O,
+    If you but knew how you the purpose cherish,
+    Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,
+    You more invest it! Ebbing men indeed,
+    Most often, do so near the bottom run
+    By their own fear or sloth.
+  SEBASTIAN. Prithee say on.
+    The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
+    A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,  
+    Which throes thee much to yield.
+  ANTONIO. Thus, sir:
+    Although this lord of weak remembrance, this
+    Who shall be of as little memory
+    When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded-
+    For he's a spirit of persuasion, only
+    Professes to persuade-the King his son's alive,
+    'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd
+    As he that sleeps here swims.
+  SEBASTIAN. I have no hope
+    That he's undrown'd.
+  ANTONIO. O, out of that 'no hope'
+    What great hope have you! No hope that way is
+    Another way so high a hope, that even
+    Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
+    But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me
+    That Ferdinand is drown'd?
+  SEBASTIAN. He's gone.
+  ANTONIO. Then tell me,
+    Who's the next heir of Naples?  
+  SEBASTIAN. Claribel.
+  ANTONIO. She that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells
+    Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples
+    Can have no note, unless the sun were post,
+    The Man i' th' Moon's too slow, till newborn chins
+    Be rough and razorable; she that from whom
+    We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again,
+    And by that destiny, to perform an act
+    Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come
+    In yours and my discharge.
+  SEBASTIAN. What stuff is this! How say you?
+    'Tis true, my brother's daughter's Queen of Tunis;
+    So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
+    There is some space.
+  ANTONIO. A space whose ev'ry cubit
+    Seems to cry out 'How shall that Claribel
+    Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,
+    And let Sebastian wake.' Say this were death
+    That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse
+    Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples  
+    As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
+    As amply and unnecessarily
+    As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
+    A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
+    The mind that I do! What a sleep were this
+    For your advancement! Do you understand me?
+  SEBASTIAN. Methinks I do.
+  ANTONIO. And how does your content
+    Tender your own good fortune?
+  SEBASTIAN. I remember
+    You did supplant your brother Prospero.
+  ANTONIO. True.
+    And look how well my garments sit upon me,
+    Much feater than before. My brother's servants
+    Were then my fellows; now they are my men.
+  SEBASTIAN. But, for your conscience-
+  ANTONIO. Ay, sir; where lies that? If 'twere a kibe,
+    'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not
+    This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences
+    That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they  
+    And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
+    No better than the earth he lies upon,
+    If he were that which now he's like-that's dead;
+    Whom I with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
+    Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,
+    To the perpetual wink for aye might put
+    This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
+    Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
+    They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
+    They'll tell the clock to any business that
+    We say befits the hour.
+  SEBASTIAN. Thy case, dear friend,
+    Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
+    I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword. One stroke
+    Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest;
+    And I the King shall love thee.
+  ANTONIO. Draw together;
+    And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
+    To fall it on Gonzalo.
+  SEBASTIAN. O, but one word.                  [They talk apart]  
+
+          Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, with music and song
+
+  ARIEL. My master through his art foresees the danger
+    That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth-
+    For else his project dies-to keep them living.
+                                        [Sings in GONZALO'S ear]
+    While you here do snoring lie,
+    Open-ey'd conspiracy
+    His time doth take.
+    If of life you keep a care,
+    Shake off slumber, and beware.
+    Awake, awake!
+
+  ANTONIO. Then let us both be sudden.
+  GONZALO. Now, good angels
+    Preserve the King!                               [They wake]
+  ALONSO. Why, how now?-Ho, awake!-Why are you drawn?
+    Wherefore this ghastly looking?
+  GONZALO. What's the matter?  
+  SEBASTIAN. Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
+    Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
+    Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you?
+    It struck mine ear most terribly.
+  ALONSO. I heard nothing.
+  ANTONIO. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,
+    To make an earthquake! Sure it was the roar
+    Of a whole herd of lions.
+  ALONSO. Heard you this, Gonzalo?
+  GONZALO. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,
+    And that a strange one too, which did awake me;
+    I shak'd you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open'd,
+    I saw their weapons drawn-there was a noise,
+    That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard,
+    Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons.
+  ALONSO. Lead off this ground; and let's make further
+    search
+    For my poor son.
+  GONZALO. Heavens keep him from these beasts!
+    For he is, sure, i' th' island.  
+  ALONSO. Lead away.
+  ARIEL. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done;
+    So, King, go safely on to seek thy son.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2
+
+Another part of the island
+
+Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard
+
+  CALIBAN. All the infections that the sun sucks up
+    From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
+    By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,
+    And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,
+    Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' th' mire,
+    Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
+    Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
+    For every trifle are they set upon me;
+    Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,
+    And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which
+    Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount
+    Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I
+    All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues
+    Do hiss me into madness.
+
+                         Enter TRINCULO  
+
+    Lo, now, lo!
+    Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
+    For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat;
+    Perchance he will not mind me.
+  TRINCULO. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any
+    weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it
+    sing i' th' wind. Yond same black cloud, yond huge one,
+    looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If
+    it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to
+    hide my head. Yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by
+    pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or
+    alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and
+    fish-like smell; kind of not-of-the-newest Poor-John. A
+    strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and
+    had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but
+    would give a piece of silver. There would this monster
+    make a man; any strange beast there makes a man; when
+    they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they
+    will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a  
+    man, and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now
+    let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no
+    fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by
+    thunderbolt.  [Thunder]  Alas, the storm is come again! My
+    best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no
+    other shelter hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with
+    strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs
+    of the storm be past.
+
+            Enter STEPHANO singing; a bottle in his hand
+
+  STEPHANO. I shall no more to sea, to sea,
+    Here shall I die ashore-
+    This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral;
+    well, here's my comfort.                            [Drinks]
+
+    The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
+    The gunner, and his mate,
+    Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
+    But none of us car'd for Kate;  
+    For she had a tongue with a tang,
+    Would cry to a sailor 'Go hang!'
+    She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
+    Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch.
+    Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!
+
+    This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort.
+                                                        [Drinks]
+  CALIBAN. Do not torment me. O!
+  STEPHANO. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you
+    put tricks upon 's with savages and men of Ind? Ha! I
+    have not scap'd drowning to be afeard now of your four
+    legs; for it hath been said: As proper a man as ever
+    went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it
+    shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at
+    nostrils.
+  CALIBAN. The spirit torments me. O!
+  STEPHANO. This is some monster of the isle with four legs,
+    who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil
+    should he learn our language? I will give him some  
+    relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and
+    keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a
+    present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's
+    leather.
+  CALIBAN. Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my wood
+    home faster.
+  STEPHANO. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the
+    wisest. He shall taste of my bottle; if he have never
+    drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If
+    I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take
+    too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him,
+    and that soundly.
+  CALIBAN. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon,
+    I know it by thy trembling; now Prosper works upon thee.
+  STEPHANO. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is
+    that which will give language to you, cat. Open your
+    mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and
+    that soundly; you cannot tell who's your friend. Open
+    your chaps again.
+  TRINCULO. I should know that voice; it should be-but he is  
+    drown'd; and these are devils. O, defend me!
+  STEPHANO. Four legs and two voices; a most delicate monster!
+    His forward voice, now, is to speak well of his
+    friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and
+    to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover
+    him, I will help his ague. Come-Amen! I will pour some
+    in thy other mouth.
+  TRINCULO. Stephano!
+  STEPHANO. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy!
+    This is a devil, and no monster; I will leave him; I
+    have no long spoon.
+  TRINCULO. Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and
+    speak to me; for I am Trinculo-be not afeard-thy good
+    friend Trinculo.
+  STEPHANO. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull
+    the by the lesser legs; if any be Trinculo's legs, these
+    are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How cam'st thou
+    to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent
+    Trinculos?
+  TRINCULO. I took him to be kill'd with a thunderstroke.  
+    But art thou not drown'd, Stephano? I hope now thou are
+    not drown'd. Is the storm overblown? I hid me under the
+    dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. And
+    art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans
+    scap'd!
+  STEPHANO. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not
+    constant.
+  CALIBAN.  [Aside]  These be fine things, an if they be not
+    sprites.
+    That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor.
+    I will kneel to him.
+  STEPHANO. How didst thou scape? How cam'st thou hither?
+    Swear by this bottle how thou cam'st hither-I escap'd
+    upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved o'erboard-
+    by this bottle, which I made of the bark of a tree, with
+    mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.
+  CALIBAN. I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true
+    subject, for the liquor is not earthly.
+  STEPHANO. Here; swear then how thou escap'dst.
+  TRINCULO. Swum ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like  
+    a duck, I'll be sworn.
+  STEPHANO.  [Passing the bottle]  Here, kiss the book. Though
+    thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a
+    goose.
+  TRINCULO. O Stephano, hast any more of this?
+  STEPHANO. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock by
+    th' seaside, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf!
+    How does thine ague?
+  CALIBAN. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven?
+  STEPHANO. Out o' th' moon, I do assure thee; I was the Man
+    i' th' Moon, when time was.
+  CALIBAN. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My
+    mistress show'd me thee, and thy dog and thy bush.
+  STEPHANO. Come, swear to that; kiss the book. I will
+    furnish it anon with new contents. Swear.
+                                                [CALIBAN drinks]
+  TRINCULO. By this good light, this is a very shallow
+    monster!
+    I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The Man i' th'
+    Moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn,  
+    monster, in good sooth!
+  CALIBAN. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;
+    and will kiss thy foot. I prithee be my god.
+  TRINCULO. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken
+    monster! When's god's asleep he'll rob his bottle.
+  CALIBAN. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy
+    subject.
+  STEPHANO. Come on, then; down, and swear.
+  TRINCULO. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-
+    headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in
+    my heart to beat him-
+  STEPHANO. Come, kiss.
+  TRINCULO. But that the poor monster's in drink. An
+    abominable monster!
+  CALIBAN. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee
+    berries;
+    I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.
+    A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
+    I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
+    Thou wondrous man.  
+  TRINCULO. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of
+    a poor drunkard!
+  CALIBAN. I prithee let me bring thee where crabs grow;
+    And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
+    Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how
+    To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee
+    To clust'ring filberts, and sometimes I'll get thee
+    Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?
+  STEPHANO. I prithee now, lead the way without any more
+    talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else
+    being drown'd, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle.
+    Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again.
+  CALIBAN.  [Sings drunkenly]  Farewell, master; farewell,
+    farewell!
+  TRINCULO. A howling monster; a drunken monster!
+  CALIBAN. No more dams I'll make for fish;
+    Nor fetch in firing
+    At requiring,
+    Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish.
+    'Ban 'Ban, Ca-Caliban,  
+    Has a new master-Get a new man.
+    Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, high-
+    day, freedom!
+  STEPHANO. O brave monster! Lead the way.                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1
+
+Before PROSPERO'S cell
+
+Enter FERDINAND, hearing a log
+
+  FERDINAND. There be some sports are painful, and their
+    labour
+    Delight in them sets off; some kinds of baseness
+    Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters
+    Point to rich ends. This my mean task
+    Would be as heavy to me as odious, but
+    The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead,
+    And makes my labours pleasures. O, she is
+    Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed;
+    And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove
+    Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
+    Upon a sore injunction; my sweet mistress
+    Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness
+    Had never like executor. I forget;
+    But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,
+    Most busy, least when I do it.
+  
+        Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance, unseen
+
+  MIRANDA. Alas, now; pray you,
+    Work not so hard; I would the lightning had
+    Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile.
+    Pray, set it down and rest you; when this burns,
+    'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father
+    Is hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself;
+    He's safe for these three hours.
+  FERDINAND. O most dear mistress,
+    The sun will set before I shall discharge
+    What I must strive to do.
+  MIRANDA. If you'll sit down,
+    I'll bear your logs the while; pray give me that;
+    I'll carry it to the pile.
+  FERDINAND. No, precious creature;
+    I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
+    Than you should such dishonour undergo,
+    While I sit lazy by.
+  MIRANDA. It would become me  
+    As well as it does you; and I should do it
+    With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
+    And yours it is against.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  Poor worm, thou art infected!
+    This visitation shows it.
+  MIRANDA. You look wearily.
+  FERDINAND. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me
+    When you are by at night. I do beseech you,
+    Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers,
+    What is your name?
+  MIRANDA. Miranda-O my father,
+    I have broke your hest to say so!
+  FERDINAND. Admir'd Miranda!
+    What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
+    I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time
+    Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
+    Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues
+    Have I lik'd several women, never any
+    With so full soul, but some defect in her
+    Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd,  
+    And put it to the foil; but you, O you,
+    So perfect and so peerless, are created
+    Of every creature's best!
+  MIRANDA. I do not know
+    One of my sex; no woman's face remember,
+    Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
+    More that I may call men than you, good friend,
+    And my dear father. How features are abroad,
+    I am skilless of; but, by my modesty,
+    The jewel in my dower, I would not wish
+    Any companion in the world but you;
+    Nor can imagination form a shape,
+    Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle
+    Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
+    I therein do forget.
+  FERDINAND. I am, in my condition,
+    A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king-
+    I would not so!-and would no more endure
+    This wooden slavery than to suffer
+    The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:  
+    The very instant that I saw you, did
+    My heart fly to your service; there resides
+    To make me slave to it; and for your sake
+    Am I this patient log-man.
+  MIRANDA. Do you love me?
+  FERDINAND. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,
+    And crown what I profess with kind event,
+    If I speak true! If hollowly, invert
+    What best is boded me to mischief! I,
+    Beyond all limit of what else i' th' world,
+    Do love, prize, honour you.
+  MIRANDA. I am a fool
+    To weep at what I am glad of.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  Fair encounter
+    Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace
+    On that which breeds between 'em!
+  FERDINAND. Wherefore weep you?
+  MIRANDA. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer
+    What I desire to give, and much less take
+    What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;  
+    And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
+    The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!
+    And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!
+    I am your wife, if you will marry me;
+    If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow
+    You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,
+    Whether you will or no.
+  FERDINAND. My mistress, dearest;
+    And I thus humble ever.
+  MIRANDA. My husband, then?
+  FERDINAND. Ay, with a heart as willing
+    As bondage e'er of freedom. Here's my hand.
+  MIRANDA. And mine, with my heart in't. And now farewell
+    Till half an hour hence.
+  FERDINAND. A thousand thousand!
+                          Exeunt FERDINAND and MIRANDA severally
+  PROSPERO. So glad of this as they I cannot be,
+    Who are surpris'd withal; but my rejoicing
+    At nothing can be more. I'll to my book;
+    For yet ere supper time must I perform  
+    Much business appertaining.                             Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 2
+
+Another part of the island
+
+Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO
+
+  STEPHANO. Tell not me-when the butt is out we will drink
+    water, not a drop before; therefore bear up, and board
+    'em. Servant-monster, drink to me.
+  TRINCULO. Servant-monster! The folly of this island! They
+    say there's but five upon this isle: we are three of
+    them; if th' other two be brain'd like us, the state
+    totters.
+  STEPHANO. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee; thy
+    eyes are almost set in thy head.
+  TRINCULO. Where should they be set else? He were a brave
+    monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.
+  STEPHANO. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in
+    sack. For my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere
+    I could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues, off
+    and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant,
+    monster, or my standard.
+  TRINCULO. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard.  
+  STEPHANO. We'll not run, Monsieur Monster.
+  TRINCULO. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs, and
+    yet say nothing neither.
+  STEPHANO. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest
+    a good moon-calf.
+  CALIBAN. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe.
+    I'll not serve him; he is not valiant.
+  TRINCULO. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case
+    to justle a constable. Why, thou debosh'd fish, thou,
+    was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack
+    as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but
+    half fish and half a monster?
+  CALIBAN. Lo, how he mocks me! Wilt thou let him, my
+    lord?
+  TRINCULO. 'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should be such
+    a natural!
+  CALIBAN. Lo, lo again! Bite him to death, I prithee.
+  STEPHANO. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head; if
+    you prove a mutineer-the next tree! The poor monster's
+    my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity.  
+  CALIBAN. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd to
+    hearken once again to the suit I made to thee?
+  STEPHANO. Marry will I; kneel and repeat it; I will stand,
+    and so shall Trinculo.
+
+                     Enter ARIEL, invisible
+
+  CALIBAN. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant,
+    sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the
+    island.
+  ARIEL. Thou liest.
+  CALIBAN. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou;
+    I would my valiant master would destroy thee.
+    I do not lie.
+  STEPHANO. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale,
+    by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth.
+  TRINCULO. Why, I said nothing.
+  STEPHANO. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed.
+  CALIBAN. I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
+    From me he got it. If thy greatness will  
+    Revenge it on him-for I know thou dar'st,
+    But this thing dare not-
+  STEPHANO. That's most certain.
+  CALIBAN. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee.
+  STEPHANO. How now shall this be compass'd? Canst thou
+    bring me to the party?
+  CALIBAN. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee asleep,
+    Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head.
+  ARIEL. Thou liest; thou canst not.
+  CALIBAN. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy patch!
+    I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,
+    And take his bottle from him. When that's gone
+    He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him
+    Where the quick freshes are.
+  STEPHANO. Trinculo, run into no further danger; interrupt
+    the monster one word further and, by this hand, I'll turn
+    my mercy out o' doors, and make a stock-fish of thee.
+  TRINCULO. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther
+    off.
+  STEPHANO. Didst thou not say he lied?  
+  ARIEL. Thou liest.
+  STEPHANO. Do I so? Take thou that.  [Beats him]  As you like
+    this, give me the lie another time.
+  TRINCULO. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits and
+    hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! This can sack and
+    drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil
+    take your fingers!
+  CALIBAN. Ha, ha, ha!
+  STEPHANO. Now, forward with your tale.-Prithee stand
+    further off.
+  CALIBAN. Beat him enough; after a little time, I'll beat
+    him too.
+  STEPHANO. Stand farther. Come, proceed.
+  CALIBAN. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him
+    I' th' afternoon to sleep; there thou mayst brain him,
+    Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log
+    Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
+    Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
+    First to possess his books; for without them
+    He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not  
+    One spirit to command; they all do hate him
+    As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
+    He has brave utensils-for so he calls them-
+    Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal.
+    And that most deeply to consider is
+    The beauty of his daughter; he himself
+    Calls her a nonpareil. I never saw a woman
+    But only Sycorax my dam and she;
+    But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
+    As great'st does least.
+  STEPHANO. Is it so brave a lass?
+  CALIBAN. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant,
+    And bring thee forth brave brood.
+  STEPHANO. Monster, I will kill this man; his daughter and I
+    will be King and Queen-save our Graces!-and Trinculo
+    and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot,
+    Trinculo?
+  TRINCULO. Excellent.
+  STEPHANO. Give me thy hand; I am sorry I beat thee; but
+    while thou liv'st, keep a good tongue in thy head.  
+  CALIBAN. Within this half hour will he be asleep.
+    Wilt thou destroy him then?
+  STEPHANO. Ay, on mine honour.
+  ARIEL. This will I tell my master.
+  CALIBAN. Thou mak'st me merry; I am full of pleasure.
+    Let us be jocund; will you troll the catch
+    You taught me but while-ere?
+  STEPHANO. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any
+    reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing.              [Sings]
+
+    Flout 'em and scout 'em,
+    And scout 'em and flout 'em;
+    Thought is free.
+
+  CALIBAN. That's not the tune.
+                      [ARIEL plays the tune on a tabor and pipe]
+  STEPHANO. What is this same?
+  TRINCULO. This is the tune of our catch, play'd by the
+    picture of Nobody.
+  STEPHANO. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy  
+    likeness; if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list.
+  TRINCULO. O, forgive me my sins!
+  STEPHANO. He that dies pays all debts. I defy thee. Mercy
+    upon us!
+  CALIBAN. Art thou afeard?
+  STEPHANO. No, monster, not I.
+  CALIBAN. Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
+    Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.
+    Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
+    Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,
+    That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep,
+    Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming,
+    The clouds methought would open and show riches
+    Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd,
+    I cried to dream again.
+  STEPHANO. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I
+    shall have my music for nothing.
+  CALIBAN. When Prospero is destroy'd.
+  STEPHANO. That shall be by and by; I remember the story.
+  TRINCULO. The sound is going away; let's follow it, and  
+    after do our work.
+  STEPHANO. Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see
+    this taborer; he lays it on.
+  TRINCULO. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE 3
+
+Another part of the island
+
+Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS
+
+  GONZALO. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir;
+    My old bones ache. Here's a maze trod, indeed,
+    Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,
+    I needs must rest me.
+  ALONSO. Old lord, I cannot blame thee,
+    Who am myself attach'd with weariness
+    To th' dulling of my spirits; sit down and rest.
+    Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it
+    No longer for my flatterer; he is drown'd
+    Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks
+    Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.
+  ANTONIO.  [Aside to SEBASTIAN]  I am right glad that he's
+    so out of hope.
+    Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose
+    That you resolv'd t' effect.
+  SEBASTIAN.  [Aside to ANTONIO]  The next advantage  
+    Will we take throughly.
+  ANTONIO.  [Aside to SEBASTIAN]  Let it be to-night;
+    For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they
+    Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance
+    As when they are fresh.
+  SEBASTIAN.  [Aside to ANTONIO]  I say, to-night; no more.
+
+           Solemn and strange music; and PROSPERO on the
+           top, invisible. Enter several strange SHAPES,
+           bringing in a banquet; and dance about it with
+           gentle actions of salutations; and inviting the
+           KING, etc., to eat, they depart
+
+  ALONSO. What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!
+  GONZALO. Marvellous sweet music!
+  ALONSO. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?
+  SEBASTIAN. A living drollery. Now I will believe
+    That there are unicorns; that in Arabia
+    There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix
+    At this hour reigning-there.  
+  ANTONIO. I'll believe both;
+    And what does else want credit, come to me,
+    And I'll be sworn 'tis true; travellers ne'er did lie,
+    Though fools at home condemn 'em.
+  GONZALO. If in Naples
+    I should report this now, would they believe me?
+    If I should say, I saw such islanders,
+    For certes these are people of the island,
+    Who though they are of monstrous shape yet, note,
+    Their manners are more gentle-kind than of
+    Our human generation you shall find
+    Many, nay, almost any.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  Honest lord,
+    Thou hast said well; for some of you there present
+    Are worse than devils.
+  ALONSO. I cannot too much muse
+    Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing,
+    Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
+    Of excellent dumb discourse.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  Praise in departing.  
+  FRANCISCO. They vanish'd strangely.
+  SEBASTIAN. No matter, since
+    They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.
+    Will't please you taste of what is here?
+  ALONSO. Not I.
+  GONZALO. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,
+    Who would believe that there were mountaineers,
+    Dewlapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em
+    Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men
+    Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find
+    Each putter-out of five for one will bring us
+    Good warrant of.
+  ALONSO. I will stand to, and feed,
+    Although my last; no matter, since I feel
+    The best is past. Brother, my lord the Duke,
+    Stand to, and do as we.
+
+       Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a harpy;
+       claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint
+                device, the banquet vanishes  
+
+  ARIEL. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,
+    That hath to instrument this lower world
+    And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
+    Hath caus'd to belch up you; and on this island
+    Where man doth not inhabit-you 'mongst men
+    Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
+    And even with such-like valour men hang and drown
+    Their proper selves.
+                     [ALONSO, SEBASTIAN etc., draw their swords]
+    You fools! I and my fellows
+    Are ministers of Fate; the elements
+    Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well
+    Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs
+    Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
+    One dowle that's in my plume; my fellow-ministers
+    Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
+    Your swords are now too massy for your strengths
+    And will not be uplifted. But remember-
+    For that's my business to you-that you three  
+    From Milan did supplant good Prospero;
+    Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it,
+    Him, and his innocent child; for which foul deed
+    The pow'rs, delaying, not forgetting, have
+    Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,
+    Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,
+    They have bereft; and do pronounce by me
+    Ling'ring perdition, worse than any death
+    Can be at once, shall step by step attend
+    You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from-
+    Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls
+    Upon your heads-is nothing but heart's sorrow,
+    And a clear life ensuing.
+
+        He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, enter
+        the SHAPES again, and dance, with mocks and mows,
+                and carrying out the table
+
+  PROSPERO. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
+    Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring.  
+    Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated
+    In what thou hadst to say; so, with good life
+    And observation strange, my meaner ministers
+    Their several kinds have done. My high charms work,
+    And these mine enemies are all knit up
+    In their distractions. They now are in my pow'r;
+    And in these fits I leave them, while I visit
+    Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd,
+    And his and mine lov'd darling.                   Exit above
+  GONZALO. I' th' name of something holy, sir, why stand you
+    In this strange stare?
+  ALONSO. O, it is monstrous, monstrous!
+    Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it;
+    The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,
+    That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd
+    The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass.
+    Therefore my son i' th' ooze is bedded; and
+    I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded,
+    And with him there lie mudded.                          Exit
+  SEBASTIAN. But one fiend at a time,  
+    I'll fight their legions o'er.
+  ANTONIO. I'll be thy second.      Exeunt SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO
+  GONZALO. All three of them are desperate; their great guilt,
+    Like poison given to work a great time after,
+    Now gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you,
+    That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly,
+    And hinder them from what this ecstasy
+    May now provoke them to.
+  ADRIAN. Follow, I pray you.                             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1
+
+Before PROSPERO'S cell
+
+Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA
+
+  PROSPERO. If I have too austerely punish'd you,
+    Your compensation makes amends; for
+    Have given you here a third of mine own life,
+    Or that for which I live; who once again
+    I tender to thy hand. All thy vexations
+    Were but my trials of thy love, and thou
+    Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven,
+    I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand!
+    Do not smile at me that I boast her off,
+    For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,
+    And make it halt behind her.
+  FERDINAND. I do believe it
+    Against an oracle.
+  PROSPERO. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition
+    Wort'hily purchas'd, take my daughter. But
+    If thou dost break her virgin-knot before
+    All sanctimonious ceremonies may  
+    With full and holy rite be minist'red,
+    No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall
+    To make this contract grow; but barren hate,
+    Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew
+    The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
+    That you shall hate it both. Therefore take heed,
+    As Hymen's lamps shall light you.
+  FERDINAND. As I hope
+    For quiet days, fair issue, and long life,
+    With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den,
+    The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion
+    Our worser genius can, shall never melt
+    Mine honour into lust, to take away
+    The edge of that day's celebration,
+    When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd
+    Or Night kept chain'd below.
+  PROSPERO. Fairly spoke.
+    Sit, then, and talk with her; she is thine own.
+    What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!
+  
+                           Enter ARIEL
+
+  ARIEL. What would my potent master? Here I am.
+  PROSPERO. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
+    Did worthily perform; and I must use you
+    In such another trick. Go bring the rabble,
+    O'er whom I give thee pow'r, here to this place.
+    Incite them to quick motion; for I must
+    Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple
+    Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise,
+    And they expect it from me.
+  ARIEL. Presently?
+  PROSPERO. Ay, with a twink.
+  ARIEL. Before you can say 'come' and 'go,'
+    And breathe twice, and cry 'so, so,'
+    Each one, tripping on his toe,
+    Will be here with mop and mow.
+    Do you love me, master? No?
+  PROSPERO. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach
+    Till thou dost hear me call.  
+  ARIEL. Well! I conceive.                                  Exit
+  PROSPERO. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance
+    Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw
+    To th' fire i' th' blood. Be more abstemious,
+    Or else good night your vow!
+  FERDINAND. I warrant you, sir,
+    The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
+    Abates the ardour of my liver.
+  PROSPERO. Well!
+    Now come, my Ariel, bring a corollary,
+    Rather than want a spirit; appear, and pertly.
+    No tongue! All eyes! Be silent.                 [Soft music]
+
+                         Enter IRIS
+
+  IRIS. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
+    Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease;
+    Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
+    And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep;
+    Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,  
+    Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
+    To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,
+    Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
+    Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
+    And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky hard,
+    Where thou thyself dost air-the Queen o' th' sky,
+    Whose wat'ry arch and messenger am I,
+    Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,
+    Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
+    To come and sport. Her peacocks fly amain.
+                                      [JUNO descends in her car]
+    Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
+
+                        Enter CERES
+
+  CERES. Hail, many-coloured messenger, that ne'er
+    Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
+    Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flow'rs
+    Diffusest honey drops, refreshing show'rs;
+    And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown  
+    My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down,
+    Rich scarf to my proud earth-why hath thy Queen
+    Summon'd me hither to this short-grass'd green?
+  IRIS. A contract of true love to celebrate,
+    And some donation freely to estate
+    On the blest lovers.
+  CERES. Tell me, heavenly bow,
+    If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,
+    Do now attend the Queen? Since they did plot
+    The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,
+    Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company
+    I have forsworn.
+  IRIS. Of her society
+    Be not afraid. I met her Deity
+    Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son
+    Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done
+    Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,
+    Whose vows are that no bed-rite shall be paid
+    Till Hymen's torch be lighted; but in vain.
+    Mars's hot minion is return'd again;  
+    Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,
+    Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,
+    And be a boy right out.                       [JUNO alights]
+  CERES. Highest Queen of State,
+    Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait.
+  JUNO. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me
+    To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,
+    And honour'd in their issue.                     [They sing]
+  JUNO. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
+    Long continuance, and increasing,
+    Hourly joys be still upon you!
+    Juno sings her blessings on you.
+  CERES. Earth's increase, foison plenty,
+    Barns and gamers never empty;
+    Vines with clust'ring bunches growing,
+    Plants with goodly burden bowing;
+    Spring come to you at the farthest,
+    In the very end of harvest!
+    Scarcity and want shall shun you,
+    Ceres' blessing so is on you.  
+  FERDINAND. This is a most majestic vision, and
+    Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold
+    To think these spirits?
+  PROSPERO. Spirits, which by mine art
+    I have from their confines call'd to enact
+    My present fancies.
+  FERDINAND. Let me live here ever;
+    So rare a wond'red father and a wise
+    Makes this place Paradise.
+           [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment]
+  PROSPERO. Sweet now, silence;
+    Juno and Ceres whisper seriously.
+    There's something else to do; hush, and be mute,
+    Or else our spell is marr'd.
+  IRIS. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wind'ring brooks,
+    With your sedg'd crowns and ever harmless looks,
+    Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land
+    Answer your summons; Juno does command.
+    Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
+    A contract of true love; be not too late.  
+
+                      Enter certain NYMPHS
+
+    You sun-burnt sicklemen, of August weary,
+    Come hither from the furrow, and be merry;
+    Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on,
+    And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
+    In country footing.
+
+        Enter certain REAPERS, properly habited; they join
+         with the NYMPHS in a graceful dance; towards the
+         end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks,
+          after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused
+                  noise, they heavily vanish
+
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside]  I had forgot that foul conspiracy
+    Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
+    Against my life; the minute of their plot
+    Is almost come.  [To the SPIRITS]  Well done; avoid; no
+    more!  
+  FERDINAND. This is strange; your father's in some passion
+    That works him strongly.
+  MIRANDA. Never till this day
+    Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.
+  PROSPERO. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort,
+    As if you were dismay'd; be cheerful, sir.
+    Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
+    As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
+    Are melted into air, into thin air;
+    And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
+    The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
+    The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
+    Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
+    And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
+    Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
+    As dreams are made on; and our little life
+    Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
+    Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled;
+    Be not disturb'd with my infirmity.
+    If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell  
+    And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk
+    To still my beating mind.
+  FERDINAND, MIRANDA. We wish your peace.                 Exeunt
+  PROSPERO. Come, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel; come.
+
+                       Enter ARIEL
+
+  ARIEL. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure?
+  PROSPERO. Spirit,
+    We must prepare to meet with Caliban.
+  ARIEL. Ay, my commander. When I presented 'Ceres.'
+    I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd
+    Lest I might anger thee.
+  PROSPERO. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets?
+  ARIEL. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;
+    So full of valour that they smote the air
+    For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
+    For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
+    Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor,
+    At which like unback'd colts they prick'd their ears,  
+    Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses
+    As they smelt music; so I charm'd their cars,
+    That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
+    Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns,
+    Which ent'red their frail shins. At last I left them
+    I' th' filthy mantled pool beyond your cell,
+    There dancing up to th' chins, that the foul lake
+    O'erstunk their feet.
+  PROSPERO. This was well done, my bird.
+    Thy shape invisible retain thou still.
+    The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither
+    For stale to catch these thieves.
+  ARIEL. I go, I go.                                        Exit
+  PROSPERO. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
+    Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
+    Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;
+    And as with age his body uglier grows,
+    So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,
+    Even to roaring.
+  
+       Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.
+
+    Come, hang them on this line.
+                          [PROSPERO and ARIEL remain, invisible]
+
+         Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet
+
+  CALIBAN. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
+    Hear a foot fall; we now are near his cell.
+  STEPHANO. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless
+    fairy, has done little better than play'd the Jack with us.
+  TRINCULO. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss at which my
+    nose is in great indignation.
+  STEPHANO. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should
+    take a displeasure against you, look you-
+  TRINCULO. Thou wert but a lost monster.
+  CALIBAN. Good my lord, give me thy favour still.
+    Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
+    Shall hoodwink this mischance; therefore speak softly.
+    All's hush'd as midnight yet.  
+  TRINCULO. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool!
+  STEPHANO. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in
+    that, monster, but an infinite loss.
+  TRINCULO. That's more to me than my wetting; yet this is
+    your harmless fairy, monster.
+  STEPHANO. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er
+    ears for my labour.
+  CALIBAN. Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here,
+    This is the mouth o' th' cell; no noise, and enter.
+    Do that good mischief which may make this island
+    Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
+    For aye thy foot-licker.
+  STEPHANO. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody
+    thoughts.
+  TRINCULO. O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano!
+    Look what a wardrobe here is for thee!
+  CALIBAN. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.
+  TRINCULO. O, ho, monster; we know what belongs to a
+    frippery. O King Stephano!
+  STEPHANO. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll  
+    have that gown.
+  TRINCULO. Thy Grace shall have it.
+  CALIBAN. The dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean
+    To dote thus on such luggage? Let 't alone,
+    And do the murder first. If he awake,
+    From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches;
+    Make us strange stuff.
+  STEPHANO. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not
+    this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line; now,
+    jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald
+    jerkin.
+  TRINCULO. Do, do. We steal by line and level, an't like
+    your Grace.
+  STEPHANO. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment
+    for't. Wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of
+    this country. 'Steal by line and level' is an excellent
+    pass of pate; there's another garmet for't.
+  TRINCULO. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers,
+    and away with the rest.
+  CALIBAN. I will have none on't. We shall lose our time,  
+    And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes
+    With foreheads villainous low.
+  STEPHANO. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to bear this
+    away where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out
+    of my kingdom. Go to, carry this.
+  TRINCULO. And this.
+  STEPHANO. Ay, and this.
+
+          A noise of hunters beard. Enter divers SPIRITS, in
+             shape of dogs and hounds, bunting them about;
+                   PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on
+
+  PROSPERO. Hey, Mountain, hey!
+  ARIEL. Silver! there it goes, Silver!
+  PROSPERO. Fury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! Hark, hark!
+                [CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO are driven out]
+    Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints
+    With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews
+    With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them
+    Than pard or cat o' mountain.  
+  ARIEL. Hark, they roar.
+  PROSPERO. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour
+    Lies at my mercy all mine enemies.
+    Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou
+    Shalt have the air at freedom; for a little
+    Follow, and do me service.                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1
+
+Before PROSPERO'S cell
+
+Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL
+
+  PROSPERO. Now does my project gather to a head;
+    My charms crack not, my spirits obey; and time
+    Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day?
+  ARIEL. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,
+    You said our work should cease.
+  PROSPERO. I did say so,
+    When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit,
+    How fares the King and 's followers?
+  ARIEL. Confin'd together
+    In the same fashion as you gave in charge;
+    Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir,
+    In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;
+    They cannot budge till your release. The King,
+    His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,
+    And the remainder mourning over them,
+    Brim full of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly
+    Him you term'd, sir, 'the good old lord, Gonzalo';  
+    His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
+    From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em
+    That if you now beheld them your affections
+    Would become tender.
+  PROSPERO. Dost thou think so, spirit?
+  ARIEL. Mine would, sir, were I human.
+  PROSPERO. And mine shall.
+    Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
+    Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
+    One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
+    Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art?
+    Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick,
+    Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury
+    Do I take part; the rarer action is
+    In virtue than in vengeance; they being penitent,
+    The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
+    Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel;
+    My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
+    And they shall be themselves.
+  ARIEL. I'll fetch them, sir.                              Exit  
+  PROSPERO. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and
+    groves;
+    And ye that on the sands with printless foot
+    Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
+    When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
+    By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
+    Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
+    Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
+    To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid-
+    Weak masters though ye be-I have be-dimm'd
+    The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
+    And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
+    Set roaring war. To the dread rattling thunder
+    Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
+    With his own bolt; the strong-bas'd promontory
+    Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up
+    The pine and cedar. Graves at my command
+    Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em forth,
+    By my so potent art. But this rough magic
+    I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd  
+    Some heavenly music-which even now I do-
+    To work mine end upon their senses that
+    This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
+    Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
+    And deeper than did ever plummet sound
+    I'll drown my book.                            [Solem music]
+
+            Here enters ARIEL before; then ALONSO, with
+          frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO; SEBASTIAN
+           and ANTONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN
+           and FRANCISCO. They all enter the circle which
+          PROSPERO had made, and there stand charm'd; which
+                    PROSPERO observing, speaks
+
+    A solemn air, and the best comforter
+    To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,
+    Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand,
+    For you are spell-stopp'd.
+    Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
+    Mine eyes, ev'n sociable to the show of thine,  
+    Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace,
+    And as the morning steals upon the night,
+    Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
+    Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
+    Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo,
+    My true preserver, and a loyal sir
+    To him thou follow'st! I will pay thy graces
+    Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly
+    Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter;
+    Thy brother was a furtherer in the act.
+    Thou art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,
+    You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
+    Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian-
+    Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong-
+    Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee,
+    Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding
+    Begins to swell, and the approaching tide
+    Will shortly fill the reasonable shore
+    That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them
+    That yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel,  
+    Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell;           Exit ARIEL
+    I will discase me, and myself present
+    As I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit
+    Thou shalt ere long be free.
+
+        ARIEL, on returning, sings and helps to attire him
+
+    Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
+    In a cowslip's bell I lie;
+    There I couch when owls do cry.
+    On the bat's back I do fly
+    After summer merrily.
+    Merrily, merrily shall I live now
+    Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
+
+  PROSPERO. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee;
+    But yet thou shalt have freedom. So, so, so.
+    To the King's ship, invisible as thou art;
+    There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
+    Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain  
+    Being awake, enforce them to this place;
+    And presently, I prithee.
+  ARIEL. I drink the air before me, and return
+    Or ere your pulse twice beat.                           Exit
+  GONZALO. All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement,
+    Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us
+    Out of this fearful country!
+  PROSPERO. Behold, Sir King,
+    The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero.
+    For more assurance that a living prince
+    Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
+    And to thee and thy company I bid
+    A hearty welcome.
+  ALONSO. Whe'er thou be'st he or no,
+    Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,
+    As late I have been, I not know. Thy pulse
+    Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,
+    Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which,
+    I fear, a madness held me. This must crave-
+    An if this be at all-a most strange story.  
+    Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat
+    Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero
+    Be living and be here?
+  PROSPERO. First, noble friend,
+    Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot
+    Be measur'd or confin'd.
+  GONZALO. Whether this be
+    Or be not, I'll not swear.
+  PROSPERO. You do yet taste
+    Some subtleties o' th' isle, that will not let you
+    Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all!
+    [Aside to SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]  But you, my brace of
+      lords, were I so minded,
+    I here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you,
+    And justify you traitors; at this time
+    I will tell no tales.
+  SEBASTIAN.  [Aside]  The devil speaks in him.
+  PROSPERO. No.
+    For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
+    Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive  
+    Thy rankest fault-all of them; and require
+    My dukedom of thee, which perforce I know
+    Thou must restore.
+  ALONSO. If thou beest Prospero,
+    Give us particulars of thy preservation;
+    How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since
+    Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost-
+    How sharp the point of this remembrance is!-
+    My dear son Ferdinand.
+  PROSPERO. I am woe for't, sir.
+  ALONSO. Irreparable is the loss; and patience
+    Says it is past her cure.
+  PROSPERO. I rather think
+    You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace
+    For the like loss I have her sovereign aid,
+    And rest myself content.
+  ALONSO. You the like loss!
+  PROSPERO. As great to me as late; and, supportable
+    To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
+    Than you may call to comfort you, for I  
+    Have lost my daughter.
+  ALONSO. A daughter!
+    O heavens, that they were living both in Naples,
+    The King and Queen there! That they were, I wish
+    Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
+    Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?
+  PROSPERO. In this last tempest. I perceive these lords
+    At this encounter do so much admire
+    That they devour their reason, and scarce think
+    Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
+    Are natural breath; but, howsoe'er you have
+    Been justled from your senses, know for certain
+    That I am Prospero, and that very duke
+    Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely
+    Upon this shore, where you were wrecked, was landed
+    To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
+    For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
+    Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
+    Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
+    This cell's my court; here have I few attendants,  
+    And subjects none abroad; pray you, look in.
+    My dukedom since you have given me again,
+    I will requite you with as good a thing;
+    At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye
+    As much as me my dukedom.
+
+          Here PROSPERO discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA,
+                      playing at chess
+
+  MIRANDA. Sweet lord, you play me false.
+  FERDINAND. No, my dearest love,
+    I would not for the world.
+  MIRANDA. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle
+    And I would call it fair play.
+  ALONSO. If this prove
+    A vision of the island, one dear son
+    Shall I twice lose.
+  SEBASTIAN. A most high miracle!
+  FERDINAND. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;
+    I have curs'd them without cause.                   [Kneels]  
+  ALONSO. Now all the blessings
+    Of a glad father compass thee about!
+    Arise, and say how thou cam'st here.
+  MIRANDA. O, wonder!
+    How many goodly creatures are there here!
+    How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world
+    That has such people in't!
+  PROSPERO. 'Tis new to thee.
+  ALONSO. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?
+    Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours;
+    Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
+    And brought us thus together?
+  FERDINAND. Sir, she is mortal;
+    But by immortal Providence she's mine.
+    I chose her when I could not ask my father
+    For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
+    Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
+    Of whom so often I have heard renown
+    But never saw before; of whom I have
+    Receiv'd a second life; and second father  
+    This lady makes him to me.
+  ALONSO. I am hers.
+    But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
+    Must ask my child forgiveness!
+  PROSPERO. There, sir, stop;
+    Let us not burden our remembrances with
+    A heaviness that's gone.
+  GONZALO. I have inly wept,
+    Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,
+    And on this couple drop a blessed crown;
+    For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way
+    Which brought us hither.
+  ALONSO. I say, Amen, Gonzalo!
+  GONZALO. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
+    Should become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice
+    Beyond a common joy, and set it down
+    With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage
+    Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis;
+    And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
+    Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom  
+    In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves
+    When no man was his own.
+  ALONSO.  [To FERDINAND and MIRANDA]  Give me your
+    hands.
+    Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart
+    That doth not wish you joy.
+  GONZALO. Be it so. Amen!
+
+           Re-enter ARIEL, with the MASTER and BOATSWAIN
+                     amazedly following
+
+    O look, sir; look, sir! Here is more of us!
+    I prophesied, if a gallows were on land,
+    This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,
+    That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore?
+    Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?
+  BOATSWAIN. The best news is that we have safely found
+    Our King and company; the next, our ship-
+    Which but three glasses since we gave out split-
+    Is tight and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when  
+    We first put out to sea.
+  ARIEL.  [Aside to PROSPERO]  Sir, all this service
+    Have I done since I went.
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside to ARIEL]  My tricksy spirit!
+  ALONSO. These are not natural events; they strengthen
+    From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?
+  BOATSWAIN. If I did think, sir, I were well awake,
+    I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,
+    And-how, we know not-all clapp'd under hatches;
+    Where, but even now, with strange and several noises
+    Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,
+    And moe diversity of sounds, all horrible,
+    We were awak'd; straightway at liberty;
+    Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
+    Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master
+    Cap'ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you,
+    Even in a dream, were we divided from them,
+    And were brought moping hither.
+  ARIEL.  [Aside to PROSPERO]  Was't well done?
+  PROSPERO.  [Aside to ARIEL]  Bravely, my diligence. Thou  
+    shalt be free.
+  ALONSO. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod;
+    And there is in this business more than nature
+    Was ever conduct of. Some oracle
+    Must rectify our knowledge.
+  PROSPERO. Sir, my liege,
+    Do not infest your mind with beating on
+    The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure,
+    Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you,
+    Which to you shall seem probable, of every
+    These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful
+    And think of each thing well.  [Aside to ARIEL]  Come
+    hither, spirit;
+    Set Caliban and his companions free;
+    Untie the spell.  [Exit ARIEL]  How fares my gracious sir?
+    There are yet missing of your company
+    Some few odd lads that you remember not.
+
+         Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and
+  
+  TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel
+  STEPHANO. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man
+    take care for himself; for all is but fortune. Coragio,
+    bully-monster, coragio!
+  TRINCULO. If these be true spies which I wear in my head,
+    here's a goodly sight.
+  CALIBAN. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed!
+    How fine my master is! I am afraid
+    He will chastise me.
+  SEBASTIAN. Ha, ha!
+    What things are these, my lord Antonio?
+    Will money buy'em?
+  ANTONIO. Very like; one of them
+    Is a plain fish, and no doubt marketable.
+  PROSPERO. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
+    Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave-
+    His mother was a witch, and one so strong
+    That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
+    And deal in her command without her power.
+    These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil-  
+    For he's a bastard one-had plotted with them
+    To take my life. Two of these fellows you
+    Must know and own; this thing of darkness I
+    Acknowledge mine.
+  CALIBAN. I shall be pinch'd to death.
+  ALONSO. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?
+  SEBASTIAN. He is drunk now; where had he wine?
+  ALONSO. And Trinculo is reeling ripe; where should they
+    Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
+    How cam'st thou in this pickle?
+  TRINCULO. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you
+    last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones. I
+    shall not fear fly-blowing.
+  SEBASTIAN. Why, how now, Stephano!
+  STEPHANO. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a
+    cramp.
+  PROSPERO. You'd be king o' the isle, sirrah?
+  STEPHANO. I should have been a sore one, then.
+  ALONSO.  [Pointing to CALIBAN]  This is as strange a thing
+    as e'er I look'd on.  
+  PROSPERO. He is as disproportioned in his manners
+    As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
+    Take with you your companions; as you look
+    To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
+  CALIBAN. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,
+    And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
+    Was I to take this drunkard for a god,
+    And worship this dull fool!
+  PROSPERO. Go to; away!
+  ALONSO. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.
+  SEBASTIAN. Or stole it, rather.
+                          Exeunt CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO
+  PROSPERO. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train
+    To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest
+    For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste
+    With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
+    Go quick away-the story of my life,
+    And the particular accidents gone by
+    Since I came to this isle. And in the morn
+    I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,  
+    Where I have hope to see the nuptial
+    Of these our dear-belov'd solemnized,
+    And thence retire me to my Milan, where
+    Every third thought shall be my grave.
+  ALONSO. I long
+    To hear the story of your life, which must
+    Take the ear strangely.
+  PROSPERO. I'll deliver all;
+    And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
+    And sail so expeditious that shall catch
+    Your royal fleet far off.  [Aside to ARIEL]  My Ariel,
+      chick,
+    That is thy charge. Then to the elements
+    Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you, draw near.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+                             EPILOGUE
+                        Spoken by PROSPERO
+
+          Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
+          And what strength I have's mine own,
+          Which is most faint. Now 'tis true,
+          I must be here confin'd by you,
+          Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
+          Since I have my dukedom got,
+          And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
+          In this bare island by your spell;
+          But release me from my bands
+          With the help of your good hands.
+          Gentle breath of yours my sails
+          Must fill, or else my project fails,
+          Which was to please. Now I want
+          Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
+          And my ending is despair
+          Unless I be reliev'd by prayer,
+          Which pierces so that it assaults
+          Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
+          As you from crimes would pardon'd be,  
+          Let your indulgence set me free.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1608
+
+THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+    TIMON of Athens
+
+    LUCIUS
+    LUCULLUS
+    SEMPRONIUS
+       flattering lords
+
+    VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends
+    ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain
+    APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher
+    FLAVIUS, steward to Timon
+
+    FLAMINIUS
+    LUCILIUS
+    SERVILIUS
+       Timon's servants
+
+    CAPHIS
+    PHILOTUS
+    TITUS  
+    HORTENSIUS
+       servants to Timon's creditors
+
+    POET
+    PAINTER
+    JEWELLER
+    MERCHANT
+    MERCER
+    AN OLD ATHENIAN
+    THREE STRANGERS
+    A PAGE
+    A FOOL
+
+    PHRYNIA
+    TIMANDRA
+       mistresses to Alcibiades
+
+    CUPID
+    AMAZONS
+      in the Masque  
+
+    Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and
+      Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:
+Athens and the neighbouring woods
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Athens. TIMON'S house
+
+Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors
+
+  POET. Good day, sir.
+  PAINTER. I am glad y'are well.
+  POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?
+  PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.
+  POET. Ay, that's well known.
+    But what particular rarity? What strange,
+    Which manifold record not matches? See,
+    Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power
+    Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant.
+  PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.
+  MERCHANT. O, 'tis a worthy lord!
+  JEWELLER. Nay, that's most fix'd.
+  MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were,
+    To an untirable and continuate goodness.
+    He passes.
+  JEWELLER. I have a jewel here-  
+  MERCHANT. O, pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?
+  JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-
+  POET. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,
+    It stains the glory in that happy verse
+    Which aptly sings the good.
+  MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form.
+  JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.
+  PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
+    To the great lord.
+  POET. A thing slipp'd idly from me.
+    Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
+    From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' flint
+    Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame
+    Provokes itself, and like the current flies
+    Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
+  PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
+  POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
+    Let's see your piece.
+  PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece.
+  POET. So 'tis; this comes off well and excellent.  
+  PAINTER. Indifferent.
+  POET. Admirable. How this grace
+    Speaks his own standing! What a mental power
+    This eye shoots forth! How big imagination
+    Moves in this lip! To th' dumbness of the gesture
+    One might interpret.
+  PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
+    Here is a touch; is't good?
+  POET. I will say of it
+    It tutors nature. Artificial strife
+    Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
+
+              Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over
+
+  PAINTER. How this lord is followed!
+  POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!
+  PAINTER. Look, moe!
+  POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
+    I have in this rough work shap'd out a man
+    Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug  
+    With amplest entertainment. My free drift
+    Halts not particularly, but moves itself
+    In a wide sea of tax. No levell'd malice
+    Infects one comma in the course I hold,
+    But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
+    Leaving no tract behind.
+  PAINTER. How shall I understand you?
+  POET. I will unbolt to you.
+    You see how all conditions, how all minds-
+    As well of glib and slipp'ry creatures as
+    Of grave and austere quality, tender down
+    Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune,
+    Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
+    Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
+    All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer
+    To Apemantus, that few things loves better
+    Than to abhor himself; even he drops down
+    The knee before him, and returns in peace
+    Most rich in Timon's nod.
+  PAINTER. I saw them speak together.  
+  POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
+    Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount
+    Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures
+    That labour on the bosom of this sphere
+    To propagate their states. Amongst them all
+    Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd
+    One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,
+    Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
+    Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
+    Translates his rivals.
+  PAINTER. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope.
+    This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
+    With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
+    Bowing his head against the steepy mount
+    To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
+    In our condition.
+  POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on.
+    All those which were his fellows but of late-
+    Some better than his value- on the moment
+    Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,  
+    Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
+    Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
+    Drink the free air.
+  PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?
+  POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
+    Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,
+    Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top
+    Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
+    Not one accompanying his declining foot.
+  PAINTER. 'Tis common.
+    A thousand moral paintings I can show
+    That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's
+    More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
+    To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
+    The foot above the head.
+
+         Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself
+          courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from
+         VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other
+                       servants following  
+
+  TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you?
+  MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt;
+    His means most short, his creditors most strait.
+    Your honourable letter he desires
+    To those have shut him up; which failing,
+    Periods his comfort.
+  TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well.
+    I am not of that feather to shake of
+    My friend when he must need me. I do know him
+    A gentleman that well deserves a help,
+    Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him.
+  MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.
+  TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;
+    And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me.
+    'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
+    But to support him after. Fare you well.
+  MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour!                  Exit
+
+                      Enter an OLD ATHENIAN  
+
+  OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
+  TIMON. Freely, good father.
+  OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.
+  TIMON. I have so; what of him?
+  OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
+  TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!
+  LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship's service.
+  OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,
+    By night frequents my house. I am a man
+    That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift,
+    And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd
+    Than one which holds a trencher.
+  TIMON. Well; what further?
+  OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
+    On whom I may confer what I have got.
+    The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride,
+    And I have bred her at my dearest cost
+    In qualities of the best. This man of thine
+    Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord,  
+    Join with me to forbid him her resort;
+    Myself have spoke in vain.
+  TIMON. The man is honest.
+  OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon.
+    His honesty rewards him in itself;
+    It must not bear my daughter.
+  TIMON. Does she love him?
+  OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt:
+    Our own precedent passions do instruct us
+    What levity's in youth.
+  TIMON. Love you the maid?
+  LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
+  OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,
+    I call the gods to witness I will choose
+    Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
+    And dispossess her all.
+  TIMON. How shall she be endow'd,
+    If she be mated with an equal husband?
+  OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all.
+  TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;.  
+    To build his fortune I will strain a little,
+    For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
+    What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
+    And make him weigh with her.
+  OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord,
+    Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
+  TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
+  LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may
+    That state or fortune fall into my keeping
+    Which is not owed to you!
+                                Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN
+  POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your
+    lordship!
+  TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon;
+    Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
+  PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
+    Your lordship to accept.
+  TIMON. Painting is welcome.
+    The painting is almost the natural man;
+    For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,  
+    He is but outside; these pencill'd figures are
+    Even such as they give out. I like your work,
+    And you shall find I like it; wait attendance
+    Till you hear further from me.
+  PAINTER. The gods preserve ye!
+  TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand;
+    We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
+    Hath suffered under praise.
+  JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise?
+  TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations;
+    If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
+    It would unclew me quite.
+  JEWELLER. My lord, 'tis rated
+    As those which sell would give; but you well know
+    Things of like value, differing in the owners,
+    Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord,
+    You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
+  TIMON. Well mock'd.
+
+                      Enter APEMANTUS  
+
+  MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
+    Which all men speak with him.
+  TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid?
+  JEWELLER. We'll bear, with your lordship.
+  MERCHANT. He'll spare none.
+  TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!
+  APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;
+    When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.
+  TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know'st them not.
+  APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians?
+  TIMON. Yes.
+  APEMANTUS. Then I repent not.
+  JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name.
+  TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus.
+  APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.
+  TIMON. Whither art going?
+  APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.
+  TIMON. That's a deed thou't die for.  
+  APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' law.
+  TIMON. How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence.
+  TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it?
+  APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's
+    but a filthy piece of work.
+  PAINTER. Y'are a dog.
+  APEMANTUS. Thy mother's of my generation; what's she, if I be a dog?
+  TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords.
+  TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies.
+  APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.
+  TIMON. That's a lascivious apprehension.
+  APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend'st it take it for thy labour.
+  TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man
+    a doit.
+  TIMON. What dost thou think 'tis worth?
+  APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!
+  POET. How now, philosopher!  
+  APEMANTUS. Thou liest.
+  POET. Art not one?
+  APEMANTUS. Yes.
+  POET. Then I lie not.
+  APEMANTUS. Art not a poet?
+  POET. Yes.
+  APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast
+    feign'd him a worthy fellow.
+  POET. That's not feign'd- he is so.
+  APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy
+    labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th' flatterer.
+    Heavens, that I were a lord!
+  TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. E'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart.
+  TIMON. What, thyself?
+  APEMANTUS. Ay.
+  TIMON. Wherefore?
+  APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a
+    merchant?
+  MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus.  
+  APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!
+  MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it.
+  APEMANTUS. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee!
+
+                Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER
+
+  TIMON. What trumpet's that?
+  MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,
+    All of companionship.
+  TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us.
+                                          Exeunt some attendants
+    You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence
+    Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done
+    Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.
+
+                Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest
+
+    Most welcome, sir!                             [They salute]
+  APEMANTUS. So, so, there!
+    Aches contract and starve your supple joints!  
+    That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves,
+    And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out
+    Into baboon and monkey.
+  ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed
+    Most hungerly on your sight.
+  TIMON. Right welcome, sir!
+    Ere we depart we'll share a bounteous time
+    In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
+                                        Exeunt all but APEMANTUS
+
+                        Enter two LORDS
+
+  FIRST LORD. What time o' day is't, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. Time to be honest.
+  FIRST LORD. That time serves still.
+  APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit'st it.
+  SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast.
+  APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.
+  SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well.
+  APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.  
+  SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give
+    thee none.
+  FIRST LORD. Hang thyself.
+  APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests
+    to thy friend.
+  SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence.
+  APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' th' ass.  Exit
+  FIRST LORD. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in
+    And taste Lord Timon's bounty? He outgoes
+    The very heart of kindness.
+  SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold,
+    Is but his steward; no meed but he repays
+    Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him
+    But breeds the giver a return exceeding
+    All use of quittance.
+  FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries
+    That ever govern'd man.
+  SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?
+  FIRST LORD. I'll keep you company.                      Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A room of state in TIMON'S house
+
+Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv'd in;
+FLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states,
+the ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem'd from prison.
+Then comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself
+
+  VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon,
+    It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's age,
+    And call him to long peace.
+    He is gone happy, and has left me rich.
+    Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound
+    To your free heart, I do return those talents,
+    Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help
+    I deriv'd liberty.
+  TIMON. O, by no means,
+    Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love;
+    I gave it freely ever; and there's none
+    Can truly say he gives, if he receives.
+    If our betters play at that game, we must not dare  
+    To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair.
+  VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!
+  TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first
+    To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
+    Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;
+    But where there is true friendship there needs none.
+    Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes
+    Than my fortunes to me.                           [They sit]
+  FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess'd it.
+  APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess'd it! Hang'd it, have you not?
+  TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome.
+  APEMANTUS. No;
+    You shall not make me welcome.
+    I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
+  TIMON. Fie, th'art a churl; ye have got a humour there
+    Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame.
+    They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever
+    angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither
+    affect company nor is he fit for't indeed.
+  APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.  
+    I come to observe; I give thee warning on't.
+  TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th'art an Athenian, therefore
+    welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make
+    thee silent.
+  APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; 't'would choke me, for I should ne'er
+    flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he
+    sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one
+    man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.
+    I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.
+    Methinks they should invite them without knives:
+    Good for their meat and safer for their lives.
+    There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now,
+    parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided
+    draught, is the readiest man to kill him. 'T has been proved. If
+    I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals.
+    Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes:
+    Great men should drink with harness on their throats.
+  TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round.
+  SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord.
+  APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well.  
+    Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.
+    Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which
+    ne'er left man i' th' mire.
+    This and my food are equals; there's no odds.'
+    Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.
+
+                  APEMANTUS' Grace
+
+           Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
+           I pray for no man but myself.
+           Grant I may never prove so fond
+           To trust man on his oath or bond,
+           Or a harlot for her weeping,
+           Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,
+           Or a keeper with my freedom,
+           Or my friends, if I should need 'em.
+           Amen. So fall to't.
+           Rich men sin, and I eat root.       [Eats and drinks]
+
+    Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!  
+  TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now.
+  ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.
+  TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of
+    friends.
+  ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there's no meat
+    like 'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast.
+  APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that
+    then thou mightst kill 'em, and bid me to 'em.
+  FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you
+    would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of
+    our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.
+  TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have
+    provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been
+    my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from
+    thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told
+    more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own
+    behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what
+    need we have any friends if we should ne'er have need of 'em?
+    They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er
+    have use for 'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung  
+    up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have
+    often wish'd myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We
+    are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call
+    our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious
+    comfort 'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one
+    another's fortunes! O, joy's e'en made away ere't can be born!
+    Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their
+    faults, I drink to you.
+  APEMANTUS. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon.
+  SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes,
+    And at that instant like a babe sprung up.
+  APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.
+  THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much.
+  APEMANTUS. Much!                                [Sound tucket]
+  TIMON. What means that trump?
+
+                        Enter a SERVANT
+
+    How now?
+  SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most  
+    desirous of admittance.
+  TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills?
+  SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears
+    that office to signify their pleasures.
+  TIMON. I pray let them be admitted.
+
+                          Enter CUPID
+  CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all
+    That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses
+    Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely
+    To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th' Ear,
+    Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas'd from thy table rise;
+    They only now come but to feast thine eyes.
+  TIMON. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance.
+    Music, make their welcome.                        Exit CUPID
+  FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y'are belov'd.
+
+      Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons,
+          with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing
+  
+  APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!
+    They dance? They are mad women.
+    Like madness is the glory of this life,
+    As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
+    We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves,
+    And spend our flatteries to drink those men
+    Upon whose age we void it up again
+    With poisonous spite and envy.
+    Who lives that's not depraved or depraves?
+    Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves
+    Of their friends' gift?
+    I should fear those that dance before me now
+    Would one day stamp upon me. 'T has been done:
+    Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
+
+         The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of
+        TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an
+          Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty
+            strain or two to the hautboys, and cease
+  
+  TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,
+    Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,
+    Which was not half so beautiful and kind;
+    You have added worth unto't and lustre,
+    And entertain'd me with mine own device;
+    I am to thank you for't.
+  FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best.
+  APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold
+    taking, I doubt me.
+  TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you;
+    Please you to dispose yourselves.
+  ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord.
+                                         Exeunt CUPID and LADIES
+  TIMON. Flavius!
+  FLAVIUS. My lord?
+  TIMON. The little casket bring me hither.
+  FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet!
+    There is no crossing him in's humour,
+    Else I should tell him- well i' faith, I should-
+    When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could.  
+    'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,
+    That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind.          Exit
+  FIRST LORD. Where be our men?
+  SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness.
+  SECOND LORD. Our horses!
+
+               Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket
+
+  TIMON. O my friends,
+    I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord,
+    I must entreat you honour me so much
+    As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,
+    Kind my lord.
+  FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts-
+  ALL. So are we all.
+
+                       Enter a SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly
+    alighted and come to visit you.  
+  TIMON. They are fairly welcome.                   Exit SERVANT
+  FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does
+    concern you near.
+  TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I'll hear thee. I prithee let's
+    be provided to show them entertainment.
+  FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how.
+
+                     Enter another SERVANT
+
+  SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his
+    free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp'd
+    in silver.
+  TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents
+    Be worthily entertain'd.                        Exit SERVANT
+
+                      Enter a third SERVANT
+
+    How now! What news?
+  THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord
+    Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and  
+    has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.
+  TIMON. I'll hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd,
+    Not without fair reward.                        Exit SERVANT
+  FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to?
+    He commands us to provide and give great gifts,
+    And all out of an empty coffer;
+    Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,
+    To show him what a beggar his heart is,
+    Being of no power to make his wishes good.
+    His promises fly so beyond his state
+    That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes
+    For ev'ry word. He is so kind that he now
+    Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books.
+    Well, would I were gently put out of office
+    Before I were forc'd out!
+    Happier is he that has no friend to feed
+    Than such that do e'en enemies exceed.
+    I bleed inwardly for my lord.                           Exit
+  TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong;
+    You bate too much of your own merits.  
+    Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.
+  SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it.
+  THIRD LORD. O, he's the very soul of bounty!
+  TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other
+    day of a bay courser I rode on. 'Tis yours because you lik'd it.
+  THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that.
+  TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man
+    Can justly praise but what he does affect.
+    I weigh my friend's affection with mine own.
+    I'll tell you true; I'll call to you.
+  ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome!
+  TIMON. I take all and your several visitations
+    So kind to heart 'tis not enough to give;
+    Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends
+    And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,
+    Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich.
+    It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living
+    Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast
+    Lie in a pitch'd field.
+  ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil'd land, my lord.  
+  FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound-
+  TIMON. And so am I to you.
+  SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear'd-
+  TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights!
+  FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with
+    you, Lord Timon!
+  TIMON. Ready for his friends.
+                              Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON
+  APEMANTUS. What a coil's here!
+    Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!
+    I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums
+    That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs:
+    Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs.
+    Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.
+  TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen
+    I would be good to thee.
+  APEMANTUS. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be brib'd too, there
+    would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin
+    the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give
+    away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps,  
+    and vain-glories?
+  TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to
+    give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music.
+ Exit
+  APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I'll
+    lock thy heaven from thee.
+    O that men's ears should be
+    To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!                   Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+A SENATOR'S house
+
+Enter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand
+
+  SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore
+    He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,
+    Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion
+    Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.
+    If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog
+    And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.
+    If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe
+    Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,
+    Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,
+    And able horses. No porter at his gate,
+    But rather one that smiles and still invites
+    All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason
+    Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho!
+    Caphis, I say!
+
+                         Enter CAPHIS
+  
+  CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure?
+  SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon;
+    Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd
+    With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when
+    'Commend me to your master' and the cap
+    Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him
+    My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn
+    Out of mine own; his days and times are past,
+    And my reliances on his fracted dates
+    Have smit my credit. I love and honour him,
+    But must not break my back to heal his finger.
+    Immediate are my needs, and my relief
+    Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,
+    But find supply immediate. Get you gone;
+    Put on a most importunate aspect,
+    A visage of demand; for I do fear,
+    When every feather sticks in his own wing,
+    Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,
+    Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.
+  CAPHIS. I go, sir.  
+  SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you,
+    And have the dates in compt.
+  CAPHIS. I will, sir.
+  SENATOR. Go.                                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Before TIMON'S house
+
+Enter FLAVIUS, TIMON'S Steward, with many bills in his hand
+
+  FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense
+    That he will neither know how to maintain it
+    Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account
+    How things go from him, nor resumes no care
+    Of what is to continue. Never mind
+    Was to be so unwise to be so kind.
+    What shall be done? He will not hear till feel.
+    I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.
+    Fie, fie, fie, fie!
+
+       Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO
+
+  CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money?
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. Is't not your business too?
+  CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore?
+  ISIDORE'S SERVANT. It is so.
+  CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg'd!  
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. I fear it.
+  CAPHIS. Here comes the lord.
+
+            Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES
+
+  TIMON. So soon as dinner's done we'll forth again,
+    My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will?
+  CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.
+  TIMON. Dues! Whence are you?
+  CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord.
+  TIMON. Go to my steward.
+  CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off
+    To the succession of new days this month.
+    My master is awak'd by great occasion
+    To call upon his own, and humbly prays you
+    That with your other noble parts you'll suit
+    In giving him his right.
+  TIMON. Mine honest friend,
+    I prithee but repair to me next morning.
+  CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord-  
+  TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend.
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. One Varro's servant, my good lord-
+  ISIDORE'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy
+    payment-
+  CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master's wants-
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and
+    past.
+  ISIDORE'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and
+    I am sent expressly to your lordship.
+  TIMON. Give me breath.
+    I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;
+    I'll wait upon you instantly.
+                                     Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS
+    [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you,
+    How goes the world that I am thus encount'red
+    With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds
+    And the detention of long-since-due debts,
+    Against my honour?
+  FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen,
+    The time is unagreeable to this business.  
+    Your importunacy cease till after dinner,
+    That I may make his lordship understand
+    Wherefore you are not paid.
+  TIMON. Do so, my friends.
+    See them well entertain'd.                              Exit
+  FLAVIUS. Pray draw near.                                  Exit
+
+                      Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL
+
+  CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus.
+    Let's ha' some sport with 'em.
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. Hang him, he'll abuse us!
+  ISIDORE'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog!
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. How dost, fool?
+  APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow?
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee.
+  APEMANTUS. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away.
+  ISIDORE'S SERVANT. [To VARRO'S SERVANT] There's the fool hangs on
+    your back already.
+  APEMANTUS. No, thou stand'st single; th'art not on him yet.  
+  CAPHIS. Where's the fool now?
+  APEMANTUS. He last ask'd the question. Poor rogues and usurers'
+    men! Bawds between gold and want!
+  ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. Asses.
+  ALL SERVANTS. Why?
+  APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know
+    yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool.
+  FOOL. How do you, gentlemen?
+  ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress?
+  FOOL. She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you
+    are. Would we could see you at Corinth!
+  APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy.
+
+                           Enter PAGE
+
+  FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress' page.
+  PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise
+    company? How dost thou, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee  
+    profitably!
+  PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these
+    letters; I know not which is which.
+  APEMANTUS. Canst not read?
+  PAGE. No.
+  APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art
+    hang'd. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast
+    born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd.
+  PAGE. Thou wast whelp'd a dog, and thou shalt famish dog's death.
+    Answer not: I am gone.                             Exit PAGE
+  APEMANTUS. E'en so thou outrun'st grace.
+    Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's.
+  FOOL. Will you leave me there?
+  APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?
+  ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv'd us!
+  APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv'd
+    thief.
+  FOOL. Are you three usurers' men?
+  ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool.
+  FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress  
+    is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your
+    masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my
+    mistress' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this?
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. I could render one.
+  APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a
+    knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed.
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool?
+  FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a
+    spirit. Sometime 't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer;
+    sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's
+    artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally,
+    in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to
+    thirteen, this spirit walks in.
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool.
+  FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man.
+    As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack'st.
+  APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus.
+  VARRO'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.
+
+                    Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS  
+
+  APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come.
+  FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman;
+    sometime the philosopher.
+                                       Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL
+  FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I'll speak with you anon.
+                                                 Exeunt SERVANTS
+  TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time
+    Had you not fully laid my state before me,
+    That I might so have rated my expense
+    As I had leave of means.
+  FLAVIUS. You would not hear me
+    At many leisures I propos'd.
+  TIMON. Go to;
+    Perchance some single vantages you took
+    When my indisposition put you back,
+    And that unaptness made your minister
+    Thus to excuse yourself.
+  FLAVIUS. O my good lord,
+    At many times I brought in my accounts,  
+    Laid them before you; you would throw them off
+    And say you found them in mine honesty.
+    When, for some trifling present, you have bid me
+    Return so much, I have shook my head and wept;
+    Yea, 'gainst th' authority of manners, pray'd you
+    To hold your hand more close. I did endure
+    Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have
+    Prompted you in the ebb of your estate
+    And your great flow of debts. My lov'd lord,
+    Though you hear now- too late!- yet now's a time:
+    The greatest of your having lacks a half
+    To pay your present debts.
+  TIMON. Let all my land be sold.
+  FLAVIUS. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone;
+    And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
+    Of present dues. The future comes apace;
+    What shall defend the interim? And at length
+    How goes our reck'ning?
+  TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend.
+  FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word;  
+    Were it all yours to give it in a breath,
+    How quickly were it gone!
+  TIMON. You tell me true.
+  FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,
+    Call me before th' exactest auditors
+    And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,
+    When all our offices have been oppress'd
+    With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept
+    With drunken spilth of wine, when every room
+    Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy,
+    I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock
+    And set mine eyes at flow.
+  TIMON. Prithee no more.
+  FLAVIUS. 'Heavens,' have I said 'the bounty of this lord!
+    How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants
+    This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon's?
+    What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's?
+    Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!'
+    Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise,
+    The breath is gone whereof this praise is made.  
+    Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show'rs,
+    These flies are couch'd.
+  TIMON. Come, sermon me no further.
+    No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart;
+    Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
+    Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack
+    To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart:
+    If I would broach the vessels of my love,
+    And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,
+    Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use
+    As I can bid thee speak.
+  FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts!
+  TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd
+    That I account them blessings; for by these
+    Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you
+    Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.
+    Within there! Flaminius! Servilius!
+
+           Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT
+  
+  SERVANTS. My lord! my lord!
+  TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord
+    Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius.
+    Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions
+    have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money. Let the
+    request be fifty talents.
+  FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord.          Exeunt SERVANTS
+  FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh!
+  TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators,
+    Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have
+    Deserv'd this hearing. Bid 'em send o' th' instant
+    A thousand talents to me.
+  FLAVIUS. I have been bold,
+    For that I knew it the most general way,
+    To them to use your signet and your name;
+    But they do shake their heads, and I am here
+    No richer in return.
+  TIMON. Is't true? Can't be?
+  FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,
+    That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot  
+    Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable-
+    But yet they could have wish'd- they know not-
+    Something hath been amiss- a noble nature
+    May catch a wrench- would all were well!- 'tis pity-
+    And so, intending other serious matters,
+    After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,
+    With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods,
+    They froze me into silence.
+  TIMON. You gods, reward them!
+    Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows
+    Have their ingratitude in them hereditary.
+    Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows;
+    'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;
+    And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
+    Is fashion'd for the journey dull and heavy.
+    Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad,
+    Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak,
+    No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately
+    Buried his father, by whose death he's stepp'd
+    Into a great estate. When he was poor,  
+    Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends,
+    I clear'd him with five talents. Greet him from me,
+    Bid him suppose some good necessity
+    Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb'red
+    With those five talents. That had, give't these fellows
+    To whom 'tis instant due. Nev'r speak or think
+    That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink.
+  FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it.
+    That thought is bounty's foe;
+    Being free itself, it thinks all others so.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+LUCULLUS' house
+
+FLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him
+
+  SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.
+  FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir.
+
+                           Enter LUCULLUS
+
+  SERVANT. Here's my lord.
+  LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? A gift, I warrant. Why,
+    this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night-
+    Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome,
+    sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that
+    honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very
+    bountiful good lord and master?
+  FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir.
+  LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what
+    hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?
+  FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord's  
+    behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply;  who, having
+    great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to
+    your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present
+    assistance therein.
+  LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! 'Nothing doubting' says he? Alas, good
+    lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a
+    house. Many a time and often I ha' din'd with him and told him
+    on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him
+    spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning
+    by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha'
+    told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't.
+
+                    Re-enter SERVANT, with wine
+
+  SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine.
+  LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee.
+  FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.
+  LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit,
+    give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and
+    canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in  
+    thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw
+    nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman; but
+    thou art wise, and thou know'st well enough, although thou com'st
+    to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare
+    friendship without security. Here's three solidares for thee.
+    Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well.
+  FLAMINIUS. Is't possible the world should so much differ,
+    And we alive that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness,
+    To him that worships thee.         [Throwing the money back]
+  LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master.
+ Exit
+  FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee!
+    Let molten coin be thy damnation,
+    Thou disease of a friend and not himself!
+    Has friendship such a faint and milky heart
+    It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,
+    I feel my master's passion! This slave
+    Unto his honour has my lord's meat in him;
+    Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment
+    When he is turn'd to poison?  
+    O, may diseases only work upon't!
+    And when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature
+    Which my lord paid for be of any power
+    To expel sickness, but prolong his hour!                Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A public place
+
+Enter Lucius, with three STRANGERS
+
+  LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an
+    honourable gentleman.
+  FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but
+    strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and
+    which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours
+    are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him.
+  LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money.
+  SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago
+     one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many
+    talents; nay, urg'd extremely for't, and showed what necessity
+    belong'd to't, and yet was denied.
+  LUCIUS. How?
+  SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord.
+  LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am
+    asham'd on't. Denied that honourable man! There was very little
+    honour show'd in't. For my own part, I must needs confess I have
+    received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels,  
+    and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he
+    mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his
+    occasion so many talents.
+
+                             Enter SERVILIUS
+
+  SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see
+    his honour.- My honour'd lord!
+  LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend
+    me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.
+  SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-
+  LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord:
+    he's ever sending. How shall I thank him, think'st thou? And what
+    has he sent now?
+  SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord,
+    requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many
+    talents.
+  LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me;
+    He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.
+  SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.  
+    If his occasion were not virtuous
+    I should not urge it half so faithfully.
+  LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?
+  SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir.
+  LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such
+    a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! How
+    unluckily it happ'ned that I should purchase the day before for a
+    little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now
+    before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I
+    was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can
+    witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done't
+    now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his
+    honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power
+    to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my
+    greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an
+    honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far
+    as to use mine own words to him?
+  SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall.
+  LUCIUS. I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius.
+                                                  Exit SERVILIUS  
+    True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed;
+    And he that's once denied will hardly speed.            Exit
+  FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius?
+  SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well.
+  FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same
+      piece
+    Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him his friend
+    That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing,
+    Timon has been this lord's father,
+    And kept his credit with his purse;
+    Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money
+    Has paid his men their wages. He ne'er drinks
+    But Timon's silver treads upon his lip;
+    And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man
+    When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-
+    He does deny him, in respect of his,
+    What charitable men afford to beggars.
+  THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it.
+  FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part,
+    I never tasted Timon in my life,  
+    Nor came any of his bounties over me
+    To mark me for his friend; yet I protest,
+    For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue,
+    And honourable carriage,
+    Had his necessity made use of me,
+    I would have put my wealth into donation,
+    And the best half should have return'd to him,
+    So much I love his heart. But I perceive
+    Men must learn now with pity to dispense;
+    For policy sits above conscience.                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+SEMPRONIUS' house
+
+Enter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON'S
+
+  SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in't? Hum! 'Bove all others?
+    He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;
+    And now Ventidius is wealthy too,
+    Whom he redeem'd from prison. All these
+    Owe their estates unto him.
+  SERVANT. My lord,
+    They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for
+    They have all denied him.
+  SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him?
+    Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?
+    And does he send to me? Three? Humh!
+    It shows but little love or judgment in him.
+    Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians,
+    Thrice give him over. Must I take th' cure upon me?
+    Has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry at him,
+    That might have known my place. I see no sense for't,
+    But his occasions might have woo'd me first;  
+    For, in my conscience, I was the first man
+    That e'er received gift from him.
+    And does he think so backwardly of me now
+    That I'll requite it last? No;
+    So it may prove an argument of laughter
+    To th' rest, and I 'mongst lords be thought a fool.
+    I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum
+    Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake;
+    I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return,
+    And with their faint reply this answer join:
+    Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin.           Exit
+  SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil
+    knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross'd himself
+    by't; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man
+    will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul!
+    Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot
+    ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire.
+    Of such a nature is his politic love.
+    This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,
+    Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead,  
+    Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
+    Many a bounteous year must be employ'd
+    Now to guard sure their master.
+    And this is all a liberal course allows:
+    Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+A hall in TIMON'S house
+
+Enter two Of VARRO'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS' SERVANT, and others,
+all being servants of TIMON's creditors, to wait for his coming out.
+Then enter TITUS and HORTENSIUS
+
+  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius.
+  TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro.
+  HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together?
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all;
+    for mine is money.
+  TITUS. So is theirs and ours.
+
+                          Enter PHILOTUS
+
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too!
+  PHILOTUS. Good day at once.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour?
+  PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. So much?
+  PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet?  
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Not yet.
+  PHILOTUS. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him;
+    You must consider that a prodigal course
+    Is like the sun's, but not like his recoverable.
+    I fear
+    'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse;
+    That is, one may reach deep enough and yet
+    Find little.
+  PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that.
+  TITUS. I'll show you how t' observe a strange event.
+    Your lord sends now for money.
+  HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does.
+  TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,
+    For which I wait for money.
+  HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows
+    Timon in this should pay more than he owes;
+    And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels
+    And send for money for 'em.  
+  HORTENSIUS. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness;
+    I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth,
+    And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.
+  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; what's
+    yours?
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand mine.
+  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th'
+      sum
+    Your master's confidence was above mine,
+    Else surely his had equall'd.
+
+                           Enter FLAMINIUS
+
+  TITUS. One of Lord Timon's men.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to
+    come forth?
+  FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not.
+  TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much.
+  FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent.
+ Exit  
+
+                 Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled
+
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so?
+    He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him.
+  TITUS. Do you hear, sir?
+  SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir.
+  FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend?
+  TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir.
+  FLAVIUS. Ay,
+    If money were as certain as your waiting,
+    'Twere sure enough.
+    Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills
+    When your false masters eat of my lord's meat?
+    Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts,
+    And take down th' int'rest into their glutt'nous maws.
+    You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up;
+    Let me pass quietly.
+    Believe't, my lord and I have made an end:
+    I have no more to reckon, he to spend.  
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve.
+  FLAVIUS. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you,
+    For you serve knaves.                                   Exit
+  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier'd worship mutter?
+  SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. No matter what; he's poor, and that's
+    revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house
+    to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings.
+
+                          Enter SERVILIUS
+
+  TITUS. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer.
+  SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other
+    hour, I should derive much from't; for take't of my soul, my lord
+    leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has
+    forsook him; he's much out of health and keeps his chamber.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick;
+    And if it be so far beyond his health,
+    Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,
+    And make a clear way to the gods.
+  SERVILIUS. Good gods!  
+  TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir.
+  FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!
+
+           Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following
+
+  TIMON. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage?
+    Have I been ever free, and must my house
+    Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?
+    The place which I have feasted, does it now,
+    Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus.
+  TITUS. My lord, here is my bill.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Here's mine.
+  HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord.
+  BOTH VARRO'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord.
+  PHILOTUS. All our bills.
+  TIMON. Knock me down with 'em; cleave me to the girdle.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Alas, my lord-
+  TIMON. Cut my heart in sums.
+  TITUS. Mine, fifty talents.  
+  TIMON. Tell out my blood.
+  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord.
+  TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours?
+  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord-
+  SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord-
+  TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you!      Exit
+  HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at
+    their money. These debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a
+    madman owes 'em.                                      Exeunt
+
+                    Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS
+
+  TIMON. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves.
+    Creditors? Devils!
+  FLAVIUS. My dear lord-
+  TIMON. What if it should be so?
+  FLAMINIUS. My lord-
+  TIMON. I'll have it so. My steward!
+  FLAVIUS. Here, my lord.
+  TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again:  
+    Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all.
+    I'll once more feast the rascals.
+  FLAVIUS. O my lord,
+    You only speak from your distracted soul;
+    There is not so much left to furnish out
+    A moderate table.
+  TIMON. Be it not in thy care.
+    Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide
+    Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+The Senate House
+
+Enter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with attendants
+
+  FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to't: the fault's bloody.
+    'Tis necessary he should die:
+    Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
+  SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him.
+  ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate!
+  FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain?
+  ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues;
+    For pity is the virtue of the law,
+    And none but tyrants use it cruelly.
+    It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy
+    Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood
+    Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth
+    To those that without heed do plunge into't.
+    He is a man, setting his fate aside,
+    Of comely virtues;
+    Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-  
+    An honour in him which buys out his fault-
+    But with a noble fury and fair spirit,
+    Seeing his reputation touch'd to death,
+    He did oppose his foe;
+    And with such sober and unnoted passion
+    He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent,
+    As if he had but prov'd an argument.
+  FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox,
+    Striving to make an ugly deed look fair;
+    Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd
+    To bring manslaughter into form and set
+    Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed,
+    Is valour misbegot, and came into the world
+    When sects and factions were newly born.
+    He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer
+    The worst that man can breathe,
+    And make his wrongs his outsides,
+    To wear them like his raiment, carelessly,
+    And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
+    To bring it into danger.  
+    If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,
+    What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!
+  ALCIBIADES. My lord-
+  FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear:
+    To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
+  ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me
+    If I speak like a captain:
+    Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,
+    And not endure all threats? Sleep upon't,
+    And let the foes quietly cut their throats,
+    Without repugnancy? If there be
+    Such valour in the bearing, what make we
+    Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant,
+    That stay at home, if bearing carry it;
+    And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow
+    Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,
+    If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,
+    As you are great, be pitifully good.
+    Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?
+    To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;  
+    But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.
+    To be in anger is impiety;
+    But who is man that is not angry?
+    Weigh but the crime with this.
+  SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain.
+  ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done
+    At Lacedaemon and Byzantium
+    Were a sufficient briber for his life.
+  FIRST SENATOR. What's that?
+  ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service,
+    And slain in fight many of your enemies;
+    How full of valour did he bear himself
+    In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!
+  SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with 'em.
+    He's a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often
+    Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner.
+    If there were no foes, that were enough
+    To overcome him. In that beastly fury
+    He has been known to commit outrages
+    And cherish factions. 'Tis inferr'd to us  
+    His days are foul and his drink dangerous.
+  FIRST SENATOR. He dies.
+  ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war.
+    My lords, if not for any parts in him-
+    Though his right arm might purchase his own time,
+    And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you,
+    Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both;
+    And, for I know your reverend ages love
+    Security, I'll pawn my victories, all
+    My honours to you, upon his good returns.
+    If by this crime he owes the law his life,
+    Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore;
+    For law is strict, and war is nothing more.
+  FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more
+    On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother,
+    He forfeits his own blood that spills another.
+  ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords,
+    I do beseech you, know me.
+  SECOND SENATOR. How!
+  ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances.  
+  THIRD SENATOR. What!
+  ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me;
+    It could not else be I should prove so base
+    To sue, and be denied such common grace.
+    My wounds ache at you.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger?
+    'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect:
+    We banish thee for ever.
+  ALCIBIADES. Banish me!
+    Banish your dotage! Banish usury
+    That makes the Senate ugly.
+  FIRST SENATOR. If after two days' shine Athens contain thee,
+    Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit,
+    He shall be executed presently.              Exeunt SENATORS
+  ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live
+    Only in bone, that none may look on you!
+    I'm worse than mad; I have kept back their foes,
+    While they have told their money and let out
+    Their coin upon large interest, I myself
+    Rich only in large hurts. All those for this?  
+    Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate
+    Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment!
+    It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd;
+    It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,
+    That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up
+    My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.
+    'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;
+    Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods.         Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+A banqueting hall in TIMON'S house
+
+Music. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS,
+friends of TIMON, at several doors
+
+  FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir.
+  SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord
+    did but try us this other day.
+  FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount'red.
+    I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial
+    of his several friends.
+  SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new
+    feasting.
+  FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting,
+    which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath
+    conjur'd me beyond them, and I must needs appear.
+  SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate
+    business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he
+    sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out.
+  FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all
+    things go.  
+  SECOND LORD. Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of
+    you?
+  FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces.
+  SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces!
+  FIRST LORD. What of you?
+  SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes.
+
+                   Enter TIMON and attendants
+
+  TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you?
+  FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.
+  SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we
+    your lordship.
+  TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds
+    are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long
+    stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so
+    harshly o' th' trumpet's sound; we shall to't presently.
+  FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that
+    I return'd you an empty messenger.
+  TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you.  
+  SECOND LORD. My noble lord-
+  TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer?
+  SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame that,
+    when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so
+    unfortunate a beggar.
+  TIMON. Think not on't, sir.
+  SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before-
+  TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet
+    brought in] Come, bring in all together.
+  SECOND LORD. All cover'd dishes!
+  FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you.
+  THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it.
+  FIRST LORD. How do you? What's the news?
+  THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish'd. Hear you of it?
+  FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish'd!
+  THIRD LORD. 'Tis so, be sure of it.
+  FIRST LORD. How? how?
+  SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what?
+  TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near?
+  THIRD LORD. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward.  
+  SECOND LORD. This is the old man still.
+  THIRD LORD. Will't hold? Will't hold?
+  SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so-
+  THIRD LORD. I do conceive.
+  TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip
+    of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not
+    a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon
+    the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks:
+
+    You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness.
+    For your own gifts make yourselves prais'd; but reserve still to
+    give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough,
+    that one need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to
+    borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be
+    beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of
+    twenty be without a score of villains. If there sit twelve women
+    at the table, let a dozen of them be- as they are. The rest of
+    your foes, O gods, the senators of Athens, together with the
+    common lag of people, what is amiss in them, you gods, make
+    suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they  
+    are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are
+    they welcome.
+
+    Uncover, dogs, and lap.        [The dishes are uncovered and
+                                  seen to he full of warm water]
+  SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean?
+  SOME OTHER. I know not.
+  TIMON. May you a better feast never behold,
+    You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water
+    Is your perfection. This is Timon's last;
+    Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,
+    Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces
+                             [Throwing the water in their faces]
+    Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd and long,
+    Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,
+    Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,
+    You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies,
+    Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks!
+    Of man and beast the infinite malady
+    Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go?  
+    Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou.
+    Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.       [Throws the
+                            dishes at them, and drives them out]
+    What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast
+    Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest.
+    Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be
+    Of Timon man and all humanity!                          Exit
+
+                           Re-enter the LORDS
+
+  FIRST LORD. How now, my lords!
+  SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury?
+  THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap?
+  FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown.
+  FIRST LORD. He's but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him.
+    He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of
+    my hat. Did you see my jewel?
+  THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap?
+  SECOND LORD. Here 'tis.
+  FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown.  
+  FIRST LORD. Let's make no stay.
+  SECOND LORD. Lord Timon's mad.
+  THIRD LORD. I feel't upon my bones.
+  FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Without the walls of Athens
+
+Enter TIMON
+
+  TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall
+    That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth
+    And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent.
+    Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools,
+    Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench
+    And minister in their steads. To general filths
+    Convert, o' th' instant, green virginity.
+    Do't in your parents' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast;
+    Rather than render back, out with your knives
+    And cut your trusters' throats. Bound servants, steal:
+    Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
+    And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed:
+    Thy mistress is o' th' brothel. Son of sixteen,
+    Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire,
+    With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear,
+    Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
+    Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,  
+    Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,
+    Degrees, observances, customs and laws,
+    Decline to your confounding contraries
+    And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men,
+    Your potent and infectious fevers heap
+    On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica,
+    Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt
+    As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty,
+    Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,
+    That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive
+    And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains,
+    Sow all th' Athenian bosoms, and their crop
+    Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,
+    That their society, as their friendship, may
+    Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee
+    But nakedness, thou detestable town!
+    Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.
+    Timon will to the woods, where he shall find
+    Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
+    The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all-  
+    The Athenians both within and out that wall!
+    And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
+    To the whole race of mankind, high and low!
+    Amen.                                                   Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Athens. TIMON's house
+
+Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS
+
+  FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where's our master?
+    Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?
+  FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?
+    Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
+    I am as poor as you.
+  FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke!
+    So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not
+    One friend to take his fortune by the arm
+    And go along with him?
+  SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs
+    From our companion, thrown into his grave,
+    So his familiars to his buried fortunes
+    Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,
+    Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,
+    A dedicated beggar to the air,
+    With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,
+    Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.  
+
+                     Enter other SERVANTS
+
+  FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin'd house.
+  THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;
+    That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,
+    Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark;
+    And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,
+    Hearing the surges threat. We must all part
+    Into this sea of air.
+  FLAVIUS. Good fellows all,
+    The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.
+    Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,
+    Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say,
+    As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune,
+    'We have seen better days.' Let each take some.
+                                             [Giving them money]
+    Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!
+    Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
+                                [Embrace, and part several ways]  
+    O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!
+    Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
+    Since riches point to misery and contempt?
+    Who would be so mock'd with glory, or to live
+    But in a dream of friendship,
+    To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,
+    But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?
+    Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
+    Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,
+    When man's worst sin is he does too much good!
+    Who then dares to be half so kind again?
+    For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.
+    My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst,
+    Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes
+    Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!
+    He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat
+    Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to
+    Supply his life, or that which can command it.
+    I'll follow and enquire him out.
+    I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;  
+    Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still.          Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON'S cave
+
+Enter TIMON in the woods
+
+  TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth
+    Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb
+    Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb-
+    Whose procreation, residence, and birth,
+    Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes:
+    The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,
+    To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune
+    But by contempt of nature.
+    Raise me this beggar and deny't that lord:
+    The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
+    The beggar native honour.
+    It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,
+    The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,
+    In purity of manhood stand upright,
+    And say 'This man's a flatterer'? If one be,
+    So are they all; for every grise of fortune
+    Is smooth'd by that below. The learned pate  
+    Ducks to the golden fool. All's oblique;
+    There's nothing level in our cursed natures
+    But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd
+    All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
+    His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.
+    Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots.
+                                                       [Digging]
+    Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
+    With thy most operant poison. What is here?
+    Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
+    I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!
+    Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,
+    Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.
+    Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this
+    Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
+    Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads-
+    This yellow slave
+    Will knit and break religions, bless th' accurs'd,
+    Make the hoar leprosy ador'd, place thieves
+    And give them title, knee, and approbation,  
+    With senators on the bench. This is it
+    That makes the wappen'd widow wed again-
+    She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores
+    Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices
+    To th 'April day again. Come, damn'd earth,
+    Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
+    Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
+    Do thy right nature.                        [March afar off]
+    Ha! a drum? Th'art quick,
+    But yet I'll bury thee. Thou't go, strong thief,
+    When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
+    Nay, stay thou out for earnest.          [Keeping some gold]
+
+          Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike
+                  manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA
+
+  ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak.
+  TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart
+    For showing me again the eyes of man!
+  ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee  
+    That art thyself a man?
+  TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.
+    For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
+    That I might love thee something.
+  ALCIBIADES. I know thee well;
+    But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.
+  TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee
+    I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;
+    With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules.
+    Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;
+    Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine
+    Hath in her more destruction than thy sword
+    For all her cherubin look.
+  PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off!
+  TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns
+    To thine own lips again.
+  ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change?
+  TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give.
+    But then renew I could not, like the moon;
+    There were no suns to borrow of.  
+  ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon,
+    What friendship may I do thee?
+  TIMON. None, but to
+    Maintain my opinion.
+  ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon?
+  TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not
+    promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost
+    perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!
+  ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.
+  TIMON. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity.
+  ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time.
+  TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.
+  TIMANDRA. Is this th' Athenian minion whom the world
+    Voic'd so regardfully?
+  TIMON. Art thou Timandra?
+  TIMANDRA. Yes.
+  TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee.
+    Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.
+    Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves
+    For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek'd youth  
+    To the tub-fast and the diet.
+  TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster!
+  ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits
+    Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.
+    I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
+    The want whereof doth daily make revolt
+    In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev'd,
+    How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
+    Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
+    But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them-
+  TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone.
+  ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
+  TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?
+    I had rather be alone.
+  ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well;
+    Here is some gold for thee.
+  TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it.
+  ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-
+  TIMON. War'st thou 'gainst Athens?
+  ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause.  
+  TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest;
+    And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!
+  ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon?
+  TIMON. That by killing of villains
+    Thou wast born to conquer my country.
+    Put up thy gold. Go on. Here's gold. Go on.
+    Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
+    Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
+    In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one.
+    Pity not honour'd age for his white beard:
+    He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron:
+    It is her habit only that is honest,
+    Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
+    Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps
+    That through the window bars bore at men's eyes
+    Are not within the leaf of pity writ,
+    But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe
+    Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
+    Think it a bastard whom the oracle
+    Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,  
+    And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects;
+    Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,
+    Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
+    Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
+    Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers.
+    Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,
+    Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.
+  ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me,
+    Not all thy counsel.
+  TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee!
+  PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon.
+    Hast thou more?
+  TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
+    And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,
+    Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable,
+    Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear,
+    Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues,
+    Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;
+    I'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still;
+    And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you-  
+    Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;
+    Let your close fire predominate his smoke,
+    And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months
+    Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs
+    With burdens of the dead- some that were hang'd,
+    No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still;
+    Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.
+    A pox of wrinkles!
+  PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then?
+    Believe't that we'll do anything for gold.
+  TIMON. Consumptions sow
+    In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,
+    And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
+    That he may never more false title plead,
+    Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen,
+    That scolds against the quality of flesh
+    And not believes himself. Down with the nose,
+    Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away
+    Of him that, his particular to foresee,
+    Smells from the general weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians bald,  
+    And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war
+    Derive some pain from you. Plague all,
+    That your activity may defeat and quell
+    The source of all erection. There's more gold.
+    Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
+    And ditches grave you all!
+  PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous
+    Timon.
+  TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.
+  ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon;
+    If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.
+  TIMON. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
+  ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm.
+  TIMON. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.
+  ALCIBIADES. Call'st thou that harm?
+  TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take
+    Thy beagles with thee.
+  ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike.
+                                Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON
+  TIMON. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,  
+    Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,         [Digging]
+    Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast
+    Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,
+    Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,
+    Engenders the black toad and adder blue,
+    The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm,
+    With all th' abhorred births below crisp heaven
+    Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shine-
+    Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,
+    From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
+    Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,
+    Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
+    Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;
+    Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face
+    Hath to the marbled mansion all above
+    Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!-
+    Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas,
+    Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts
+    And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,
+    That from it all consideration slips-  
+
+                        Enter APEMANTUS
+
+    More man? Plague, plague!
+  APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report
+    Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them.
+  TIMON. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,
+    Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee!
+  APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected,
+    A poor unmanly melancholy sprung
+    From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place?
+    This slave-like habit and these looks of care?
+    Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,
+    Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
+    That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods
+    By putting on the cunning of a carper.
+    Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
+    By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,
+    And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe
+    Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,  
+    And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;
+    Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome,
+    To knaves and all approachers. 'Tis most just
+    That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again
+    Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness.
+  TIMON. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.
+  APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;
+    A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st
+    That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
+    Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees,
+    That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels
+    And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook,
+    Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste
+    To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures
+    Whose naked natures live in all the spite
+    Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,
+    To the conflicting elements expos'd,
+    Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee.
+    O, thou shalt find-
+  TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart.  
+  APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e'er I did.
+  TIMON. I hate thee worse.
+  APEMANTUS. Why?
+  TIMON. Thou flatter'st misery.
+  APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.
+  TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out?
+  APEMANTUS. To vex thee.
+  TIMON. Always a villain's office or a fool's.
+    Dost please thyself in't?
+  APEMANTUS. Ay.
+  TIMON. What, a knave too?
+  APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on
+    To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
+    Dost it enforcedly. Thou'dst courtier be again
+    Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
+    Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before.
+    The one is filling still, never complete;
+    The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless,
+    Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
+    Worse than the worst, content.  
+    Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.
+  TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable.
+    Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm
+    With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog.
+    Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded
+    The sweet degrees that this brief world affords
+    To such as may the passive drugs of it
+    Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself
+    In general riot, melted down thy youth
+    In different beds of lust, and never learn'd
+    The icy precepts of respect, but followed
+    The sug'red game before thee. But myself,
+    Who had the world as my confectionary;
+    The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men
+    At duty, more than I could frame employment;
+    That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
+    Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
+    Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare
+    For every storm that blows- I to bear this,
+    That never knew but better, is some burden.  
+    Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time
+    Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men?
+    They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given?
+    If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,
+    Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff
+    To some she-beggar and compounded thee
+    Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone.
+    If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
+    Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.
+  APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet?
+  TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee.
+  APEMANTUS. I, that I was
+    No prodigal.
+  TIMON. I, that I am one now.
+    Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,
+    I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.
+    That the whole life of Athens were in this!
+    Thus would I eat it.                         [Eating a root]
+  APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast.
+                                             [Offering him food]  
+  TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself.
+  APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th' lack of thine.
+  TIMON. 'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch'd.
+    If not, I would it were.
+  APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens?
+  TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,
+    Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.
+  APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold.
+  TIMON. The best and truest;
+    For here it sleeps and does no hired harm.
+  APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon?
+  TIMON. Under that's above me.
+    Where feed'st thou a days, Apemantus?
+  APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it.
+  TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind!
+  APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it?
+  TIMON. To sauce thy dishes.
+  APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the
+    extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy
+    perfume, they mock'd thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags  
+    thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a
+    medlar for thee; eat it.
+  TIMON. On what I hate I feed not.
+  APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar?
+  TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee.
+  APEMANTUS. An th' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have
+    loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift
+    that was beloved after his means?
+  TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk'st of, didst thou ever
+    know belov'd?
+  APEMANTUS. Myself.
+  TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog.
+  APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to
+    thy flatterers?
+  TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What
+    wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy
+    power?
+  APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.
+  TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and
+    remain a beast with the beasts?  
+  APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon.
+  TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to!
+    If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert
+    the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion
+    would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus'd by the
+    ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and
+    still thou liv'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert
+    the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou
+    shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn,
+    pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the
+    conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill'd by
+    the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz'd by the
+    leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and
+    the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety
+    were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou
+    be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou
+    already, that seest not thy loss in transformation!
+  APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou
+    mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is
+    become a forest of beasts.  
+  TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the
+    city?
+  APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company
+    light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I
+    know not what else to do, I'll see thee again.
+  TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be
+    welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus.
+  APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.
+  TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!
+  APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.
+  TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure.
+  APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st.
+  TIMON. If I name thee.
+    I'll beat thee- but I should infect my hands.
+  APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off!
+  TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!
+    Choler does kill me that thou art alive;
+    I swoon to see thee.
+  APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst!
+  TIMON. Away,  
+    Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose
+    A stone by thee.                     [Throws a stone at him]
+  APEMANTUS. Beast!
+  TIMON. Slave!
+  APEMANTUS. Toad!
+  TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue!
+    I am sick of this false world, and will love nought
+    But even the mere necessities upon't.
+    Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;
+    Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat
+    Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph,
+    That death in me at others' lives may laugh.
+    [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce
+    'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler
+    Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
+    Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer,
+    Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
+    That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
+    That sold'rest close impossibilities,
+    And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue  
+    To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!
+    Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue
+    Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
+    May have the world in empire!
+  APEMANTUS. Would 'twere so!
+    But not till I am dead. I'll say th' hast gold.
+    Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.
+  TIMON. Throng'd to?
+  APEMANTUS. Ay.
+  TIMON. Thy back, I prithee.
+  APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery!
+  TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More
+    things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them.
+
+                       Enter the BANDITTI
+
+  FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor
+    fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of
+    gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this
+    melancholy.  
+  SECOND BANDIT. It is nois'd he hath a mass of treasure.
+  THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for't,
+    he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how
+    shall's get it?
+  SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. 'Tis hid.
+  FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he?
+  BANDITTI. Where?
+  SECOND BANDIT. 'Tis his description.
+  THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him.
+  BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon!
+  TIMON. Now, thieves?
+  BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves.
+  TIMON. Both too, and women's sons.
+  BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want.
+  TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.
+    Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;
+    Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;
+    The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;
+    The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush
+    Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want?  
+  FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,
+    As beasts and birds and fishes.
+  TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;
+    You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con
+    That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not
+    In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft
+    In limited professions. Rascal thieves,
+    Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' th' grape
+    Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth,
+    And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician;
+    His antidotes are poison, and he slays
+    Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together;
+    Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't,
+    Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery:
+    The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
+    Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,
+    And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
+    The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
+    The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,
+    That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n  
+    From gen'ral excrement- each thing's a thief.
+    The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
+    Has uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away,
+    Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats;
+    All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go,
+    Break open shops; nothing can you steal
+    But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this
+    I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er!
+    Amen.
+  THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm'd me from my profession by
+    persuading me to it.
+  FIRST BANDIT. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises
+    us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.
+  SECOND BANDIT. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my
+    trade.
+  FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so
+    miserable but a man may be true.              Exeunt THIEVES
+
+                         Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON
+  
+  FLAVIUS. O you gods!
+    Is yond despis'd and ruinous man my lord?
+    Full of decay and failing? O monument
+    And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd!
+    What an alteration of honour
+    Has desp'rate want made!
+    What viler thing upon the earth than friends,
+    Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!
+    How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,
+    When man was wish'd to love his enemies!
+    Grant I may ever love, and rather woo
+    Those that would mischief me than those that do!
+    Has caught me in his eye; I will present
+    My honest grief unto him, and as my lord
+    Still serve him with my life. My dearest master!
+  TIMON. Away! What art thou?
+  FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir?
+  TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;
+    Then, if thou grant'st th'art a man, I have forgot thee.
+  FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours.  
+  TIMON. Then I know thee not.
+    I never had honest man about me, I.
+    All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.
+  FLAVIUS. The gods are witness,
+    Nev'r did poor steward wear a truer grief
+    For his undone lord than mine eyes for you.
+  TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee
+    Because thou art a woman and disclaim'st
+    Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give
+    But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping.
+    Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping!
+  FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord,
+    T' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts
+    To entertain me as your steward still.
+  TIMON. Had I a steward
+    So true, so just, and now so comfortable?
+    It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.
+    Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man
+    Was born of woman.
+    Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,  
+    You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim
+    One honest man- mistake me not, but one;
+    No more, I pray- and he's a steward.
+    How fain would I have hated all mankind!
+    And thou redeem'st thyself. But all, save thee,
+    I fell with curses.
+    Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;
+    For by oppressing and betraying me
+    Thou mightst have sooner got another service;
+    For many so arrive at second masters
+    Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
+    For I must ever doubt though ne'er so sure,
+    Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
+    If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts,
+    Expecting in return twenty for one?
+  FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast
+    Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late!
+    You should have fear'd false times when you did feast:
+    Suspect still comes where an estate is least.
+    That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,  
+    Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,
+    Care of your food and living; and believe it,
+    My most honour'd lord,
+    For any benefit that points to me,
+    Either in hope or present, I'd exchange
+    For this one wish, that you had power and wealth
+    To requite me by making rich yourself.
+  TIMON. Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man,
+    Here, take. The gods, out of my misery,
+    Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy,
+    But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men;
+    Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,
+    But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone
+    Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs
+    What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow 'em,
+    Debts wither 'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods,
+    And may diseases lick up their false bloods!
+    And so, farewell and thrive.
+  FLAVIUS. O, let me stay
+    And comfort you, my master.  
+  TIMON. If thou hat'st curses,
+    Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free.
+    Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.
+                                                Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+The woods. Before TIMON's cave
+
+Enter POET and PAINTER
+
+  PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he
+    abides.
+  POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's
+    so full of gold?
+  PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had
+    gold of him. He likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers with
+    great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.
+  POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends?
+  PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again,
+    and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender
+    our loves to him in this suppos'd distress of his; it will show
+    honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what
+    they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his
+    having.
+  POET. What have you now to present unto him?
+  PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will
+    promise him an excellent piece.  
+  POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming
+    toward him.
+  PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th' time;
+    it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller
+    for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people
+    the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most
+    courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or
+    testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that
+    makes it.
+
+                    Enter TIMON from his cave
+
+  TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad
+    as is thyself.
+  POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It
+    must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness
+    of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that
+    follow youth and opulency.
+  TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own
+    work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have  
+    gold for thee.
+  POET. Nay, let's seek him;
+    Then do we sin against our own estate
+    When we may profit meet and come too late.
+  PAINTER. True;
+    When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
+    Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.
+    Come.
+  TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold,
+    That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple
+    Than where swine feed!
+    'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam,
+    Settlest admired reverence in a slave.
+    To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye
+    Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!
+    Fit I meet them.                   [Advancing from his cave]
+  POET. Hail, worthy Timon!
+  PAINTER. Our late noble master!
+  TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men?
+  POET. Sir,  
+    Having often of your open bounty tasted,
+    Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,
+    Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!-
+    Not all the whips of heaven are large enough-
+    What! to you,
+    Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
+    To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover
+    The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
+    With any size of words.
+  TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see't the better.
+    You that are honest, by being what you are,
+    Make them best seen and known.
+  PAINTER. He and myself
+    Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts,
+    And sweetly felt it.
+  TIMON. Ay, you are honest men.
+  PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service.
+  TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?
+    Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No?
+  BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.  
+  TIMON. Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold;
+    I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men.
+  PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore
+    Came not my friend nor I.
+  TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit
+    Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best;
+    Thou counterfeit'st most lively.
+  PAINTER. So, so, my lord.
+  TIMON. E'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction,
+    Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth
+    That thou art even natural in thine art.
+    But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends,
+    I must needs say you have a little fault.
+    Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I
+    You take much pains to mend.
+  BOTH. Beseech your honour
+    To make it known to us.
+  TIMON. You'll take it ill.
+  BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord.
+  TIMON. Will you indeed?  
+  BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord.
+  TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave
+    That mightily deceives you.
+  BOTH. Do we, my lord?
+  TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,
+    Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,
+    Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd
+    That he's a made-up villain.
+  PAINTER. I know not such, my lord.
+  POET. Nor I.
+  TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold,
+    Rid me these villains from your companies.
+    Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,
+    Confound them by some course, and come to me,
+    I'll give you gold enough.
+  BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them.
+  TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company;
+    Each man apart, all single and alone,
+    Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.
+    [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be,  
+    Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside
+    But where one villain is, then him abandon.-
+    Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves.
+    [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there's payment; hence!
+    [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.-
+    Out, rascal dogs!                [Beats and drives them out]
+
+                    Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS
+
+  FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon;
+    For he is set so only to himself
+    That nothing but himself which looks like man
+    Is friendly with him.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave.
+    It is our part and promise to th' Athenians
+    To speak with Timon.
+  SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike
+    Men are not still the same; 'twas time and griefs
+    That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand,
+    Offering the fortunes of his former days,  
+    The former man may make him. Bring us to him,
+    And chance it as it may.
+  FLAVIUS. Here is his cave.
+    Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!
+    Look out, and speak to friends. Th' Athenians
+    By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee.
+    Speak to them, noble Timon.
+
+                   Enter TIMON out of his cave
+
+  TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang'd!
+    For each true word a blister, and each false
+    Be as a cauterizing to the root o' th' tongue,
+    Consuming it with speaking!
+  FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon-
+  TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.
+  FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.
+  TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague,
+    Could I but catch it for them.
+  FIRST SENATOR. O, forget  
+    What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.
+    The senators with one consent of love
+    Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought
+    On special dignities, which vacant lie
+    For thy best use and wearing.
+  SECOND SENATOR. They confess
+    Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross;
+    Which now the public body, which doth seldom
+    Play the recanter, feeling in itself
+    A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal
+    Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon,
+    And send forth us to make their sorrowed render,
+    Together with a recompense more fruitful
+    Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;
+    Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth
+    As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs
+    And write in thee the figures of their love,
+    Ever to read them thine.
+  TIMON. You witch me in it;
+    Surprise me to the very brink of tears.  
+    Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes,
+    And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us,
+    And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take
+    The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,
+    Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name
+    Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back
+    Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild,
+    Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up
+    His country's peace.
+  SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat'ning sword
+    Against the walls of Athens.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon-
+  TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus:
+    If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,
+    Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,
+    That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,
+    And take our goodly aged men by th' beards,
+    Giving our holy virgins to the stain
+    Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war,  
+    Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it
+    In pity of our aged and our youth-
+    I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,
+    And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not,
+    While you have throats to answer. For myself,
+    There's not a whittle in th' unruly camp
+    But I do prize it at my love before
+    The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you
+    To the protection of the prosperous gods,
+    As thieves to keepers.
+  FLAVIUS. Stay not, all's in vain.
+  TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph;
+    It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness
+    Of health and living now begins to mend,
+    And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;
+    Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,
+    And last so long enough!
+  FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain.
+  TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not
+    One that rejoices in the common wreck,  
+    As common bruit doth put it.
+  FIRST SENATOR. That's well spoke.
+  TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen-
+  FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through
+    them.
+  SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers
+    In their applauding gates.
+  TIMON. Commend me to them,
+    And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,
+    Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,
+    Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
+    That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain
+    In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them-
+    I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath.
+  FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again.
+  TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close,
+    That mine own use invites me to cut down,
+    And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends,
+    Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree
+    From high to low throughout, that whoso please  
+    To stop affliction, let him take his haste,
+    Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,
+    And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting.
+  FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.
+  TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens
+    Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
+    Upon the beached verge of the salt flood,
+    Who once a day with his embossed froth
+    The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come,
+    And let my gravestone be your oracle.
+    Lips, let sour words go by and language end:
+    What is amiss, plague and infection mend!
+    Graves only be men's works and death their gain!
+    Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign.
+                                        Exit TIMON into his cave
+  FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably
+    Coupled to nature.
+  SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return
+    And strain what other means is left unto us
+    In our dear peril.  
+  FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot.                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Before the walls of Athens
+
+Enter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER
+
+  FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover'd; are his files
+    As full as thy report?
+  MESSENGER. I have spoke the least.
+    Besides, his expedition promises
+    Present approach.
+  SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon.
+  MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend,
+    Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd,
+    Yet our old love had a particular force,
+    And made us speak like friends. This man was riding
+    From Alcibiades to Timon's cave
+    With letters of entreaty, which imported
+    His fellowship i' th' cause against your city,
+    In part for his sake mov'd.
+
+               Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON
+  
+  FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers.
+  THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.
+    The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring
+    Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare.
+    Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen
+
+Enter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON
+
+  SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place.
+    Who's here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this?
+    Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span.
+    Some beast rear'd this; here does not live a man.
+    Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb
+    I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax.
+    Our captain hath in every figure skill,
+    An ag'd interpreter, though young in days;
+    Before proud Athens he's set down by this,
+    Whose fall the mark of his ambition is.                 Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Before the walls of Athens
+
+Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens
+
+  ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town
+    Our terrible approach.
+
+       Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls
+
+    Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time
+    With all licentious measure, making your wills
+    The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such
+    As slept within the shadow of your power,
+    Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd
+    Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,
+    When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,
+    Cries of itself 'No more!' Now breathless wrong
+    Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,
+    And pursy insolence shall break his wind
+    With fear and horrid flight.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young,  
+    When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,
+    Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,
+    We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,
+    To wipe out our ingratitude with loves
+    Above their quantity.
+  SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo
+    Transformed Timon to our city's love
+    By humble message and by promis'd means.
+    We were not all unkind, nor all deserve
+    The common stroke of war.
+  FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours
+    Were not erected by their hands from whom
+    You have receiv'd your griefs; nor are they such
+    That these great tow'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall
+    For private faults in them.
+  SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living
+    Who were the motives that you first went out;
+    Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess
+    Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,
+    Into our city with thy banners spread.  
+    By decimation and a tithed death-
+    If thy revenges hunger for that food
+    Which nature loathes- take thou the destin'd tenth,
+    And by the hazard of the spotted die
+    Let die the spotted.
+  FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended;
+    For those that were, it is not square to take,
+    On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands,
+    Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,
+    Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage;
+    Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin
+    Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall
+    With those that have offended. Like a shepherd
+    Approach the fold and cull th' infected forth,
+    But kill not all together.
+  SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt,
+    Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile
+    Than hew to't with thy sword.
+  FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot
+    Against our rampir'd gates and they shall ope,  
+    So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before
+    To say thou't enter friendly.
+  SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove,
+    Or any token of thine honour else,
+    That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress
+    And not as our confusion, all thy powers
+    Shall make their harbour in our town till we
+    Have seal'd thy full desire.
+  ALCIBIADES. Then there's my glove;
+    Descend, and open your uncharged ports.
+    Those enemies of Timon's and mine own,
+    Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,
+    Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears
+    With my more noble meaning, not a man
+    Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream
+    Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
+    But shall be render'd to your public laws
+    At heaviest answer.
+  BOTH. 'Tis most nobly spoken.
+  ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words.  
+                       [The SENATORS descend and open the gates]
+
+                 Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger
+
+  SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead;
+    Entomb'd upon the very hem o' th' sea;
+    And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which
+    With wax I brought away, whose soft impression
+    Interprets for my poor ignorance.
+
+                  ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph
+
+    'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft;
+    Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!
+    Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate.
+    Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy
+      gait.'
+    These well express in thee thy latter spirits.
+    Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,
+    Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which  
+    From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit
+    Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye
+    On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead
+    Is noble Timon, of whose memory
+    Hereafter more. Bring me into your city,
+    And I will use the olive, with my sword;
+    Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each
+    Prescribe to other, as each other's leech.
+    Let our drums strike.                                 Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1594
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor
+  BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus
+  TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman
+  MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus
+
+    Sons to Titus Andronicus:
+  LUCIUS
+  QUINTUS
+  MARTIUS
+  MUTIUS
+
+  YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius
+  PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus
+
+    Kinsmen to Titus:
+  SEMPRONIUS
+  CAIUS
+  VALENTINE
+
+  AEMILIUS, a noble Roman  
+
+    Sons to Tamora:
+  ALARBUS
+  DEMETRIUS
+  CHIRON
+
+  AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora
+  A CAPTAIN
+  A MESSENGER
+  A CLOWN
+
+  TAMORA, Queen of the Goths
+  LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus
+  A NURSE, and a black CHILD
+
+  Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and
+    Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+                          SCENE:
+               Rome and the neighbourhood
+
+
+ACT 1. SCENE I.
+Rome. Before the Capitol
+
+Flourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below
+SATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his followers
+at the other, with drums and trumpets
+
+  SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
+    Defend the justice of my cause with arms;
+    And, countrymen, my loving followers,
+    Plead my successive title with your swords.
+    I am his first born son that was the last
+    That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;
+    Then let my father's honours live in me,
+    Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
+  BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right,
+    If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,
+    Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
+    Keep then this passage to the Capitol;
+    And suffer not dishonour to approach
+    The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,  
+    To justice, continence, and nobility;
+    But let desert in pure election shine;
+    And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.
+
+        Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown
+
+  MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends
+    Ambitiously for rule and empery,
+    Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
+    A special party, have by common voice
+    In election for the Roman empery
+    Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius
+    For many good and great deserts to Rome.
+    A nobler man, a braver warrior,
+    Lives not this day within the city walls.
+    He by the Senate is accited home,
+    From weary wars against the barbarous Goths,
+    That with his sons, a terror to our foes,
+    Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
+    Ten years are spent since first he undertook  
+    This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms
+    Our enemies' pride; five times he hath return'd
+    Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
+    In coffins from the field; and at this day
+    To the monument of that Andronici
+    Done sacrifice of expiation,
+    And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths.
+    And now at last, laden with honour's spoils,
+    Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
+    Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
+    Let us entreat, by honour of his name
+    Whom worthily you would have now succeed,
+    And in the Capitol and Senate's right,
+    Whom you pretend to honour and adore,
+    That you withdraw you and abate your strength,
+    Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,
+    Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.
+  SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts.
+  BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy
+    In thy uprightness and integrity,  
+    And so I love and honour thee and thine,
+    Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,
+    And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
+    Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
+    That I will here dismiss my loving friends,
+    And to my fortunes and the people's favour
+    Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.
+                                Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS
+  SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,
+    I thank you all and here dismiss you all,
+    And to the love and favour of my country
+    Commit myself, my person, and the cause.
+                               Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS
+    Rome, be as just and gracious unto me
+    As I am confident and kind to thee.
+    Open the gates and let me in.
+  BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.
+                    [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House]
+
+                      Enter a CAPTAIN  
+
+  CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus,
+    Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
+    Successful in the battles that he fights,
+    With honour and with fortune is return'd
+    From where he circumscribed with his sword
+    And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.
+
+        Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS
+        and MUTIUS, two of TITUS' sons; and then two men
+        bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS
+        and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS ANDRONICUS;
+        and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three
+        sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the
+        Moor, and others,  as many as can be. Then set down
+        the coffin and TITUS speaks
+
+  TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
+    Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught
+    Returns with precious lading to the bay  
+    From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
+    Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
+    To re-salute his country with his tears,
+    Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.
+    Thou great defender of this Capitol,
+    Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!
+    Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
+    Half of the number that King Priam had,
+    Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!
+    These that survive let Rome reward with love;
+    These that I bring unto their latest home,
+    With burial amongst their ancestors.
+    Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.
+    Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,
+    Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
+    To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
+    Make way to lay them by their brethren.
+                                            [They open the tomb]
+    There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
+    And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars.  
+    O sacred receptacle of my joys,
+    Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
+    How many sons hast thou of mine in store
+    That thou wilt never render to me more!
+  LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
+    That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
+    Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh
+    Before this earthy prison of their bones,
+    That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
+    Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.
+  TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives,
+    The eldest son of this distressed queen.
+  TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror,
+    Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
+    A mother's tears in passion for her son;
+    And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
+    O, think my son to be as dear to me!
+    Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome
+    To beautify thy triumphs, and return
+    Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;  
+    But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets
+    For valiant doings in their country's cause?
+    O, if to fight for king and commonweal
+    Were piety in thine, it is in these.
+    Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.
+    Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
+    Draw near them then in being merciful.
+    Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
+    Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
+  TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
+    These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld
+    Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain
+    Religiously they ask a sacrifice.
+    To this your son is mark'd, and die he must
+    T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.
+  LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight;
+    And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
+    Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd.
+                                Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS
+  TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!  
+  CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous!
+  DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
+    Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive
+    To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look.
+    Then, madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal
+    The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy
+    With opportunity of sharp revenge
+    Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent
+    May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths-
+    When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-
+    To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
+
+            Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and
+   MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody
+
+  LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd
+    Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,
+    And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,
+    Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.
+    Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,  
+    And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.
+  TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus
+    Make this his latest farewell to their souls.
+                 [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb]
+    In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
+    Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
+    Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
+    Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
+    Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,
+    No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.
+    In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!
+
+                       Enter LAVINIA
+
+  LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;
+    My noble lord and father, live in fame!
+    Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears
+    I render for my brethren's obsequies;
+    And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy
+    Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome.  
+    O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
+    Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud!
+  TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd
+    The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!
+    Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,
+    And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!
+
+          Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES;
+          re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants
+
+  MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
+    Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!
+  TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.
+  MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,
+    You that survive and you that sleep in fame.
+    Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all
+    That in your country's service drew your swords;
+    But safer triumph is this funeral pomp
+    That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness
+    And triumphs over chance in honour's bed.  
+    Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
+    Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
+    Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust,
+    This par]iament of white and spotless hue;
+    And name thee in election for the empire
+    With these our late-deceased Emperor's sons:
+    Be candidatus then, and put it on,
+    And help to set a head on headless Rome.
+  TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits
+    Than his that shakes for age and feebleness.
+    What should I don this robe and trouble you?
+    Be chosen with proclamations to-day,
+    To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,
+    And set abroad new business for you all?
+    Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,
+    And led my country's strength successfully,
+    And buried one and twenty valiant sons,
+    Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,
+    In right and service of their noble country.
+    Give me a staff of honour for mine age,  
+    But not a sceptre to control the world.
+    Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.
+  MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.
+  SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?
+  TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus.
+  SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right.
+    Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not
+    Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor.
+    Andronicus, would thou were shipp'd to hell
+    Rather than rob me of the people's hearts!
+  LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
+    That noble-minded Titus means to thee!
+  TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee
+    The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.
+  BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,
+    But honour thee, and will do till I die.
+    My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
+    I will most thankful be; and thanks to men
+    Of noble minds is honourable meed.
+  TITUS. People of Rome, and people's Tribunes here,  
+    I ask your voices and your suffrages:
+    Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus?
+  TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus,
+    And gratulate his safe return to Rome,
+    The people will accept whom he admits.
+  TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make,
+    That you create our Emperor's eldest son,
+    Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,
+    Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth,
+    And ripen justice in this commonweal.
+    Then, if you will elect by my advice,
+    Crown him, and say 'Long live our Emperor!'
+  MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort,
+    Patricians and plebeians, we create
+    Lord Saturninus Rome's great Emperor;
+    And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!'
+                           [A long flourish till they come down]
+  SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done
+    To us in our election this day
+    I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,  
+    And will with deeds requite thy gentleness;
+    And for an onset, Titus, to advance
+    Thy name and honourable family,
+    Lavinia will I make my emperess,
+    Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart,
+    And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.
+    Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?
+  TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match
+    I hold me highly honoured of your Grace,
+    And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,
+    King and commander of our commonweal,
+    The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate
+    My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners,
+    Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord;
+    Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,
+    Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.
+  SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life.
+    How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts
+    Rome shall record; and when I do forget
+    The least of these unspeakable deserts,  
+    Romans, forget your fealty to me.
+  TITUS.  [To TAMORA]  Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;
+    To him that for your honour and your state
+    Will use you nobly and your followers.
+  SATURNINUS.  [Aside]  A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue
+    That I would choose, were I to choose anew.-
+    Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance;
+    Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,
+    Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome-
+    Princely shall be thy usage every way.
+    Rest on my word, and let not discontent
+    Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you
+    Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.
+    Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this?
+  LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility
+    Warrants these words in princely courtesy.
+  SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.
+    Ransomless here we set our prisoners free.
+    Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.
+                                                      [Flourish]  
+  BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.
+                                               [Seizing LAVINIA]
+  TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord?
+  BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv'd withal
+    To do myself this reason and this right.
+  MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:
+    This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
+  LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live.
+  TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor's guard?
+    Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris'd!
+  SATURNINUS. Surpris'd! By whom?
+  BASSIANUS. By him that justly may
+    Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.
+                        Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA
+  MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,
+    And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.
+                             Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS
+  TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back.
+  MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here.
+  TITUS. What, villain boy!  
+    Bar'st me my way in Rome?
+  MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help!
+            TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS,
+                            TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON
+
+                      Re-enter Lucius
+
+  LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so:
+    In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.
+  TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine;
+    My sons would never so dishonour me.
+
+                 Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR
+      with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor
+
+    Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.
+  LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,
+    That is another's lawful promis'd love.                 Exit
+  SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not,
+    Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock.  
+    I'll trust by leisure him that mocks me once;
+    Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,
+    Confederates all thus to dishonour me.
+    Was there none else in Rome to make a stale
+    But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
+    Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine
+    That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands.
+  TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these?
+  SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece
+    To him that flourish'd for her with his sword.
+    A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;
+    One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,
+    To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.
+  TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart.
+  SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,
+    That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs,
+    Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome,
+    If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice,
+    Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride
+    And will create thee Emperess of Rome.  
+    Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?
+    And here I swear by all the Roman gods-
+    Sith priest and holy water are so near,
+    And tapers burn so bright, and everything
+    In readiness for Hymenaeus stand-
+    I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
+    Or climb my palace, till from forth this place
+    I lead espous'd my bride along with me.
+  TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear,
+    If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
+    She will a handmaid be to his desires,
+    A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.
+  SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany
+    Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride,
+    Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,
+    Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered;
+    There shall we consummate our spousal rites.
+                                            Exeunt all but TITUS
+  TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.
+  TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone,  
+    Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs?
+
+                      Re-enter MARCUS,
+        and TITUS' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS
+
+  MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!
+    In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.
+  TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine-
+    Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed
+    That hath dishonoured all our family;
+    Unworthy brother and unworthy sons!
+  LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes;
+    Give Mutius burial with our bretheren.
+  TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb.
+    This monument five hundred years hath stood,
+    Which I have sumptuously re-edified;
+    Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors
+    Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls.
+    Bury him where you can, he comes not here.
+  MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you.  
+    My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him;
+    He must be buried with his bretheren.
+  QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany.
+  TITUS. 'And shall!' What villain was it spake that word?
+  QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here.
+  TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite?
+  MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee
+    To pardon Mutius and to bury him.
+  TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,
+    And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded.
+    My foes I do repute you every one;
+    So trouble me no more, but get you gone.
+  MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.
+  QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.
+                                [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel]
+  MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead-
+  QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak-
+  TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.
+  MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul-
+  LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all-  
+  MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
+    His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
+    That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
+    Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous.
+    The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,
+    That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
+    Did graciously plead for his funerals.
+    Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,
+    Be barr'd his entrance here.
+  TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise;
+    The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw,
+    To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome!
+    Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
+                                   [They put MUTIUS in the tomb]
+  LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,
+    Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.
+  ALL.  [Kneeling]  No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
+    He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
+  MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps-
+    How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths  
+    Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?
+  TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is-
+    Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell.
+    Is she not, then, beholding to the man
+    That brought her for this high good turn so far?
+  MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.
+
+           Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA
+        and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door;
+    at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others
+
+  SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize:
+    God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!
+  BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,
+    Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.
+  SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,
+    Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.
+  BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,
+    My true betrothed love, and now my wife?
+    But let the laws of Rome determine all;
+    Meanwhile am I possess'd of that is mine.  
+  SATURNINUS. 'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us;
+    But if we live we'll be as sharp with you.
+  BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,
+    Answer I must, and shall do with my life.
+    Only thus much I give your Grace to know:
+    By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
+    This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,
+    Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd,
+    That, in the rescue of Lavinia,
+    With his own hand did slay his youngest son,
+    In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath
+    To be controll'd in that he frankly gave.
+    Receive him then to favour, Saturnine,
+    That hath express'd himself in all his deeds
+    A father and a friend to thee and Rome.
+  TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds.
+    'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me.
+    Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge
+    How I have lov'd and honoured Saturnine!
+  TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora  
+    Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,
+    Then hear me speak indifferently for all;
+    And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.
+  SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly,
+    And basely put it up without revenge?
+  TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend
+    I should be author to dishonour you!
+    But on mine honour dare I undertake
+    For good Lord Titus' innocence in all,
+    Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs.
+    Then at my suit look graciously on him;
+    Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,
+    Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.
+    [Aside to SATURNINUS]  My lord, be rul'd by me,
+      be won at last;
+    Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.
+    You are but newly planted in your throne;
+    Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,
+    Upon a just survey take Titus' part,
+    And so supplant you for ingratitude,  
+    Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,
+    Yield at entreats, and then let me alone:
+    I'll find a day to massacre them all,
+    And raze their faction and their family,
+    The cruel father and his traitorous sons,
+    To whom I sued for my dear son's life;
+    And make them know what 'tis to let a queen
+    Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.-
+    Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus.
+    Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart
+    That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.
+  SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail'd.
+  TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord;
+    These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.
+  TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
+    A Roman now adopted happily,
+    And must advise the Emperor for his good.
+    This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;
+    And let it be mine honour, good my lord,
+    That I have reconcil'd your friends and you.  
+    For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd
+    My word and promise to the Emperor
+    That you will be more mild and tractable.
+    And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia.
+    By my advice, all humbled on your knees,
+    You shall ask pardon of his Majesty.
+  LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness
+    That what we did was mildly as we might,
+    Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own.
+  MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest.
+  SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.
+  TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends.
+    The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace.
+    I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.
+  SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here,
+    And at my lovely Tamora's entreats,
+    I do remit these young men's heinous faults.
+    Stand up.
+    Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
+    I found a friend; and sure as death I swore  
+    I would not part a bachelor from the priest.
+    Come, if the Emperor's court can feast two brides,
+    You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.
+    This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.
+  TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty
+    To hunt the panther and the hart with me,
+    With horn and hound we'll give your Grace bonjour.
+  SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.
+                                          Exeunt. Sound trumpets
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Rome. Before the palace
+
+Enter AARON
+
+  AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,
+    Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft,
+    Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash,
+    Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach.
+    As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
+    And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
+    Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach
+    And overlooks the highest-peering hills,
+    So Tamora.
+    Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,
+    And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
+    Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts
+    To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,
+    And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long.
+    Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains,
+    And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes
+    Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.  
+    Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!
+    I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,
+    To wait upon this new-made emperess.
+    To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,
+    This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,
+    This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
+    And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.
+    Hullo! what storm is this?
+
+            Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving
+
+  DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge
+    And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd,
+    And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.
+  CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;
+    And so in this, to bear me down with braves.
+    'Tis not the difference of a year or two
+    Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:
+    I am as able and as fit as thou
+    To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace;  
+    And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
+    And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.
+  AARON.  [Aside]  Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the
+    peace.
+  DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,
+    Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,
+    Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?
+    Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath
+    Till you know better how to handle it.
+  CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,
+    Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.
+  DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave?              [They draw]
+  AARON.  [Coming forward]  Why, how now, lords!
+    So near the Emperor's palace dare ye draw
+    And maintain such a quarrel openly?
+    Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:
+    I would not for a million of gold
+    The cause were known to them it most concerns;
+    Nor would your noble mother for much more
+    Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome.  
+    For shame, put up.
+  DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath'd
+    My rapier in his bosom, and withal
+    Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat
+    That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here.
+  CHIRON. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd,
+    Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue,
+    And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.
+  AARON. Away, I say!
+    Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,
+    This pretty brabble will undo us all.
+    Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous
+    It is to jet upon a prince's right?
+    What, is Lavinia then become so loose,
+    Or Bassianus so degenerate,
+    That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd
+    Without controlment, justice, or revenge?
+    Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know
+    This discord's ground, the music would not please.
+  CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world:  
+    I love Lavinia more than all the world.
+  DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:
+    Lavina is thine elder brother's hope.
+  AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome
+    How furious and impatient they be,
+    And cannot brook competitors in love?
+    I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths
+    By this device.
+  CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths
+    Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.
+  AARON. To achieve her- how?
+  DEMETRIUS. Why mak'st thou it so strange?
+    She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;
+    She is a woman, therefore may be won;
+    She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd.
+    What, man! more water glideth by the mill
+    Than wots the miller of; and easy it is
+    Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.
+    Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother,
+    Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge.  
+  AARON.  [Aside]  Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.
+  DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it
+    With words, fair looks, and liberality?
+    What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,
+    And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose?
+  AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so
+    Would serve your turns.
+  CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served.
+  DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it.
+  AARON. Would you had hit it too!
+    Then should not we be tir'd with this ado.
+    Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools
+    To square for this? Would it offend you, then,
+    That both should speed?
+  CHIRON. Faith, not me.
+  DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one.
+  AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar.
+    'Tis policy and stratagem must do
+    That you affect; and so must you resolve
+    That what you cannot as you would achieve,  
+    You must perforce accomplish as you may.
+    Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste
+    Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.
+    A speedier course than ling'ring languishment
+    Must we pursue, and I have found the path.
+    My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;
+    There will the lovely Roman ladies troop;
+    The forest walks are wide and spacious,
+    And many unfrequented plots there are
+    Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.
+    Single you thither then this dainty doe,
+    And strike her home by force if not by words.
+    This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.
+    Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit
+    To villainy and vengeance consecrate,
+    Will we acquaint with all what we intend;
+    And she shall file our engines with advice
+    That will not suffer you to square yourselves,
+    But to your wishes' height advance you both.
+    The Emperor's court is like the house of Fame,  
+    The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears;
+    The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull.
+    There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns;
+    There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven's eye,
+    And revel in Lavinia's treasury.
+  CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.
+  DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream
+    To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,
+    Per Styga, per manes vehor.                           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A forest near Rome
+
+Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS,
+making a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS
+
+  TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,
+    The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green.
+    Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,
+    And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride,
+    And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter's peal,
+    That all the court may echo with the noise.
+    Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
+    To attend the Emperor's person carefully.
+    I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
+    But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd.
+
+         Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal.
+       Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA,
+            CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants  
+    Many good morrows to your Majesty!
+    Madam, to you as many and as good!
+    I promised your Grace a hunter's peal.
+  SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords-
+    Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.
+  BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you?
+  LAVINIA. I say no;
+    I have been broad awake two hours and more.
+  SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,
+    And to our sport.  [To TAMORA]  Madam, now shall ye see
+    Our Roman hunting.
+  MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord,
+    Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,
+    And climb the highest promontory top.
+  TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game
+    Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.
+  DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,
+    But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A lonely part of the forest
+
+Enter AARON alone, with a bag of gold
+
+  AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none,
+    To bury so much gold under a tree
+    And never after to inherit it.
+    Let him that thinks of me so abjectly
+    Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,
+    Which, cunningly effected, will beget
+    A very excellent piece of villainy.
+    And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest
+                                                [Hides the gold]
+    That have their alms out of the Empress' chest.
+
+               Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor
+
+  TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad
+    When everything does make a gleeful boast?
+    The birds chant melody on every bush;
+    The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun;  
+    The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind
+    And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground;
+    Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
+    And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
+    Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns,
+    As if a double hunt were heard at once,
+    Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise;
+    And- after conflict such as was suppos'd
+    The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed,
+    When with a happy storm they were surpris'd,
+    And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave-
+    We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
+    Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber,
+    Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds
+    Be unto us as is a nurse's song
+    Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.
+  AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
+    Saturn is dominator over mine.
+    What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
+    My silence and my cloudy melancholy,  
+    My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls
+    Even as an adder when she doth unroll
+    To do some fatal execution?
+    No, madam, these are no venereal signs.
+    Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
+    Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
+    Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul,
+    Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee-
+    This is the day of doom for Bassianus;
+    His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,
+    Thy sons make pillage of her chastity,
+    And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
+    Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee,
+    And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll.
+    Now question me no more; we are espied.
+    Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,
+    Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.
+
+                Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA
+  
+  TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!
+  AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes.
+    Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons
+    To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be.               Exit
+  BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome's royal Emperess,
+    Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop?
+    Or is it Dian, habited like her,
+    Who hath abandoned her holy groves
+    To see the general hunting in this forest?
+  TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps!
+    Had I the pow'r that some say Dian had,
+    Thy temples should be planted presently
+    With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds
+    Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,
+    Unmannerly intruder as thou art!
+  LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess,
+    'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning,
+    And to be doubted that your Moor and you
+    Are singled forth to try thy experiments.
+    Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!  
+    'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.
+  BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian
+    Doth make your honour of his body's hue,
+    Spotted, detested, and abominable.
+    Why are you sequest'red from all your train,
+    Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,
+    And wand'red hither to an obscure plot,
+    Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,
+    If foul desire had not conducted you?
+  LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport,
+    Great reason that my noble lord be rated
+    For sauciness. I pray you let us hence,
+    And let her joy her raven-coloured love;
+    This valley fits the purpose passing well.
+  BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this.
+  LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long.
+    Good king, to be so mightily abused!
+  TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this.
+
+                  Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS  
+
+  DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother!
+    Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan?
+  TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
+    These two have 'ticed me hither to this place.
+    A barren detested vale you see it is:
+    The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
+    Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe;
+    Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
+    Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven.
+    And when they show'd me this abhorred pit,
+    They told me, here, at dead time of the night,
+    A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
+    Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
+    Would make such fearful and confused cries
+    As any mortal body hearing it
+    Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly.
+    No sooner had they told this hellish tale
+    But straight they told me they would bind me here
+    Unto the body of a dismal yew,  
+    And leave me to this miserable death.
+    And then they call'd me foul adulteress,
+    Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
+    That ever ear did hear to such effect;
+    And had you not by wondrous fortune come,
+    This vengeance on me had they executed.
+    Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
+    Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.
+  DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son.
+                                               [Stabs BASSIANUS]
+  CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength.
+                                                    [Also stabs]
+  LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora,
+    For no name fits thy nature but thy own!
+  TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys,
+    Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.
+  DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her;
+    First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw.
+    This minion stood upon her chastity,
+    Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,  
+    And with that painted hope braves your mightiness;
+    And shall she carry this unto her grave?
+  CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.
+    Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,
+    And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.
+  TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire,
+    Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.
+  CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.
+    Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
+    That nice-preserved honesty of yours.
+  LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman's face-
+  TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her!
+  LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.
+  DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory
+    To see her tears; but be your heart to them
+    As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.
+  LAVINIA. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?
+    O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee;
+    The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble,
+    Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.  
+    Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:
+    [To CHIRON]  Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity.
+  CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?
+  LAVINIA. 'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark.
+    Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!-
+    The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure
+    To have his princely paws par'd all away.
+    Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,
+    The whilst their own birds famish in their nests;
+    O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,
+    Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!
+  TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her!
+  LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father's sake,
+    That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee,
+    Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.
+  TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,
+    Even for his sake am I pitiless.
+    Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain
+    To save your brother from the sacrifice;
+    But fierce Andronicus would not relent.  
+    Therefore away with her, and use her as you will;
+    The worse to her the better lov'd of me.
+  LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen,
+    And with thine own hands kill me in this place!
+    For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long;
+    Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.
+  TAMORA. What beg'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go.
+  LAVINIA. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more,
+    That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:
+    O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,
+    And tumble me into some loathsome pit,
+    Where never man's eye may behold my body;
+    Do this, and be a charitable murderer.
+  TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee;
+    No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.
+  DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long.
+  LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature,
+    The blot and enemy to our general name!
+    Confusion fall-
+  CHIRON. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband.  
+    This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.
+
+                 DEMETRIUS throws the body
+           of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt
+         DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA
+
+  TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure.
+    Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed
+    Till all the Andronici be made away.
+    Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
+    And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower.          Exit
+
+                  Re-enter AARON, with two
+             of TITUS' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS
+
+  AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before;
+    Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit
+    Where I espied the panther fast asleep.
+  QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.
+  MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame,  
+    Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.
+                                            [Falls into the pit]
+  QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this,
+    Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,
+    Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood
+    As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers?
+    A very fatal place it seems to me.
+    Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?
+  MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal'st object hurt
+    That ever eye with sight made heart lament!
+  AARON.  [Aside]  Now will I fetch the King to find them here,
+    That he thereby may have a likely guess
+    How these were they that made away his brother.         Exit
+  MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out
+    From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole?
+  QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear;
+    A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints;
+    My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
+  MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart,
+    Aaron and thou look down into this den,  
+    And see a fearful sight of blood and death.
+  QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart
+    Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
+    The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;
+    O, tell me who it is, for ne'er till now
+    Was I a child to fear I know not what.
+  MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray'd in blood,
+    All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb,
+    In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.
+  QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he?
+  MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
+    A precious ring that lightens all this hole,
+    Which, like a taper in some monument,
+    Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks,
+    And shows the ragged entrails of this pit;
+    So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus
+    When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.
+    O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-
+    If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-
+    Out of this fell devouring receptacle,  
+    As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.
+  QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,
+    Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
+    I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
+    Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.
+    I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.
+  MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.
+  QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,
+    Till thou art here aloft, or I below.
+    Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee.        [Falls in]
+
+            Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor
+
+  SATURNINUS. Along with me! I'll see what hole is here,
+    And what he is that now is leapt into it.
+    Say, who art thou that lately didst descend
+    Into this gaping hollow of the earth?
+  MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus,
+    Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
+    To find thy brother Bassianus dead.  
+  SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:
+    He and his lady both are at the lodge
+    Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;
+    'Tis not an hour since I left them there.
+  MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive;
+    But, out alas! here have we found him dead.
+
+                   Re-enter TAMORA, with
+         attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius
+
+  TAMORA. Where is my lord the King?
+  SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief.
+  TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus?
+  SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound;
+    Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
+  TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,
+    The complot of this timeless tragedy;
+    And wonder greatly that man's face can fold
+    In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.
+                                 [She giveth SATURNINE a letter]  
+    SATURNINUS.  [Reads]  'An if we miss to meet him handsomely,
+    Sweet huntsman- Bassianus 'tis we mean-
+    Do thou so much as dig the grave for him.
+    Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward
+    Among the nettles at the elder-tree
+    Which overshades the mouth of that same pit
+    Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
+    Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.'
+    O Tamora! was ever heard the like?
+    This is the pit and this the elder-tree.
+    Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out
+    That should have murdered Bassianus here.
+  AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.
+  SATURNINUS.  [To TITUS]  Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody
+      kind,
+    Have here bereft my brother of his life.
+    Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;
+    There let them bide until we have devis'd
+    Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
+  TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!  
+    How easily murder is discovered!
+  TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
+    I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
+    That this fell fault of my accursed sons-
+    Accursed if the fault be prov'd in them-
+  SATURNINUS. If it be prov'd! You see it is apparent.
+    Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?
+  TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up.
+  TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail;
+    For, by my fathers' reverend tomb, I vow
+    They shall be ready at your Highness' will
+    To answer their suspicion with their lives.
+  SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me.
+    Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers;
+    Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain;
+    For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,
+    That end upon them should be executed.
+  TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King.
+    Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.
+  TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them.     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Another part of the forest
+
+Enter the Empress' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA,
+her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish'd
+
+  DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
+    Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee.
+  CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,
+    An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.
+  DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.
+  CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.
+  DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;
+    And so let's leave her to her silent walks.
+  CHIRON. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.
+  DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.
+                                     Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON
+
+           Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting
+
+  MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast?  
+    Cousin, a word: where is your husband?
+    If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
+    If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
+    That I may slumber an eternal sleep!
+    Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands
+    Hath lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
+    Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments
+    Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,
+    And might not gain so great a happiness
+    As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?
+    Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
+    Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
+    Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
+    Coming and going with thy honey breath.
+    But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee,
+    And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
+    Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
+    And notwithstanding all this loss of blood-
+    As from a conduit with three issuing spouts-
+    Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face  
+    Blushing to be encount'red with a cloud.
+    Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say 'tis so?
+    O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,
+    That I might rail at him to ease my mind!
+    Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
+    Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
+    Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue,
+    And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind;
+    But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee.
+    A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,
+    And he hath cut those pretty fingers off
+    That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
+    O, had the monster seen those lily hands
+    Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute
+    And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,
+    He would not then have touch'd them for his life!
+    Or had he heard the heavenly harmony
+    Which that sweet tongue hath made,
+    He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,
+    As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.  
+    Come, let us go, and make thy father blind,
+    For such a sight will blind a father's eye;
+    One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads,
+    What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?
+    Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;
+    O, could our mourning case thy misery!                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Rome. A street
+
+Enter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS' two sons
+MARTIUS and QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution,
+and TITUS going before, pleading
+
+  TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay!
+    For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
+    In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept;
+    For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed,
+    For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd,
+    And for these bitter tears, which now you see
+    Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,
+    Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
+    Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought.
+    For two and twenty sons I never wept,
+    Because they died in honour's lofty bed.
+                          [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges
+                     pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt]
+    For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write  
+    My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears.
+    Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;
+    My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
+    O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain
+    That shall distil from these two ancient urns,
+    Than youthful April shall with all his show'rs.
+    In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
+    In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow
+    And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
+    So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
+
+             Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn
+
+    O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men!
+    Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death,
+    And let me say, that never wept before,
+    My tears are now prevailing orators.
+  LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain;
+    The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
+    And you recount your sorrows to a stone.  
+  TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead!
+    Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you.
+  LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
+  TITUS. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear,
+    They would not mark me; if they did mark,
+    They would not pity me; yet plead I must,
+    And bootless unto them.
+    Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
+    Who though they cannot answer my distress,
+    Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,
+    For that they will not intercept my tale.
+    When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
+    Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
+    And were they but attired in grave weeds,
+    Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.
+    A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones.
+    A stone is silent and offendeth not,
+    And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
+                                                         [Rises]
+    But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?  
+  LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death;
+    For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd
+    My everlasting doom of banishment.
+  TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee.
+    Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
+    That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
+    Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
+    But me and mine; how happy art thou then
+    From these devourers to be banished!
+    But who comes with our brother Marcus here?
+
+                 Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA
+
+  MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,
+    Or if not so, thy noble heart to break.
+    I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
+  TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then.
+  MARCUS. This was thy daughter.
+  TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is.
+  LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me.  
+  TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.
+    Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand
+    Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
+    What fool hath added water to the sea,
+    Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy?
+    My grief was at the height before thou cam'st,
+    And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds.
+    Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too,
+    For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;
+    And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life;
+    In bootless prayer have they been held up,
+    And they have serv'd me to effectless use.
+    Now all the service I require of them
+    Is that the one will help to cut the other.
+    'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;
+    For hands to do Rome service is but vain.
+  LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
+  MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts
+    That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence
+    Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,  
+    Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung
+    Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!
+  LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?
+  MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park,
+    Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer
+    That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.
+  TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her
+    Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead;
+    For now I stand as one upon a rock,
+    Environ'd with a wilderness of sea,
+    Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
+    Expecting ever when some envious surge
+    Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
+    This way to death my wretched sons are gone;
+    Here stands my other son, a banish'd man,
+    And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
+    But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn
+    Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.
+    Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
+    It would have madded me; what shall I do  
+    Now I behold thy lively body so?
+    Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,
+    Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;
+    Thy husband he is dead, and for his death
+    Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.
+    Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her!
+    When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
+    Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew
+    Upon a gath'red lily almost withered.
+  MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;
+    Perchance because she knows them innocent.
+  TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
+    Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
+    No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;
+    Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.
+    Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,
+    Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.
+    Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius
+    And thou and I sit round about some fountain,
+    Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks  
+    How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry
+    With miry slime left on them by a flood?
+    And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,
+    Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,
+    And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
+    Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?
+    Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows
+    Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
+    What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues
+    Plot some device of further misery
+    To make us wonder'd at in time to come.
+  LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief
+    See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
+  MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.
+  TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot
+    Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
+    For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.
+  LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
+  TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs.
+    Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say  
+    That to her brother which I said to thee:
+    His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
+    Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
+    O, what a sympathy of woe is this
+    As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!
+
+                   Enter AARON the Moor
+
+  AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor
+    Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,
+    Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
+    Or any one of you, chop off your hand
+    And send it to the King: he for the same
+    Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,
+    And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
+  TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!
+    Did ever raven sing so like a lark
+    That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
+    With all my heart I'll send the Emperor my hand.
+    Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?  
+  LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,
+    That hath thrown down so many enemies,
+    Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn,
+    My youth can better spare my blood than you,
+    And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.
+  MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome
+    And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
+    Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
+    O, none of both but are of high desert!
+    My hand hath been but idle; let it serve
+    To ransom my two nephews from their death;
+    Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
+  AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
+    For fear they die before their pardon come.
+  MARCUS. My hand shall go.
+  LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go!
+  TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these
+    Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
+  LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
+    Let me redeem my brothers both from death.  
+  MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care,
+    Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
+  TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
+  LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe.
+  MARCUS. But I will use the axe.
+                                        Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS
+  TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both;
+    Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.
+  AARON.  [Aside]  If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,
+    And never whilst I live deceive men so;
+    But I'll deceive you in another sort,
+    And that you'll say ere half an hour pass.
+                                       [He cuts off TITUS' hand]
+
+                 Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS
+
+ TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch'd.
+    Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand;
+    Tell him it was a hand that warded him
+    From thousand dangers; bid him bury it.
+    More hath it merited- that let it have.  
+    As for my sons, say I account of them
+    As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;
+    And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.
+  AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand
+    Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.
+    [Aside]  Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy
+    Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
+    Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace:
+    Aaron will have his soul black like his face.           Exit
+  TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
+    And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;
+    If any power pities wretched tears,
+    To that I call!  [To LAVINIA]  What, would'st thou kneel with me?
+    Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers,
+    Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim
+    And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds
+    When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
+  MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility,
+    And do not break into these deep extremes.
+  TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?  
+    Then be my passions bottomless with them.
+  MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament.
+  TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries,
+    Then into limits could I bind my woes.
+    When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
+    If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
+    Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face?
+    And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
+    I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow.
+    She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;
+    Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;
+    Then must my earth with her continual tears
+    Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd;
+    For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,
+    But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
+    Then give me leave; for losers will have leave
+    To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.
+
+        Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand
+  
+  MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid
+    For that good hand thou sent'st the Emperor.
+    Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;
+    And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back-
+    Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd,
+    That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
+    More than remembrance of my father's death.             Exit
+  MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily,
+    And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
+    These miseries are more than may be borne.
+    To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal,
+    But sorrow flouted at is double death.
+  LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,
+    And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
+    That ever death should let life bear his name,
+    Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!
+                                          [LAVINIA kisses TITUS]
+  MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless
+    As frozen water to a starved snake.
+  TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end?  
+  MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus.
+    Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads,
+    Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;
+    Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight
+    Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
+    Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
+    Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs.
+    Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand
+    Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
+    The closing up of our most wretched eyes.
+    Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?
+  TITUS. Ha, ha, ha!
+  MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.
+  TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed;
+    Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
+    And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes
+    And make them blind with tributary tears.
+    Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave?
+    For these two heads do seem to speak to me,
+    And threat me I shall never come to bliss  
+    Till all these mischiefs be return'd again
+    Even in their throats that have committed them.
+    Come, let me see what task I have to do.
+    You heavy people, circle me about,
+    That I may turn me to each one of you
+    And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
+    The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,
+    And in this hand the other will I bear.
+    And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this;
+    Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
+    As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;
+    Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.
+    Hie to the Goths and raise an army there;
+    And if ye love me, as I think you do,
+    Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
+                                           Exeunt all but Lucius
+  LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,
+    The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome.
+    Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,
+    He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.  
+    Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;
+    O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!
+    But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives
+    But in oblivion and hateful griefs.
+    If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs
+    And make proud Saturnine and his emperess
+    Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.
+    Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow'r
+    To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine.                   Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Rome. TITUS' house
+
+A banquet.
+
+Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS
+
+  TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more
+    Than will preserve just so much strength in us
+    As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
+    Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
+    Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
+    And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
+    With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
+    Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
+    Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,
+    Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
+    Then thus I thump it down.
+    [To LAVINIA]  Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
+    When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
+    Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
+    Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
+    Or get some little knife between thy teeth  
+    And just against thy heart make thou a hole,
+    That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
+    May run into that sink and, soaking in,
+    Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
+  MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay
+    Such violent hands upon her tender life.
+  TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?
+    Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
+    What violent hands can she lay on her life?
+    Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands?
+    To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er
+    How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?
+    O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
+    Lest we remember still that we have none.
+    Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,
+    As if we should forget we had no hands,
+    If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
+    Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:
+    Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says-
+    I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;  
+    She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
+    Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks.
+    Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
+    In thy dumb action will I be as perfect
+    As begging hermits in their holy prayers.
+    Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
+    Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
+    But I of these will wrest an alphabet,
+    And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.
+  BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments;
+    Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
+  MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd,
+    Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
+  TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,
+    And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
+                          [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife]
+    What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
+  MARCUS. At that that I have kill'd, my lord- a fly.
+  TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill'st my heart!
+    Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny;  
+    A deed of death done on the innocent
+    Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone;
+    I see thou art not for my company.
+  MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
+  TITUS. 'But!' How if that fly had a father and mother?
+    How would he hang his slender gilded wings
+    And buzz lamenting doings in the air!
+    Poor harmless fly,
+    That with his pretty buzzing melody
+    Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill'd him.
+  MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly,
+    Like to the Empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.
+  TITUS. O, O, O!
+    Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
+    For thou hast done a charitable deed.
+    Give me thy knife, I will insult on him,
+    Flattering myself as if it were the Moor
+    Come hither purposely to poison me.
+    There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
+    Ah, sirrah!  
+    Yet, I think, we are not brought so low
+    But that between us we can kill a fly
+    That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.
+  MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,
+    He takes false shadows for true substances.
+  TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me;
+    I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee
+    Sad stories chanced in the times of old.
+    Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young,
+    And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle.        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Rome. TITUS' garden
+
+Enter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him,
+and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm.
+
+Enter TITUS and MARCUS
+
+  BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia
+    Follows me everywhere, I know not why.
+    Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes!
+    Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
+  MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.
+  TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.
+  BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.
+  MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
+  TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean.
+    See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee.
+    Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
+    Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
+    Read to her sons than she hath read to thee
+    Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator.
+  MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?  
+  BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
+    Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her;
+    For I have heard my grandsire say full oft
+    Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
+    And I have read that Hecuba of Troy
+    Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear;
+    Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
+    Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,
+    And would not, but in fury, fright my youth;
+    Which made me down to throw my books, and fly-
+    Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt;
+    And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
+    I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
+  MARCUS. Lucius, I will.           [LAVINIA turns over with her
+                     stumps the books which Lucius has let fall]
+  TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this?
+    Some book there is that she desires to see.
+    Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.-
+    But thou art deeper read and better skill'd;
+    Come and take choice of all my library,  
+    And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
+    Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.
+    Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?
+  MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one
+    Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was,
+    Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
+  TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
+  BOY. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
+    My mother gave it me.
+  MARCUS. For love of her that's gone,
+    Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.
+  TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her.
+    What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?
+    This is the tragic tale of Philomel
+    And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape;
+    And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.
+  MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves.
+  TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl,
+    Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was,
+    Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?  
+    See, see!
+    Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt-
+    O, had we never, never hunted there!-
+    Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
+    By nature made for murders and for rapes.
+  MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den,
+    Unless the gods delight in tragedies?
+  TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends,
+    What Roman lord it was durst do the deed.
+    Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
+    That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?
+  MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me.
+    Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
+    Inspire me, that I may this treason find!
+    My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia!
+                                    [He writes his name with his
+                       staff, and guides it with feet and mouth]
+    This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,
+    This after me. I have writ my name
+    Without the help of any hand at all.  
+    Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift!
+    Write thou, good niece, and here display at last
+    What God will have discovered for revenge.
+    Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
+    That we may know the traitors and the truth!
+                               [She takes the staff in her mouth
+                          and guides it with stumps, and writes]
+    O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?
+  TITUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.'
+  MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora
+    Performers of this heinous bloody deed?
+  TITUS. Magni Dominator poli,
+    Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?
+  MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know
+    There is enough written upon this earth
+    To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
+    And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
+    My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
+    And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
+    And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere  
+    And father of that chaste dishonoured dame,
+    Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape-
+    That we will prosecute, by good advice,
+    Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
+    And see their blood or die with this reproach.
+  TITUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how;
+    But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:
+    The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once,
+    She's with the lion deeply still in league,
+    And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,
+    And when he sleeps will she do what she list.
+    You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone;
+    And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
+    And with a gad of steel will write these words,
+    And lay it by. The angry northern wind
+    Will blow these sands like Sibyl's leaves abroad,
+    And where's our lesson, then? Boy, what say you?
+  BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man
+    Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe
+    For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome.  
+  MARCUS. Ay, that's my boy! Thy father hath full oft
+    For his ungrateful country done the like.
+  BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.
+  TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury.
+    Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy
+    Shall carry from me to the Empress' sons
+    Presents that I intend to send them both.
+    Come, come; thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not?
+  BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.
+  TITUS. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course.
+    Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house.
+    Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;
+    Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we'll be waited on.
+                         Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS
+  MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan
+    And not relent, or not compassion him?
+    Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,
+    That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart
+    Than foemen's marks upon his batt'red shield,
+    But yet so just that he will not revenge.  
+    Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus!                 Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Rome. The palace
+
+Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door,
+YOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them
+
+  CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius;
+    He hath some message to deliver us.
+  AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.
+  BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,
+    I greet your honours from Andronicus-
+    [Aside]  And pray the Roman gods confound you both!
+  DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news?
+  BOY.  [Aside]  That you are both decipher'd, that's the news,
+    For villains mark'd with rape.- May it please you,
+    My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me
+    The goodliest weapons of his armoury
+    To gratify your honourable youth,
+    The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say;
+    And so I do, and with his gifts present
+    Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,  
+    You may be armed and appointed well.
+    And so I leave you both-  [Aside]  like bloody villains.
+                               Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant
+  DEMETRIUS. What's here? A scroll, and written round about.
+    Let's see:
+    [Reads]  'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,
+    Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.'
+  CHIRON. O, 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well;
+    I read it in the grammar long ago.
+  AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it.
+    [Aside]  Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!
+    Here's no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt,
+    And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with lines
+    That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.
+    But were our witty Empress well afoot,
+    She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.
+    But let her rest in her unrest awhile-
+    And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
+    Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
+    Captives, to be advanced to this height?  
+    It did me good before the palace gate
+    To brave the Tribune in his brother's hearing.
+  DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord
+    Basely insinuate and send us gifts.
+  AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?
+    Did you not use his daughter very friendly?
+  DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames
+    At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
+  CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love.
+  AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.
+  CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more.
+  DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods
+    For our beloved mother in her pains.
+  AARON.  [Aside]  Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.
+                                                [Trumpets sound]
+  DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor's trumpets flourish thus?
+  CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son.
+  DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here?
+
+            Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD  
+
+  NURSE. Good morrow, lords.
+    O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?
+  AARON. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
+    Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?
+  NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
+    Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!
+  AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!
+    What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms?
+  NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye:
+    Our Empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace!
+    She is delivered, lord; she is delivered.
+  AARON. To whom?
+  NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed.
+  AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?
+  NURSE. A devil.
+  AARON. Why, then she is the devil's dam;
+    A joyful issue.
+  NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!
+    Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad  
+    Amongst the fair-fac'd breeders of our clime;
+    The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,
+    And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.
+  AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue?
+    Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure.
+  DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done?
+  AARON. That which thou canst not undo.
+  CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother.
+  AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother.
+  DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her.
+    Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice!
+    Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend!
+  CHIRON. It shall not live.
+  AARON. It shall not die.
+  NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.
+  AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I
+    Do execution on my flesh and blood.
+  DEMETRIUS. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point.
+    Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.
+  AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.  
+                     [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws]
+    Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother!
+    Now, by the burning tapers of the sky
+    That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
+    He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point
+    That touches this my first-born son and heir.
+    I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
+    With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood,
+    Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
+    Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
+    What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!
+    Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs!
+    Coal-black is better than another hue
+    In that it scorns to bear another hue;
+    For all the water in the ocean
+    Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
+    Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
+    Tell the Empress from me I am of age
+    To keep mine own- excuse it how she can.
+  DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?  
+  AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self,
+    The vigour and the picture of my youth.
+    This before all the world do I prefer;
+    This maugre all the world will I keep safe,
+    Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
+  DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham'd.
+  CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.
+  NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death.
+  CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy.
+  AARON. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:
+    Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing
+    The close enacts and counsels of thy heart!
+    Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer.
+    Look how the black slave smiles upon the father,
+    As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.'
+    He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed
+    Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;
+    And from your womb where you imprisoned were
+    He is enfranchised and come to light.
+    Nay, he is your brother by the surer side,  
+    Although my seal be stamped in his face.
+  NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress?
+  DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
+    And we will all subscribe to thy advice.
+    Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
+  AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult.
+    My son and I will have the wind of you:
+    Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety.
+                                                      [They sit]
+  DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his?
+  AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league
+    I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor,
+    The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
+    The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.
+    But say, again, how many saw the child?
+  NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself;
+    And no one else but the delivered Empress.
+  AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself.
+    Two may keep counsel when the third's away:
+    Go to the Empress, tell her this I said.      [He kills her]  
+    Weeke weeke!
+    So cries a pig prepared to the spit.
+  DEMETRIUS. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this?
+  AARON. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy.
+    Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours-
+    A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? No, lords, no.
+    And now be it known to you my full intent:
+    Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman-
+    His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;
+    His child is like to her, fair as you are.
+    Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,
+    And tell them both the circumstance of all,
+    And how by this their child shall be advanc'd,
+    And be received for the Emperor's heir
+    And substituted in the place of mine,
+    To calm this tempest whirling in the court;
+    And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.
+    Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic,
+                                         [Pointing to the NURSE]
+    And you must needs bestow her funeral;  
+    The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms.
+    This done, see that you take no longer days,
+    But send the midwife presently to me.
+    The midwife and the nurse well made away,
+    Then let the ladies tattle what they please.
+  CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air
+    With secrets.
+  DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora,
+    Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.
+
+         Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE
+
+  AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies,
+    There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
+    And secretly to greet the Empress' friends.
+    Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence;
+    For it is you that puts us to our shifts.
+    I'll make you feed on berries and on roots,
+    And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,
+    And cabin in a cave, and bring you up  
+    To be a warrior and command a camp.
+                                             Exit with the CHILD
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Rome. A public place
+
+Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them;
+with him MARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen,
+PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and CAIUS, with bows
+
+  TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.
+    Sir boy, let me see your archery;
+    Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
+    Terras Astrea reliquit,
+    Be you rememb'red, Marcus; she's gone, she's fled.
+    Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
+    Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;
+    Happily you may catch her in the sea;
+    Yet there's as little justice as at land.
+    No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
+    'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
+    And pierce the inmost centre of the earth;
+    Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
+    I pray you deliver him this petition.
+    Tell him it is for justice and for aid,  
+    And that it comes from old Andronicus,
+    Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
+    Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable
+    What time I threw the people's suffrages
+    On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
+    Go get you gone; and pray be careful all,
+    And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd.
+    This wicked Emperor may have shipp'd her hence;
+    And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
+  MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
+    To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
+  PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns
+    By day and night t' attend him carefully,
+    And feed his humour kindly as we may
+    Till time beget some careful remedy.
+  MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
+    Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war
+    Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
+    And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
+  TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters?  
+    What, have you met with her?
+  PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
+    If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.
+    Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd,
+    He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
+    So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
+  TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
+    I'll dive into the burning lake below
+    And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
+    Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
+    No big-bon'd men fram'd of the Cyclops' size;
+    But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
+    Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear;
+    And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell,
+    We will solicit heaven, and move the gods
+    To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs.
+    Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.
+                                      [He gives them the arrows]
+    'Ad Jovem' that's for you; here 'Ad Apollinem.'
+    'Ad Martem' that's for myself.  
+    Here, boy, 'To Pallas'; here 'To Mercury.'
+    'To Saturn,' Caius- not to Saturnine:
+    You were as good to shoot against the wind.
+    To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid.
+    Of my word, I have written to effect;
+    There's not a god left unsolicited.
+  MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;
+    We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.
+  TITUS. Now, masters, draw.  [They shoot]  O, well said, Lucius!
+    Good boy, in Virgo's lap! Give it Pallas.
+  MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;
+    Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
+  TITUS. Ha! ha!
+    Publius, Publius, hast thou done?
+    See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns.
+  MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,
+    The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock
+    That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court;
+    And who should find them but the Empress' villain?
+    She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose  
+    But give them to his master for a present.
+  TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy!
+
+    Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it
+
+    News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
+    Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?
+    Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?
+  CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down
+    again, for the man must not be hang'd till the next week.
+  TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?
+  CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all
+    my life.
+  TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
+  CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.
+  TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?
+  CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I
+    should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am
+    going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter
+    of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal's men.  
+  MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your
+    oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you.
+  TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a
+    grace?
+  CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.
+  TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,
+    But give your pigeons to the Emperor;
+    By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
+    Hold, hold! Meanwhile here's money for thy charges.
+    Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a
+    supplication?
+  CLOWN. Ay, sir.
+  TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to
+    him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot;
+    then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I'll
+    be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.
+  CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.
+  TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.
+    Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;
+    For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.  
+    And when thou hast given it to the Emperor,
+    Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
+  CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will.
+  TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me.     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Rome. Before the palace
+
+Enter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON;
+LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand that TITUS
+shot at him
+
+  SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen
+    An emperor in Rome thus overborne,
+    Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
+    Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt?
+    My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,
+    However these disturbers of our peace
+    Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd
+    But even with law against the wilful sons
+    Of old Andronicus. And what an if
+    His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
+    Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
+    His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
+    And now he writes to heaven for his redress.
+    See, here's 'To Jove' and this 'To Mercury';
+    This 'To Apollo'; this 'To the God of War'-  
+    Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
+    What's this but libelling against the Senate,
+    And blazoning our unjustice every where?
+    A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
+    As who would say in Rome no justice were.
+    But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
+    Shall be no shelter to these outrages;
+    But he and his shall know that justice lives
+    In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep,
+    He'll so awake as he in fury shall
+    Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.
+  TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,
+    Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,
+    Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
+    Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons
+    Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep and scarr'd his heart;
+    And rather comfort his distressed plight
+    Than prosecute the meanest or the best
+    For these contempts.  [Aside]  Why, thus it shall become
+    High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.  
+    But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
+    Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise,
+    Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.
+
+                       Enter CLOWN
+
+    How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us?
+  CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial.
+  TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor.
+  CLOWN. 'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have
+    brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.
+                                   [SATURNINUS reads the letter]
+  SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.
+  CLOWN. How much money must I have?
+  TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.
+  CLOWN. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair
+    end.                                          [Exit guarded]
+  SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!
+    Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?
+    I know from whence this same device proceeds.  
+    May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons
+    That died by law for murder of our brother
+    Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?
+    Go drag the villain hither by the hair;
+    Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.
+    For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman,
+    Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
+    In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.
+
+                   Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS
+
+    What news with thee, Aemilius?
+  AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause.
+    The Goths have gathered head; and with a power
+    Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil,
+    They hither march amain, under conduct
+    Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;
+    Who threats in course of this revenge to do
+    As much as ever Coriolanus did.
+  SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?  
+    These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
+    As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.
+    Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.
+    'Tis he the common people love so much;
+    Myself hath often heard them say-
+    When I have walked like a private man-
+    That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,
+    And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor.
+  TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?
+  SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,
+    And will revolt from me to succour him.
+  TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name!
+    Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it?
+    The eagle suffers little birds to sing,
+    And is not careful what they mean thereby,
+    Knowing that with the shadow of his wings
+    He can at pleasure stint their melody;
+    Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.
+    Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor,
+    I will enchant the old Andronicus  
+    With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,
+    Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep,
+    When as the one is wounded with the bait,
+    The other rotted with delicious feed.
+  SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us.
+  TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will;
+    For I can smooth and fill his aged ears
+    With golden promises, that, were his heart
+    Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,
+    Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.
+    [To AEMILIUS]  Go thou before to be our ambassador;
+    Say that the Emperor requests a parley
+    Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting
+    Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus.
+  SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably;
+    And if he stand on hostage for his safety,
+    Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.
+  AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually.            Exit
+  TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus,
+    And temper him with all the art I have,  
+    To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
+    And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again,
+    And bury all thy fear in my devices.
+  SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Plains near Rome
+
+Enter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours
+
+  LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends,
+    I have received letters from great Rome
+    Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor
+    And how desirous of our sight they are.
+    Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,
+    Imperious and impatient of your wrongs;
+    And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,
+    Let him make treble satisfaction.
+  FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,
+    Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,
+    Whose high exploits and honourable deeds
+    Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,
+    Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st,
+    Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day,
+    Led by their master to the flow'red fields,
+    And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora.  
+  ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.
+  LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
+    But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?
+
+     Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms
+
+  SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd
+    To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;
+    And as I earnestly did fix mine eye
+    Upon the wasted building, suddenly
+    I heard a child cry underneath a wall.
+    I made unto the noise, when soon I heard
+    The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:
+    'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!
+    Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,
+    Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look,
+    Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;
+    But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,
+    They never do beget a coal-black calf.
+    Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe-  
+    'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,
+    Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe,
+    Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'
+    With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,
+    Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither
+    To use as you think needful of the man.
+  LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil
+    That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand;
+    This is the pearl that pleas'd your Empress' eye;
+    And here's the base fruit of her burning lust.
+    Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey
+    This growing image of thy fiend-like face?
+    Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word?
+    A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree,
+    And by his side his fruit of bastardy.
+  AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.
+  LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good.
+    First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl-
+    A sight to vex the father's soul withal.
+    Get me a ladder.  
+                [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb]
+  AARON. Lucius, save the child,
+    And bear it from me to the Emperess.
+    If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things
+    That highly may advantage thee to hear;
+    If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
+    I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!'
+  LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak'st,
+    Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.
+  AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius,
+    'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;
+    For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,
+    Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
+    Complots of mischief, treason, villainies,
+    Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd;
+    And this shall all be buried in my death,
+    Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.
+  LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.
+  AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.
+  LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god;  
+    That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?
+  AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not;
+    Yet, for I know thou art religious
+    And hast a thing within thee called conscience,
+    With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies
+    Which I have seen thee careful to observe,
+    Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know
+    An idiot holds his bauble for a god,
+    And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,
+    To that I'll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow
+    By that same god- what god soe'er it be
+    That thou adorest and hast in reverence-
+    To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;
+    Or else I will discover nought to thee.
+  LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will.
+  AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress.
+  LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman!
+  AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity
+    To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.
+    'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus;  
+    They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her,
+    And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou sawest.
+  LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call'st thou that trimming?
+  AARON. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd, and 'twas
+    Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.
+  LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself!
+  AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them.
+    That codding spirit had they from their mother,
+    As sure a card as ever won the set;
+    That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me,
+    As true a dog as ever fought at head.
+    Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.
+    I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole
+    Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay;
+    I wrote the letter that thy father found,
+    And hid the gold within that letter mention'd,
+    Confederate with the Queen and her two sons;
+    And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,
+    Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?
+    I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand,  
+    And, when I had it, drew myself apart
+    And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.
+    I pried me through the crevice of a wall,
+    When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads;
+    Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily
+    That both mine eyes were rainy like to his;
+    And when I told the Empress of this sport,
+    She swooned almost at my pleasing tale,
+    And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.
+  GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush?
+  AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.
+  LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?
+  AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
+    Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think,
+    Few come within the compass of my curse-
+    Wherein I did not some notorious ill;
+    As kill a man, or else devise his death;
+    Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;
+    Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;
+    Set deadly enmity between two friends;  
+    Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
+    Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
+    And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
+    Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
+    And set them upright at their dear friends' door
+    Even when their sorrows almost was forgot,
+    And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
+    Have with my knife carved in Roman letters
+    'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'
+    Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things
+    As willingly as one would kill a fly;
+    And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
+    But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
+  LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die
+    So sweet a death as hanging presently.
+  AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil,
+    To live and burn in everlasting fire,
+    So I might have your company in hell
+    But to torment you with my bitter tongue!
+  LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.  
+
+                       Enter AEMILIUS
+
+  GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome
+    Desires to be admitted to your presence.
+  LUCIUS. Let him come near.
+    Welcome, Aemilius. What's the news from Rome?
+  AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths,
+    The Roman Emperor greets you all by me;
+    And, for he understands you are in arms,
+    He craves a parley at your father's house,
+    Willing you to demand your hostages,
+    And they shall be immediately deliver'd.
+  FIRST GOTH. What says our general?
+  LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges
+    Unto my father and my uncle Marcus.
+    And we will come. March away.                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Rome. Before TITUS' house
+
+Enter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised
+
+  TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,
+    I will encounter with Andronicus,
+    And say I am Revenge, sent from below
+    To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.
+    Knock at his study, where they say he keeps
+    To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;
+    Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,
+    And work confusion on his enemies.
+
+         They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above
+
+  TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation?
+    Is it your trick to make me ope the door,
+    That so my sad decrees may fly away
+    And all my study be to no effect?
+    You are deceiv'd; for what I mean to do  
+    See here in bloody lines I have set down;
+    And what is written shall be executed.
+  TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.
+  TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk,
+    Wanting a hand to give it that accord?
+    Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.
+  TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me.
+  TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough:
+    Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines;
+    Witness these trenches made by grief and care;
+    Witness the tiring day and heavy night;
+    Witness all sorrow that I know thee well
+    For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora.
+    Is not thy coming for my other hand?
+  TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora:
+    She is thy enemy and I thy friend.
+    I am Revenge, sent from th' infernal kingdom
+    To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind
+    By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
+    Come down and welcome me to this world's light;  
+    Confer with me of murder and of death;
+    There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place,
+    No vast obscurity or misty vale,
+    Where bloody murder or detested rape
+    Can couch for fear but I will find them out;
+    And in their ears tell them my dreadful name-
+    Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.
+  TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me
+    To be a torment to mine enemies?
+  TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me.
+  TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee.
+    Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;
+    Now give some surance that thou art Revenge-
+    Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;
+    And then I'll come and be thy waggoner
+    And whirl along with thee about the globes.
+    Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,
+    To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,
+    And find out murderers in their guilty caves;
+    And when thy car is loaden with their heads,  
+    I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel
+    Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,
+    Even from Hyperion's rising in the east
+    Until his very downfall in the sea.
+    And day by day I'll do this heavy task,
+    So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.
+  TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me.
+  TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call'd?
+  TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so
+    'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.
+  TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress' sons they are!
+    And you the Empress! But we worldly men
+    Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.
+    O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;
+    And, if one arm's embracement will content thee,
+    I will embrace thee in it by and by.
+  TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy.
+    Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours,
+    Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,
+    For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;  
+    And, being credulous in this mad thought,
+    I'll make him send for Lucius his son,
+    And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,
+    I'll find some cunning practice out of hand
+    To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,
+    Or, at the least, make them his enemies.
+    See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.
+
+                 Enter TITUS, below
+
+  TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee.
+    Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house.
+    Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.
+    How like the Empress and her sons you are!
+    Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor.
+    Could not all hell afford you such a devil?
+    For well I wot the Empress never wags
+    But in her company there is a Moor;
+    And, would you represent our queen aright,
+    It were convenient you had such a devil.  
+    But welcome as you are. What shall we do?
+  TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?
+  DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him.
+  CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape,
+    And I am sent to be reveng'd on him.
+  TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong,
+    And I will be revenged on them all.
+  TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome,
+    And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself,
+    Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer.
+    Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap
+    To find another that is like to thee,
+    Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher.
+    Go thou with them; and in the Emperor's court
+    There is a queen, attended by a Moor;
+    Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion,
+    For up and down she doth resemble thee.
+    I pray thee, do on them some violent death;
+    They have been violent to me and mine.
+  TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do.  
+    But would it please thee, good Andronicus,
+    To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son,
+    Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,
+    And bid him come and banquet at thy house;
+    When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,
+    I will bring in the Empress and her sons,
+    The Emperor himself, and all thy foes;
+    And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel,
+    And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.
+    What says Andronicus to this device?
+  TITUS. Marcus, my brother! 'Tis sad Titus calls.
+
+                  Enter MARCUS
+
+    Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius;
+    Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths.
+    Bid him repair to me, and bring with him
+    Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;
+    Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are.
+    Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too  
+    Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.
+    This do thou for my love; and so let him,
+    As he regards his aged father's life.
+  MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again.            Exit
+  TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business,
+    And take my ministers along with me.
+  TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me,
+    Or else I'll call my brother back again,
+    And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.
+  TAMORA.  [Aside to her sons]  What say you, boys? Will you abide
+      with him,
+    Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor
+    How I have govern'd our determin'd jest?
+    Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,
+    And tarry with him till I turn again.
+  TITUS.  [Aside]  I knew them all, though they suppos'd me mad,
+    And will o'er reach them in their own devices,
+    A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam.
+  DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.
+  TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes  
+    To lay a complot to betray thy foes.
+  TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.
+                                                     Exit TAMORA
+  CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd?
+  TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.
+    Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine.
+
+          Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE
+
+  PUBLIUS. What is your will?
+  TITUS. Know you these two?
+  PUBLIUS. The Empress' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius.
+  TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv'd.
+    The one is Murder, and Rape is the other's name;
+    And therefore bind them, gentle Publius-
+    Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.
+    Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,
+    And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,
+    And stop their mouths if they begin to cry.             Exit
+                         [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]  
+  CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress' sons.
+  PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded.
+    Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.
+    Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast.
+
+               Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS
+        with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin
+
+  TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.
+    Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;
+    But let them hear what fearful words I utter.
+    O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!
+    Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud;
+    This goodly summer with your winter mix'd.
+    You kill'd her husband; and for that vile fault
+    Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death,
+    My hand cut off and made a merry jest;
+    Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear
+    Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,
+    Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd.  
+    What would you say, if I should let you speak?
+    Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
+    Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.
+    This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,
+    Whiles that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold
+    The basin that receives your guilty blood.
+    You know your mother means to feast with me,
+    And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad.
+    Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust,
+    And with your blood and it I'll make a paste;
+    And of the paste a coffin I will rear,
+    And make two pasties of your shameful heads;
+    And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam,
+    Like to the earth, swallow her own increase.
+    This is the feast that I have bid her to,
+    And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;
+    For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter,
+    And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd.
+    And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,
+    Receive the blood; and when that they are dead,  
+    Let me go grind their bones to powder small,
+    And with this hateful liquor temper it;
+    And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd.
+    Come, come, be every one officious
+    To make this banquet, which I wish may prove
+    More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast.
+                                         [He cuts their throats]
+    So.
+    Now bring them in, for I will play the cook,
+    And see them ready against their mother comes.
+                                 Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The court of TITUS' house
+
+Enter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner,
+and his CHILD in the arms of an attendant
+
+  LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind
+    That I repair to Rome, I am content.
+    FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.
+  LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,
+    This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;
+    Let him receive no sust'nance, fetter him,
+    Till he be brought unto the Empress' face
+    For testimony of her foul proceedings.
+    And see the ambush of our friends be strong;
+    I fear the Emperor means no good to us.
+  AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear,
+    And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth
+    The venomous malice of my swelling heart!
+  LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave!
+    Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.  
+                        Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within
+    The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand.
+
+            Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and
+    TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others
+
+  SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one?
+  LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun?
+  MARCUS. Rome's Emperor, and nephew, break the parle;
+    These quarrels must be quietly debated.
+    The feast is ready which the careful Titus
+    Hath ordain'd to an honourable end,
+    For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.
+    Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.
+  SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will.
+                      [A table brought in. The company sit down]
+
+               Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS
+         like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA
+   with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others  
+
+  TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen;
+    Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;
+    And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor,
+    'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.
+  SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus?
+  TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well
+    To entertain your Highness and your Empress.
+  TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.
+  TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were.
+    My lord the Emperor, resolve me this:
+    Was it well done of rash Virginius
+    To slay his daughter with his own right hand,
+    Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflower'd?
+  SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus.
+  TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord.
+  SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame,
+    And by her presence still renew his sorrows.
+  TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;
+    A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant  
+    For me, most wretched, to perform the like.
+    Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee;   [He kills her]
+    And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die!
+  SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?
+  TITUS. Kill'd her for whom my tears have made me blind.
+    I am as woeful as Virginius was,
+    And have a thousand times more cause than he
+    To do this outrage; and it now is done.
+  SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish'd? Tell who did the deed.
+  TITUS. Will't please you eat?  Will't please your Highness feed?
+  TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?
+  TITUS. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius.
+    They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue;
+    And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong.
+  SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently.
+  TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie,
+    Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,
+    Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
+    'Tis true, 'tis true: witness my knife's sharp point.
+                                          [He stabs the EMPRESS]  
+  SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!
+                                                [He stabs TITUS]
+  LUCIUS. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?
+    There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.
+                   [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS,
+               MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony]
+  MARCUS. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome,
+    By uproars sever'd, as a flight of fowl
+    Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts?
+    O, let me teach you how to knit again
+    This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,
+    These broken limbs again into one body;
+    Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,
+    And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,
+    Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,
+    Do shameful execution on herself.
+    But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,
+    Grave witnesses of true experience,
+    Cannot induce you to attend my words,
+    [To Lucius]  Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor,  
+    When with his solemn tongue he did discourse
+    To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear
+    The story of that baleful burning night,
+    When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's Troy.
+    Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,
+    Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
+    That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.
+    My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;
+    Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,
+    But floods of tears will drown my oratory
+    And break my utt'rance, even in the time
+    When it should move ye to attend me most,
+    And force you to commiseration.
+    Here's Rome's young Captain, let him tell the tale;
+    While I stand by and weep to hear him speak.
+  LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you
+    That Chiron and the damn'd Demetrius
+    Were they that murd'red our Emperor's brother;
+    And they it were that ravished our sister.
+    For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,  
+    Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd
+    Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out
+    And sent her enemies unto the grave.
+    Lastly, myself unkindly banished,
+    The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,
+    To beg relief among Rome's enemies;
+    Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears,
+    And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend.
+    I am the turned forth, be it known to you,
+    That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood
+    And from her bosom took the enemy's point,
+    Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body.
+    Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I;
+    My scars can witness, dumb although they are,
+    That my report is just and full of truth.
+    But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,
+    Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me!
+    For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.
+  MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child.
+                  [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant's arms]  
+    Of this was Tamora delivered,
+    The issue of an irreligious Moor,
+    Chief architect and plotter of these woes.
+    The villain is alive in Titus' house,
+    Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true.
+    Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge
+    These wrongs unspeakable, past patience,
+    Or more than any living man could bear.
+    Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans?
+    Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein,
+    And, from the place where you behold us pleading,
+    The poor remainder of Andronici
+    Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves,
+    And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls,
+    And make a mutual closure of our house.
+    Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall,
+    Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.
+  AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,
+    And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand,
+    Lucius our Emperor; for well I know  
+    The common voice do cry it shall be so.
+  ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal Emperor!
+  MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house,
+    And hither hale that misbelieving Moor
+    To be adjudg'd some direful slaught'ring death,
+    As punishment for his most wicked life.          Exeunt some
+              attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend
+  ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor!
+  LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so
+    To heal Rome's harms and wipe away her woe!
+    But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,
+    For nature puts me to a heavy task.
+    Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near
+    To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.
+    O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips.  [Kisses TITUS]
+    These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face,
+    The last true duties of thy noble son!
+  MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss
+    Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips.
+    O, were the sum of these that I should pay  
+    Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!
+  LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us
+    To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov'd thee well;
+    Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee,
+    Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow;
+    Many a story hath he told to thee,
+    And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind
+    And talk of them when he was dead and gone.
+  MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips,
+    When they were living, warm'd themselves on thine!
+    O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss!
+    Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave;
+    Do them that kindness, and take leave of them.
+  BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev'n with all my heart
+    Would I were dead, so you did live again!
+    O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;
+    My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.
+
+            Re-enter attendants with AARON
+  
+  A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes;
+    Give sentence on the execrable wretch
+    That hath been breeder of these dire events.
+  LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;
+    There let him stand and rave and cry for food.
+    If any one relieves or pities him,
+    For the offence he dies. This is our doom.
+    Some stay to see him fast'ned in the earth.
+  AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?
+    I am no baby, I, that with base prayers
+    I should repent the evils I have done;
+    Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did
+    Would I perform, if I might have my will.
+    If one good deed in all my life I did,
+    I do repent it from my very soul.
+  LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence,
+    And give him burial in his father's grave.
+    My father and Lavinia shall forthwith
+    Be closed in our household's monument.
+    As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora,  
+    No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed,
+    No mournful bell shall ring her burial;
+    But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey.
+    Her life was beastly and devoid of pity,
+    And being dead, let birds on her take pity.           Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1602
+
+THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  PRIAM, King of Troy
+
+    His sons:
+  HECTOR
+  TROILUS
+  PARIS
+  DEIPHOBUS
+  HELENUS
+
+  MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam
+
+     Trojan commanders:
+  AENEAS
+  ANTENOR
+
+  CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks
+  PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida
+  AGAMEMNON, the Greek general
+  MENELAUS, his brother
+  
+    Greek commanders:
+  ACHILLES
+  AJAX
+  ULYSSES
+  NESTOR
+  DIOMEDES
+  PATROCLUS
+
+  THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek
+  ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida
+  SERVANT to Troilus
+  SERVANT to Paris
+  SERVANT to Diomedes
+
+  HELEN, wife to Menelaus
+  ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector
+  CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess
+  CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas
+
+  Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants  
+
+                          SCENE:
+             Troy and the Greek camp before it
+
+PROLOGUE
+                  TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
+                        PROLOGUE
+
+    In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
+    The princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,
+    Have to the port of Athens sent their ships
+    Fraught with the ministers and instruments
+    Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore
+    Their crownets regal from th' Athenian bay
+    Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made
+    To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
+    The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
+    With wanton Paris sleeps-and that's the quarrel.
+    To Tenedos they come,
+    And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
+    Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains
+    The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
+    Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
+    Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
+    And Antenorides, with massy staples
+    And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
+    Sperr up the sons of Troy.  
+    Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits
+    On one and other side, Troyan and Greek,
+    Sets all on hazard-and hither am I come
+    A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
+    Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited
+    In like conditions as our argument,
+    To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
+    Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
+    Beginning in the middle; starting thence away,
+    To what may be digested in a play.
+    Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are;
+    Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 1.
+Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace
+
+Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS
+
+  TROILUS. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again.
+    Why should I war without the walls of Troy
+    That find such cruel battle here within?
+    Each Troyan that is master of his heart,
+    Let him to field; Troilus, alas, hath none!
+  PANDARUS. Will this gear ne'er be mended?
+  TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,
+    Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;
+    But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
+    Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
+    Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
+    And skilless as unpractis'd infancy.
+  PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part,
+    I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake
+    out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.
+  TROILUS. Have I not tarried?
+  PANDARUS. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.  
+  TROILUS. Have I not tarried?
+  PANDARUS. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.
+  TROILUS. Still have I tarried.
+  PANDARUS. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word
+    'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating
+    of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too,
+    or you may chance to burn your lips.
+  TROILUS. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
+    Doth lesser blench at suff'rance than I do.
+    At Priam's royal table do I sit;
+    And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts-
+    So, traitor, then she comes when she is thence.
+  PANDARUS. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her
+    look, or any woman else.
+  TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart,
+    As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
+    Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
+    I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,
+    Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.
+    But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness  
+    Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
+  PANDARUS. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's- well,
+    go to- there were no more comparison between the women. But, for
+    my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it,
+    praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as
+    I did. I  will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but-
+  TROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus-
+    When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd,
+    Reply not in how many fathoms deep
+    They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
+    In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st 'She is fair'-
+    Pourest in the open ulcer of my heart-
+    Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,
+    Handlest in thy discourse. O, that her hand,
+    In whose comparison all whites are ink
+    Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure
+    The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
+    Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me,
+    As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
+    But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,  
+    Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
+    The knife that made it.
+  PANDARUS. I speak no more than truth.
+  TROILUS. Thou dost not speak so much.
+  PANDARUS. Faith, I'll not meddle in it. Let her be as she is: if
+    she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the
+    mends in her own hands.
+  TROILUS. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!
+  PANDARUS. I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of
+    her and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, but
+    small thanks for my labour.
+  TROILUS. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me?
+  PANDARUS. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as
+    Helen. An she were not kin to me, she would be as fair a Friday
+    as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a
+    blackamoor; 'tis all one to me.
+  TROILUS. Say I she is not fair?
+  PANDARUS. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay
+    behind her father. Let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her
+    the next time I see her. For my part, I'll meddle nor make no  
+    more i' th' matter.
+  TROILUS. Pandarus!
+  PANDARUS. Not I.
+  TROILUS. Sweet Pandarus!
+  PANDARUS. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all
+    as I found it, and there an end.               Exit. Sound alarum
+  TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!
+    Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
+    When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
+    I cannot fight upon this argument;
+    It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
+    But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!
+    I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
+    And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo
+    As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
+    Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
+    What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
+    Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;
+    Between our Ilium and where she resides
+    Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood;  
+    Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
+    Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
+
+                Alarum. Enter AENEAS
+
+  AENEAS. How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?
+  TROILUS. Because not there. This woman's answer sorts,
+    For womanish it is to be from thence.
+    What news, Aeneas, from the field to-day?
+  AENEAS. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
+  TROILUS. By whom, Aeneas?
+  AENEAS. Troilus, by Menelaus.
+  TROILUS. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;
+    Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.                      [Alarum]
+  AENEAS. Hark what good sport is out of town to-day!
+  TROILUS. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'
+    But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?
+  AENEAS. In all swift haste.
+  TROILUS. Come, go we then together.                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 2.
+Troy. A street
+
+Enter CRESSIDA and her man ALEXANDER
+
+  CRESSIDA. Who were those went by?
+  ALEXANDER. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
+  CRESSIDA. And whither go they?
+  ALEXANDER. Up to the eastern tower,
+    Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
+    To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
+    Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd.
+    He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
+    And, like as there were husbandry in war,
+    Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
+    And to the field goes he; where every flower
+    Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw
+    In Hector's wrath.
+  CRESSIDA. What was his cause of anger?
+  ALEXANDER. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks
+    A lord of Troyan blood, nephew to Hector;
+    They call him Ajax.  
+  CRESSIDA. Good; and what of him?
+  ALEXANDER. They say he is a very man per se,
+    And stands alone.
+  CRESSIDA. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no
+    legs.
+  ALEXANDER. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their
+    particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the
+    bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded
+    humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced
+    with discretion. There is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a
+    glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of
+    it; he is melancholy without cause and merry against the hair; he
+    hath the joints of every thing; but everything so out of joint
+    that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblind
+    Argus, all eyes and no sight.
+  CRESSIDA. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector
+      angry?
+  ALEXANDER. They say he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and
+    struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since
+    kept Hector fasting and waking.  
+
+                          Enter PANDARUS
+
+  CRESSIDA. Who comes here?
+  ALEXANDER. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
+  CRESSIDA. Hector's a gallant man.
+  ALEXANDER. As may be in the world, lady.
+  PANDARUS. What's that? What's that?
+  CRESSIDA. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
+  PANDARUS. Good morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?- Good
+    morrow, Alexander.-How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?
+  CRESSIDA. This morning, uncle.
+  PANDARUS. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm'd
+    and gone ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?
+  CRESSIDA. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
+  PANDARUS. E'en so. Hector was stirring early.
+  CRESSIDA. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
+  PANDARUS. Was he angry?
+  CRESSIDA. So he says here.
+  PANDARUS. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about  
+    him today, I can tell them that. And there's Troilus will not
+    come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell
+    them that too.
+  CRESSIDA. What, is he angry too?
+  PANDARUS. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.
+  CRESSIDA. O Jupiter! there's no comparison.
+  PANDARUS. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man
+    if you see him?
+  CRESSIDA. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him.
+  PANDARUS. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.
+  CRESSIDA. Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.
+  PANDARUS. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.
+  CRESSIDA. 'Tis just to each of them: he is himself.
+  PANDARUS. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were!
+  CRESSIDA. So he is.
+  PANDARUS. Condition I had gone barefoot to India.
+  CRESSIDA. He is not Hector.
+  PANDARUS. Himself! no, he's not himself. Would 'a were himself!
+    Well, the gods are above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus,
+    well! I would my heart were in her body! No, Hector is not a  
+    better man than Troilus.
+  CRESSIDA. Excuse me.
+  PANDARUS. He is elder.
+  CRESSIDA. Pardon me, pardon me.
+  PANDARUS. Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale
+    when th' other's come to't. Hector shall not have his wit this
+    year.
+  CRESSIDA. He shall not need it if he have his own.
+  PANDARUS. Nor his qualities.
+  CRESSIDA. No matter.
+  PANDARUS. Nor his beauty.
+  CRESSIDA. 'Twould not become him: his own's better.
+  PANDARUS. YOU have no judgment, niece. Helen herself swore th'
+    other day that Troilus, for a brown favour, for so 'tis, I must
+    confess- not brown neither-
+  CRESSIDA. No, but brown.
+  PANDARUS. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
+  CRESSIDA. To say the truth, true and not true.
+  PANDARUS. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
+  CRESSIDA. Why, Paris hath colour enough.  
+  PANDARUS. So he has.
+  CRESSIDA. Then Troilus should have too much. If she prais'd him
+    above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour
+    enough, and the other higher, is too flaming praise for a good
+    complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended
+    Troilus for a copper nose.
+  PANDARUS. I swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris.
+  CRESSIDA. Then she's a merry Greek indeed.
+  PANDARUS. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other day
+    into the compass'd window-and you know he has not past three or
+    four hairs on his chin-
+  CRESSIDA. Indeed a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his
+    particulars therein to a total.
+  PANDARUS. Why, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound
+    lift as much as his brother Hector.
+  CRESSIDA. Is he so young a man and so old a lifter?
+  PANDARUS. But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and
+    puts me her white hand to his cloven chin-
+  CRESSIDA. Juno have mercy! How came it cloven?
+  PANDARUS. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes  
+    him better than any man in all Phrygia.
+  CRESSIDA. O, he smiles valiantly!
+  PANDARUS. Does he not?
+  CRESSIDA. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn!
+  PANDARUS. Why, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves
+    Troilus-
+  CRESSIDA. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so.
+  PANDARUS. Troilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an
+    addle egg.
+  CRESSIDA. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle
+    head, you would eat chickens i' th' shell.
+  PANDARUS. I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his
+    chin. Indeed, she has a marvell's white hand, I must needs
+    confess.
+  CRESSIDA. Without the rack.
+  PANDARUS. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.
+  CRESSIDA. Alas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer.
+  PANDARUS. But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh'd that
+    her eyes ran o'er.
+  CRESSIDA. With millstones.  
+  PANDARUS. And Cassandra laugh'd.
+  CRESSIDA. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her
+    eyes. Did her eyes run o'er too?
+  PANDARUS. And Hector laugh'd.
+  CRESSIDA. At what was all this laughing?
+  PANDARUS. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus'
+    chin.
+  CRESSIDA. An't had been a green hair I should have laugh'd too.
+  PANDARUS. They laugh'd not so much at the hair as at his pretty
+    answer.
+  CRESSIDA. What was his answer?
+  PANDARUS. Quoth she 'Here's but two and fifty hairs on your chin,
+    and one of them is white.'
+  CRESSIDA. This is her question.
+  PANDARUS. That's true; make no question of that. 'Two and fifty
+    hairs,' quoth he 'and one white. That white hair is my father,
+    and all the rest are his sons.' 'Jupiter!' quoth she 'which of
+    these hairs is Paris my husband?' 'The forked one,' quoth he,
+    'pluck't out and give it him.' But there was such laughing! and
+    Helen so blush'd, and Paris so chaf'd; and all the rest so  
+    laugh'd that it pass'd.
+  CRESSIDA. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by.
+  PANDARUS. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.
+  CRESSIDA. So I do.
+  PANDARUS. I'll be sworn 'tis true; he will weep you, and 'twere a
+    man born in April.
+  CRESSIDA. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle
+    against May.                                    [Sound a retreat]
+  PANDARUS. Hark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up
+    here and see them as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do,
+    sweet niece Cressida.
+  CRESSIDA. At your pleasure.
+  PANDARUS. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may see
+    most bravely. I'll tell you them all by their names as they pass
+    by; but mark Troilus above the rest.
+
+                       AENEAS passes
+
+  CRESSIDA. Speak not so loud.
+  PANDARUS. That's Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He's one of the  
+    flowers of Troy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see
+    anon.
+
+                       ANTENOR passes
+
+  CRESSIDA. Who's that?
+  PANDARUS. That's Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and
+    he's a man good enough; he's one o' th' soundest judgments in
+    Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of person. When comes Troilus?
+    I'll show you Troilus anon. If he see me, you shall see him nod
+    at me.
+  CRESSIDA. Will he give you the nod?
+  PANDARUS. You shall see.
+  CRESSIDA. If he do, the rich shall have more.
+
+                     HECTOR passes
+
+  PANDARUS. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; there's a
+    fellow! Go thy way, Hector! There's a brave man, niece. O brave
+    Hector! Look how he looks. There's a countenance! Is't not a  
+    brave man?
+  CRESSIDA. O, a brave man!
+  PANDARUS. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good. Look you what
+    hacks are on his helmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you
+    there. There's no jesting; there's laying on; take't off who
+    will, as they say. There be hacks.
+  CRESSIDA. Be those with swords?
+  PANDARUS. Swords! anything, he cares not; an the devil come to him,
+    it's all one. By God's lid, it does one's heart good. Yonder
+    comes Paris, yonder comes Paris.
+
+                       PARIS passes
+
+    Look ye yonder, niece; is't not a gallant man too, is't not? Why,
+    this is brave now. Who said he came hurt home to-day? He's not
+    hurt. Why, this will do Helen's heart good now, ha! Would I could
+    see Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon.
+
+                      HELENUS passes
+  
+  CRESSIDA. Who's that?
+  PANDARUS. That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That's
+    Helenus. I think he went not forth to-day. That's Helenus.
+  CRESSIDA. Can Helenus fight, uncle?
+  PANDARUS. Helenus! no. Yes, he'll fight indifferent well. I marvel
+    where Troilus is. Hark! do you not hear the people cry 'Troilus'?
+    Helenus is a priest.
+  CRESSIDA. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?
+
+                    TROILUS passes
+
+  PANDARUS. Where? yonder? That's Deiphobus. 'Tis Troilus. There's a
+    man, niece. Hem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!
+  CRESSIDA. Peace, for shame, peace!
+  PANDARUS. Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him,
+    niece; look you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more
+    hack'd than Hector's; and how he looks, and how he goes! O
+    admirable youth! he never saw three and twenty. Go thy way,
+    Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were a grace or a daughter a
+    goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris? Paris  
+    is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an
+    eye to boot.
+  CRESSIDA. Here comes more.
+
+                 Common soldiers pass
+
+  PANDARUS. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran!
+    porridge after meat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus.
+    Ne'er look, ne'er look; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws,
+    crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus than
+    Agamemnon and all Greece.
+  CRESSIDA. There is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than
+    Troilus.
+  PANDARUS. Achilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel!
+  CRESSIDA. Well, well.
+  PANDARUS. Well, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any
+    eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good
+    shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth,
+    liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man?
+  CRESSIDA. Ay, a minc'd man; and then to be bak'd with no date in  
+    the pie, for then the man's date is out.
+  PANDARUS. You are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you
+    lie.
+  CRESSIDA. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend
+    my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to
+    defend my beauty; and you, to defend all these; and at all these
+    wards I lie at, at a thousand watches.
+  PANDARUS. Say one of your watches.
+  CRESSIDA. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the
+    chiefest of them too. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit,
+    I can watch you for telling how I took the blow; unless it swell
+    past hiding, and then it's past watching
+  PANDARUS. You are such another!
+
+                   Enter TROILUS' BOY
+
+  BOY. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.
+  PANDARUS. Where?
+  BOY. At your own house; there he unarms him.
+  PANDARUS. Good boy, tell him I come.                       Exit Boy  
+    I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.
+  CRESSIDA. Adieu, uncle.
+  PANDARUS. I will be with you, niece, by and by.
+  CRESSIDA. To bring, uncle.
+  PANDARUS. Ay, a token from Troilus.
+  CRESSIDA. By the same token, you are a bawd.
+                                                        Exit PANDARUS
+    Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice,
+    He offers in another's enterprise;
+    But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see
+    Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be,
+    Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
+    Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.
+    That she belov'd knows nought that knows not this:
+    Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is.
+    That she was never yet that ever knew
+    Love got so sweet as when desire did sue;
+    Therefore this maxim out of love I teach:
+    Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech.
+    Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,  
+    Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.                 Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE 3.
+The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON'S tent
+
+Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, MENELAUS, and others
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Princes,
+    What grief hath set these jaundies o'er your cheeks?
+    The ample proposition that hope makes
+    In all designs begun on earth below
+    Fails in the promis'd largeness; checks and disasters
+    Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd,
+    As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
+    Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain
+    Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
+    Nor, princes, is it matter new to us
+    That we come short of our suppose so far
+    That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand;
+    Sith every action that hath gone before,
+    Whereof we have record, trial did draw
+    Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
+    And that unbodied figure of the thought  
+    That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
+    Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works
+    And call them shames, which are, indeed, nought else
+    But the protractive trials of great Jove
+    To find persistive constancy in men;
+    The fineness of which metal is not found
+    In fortune's love? For then the bold and coward,
+    The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
+    The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin.
+    But in the wind and tempest of her frown
+    Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
+    Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
+    And what hath mass or matter by itself
+    Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.
+  NESTOR. With due observance of thy godlike seat,
+    Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
+    Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
+    Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,
+    How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
+    Upon her patient breast, making their way  
+    With those of nobler bulk!
+    But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
+    The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
+    The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut,
+    Bounding between the two moist elements
+    Like Perseus' horse. Where's then the saucy boat,
+    Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
+    Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled
+    Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
+    Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide
+    In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
+    The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze
+    Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
+    Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
+    And flies fled under shade-why, then the thing of courage
+    As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathise,
+    And with an accent tun'd in self-same key
+    Retorts to chiding fortune.
+  ULYSSES. Agamemnon,
+    Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,  
+    Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit
+    In whom the tempers and the minds of all
+    Should be shut up-hear what Ulysses speaks.
+    Besides the applause and approbation
+    The which, [To AGAMEMNON] most mighty, for thy place and sway,
+    [To NESTOR] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch'd-out life,
+    I give to both your speeches- which were such
+    As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
+    Should hold up high in brass; and such again
+    As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver,
+    Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree
+    On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears
+    To his experienc'd tongue-yet let it please both,
+    Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.
+  AGAMEMNON. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect
+    That matter needless, of importless burden,
+    Divide thy lips than we are confident,
+    When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,
+    We shall hear music, wit, and oracle.
+  ULYSSES. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,  
+    And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
+    But for these instances:
+    The specialty of rule hath been neglected;
+    And look how many Grecian tents do stand
+    Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.
+    When that the general is not like the hive,
+    To whom the foragers shall all repair,
+    What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,
+    Th' unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
+    The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,
+    Observe degree, priority, and place,
+    Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
+    Office, and custom, in all line of order;
+    And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
+    In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd
+    Amidst the other, whose med'cinable eye
+    Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
+    And posts, like the commandment of a king,
+    Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets
+    In evil mixture to disorder wander,  
+    What plagues and what portents, what mutiny,
+    What raging of the sea, shaking of earth,
+    Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors,
+    Divert and crack, rend and deracinate,
+    The unity and married calm of states
+    Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak'd,
+    Which is the ladder of all high designs,
+    The enterprise is sick! How could communities,
+    Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,
+    Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
+    The primogenity and due of birth,
+    Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
+    But by degree, stand in authentic place?
+    Take but degree away, untune that string,
+    And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts
+    In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters
+    Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
+    And make a sop of all this solid globe;
+    Strength should be lord of imbecility,
+    And the rude son should strike his father dead;  
+    Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong-
+    Between whose endless jar justice resides-
+    Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
+    Then everything includes itself in power,
+    Power into will, will into appetite;
+    And appetite, an universal wolf,
+    So doubly seconded with will and power,
+    Must make perforce an universal prey,
+    And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
+    This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
+    Follows the choking.
+    And this neglection of degree it is
+    That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
+    It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd
+    By him one step below, he by the next,
+    That next by him beneath; so ever step,
+    Exampl'd by the first pace that is sick
+    Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
+    Of pale and bloodless emulation.
+    And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,  
+    Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
+    Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
+  NESTOR. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
+    The fever whereof all our power is sick.
+  AGAMEMNON. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
+    What is the remedy?
+  ULYSSES. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
+    The sinew and the forehand of our host,
+    Having his ear full of his airy fame,
+    Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
+    Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus
+    Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
+    Breaks scurril jests;
+    And with ridiculous and awkward action-
+    Which, slanderer, he imitation calls-
+    He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
+    Thy topless deputation he puts on;
+    And like a strutting player whose conceit
+    Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
+    To hear the wooden dialogue and sound  
+    'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage-
+    Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming
+    He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks
+    'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar'd,
+    Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd,
+    Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
+    The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
+    From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
+    Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just.
+    Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
+    As he being drest to some oration.'
+    That's done-as near as the extremest ends
+    Of parallels, as like Vulcan and his wife;
+    Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent!
+    'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,
+    Arming to answer in a night alarm.'
+    And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
+    Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit
+    And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
+    Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport  
+    Sir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus;
+    Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
+    In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion
+    All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
+    Severals and generals of grace exact,
+    Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
+    Excitements to the field or speech for truce,
+    Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
+    As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
+  NESTOR. And in the imitation of these twain-
+    Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
+    With an imperial voice-many are infect.
+    Ajax is grown self-will'd and bears his head
+    In such a rein, in full as proud a place
+    As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
+    Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war
+    Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
+    A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,
+    To match us in comparisons with dirt,
+    To weaken and discredit our exposure,  
+    How rank soever rounded in with danger.
+  ULYSSES. They tax our policy and call it cowardice,
+    Count wisdom as no member of the war,
+    Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
+    But that of hand. The still and mental parts
+    That do contrive how many hands shall strike
+    When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure
+    Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight-
+    Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:
+    They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet-war;
+    So that the ram that batters down the wall,
+    For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,
+    They place before his hand that made the engine,
+    Or those that with the fineness of their souls
+    By reason guide his execution.
+  NESTOR. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
+    Makes many Thetis' sons.                                 [Tucket]
+  AGAMEMNON. What trumpet? Look, Menelaus.
+  MENELAUS. From Troy.
+  
+                      Enter AENEAS
+
+  AGAMEMNON. What would you fore our tent?
+  AENEAS. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?
+  AGAMEMNON. Even this.
+  AENEAS. May one that is a herald and a prince
+    Do a fair message to his kingly eyes?
+  AGAMEMNON. With surety stronger than Achilles' an
+    Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
+    Call Agamemnon head and general.
+  AENEAS. Fair leave and large security. How may
+    A stranger to those most imperial looks
+    Know them from eyes of other mortals?
+  AGAMEMNON. How?
+  AENEAS. Ay;
+    I ask, that I might waken reverence,
+    And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
+    Modest as Morning when she coldly eyes
+    The youthful Phoebus.
+    Which is that god in office, guiding men?  
+    Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
+  AGAMEMNON. This Troyan scorns us, or the men of Troy
+    Are ceremonious courtiers.
+  AENEAS. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
+    As bending angels; that's their fame in peace.
+    But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
+    Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's accord,
+    Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas,
+    Peace, Troyan; lay thy finger on thy lips.
+    The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
+    If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth;
+    But what the repining enemy commends,
+    That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.
+  AGAMEMNON. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?
+  AENEAS. Ay, Greek, that is my name.
+  AGAMEMNON. What's your affair, I pray you?
+  AENEAS. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.
+  AGAMEMNON. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy.
+  AENEAS. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper with him;
+    I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,  
+    To set his sense on the attentive bent,
+    And then to speak.
+  AGAMEMNON. Speak frankly as the wind;
+    It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour.
+    That thou shalt know, Troyan, he is awake,
+    He tells thee so himself.
+  AENEAS. Trumpet, blow loud,
+    Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;
+    And every Greek of mettle, let him know
+    What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.
+                                                      [Sound trumpet]
+    We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
+    A prince called Hector-Priam is his father-
+    Who in this dull and long-continued truce
+    Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet
+    And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!
+    If there be one among the fair'st of Greece
+    That holds his honour higher than his ease,
+    That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
+    That knows his valour and knows not his fear,  
+    That loves his mistress more than in confession
+    With truant vows to her own lips he loves,
+    And dare avow her beauty and her worth
+    In other arms than hers-to him this challenge.
+    Hector, in view of Troyans and of Greeks,
+    Shall make it good or do his best to do it:
+    He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,
+    Than ever Greek did couple in his arms;
+    And will to-morrow with his trumpet call
+    Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy
+    To rouse a Grecian that is true in love.
+    If any come, Hector shall honour him;
+    If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires,
+    The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth
+    The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
+  AGAMEMNON. This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.
+    If none of them have soul in such a kind,
+    We left them all at home. But we are soldiers;
+    And may that soldier a mere recreant prove
+    That means not, hath not, or is not in love.  
+    If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
+    That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.
+  NESTOR. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
+    When Hector's grandsire suck'd. He is old now;
+    But if there be not in our Grecian mould
+    One noble man that hath one spark of fire
+    To answer for his love, tell him from me
+    I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,
+    And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn,
+    And, meeting him, will tell him that my lady
+    Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste
+    As may be in the world. His youth in flood,
+    I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.
+  AENEAS. Now heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!
+  ULYSSES. Amen.
+  AGAMEMNON. Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;
+    To our pavilion shall I lead you, first.
+    Achilles shall have word of this intent;
+    So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.
+    Yourself shall feast with us before you go,  
+    And find the welcome of a noble foe.
+                                    Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR
+  ULYSSES. Nestor!
+  NESTOR. What says Ulysses?
+  ULYSSES. I have a young conception in my brain;
+    Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
+  NESTOR. What is't?
+  ULYSSES. This 'tis:
+    Blunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride
+    That hath to this maturity blown up
+    In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd
+    Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil
+    To overbulk us all.
+  NESTOR. Well, and how?
+  ULYSSES. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
+    However it is spread in general name,
+    Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
+  NESTOR. True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance
+    Whose grossness little characters sum up;
+    And, in the publication, make no strain  
+    But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
+    As banks of Libya-though, Apollo knows,
+    'Tis dry enough-will with great speed of judgment,
+    Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
+    Pointing on him.
+  ULYSSES. And wake him to the answer, think you?
+  NESTOR. Why, 'tis most meet. Who may you else oppose
+    That can from Hector bring those honours off,
+    If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat,
+    Yet in this trial much opinion dwells;
+    For here the Troyans taste our dear'st repute
+    With their fin'st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses,
+    Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd
+    In this vile action; for the success,
+    Although particular, shall give a scantling
+    Of good or bad unto the general;
+    And in such indexes, although small pricks
+    To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
+    The baby figure of the giant mas
+    Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd  
+    He that meets Hector issues from our choice;
+    And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
+    Makes merit her election, and doth boil,
+    As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd
+    Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
+    What heart receives from hence a conquering part,
+    To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
+    Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
+    In no less working than are swords and bows
+    Directive by the limbs.
+  ULYSSES. Give pardon to my speech.
+    Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.
+    Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares
+    And think perchance they'll sell; if not, the lustre
+    Of the better yet to show shall show the better,
+    By showing the worst first. Do not consent
+    That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
+    For both our honour and our shame in this
+    Are dogg'd with two strange followers.
+  NESTOR. I see them not with my old eyes. What are they?  
+  ULYSSES. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
+    Were he not proud, we all should wear with him;
+    But he already is too insolent;
+    And it were better parch in Afric sun
+    Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
+    Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
+    Why, then we do our main opinion crush
+    In taint of our best man. No, make a lott'ry;
+    And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
+    The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves
+    Give him allowance for the better man;
+    For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
+    Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
+    His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
+    If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
+    We'll dress him up in voices; if he fail,
+    Yet go we under our opinion still
+    That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
+    Our project's life this shape of sense assumes-
+    Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes.  
+  NESTOR. Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice;
+    And I will give a taste thereof forthwith
+    To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.
+    Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
+    Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 1.
+The Grecian camp
+
+Enter Ajax and THERSITES
+
+  AJAX. Thersites!
+  THERSITES. Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally?
+  AJAX. Thersites!
+  THERSITES. And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run
+    then? Were not that a botchy core?
+  AJAX. Dog!
+  THERSITES. Then there would come some matter from him;
+    I see none now.
+  AJAX. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.
+                                                        [Strikes him]
+  THERSITES. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted
+    lord!
+  AJAX. Speak, then, thou whinid'st leaven, speak. I will beat thee
+    into handsomeness.
+  THERSITES. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I
+    think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a
+    prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain  
+    o' thy jade's tricks!
+  AJAX. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
+  THERSITES. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?
+  AJAX. The proclamation!
+  THERSITES. Thou art proclaim'd, a fool, I think.
+  AJAX. Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.
+  THERSITES. I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the
+    scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in
+    Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as
+    slow as another.
+  AJAX. I say, the proclamation.
+  THERSITES. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and
+    thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at
+    Proserpina's beauty-ay, that thou bark'st at him.
+  AJAX. Mistress Thersites!
+  THERSITES. Thou shouldst strike him.
+  AJAX. Cobloaf!
+  THERSITES. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a
+    sailor breaks a biscuit.
+  AJAX. You whoreson cur!                               [Strikes him]  
+  THERSITES. Do, do.
+  AJAX. Thou stool for a witch!
+  THERSITES. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more
+    brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You
+    scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troyans, and thou
+    art bought and sold among those of any wit like a barbarian
+    slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel and tell
+    what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou!
+  AJAX. You dog!
+  THERSITES. You scurvy lord!
+  AJAX. You cur!                                        [Strikes him]
+  THERSITES. Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.
+
+                 Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS
+
+  ACHILLES. Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do you thus?
+    How now, Thersites! What's the matter, man?
+  THERSITES. You see him there, do you?
+  ACHILLES. Ay; what's the matter?
+  THERSITES. Nay, look upon him.  
+  ACHILLES. So I do. What's the matter?
+  THERSITES. Nay, but regard him well.
+  ACHILLES. Well! why, so I do.
+  THERSITES. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever
+    you take him to be, he is Ajax.
+  ACHILLES. I know that, fool.
+  THERSITES. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
+  AJAX. Therefore I beat thee.
+  THERSITES. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His
+    evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain more than
+    he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and
+    his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This
+    lord, Achilles, Ajax-who wears his wit in his belly and his guts
+    in his head-I'll tell you what I say of him.
+  ACHILLES. What?
+  THERSITES. I say this Ajax-             [AJAX offers to strike him]
+  ACHILLES. Nay, good Ajax.
+  THERSITES. Has not so much wit-
+  ACHILLES. Nay, I must hold you.
+  THERSITES. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he  
+    comes to fight.
+  ACHILLES. Peace, fool.
+  THERSITES. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not-
+    he there; that he; look you there.
+  AJAX. O thou damned cur! I shall-
+  ACHILLES. Will you set your wit to a fool's?
+  THERSITES. No, I warrant you, the fool's will shame it.
+  PATROCLUS. Good words, Thersites.
+  ACHILLES. What's the quarrel?
+  AJAX. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the
+    proclamation, and he rails upon me.
+  THERSITES. I serve thee not.
+  AJAX. Well, go to, go to.
+  THERSITES. I serve here voluntary.
+  ACHILLES. Your last service was suff'rance; 'twas not voluntary. No
+    man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as
+    under an impress.
+  THERSITES. E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your
+    sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch
+    an he knock out either of your brains: 'a were as good crack a  
+    fusty nut with no kernel.
+  ACHILLES. What, with me too, Thersites?
+  THERSITES. There's Ulysses and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere
+    your grandsires had nails on their toes-yoke you like draught
+    oxen, and make you plough up the wars.
+  ACHILLES. What, what?
+  THERSITES. Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to-
+  AJAX. I shall cut out your tongue.
+  THERSITES. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou
+    afterwards.
+  PATROCLUS. No more words, Thersites; peace!
+  THERSITES. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall
+    I?
+  ACHILLES. There's for you, Patroclus.
+  THERSITES. I will see you hang'd like clotpoles ere I come any more
+    to your tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave
+    the faction of fools.                                        Exit
+  PATROCLUS. A good riddance.
+  ACHILLES. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host,
+    That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,  
+    Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy,
+    To-morrow morning, call some knight to arms
+    That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare
+    Maintain I know not what; 'tis trash. Farewell.
+  AJAX. Farewell. Who shall answer him?
+  ACHILLES. I know not; 'tis put to lott'ry. Otherwise. He knew his
+    man.
+  AJAX. O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 2.
+Troy. PRIAM'S palace
+
+Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS
+
+  PRIAM. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent,
+    Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
+    'Deliver Helen, and all damage else-
+    As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
+    Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd
+    In hot digestion of this cormorant war-
+    Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't?
+  HECTOR. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
+    As far as toucheth my particular,
+    Yet, dread Priam,
+    There is no lady of more softer bowels,
+    More spongy to suck in the sense of fear,
+    More ready to cry out 'Who knows what follows?'
+    Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,
+    Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
+    The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
+    To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.  
+    Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
+    Every tithe soul 'mongst many thousand dismes
+    Hath been as dear as Helen-I mean, of ours.
+    If we have lost so many tenths of ours
+    To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us,
+    Had it our name, the value of one ten,
+    What merit's in that reason which denies
+    The yielding of her up?
+  TROILUS. Fie, fie, my brother!
+    Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
+    So great as our dread father's, in a scale
+    Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum
+    The past-proportion of his infinite,
+    And buckle in a waist most fathomless
+    With spans and inches so diminutive
+    As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!
+  HELENUS. No marvel though you bite so sharp at reasons,
+    You are so empty of them. Should not our father
+    Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
+    Because your speech hath none that tells him so?  
+  TROILUS. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;
+    You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:
+    You know an enemy intends you harm;
+    You know a sword employ'd is perilous,
+    And reason flies the object of all harm.
+    Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds
+    A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
+    The very wings of reason to his heels
+    And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
+    Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason,
+    Let's shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour
+    Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
+    With this cramm'd reason. Reason and respect
+    Make livers pale and lustihood deject.
+  HECTOR. Brother, she is not worth what she doth, cost
+    The keeping.
+  TROILUS. What's aught but as 'tis valued?
+  HECTOR. But value dwells not in particular will:
+    It holds his estimate and dignity
+    As well wherein 'tis precious of itself  
+    As in the prizer. 'Tis mad idolatry
+    To make the service greater than the god-I
+    And the will dotes that is attributive
+    To what infectiously itself affects,
+    Without some image of th' affected merit.
+  TROILUS. I take to-day a wife, and my election
+    Is led on in the conduct of my will;
+    My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
+    Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
+    Of will and judgment: how may I avoid,
+    Although my will distaste what it elected,
+    The wife I chose? There can be no evasion
+    To blench from this and to stand firm by honour.
+    We turn not back the silks upon the merchant
+    When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands
+    We do not throw in unrespective sieve,
+    Because we now are full. It was thought meet
+    Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks;
+    Your breath with full consent benied his sails;
+    The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,  
+    And did him service. He touch'd the ports desir'd;
+    And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive
+    He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
+    Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.
+    Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.
+    Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl
+    Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
+    And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
+    If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went-
+    As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go'-
+    If you'll confess he brought home worthy prize-
+    As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
+    And cried 'Inestimable!' -why do you now
+    The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
+    And do a deed that never fortune did-
+    Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
+    Richer than sea and land? O theft most base,
+    That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep!
+    But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol'n
+    That in their country did them that disgrace  
+    We fear to warrant in our native place!
+  CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans, cry.
+  PRIAM. What noise, what shriek is this?
+  TROILUS. 'Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.
+  CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans.
+  HECTOR. It is Cassandra.
+
+                  Enter CASSANDRA, raving
+
+  CASSANDRA. Cry, Troyans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,
+    And I will fill them with prophetic tears.
+  HECTOR. Peace, sister, peace.
+  CASSANDRA. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,
+    Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
+    Add to my clamours. Let us pay betimes
+    A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
+    Cry, Troyans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.
+    Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
+    Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
+    Cry, Troyans, cry, A Helen and a woe!  
+    Cry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go.                  Exit
+  HECTOR. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains
+    Of divination in our sister work
+    Some touches of remorse, or is your blood
+    So madly hot that no discourse of reason,
+    Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
+    Can qualify the same?
+  TROILUS. Why, brother Hector,
+    We may not think the justness of each act
+    Such and no other than event doth form it;
+    Nor once deject the courage of our minds
+    Because Cassandra's mad. Her brain-sick raptures
+    Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel
+    Which hath our several honours all engag'd
+    To make it gracious. For my private part,
+    I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons;
+    And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us
+    Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
+    To fight for and maintain.
+  PARIS. Else might the world convince of levity  
+    As well my undertakings as your counsels;
+    But I attest the gods, your full consent
+    Gave wings to my propension, and cut of
+    All fears attending on so dire a project.
+    For what, alas, can these my single arms?
+    What propugnation is in one man's valour
+    To stand the push and enmity of those
+    This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest,
+    Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
+    And had as ample power as I have will,
+    Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done
+    Nor faint in the pursuit.
+  PRIAM. Paris, you speak
+    Like one besotted on your sweet delights.
+    You have the honey still, but these the gall;
+    So to be valiant is no praise at all.
+  PARIS. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
+    The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
+    But I would have the soil of her fair rape
+    Wip'd off in honourable keeping her.  
+    What treason were it to the ransack'd queen,
+    Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
+    Now to deliver her possession up
+    On terms of base compulsion! Can it be
+    That so degenerate a strain as this
+    Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
+    There's not the meanest spirit on our party
+    Without a heart to dare or sword to draw
+    When Helen is defended; nor none so noble
+    Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfam'd
+    Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say,
+    Well may we fight for her whom we know well
+    The world's large spaces cannot parallel.
+  HECTOR. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well;
+    And on the cause and question now in hand
+    Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much
+    Unlike young men, whom Aristode thought
+    Unfit to hear moral philosophy.
+    The reasons you allege do more conduce
+    To the hot passion of distemp'red blood  
+    Than to make up a free determination
+    'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge
+    Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
+    Of any true decision. Nature craves
+    All dues be rend'red to their owners. Now,
+    What nearer debt in all humanity
+    Than wife is to the husband? If this law
+    Of nature be corrupted through affection;
+    And that great minds, of partial indulgence
+    To their benumbed wills, resist the same;
+    There is a law in each well-order'd nation
+    To curb those raging appetites that are
+    Most disobedient and refractory.
+    If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's king-
+    As it is known she is-these moral laws
+    Of nature and of nations speak aloud
+    To have her back return'd. Thus to persist
+    In doing wrong extenuates not wrong,
+    But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
+    Is this, in way of truth. Yet, ne'er the less,  
+    My spritely brethren, I propend to you
+    In resolution to keep Helen still;
+    For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence
+    Upon our joint and several dignities.
+  TROILUS. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design.
+    Were it not glory that we more affected
+    Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
+    I would not wish a drop of Troyan blood
+    Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
+    She is a theme of honour and renown,
+    A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
+    Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
+    And fame in time to come canonize us;
+    For I presume brave Hector would not lose
+    So rich advantage of a promis'd glory
+    As smiles upon the forehead of this action
+    For the wide world's revenue.
+  HECTOR. I am yours,
+    You valiant offspring of great Priamus.
+    I have a roisting challenge sent amongst  
+    The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks
+    Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.
+    I was advertis'd their great general slept,
+    Whilst emulation in the army crept.
+    This, I presume, will wake him.                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE 3.
+The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES
+
+Enter THERSITES, solus
+
+  THERSITES. How now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy
+    fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I
+    rail at him. O worthy satisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that
+    I could beat him, whilst he rail'd at me! 'Sfoot, I'll learn to
+    conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful
+    execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer! If Troy be
+    not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till
+    they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,
+    forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods, and, Mercury, lose
+    all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that
+    little little less-than-little wit from them that they have!
+    which short-arm'd ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce,
+    it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without
+    drawing their massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the
+    vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the Neapolitan
+    bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse depending on those
+    that war for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil Envy  
+    say 'Amen.' What ho! my Lord Achilles!
+
+                      Enter PATROCLUS
+
+  PATROCLUS. Who's there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and
+    rail.
+  THERSITES. If I could 'a rememb'red a gilt counterfeit, thou
+    wouldst not have slipp'd out of my contemplation; but it is no
+    matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly
+    and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from
+    a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy
+    direction till thy death. Then if she that lays thee out says
+    thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't she never
+    shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles?
+  PATROCLUS. What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?
+  THERSITES. Ay, the heavens hear me!
+  PATROCLUS. Amen.
+
+                      Enter ACHILLES
+  
+  ACHILLES. Who's there?
+  PATROCLUS. Thersites, my lord.
+  ACHILLES. Where, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my
+    digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so
+    many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?
+  THERSITES. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what's
+    Achilles?
+  PATROCLUS. Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what's
+    Thersites?
+  THERSITES. Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art
+    thou?
+  PATROCLUS. Thou must tell that knowest.
+  ACHILLES. O, tell, tell,
+  THERSITES. I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands
+    Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and
+    Patroclus is a fool.
+  PATROCLUS. You rascal!
+  THERSITES. Peace, fool! I have not done.
+  ACHILLES. He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Thersites.
+  THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a  
+    fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.
+  ACHILLES. Derive this; come.
+  THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles;
+    Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a
+    fool to serve such a fool; and this Patroclus is a fool positive.
+  PATROCLUS. Why am I a fool?
+  THERSITES. Make that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou
+    art. Look you, who comes here?
+  ACHILLES. Come, Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. Come in with me,
+    Thersites.                                                   Exit
+  THERSITES. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery.
+    All the argument is a whore and a cuckold-a good quarrel to draw
+    emulous factions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on
+    the subject, and war and lechery confound all!               Exit
+
+         Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES,
+                   AJAX, and CALCHAS
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Where is Achilles?
+  PATROCLUS. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord.  
+  AGAMEMNON. Let it be known to him that we are here.
+    He shent our messengers; and we lay by
+    Our appertainings, visiting of him.
+    Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think
+    We dare not move the question of our place
+    Or know not what we are.
+  PATROCLUS. I shall say so to him.                              Exit
+  ULYSSES. We saw him at the opening of his tent.
+    He is not sick.
+  AJAX. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it
+    melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, 'tis
+    pride. But why, why? Let him show us a cause. A word, my lord.
+                                              [Takes AGAMEMNON aside]
+  NESTOR. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?
+  ULYSSES. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.
+  NESTOR.Who, Thersites?
+  ULYSSES. He.
+  NESTOR. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument
+  ULYSSES. No; you see he is his argument that has his argument-
+    Achilles.  
+  NESTOR. All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their
+    faction. But it was a strong composure a fool could disunite!
+  ULYSSES. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
+
+                    Re-enter PATROCLUS
+
+    Here comes Patroclus.
+  NESTOR. No Achilles with him.
+  ULYSSES. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs
+    are legs for necessity, not for flexure.
+  PATROCLUS. Achilles bids me say he is much sorry
+    If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
+    Did move your greatness and this noble state
+    To call upon him; he hopes it is no other
+    But for your health and your digestion sake,
+    An after-dinner's breath.
+  AGAMEMNON. Hear you, Patroclus.
+    We are too well acquainted with these answers;
+    But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
+    Cannot outfly our apprehensions.  
+    Much attribute he hath, and much the reason
+    Why we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues,
+    Not virtuously on his own part beheld,
+    Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss;
+    Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
+    Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him
+    We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin
+    If you do say we think him over-proud
+    And under-honest, in self-assumption greater
+    Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than himself
+    Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on,
+    Disguise the holy strength of their command,
+    And underwrite in an observing kind
+    His humorous predominance; yea, watch
+    His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if
+    The passage and whole carriage of this action
+    Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and ad
+    That if he overhold his price so much
+    We'll none of him, but let him, like an engine
+    Not portable, lie under this report:  
+    Bring action hither; this cannot go to war.
+    A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
+    Before a sleeping giant. Tell him so.
+  PATROCLUS. I shall, and bring his answer presently.            Exit
+  AGAMEMNON. In second voice we'll not be satisfied;
+    We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.
+                                                         Exit ULYSSES
+  AJAX. What is he more than another?
+  AGAMEMNON. No more than what he thinks he is.
+  AJAX. Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better
+    man than I am?
+  AGAMEMNON. No question.
+  AJAX. Will you subscribe his thought and say he is?
+  AGAMEMNON. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise,
+    no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.
+  AJAX. Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not
+    what pride is.
+  AGAMEMNON. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the
+    fairer. He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass,
+    his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself  
+    but in the deed devours the deed in the praise.
+
+                      Re-enter ULYSSES
+
+  AJAX. I do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend'ring of toads.
+  NESTOR. [Aside] And yet he loves himself: is't not strange?
+  ULYSSES. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
+  AGAMEMNON. What's his excuse?
+  ULYSSES. He doth rely on none;
+    But carries on the stream of his dispose,
+    Without observance or respect of any,
+    In will peculiar and in self-admission.
+  AGAMEMNON. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
+    Untent his person and share the air with us?
+  ULYSSES. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
+    He makes important; possess'd he is with greatness,
+    And speaks not to himself but with a pride
+    That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin'd worth
+    Holds in his blood such swol'n and hot discourse
+    That 'twixt his mental and his active parts  
+    Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
+    And batters down himself. What should I say?
+    He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it
+    Cry 'No recovery.'
+  AGAMEMNON. Let Ajax go to him.
+    Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.
+    'Tis said he holds you well; and will be led
+    At your request a little from himself.
+  ULYSSES. O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
+    We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
+    When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord
+    That bastes his arrogance with his own seam
+    And never suffers matter of the world
+    Enter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve
+    And ruminate himself-shall he be worshipp'd
+    Of that we hold an idol more than he?
+    No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord
+    Shall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd,
+    Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
+    As amply titled as Achilles is,  
+    By going to Achilles.
+    That were to enlard his fat-already pride,
+    And add more coals to Cancer when he burns
+    With entertaining great Hyperion.
+    This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,
+    And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.'
+  NESTOR. [Aside] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him.
+  DIOMEDES. [Aside] And how his silence drinks up this applause!
+  AJAX. If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll pash him o'er the
+    face.
+  AGAMEMNON. O, no, you shall not go.
+  AJAX. An 'a be proud with me I'll pheeze his pride.
+    Let me go to him.
+  ULYSSES. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
+  AJAX. A paltry, insolent fellow!
+  NESTOR. [Aside] How he describes himself!
+  AJAX. Can he not be sociable?
+  ULYSSES. [Aside] The raven chides blackness.
+  AJAX. I'll let his humours blood.
+  AGAMEMNON. [Aside] He will be the physician that should be the  
+    patient.
+  AJAX. An all men were a my mind-
+  ULYSSES. [Aside] Wit would be out of fashion.
+  AJAX. 'A should not bear it so, 'a should eat's words first.
+    Shall pride carry it?
+  NESTOR. [Aside] An 'twould, you'd carry half.
+  ULYSSES. [Aside] 'A would have ten shares.
+  AJAX. I will knead him, I'll make him supple.
+  NESTOR. [Aside] He's not yet through warm. Force him with praises;
+    pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
+  ULYSSES. [To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
+  NESTOR. Our noble general, do not do so.
+  DIOMEDES. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
+  ULYSSES. Why 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
+    Here is a man-but 'tis before his face;
+    I will be silent.
+  NESTOR. Wherefore should you so?
+    He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
+  ULYSSES. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
+  AJAX. A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus!  
+    Would he were a Troyan!
+  NESTOR. What a vice were it in Ajax now-
+  ULYSSES. If he were proud.
+  DIOMEDES. Or covetous of praise.
+  ULYSSES. Ay, or surly borne.
+  DIOMEDES. Or strange, or self-affected.
+  ULYSSES. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure
+    Praise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck;
+    Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
+    Thrice-fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition;
+    But he that disciplin'd thine arms to fight-
+    Let Mars divide eternity in twain
+    And give him half; and, for thy vigour,
+    Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
+    To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
+    Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
+    Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Nestor,
+    Instructed by the antiquary times-
+    He must, he is, he cannot but be wise;
+    But pardon, father Nestor, were your days  
+    As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd,
+    You should not have the eminence of him,
+    But be as Ajax.
+  AJAX. Shall I call you father?
+  NESTOR. Ay, my good son.
+  DIOMEDES. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax.
+  ULYSSES. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
+    Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
+    To call together all his state of war;
+    Fresh kings are come to Troy. To-morrow
+    We must with all our main of power stand fast;
+    And here's a lord-come knights from east to west
+    And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.
+  AGAMEMNON. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep.
+    Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
+    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 1.
+Troy. PRIAM'S palace
+
+Music sounds within. Enter PANDARUS and a SERVANT
+
+  PANDARUS. Friend, you-pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young
+    Lord Paris?
+  SERVANT. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
+  PANDARUS. You depend upon him, I mean?
+  SERVANT. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.
+  PANDARUS. You depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise
+    him.
+  SERVANT. The lord be praised!
+  PANDARUS. You know me, do you not?
+  SERVANT. Faith, sir, superficially.
+  PANDARUS. Friend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus.
+  SERVANT. I hope I shall know your honour better.
+  PANDARUS. I do desire it.
+  SERVANT. You are in the state of grace.
+  PANDARUS. Grace! Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles.
+    What music is this?
+  SERVANT. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.  
+  PANDARUS. Know you the musicians?
+  SERVANT. Wholly, sir.
+  PANDARUS. Who play they to?
+  SERVANT. To the hearers, sir.
+  PANDARUS. At whose pleasure, friend?
+  SERVANT. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
+  PANDARUS. Command, I mean, friend.
+  SERVANT. Who shall I command, sir?
+  PANDARUS. Friend, we understand not one another: I am to courtly,
+    and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?
+  SERVANT. That's to't, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of
+    Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus,
+    the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul-
+  PANDARUS. Who, my cousin, Cressida?
+  SERVANT. No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her
+    attributes?
+  PANDARUS. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady
+    Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I
+    will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business
+    seethes.  
+  SERVANT. Sodden business! There's a stew'd phrase indeed!
+
+              Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended
+
+  PANDARUS. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company!
+    Fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them- especially
+    to you, fair queen! Fair thoughts be your fair pillow.
+  HELEN. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
+  PANDARUS. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince,
+    here is good broken music.
+  PARIS. You have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it
+    whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your
+    performance.
+  HELEN. He is full of harmony.
+  PANDARUS. Truly, lady, no.
+  HELEN. O, sir-
+  PANDARUS. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
+  PARIS. Well said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.
+  PANDARUS. I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you
+    vouchsafe me a word?  
+  HELEN. Nay, this shall not hedge us out. We'll hear you sing,
+    certainly-
+  PANDARUS. Well sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry,
+    thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your
+    brother Troilus-
+  HELEN. My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord-
+  PANDARUS. Go to, sweet queen, go to-commends himself most
+    affectionately to you-
+  HELEN. You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our
+    melancholy upon your head!
+  PANDARUS. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i' faith.
+  HELEN. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
+  PANDARUS. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not,
+    in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no. -And, my
+    lord, he desires you that, if the King call for him at supper,
+    you will make his excuse.
+  HELEN. My Lord Pandarus!
+  PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
+  PARIS. What exploit's in hand? Where sups he to-night?
+  HELEN. Nay, but, my lord-  
+  PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with
+    you.
+  HELEN. You must not know where he sups.
+  PARIS. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
+  PANDARUS. No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer
+    is sick.
+  PARIS. Well, I'll make's excuse.
+  PANDARUS. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?
+    No, your poor disposer's sick.
+  PARIS. I spy.
+  PANDARUS. You spy! What do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument.
+    Now, sweet queen.
+  HELEN. Why, this is kindly done.
+  PANDARUS. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet
+    queen.
+  HELEN. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.
+  PANDARUS. He! No, she'll none of him; they two are twain.
+  HELEN. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.
+  PANDARUS. Come, come. I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a
+    song now.  
+  HELEN. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a
+    fine forehead.
+  PANDARUS. Ay, you may, you may.
+  HELEN. Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid,
+    Cupid, Cupid!
+  PANDARUS. Love! Ay, that it shall, i' faith.
+  PARIS. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
+  PANDARUS. In good troth, it begins so.                      [Sings]
+
+    Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!
+           For, oh, love's bow
+           Shoots buck and doe;
+           The shaft confounds
+           Not that it wounds,
+    But tickles still the sore.
+    These lovers cry, O ho, they die!
+       Yet that which seems the wound to kill
+    Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he!
+       So dying love lives still.
+    O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha!  
+    O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!-hey ho!
+
+  HELEN. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose.
+  PARIS. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood,
+    and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot
+    deeds, and hot deeds is love.
+  PANDARUS. Is this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts,
+    and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of
+    vipers? Sweet lord, who's a-field today?
+  PARIS. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry
+    of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to-day, but my Nell would not
+    have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not?
+  HELEN. He hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.
+  PANDARUS. Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend
+    to-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse?
+  PARIS. To a hair.
+  PANDARUS. Farewell, sweet queen.
+  HELEN. Commend me to your niece.
+  PANDARUS. I will, sweet queen.                Exit. Sound a retreat
+  PARIS. They're come from the field. Let us to Priam's hall  
+    To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
+    To help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles,
+    With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd,
+    Shall more obey than to the edge of steel
+    Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
+    Than all the island kings-disarm great Hector.
+  HELEN. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;
+    Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
+    Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
+    Yea, overshines ourself.
+  PARIS. Sweet, above thought I love thee.                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 2.
+Troy. PANDARUS' orchard
+
+Enter PANDARUS and TROILUS' BOY, meeting
+
+  PANDARUS. How now! Where's thy master? At my cousin Cressida's?
+  BOY. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.
+
+                      Enter TROILUS
+
+  PANDARUS. O, here he comes. How now, how now!
+  TROILUS. Sirrah, walk off.                                 Exit Boy
+  PANDARUS. Have you seen my cousin?
+  TROILUS. No, Pandarus. I stalk about her door
+    Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
+    Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
+    And give me swift transportance to these fields
+    Where I may wallow in the lily beds
+    Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandar,
+    From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings,
+    And fly with me to Cressid!
+  PANDARUS. Walk here i' th' orchard, I'll bring her straight.  
+      Exit
+  TROILUS. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round.
+    Th' imaginary relish is so sweet
+    That it enchants my sense; what will it be
+    When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed
+    Love's thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me;
+    Swooning destruction; or some joy too fine,
+    Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness,
+    For the capacity of my ruder powers.
+    I fear it much; and I do fear besides
+    That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
+    As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
+    The enemy flying.
+
+                     Re-enter PANDARUS
+
+  PANDARUS. She's making her ready, she'll come straight; you must be
+    witty now. She does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as
+    if she were fray'd with a sprite. I'll fetch her. It is the
+    prettiest villain; she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en  
+    sparrow.                                                     Exit
+  TROILUS. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom.
+    My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,
+    And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
+    Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring
+    The eye of majesty.
+
+              Re-enter PANDARUS With CRESSIDA
+
+  PANDARUS. Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby.-Here she
+    is now; swear the oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.-
+    What, are you gone again? You must be watch'd ere you be made
+    tame, must you? Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw
+    backward, we'll put you i' th' fills.-Why do you not speak to
+    her?-Come, draw this curtain and let's see your picture.
+    Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight! An 'twere
+    dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress
+    How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air is
+    sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The
+    falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i' th' river. Go to, go  
+    to.
+  TROILUS. You have bereft me of all words, lady.
+  PANDARUS. Words pay no debts, give her deeds; but she'll bereave
+    you o' th' deeds too, if she call your activity in question.
+    What, billing again? Here's 'In witness whereof the parties
+    interchangeably.' Come in, come in; I'll go get a fire.
+      Exit
+  CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord?
+  TROILUS. O Cressid, how often have I wish'd me thus!
+  CRESSIDA. Wish'd, my lord! The gods grant-O my lord!
+  TROILUS. What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption?
+    What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our
+    love?
+  CRESSIDA. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.
+  TROILUS. Fears make devils of cherubims; they never see truly.
+  CRESSIDA. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing
+    than blind reason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft
+    cures the worse.
+  TROILUS. O, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid's pageant
+    there is presented no monster.  
+  CRESSIDA. Nor nothing monstrous neither?
+  TROILUS. Nothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas,
+    live in fire, cat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our
+    mistress to devise imposition enough than for us to undergo any
+    difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that
+    the will is infinite, and the execution confin'd; that the desire
+    is boundless, and the act a slave to limit.
+  CRESSIDA. They say all lovers swear more performance than they are
+    able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing
+    more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the
+    tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions and the act
+    of hares, are they not monsters?
+  TROILUS. Are there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are
+    tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go bare till merit
+    crown it. No perfection in reversion shall have a praise in
+    present. We will not name desert before his birth; and, being
+    born, his addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith:
+    Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst shall
+    be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak truest not
+    truer than Troilus.  
+  CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord?
+
+                    Re-enter PANDARUS
+
+  PANDARUS. What, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet?
+  CRESSIDA. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.
+  PANDARUS. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll
+    give him me. Be true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.
+  TROILUS. You know now your hostages: your uncle's word and my firm
+    faith.
+  PANDARUS. Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred, though
+    they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant being won;
+    they are burs, I can tell you; they'll stick where they are
+    thrown.
+  CRESSIDA. Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart.
+    Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day
+    For many weary months.
+  TROILUS. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?
+  CRESSIDA. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,
+    With the first glance that ever-pardon me.  
+    If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
+    I love you now; but till now not so much
+    But I might master it. In faith, I lie;
+    My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
+    Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!
+    Why have I blabb'd? Who shall be true to us,
+    When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
+    But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not;
+    And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man,
+    Or that we women had men's privilege
+    Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,
+    For in this rapture I shall surely speak
+    The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,
+    Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws
+    My very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.
+  TROILUS. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.
+  PANDARUS. Pretty, i' faith.
+  CRESSIDA. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;
+    'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss.
+    I am asham'd. O heavens! what have I done?  
+    For this time will I take my leave, my lord.
+  TROILUS. Your leave, sweet Cressid!
+  PANDARUS. Leave! An you take leave till to-morrow morning-
+  CRESSIDA. Pray you, content you.
+  TROILUS. What offends you, lady?
+  CRESSIDA. Sir, mine own company.
+  TROILUS. You cannot shun yourself.
+  CRESSIDA. Let me go and try.
+    I have a kind of self resides with you;
+    But an unkind self, that itself will leave
+    To be another's fool. I would be gone.
+    Where is my wit? I know not what I speak.
+  TROILUS. Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely.
+  CRESSIDA. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;
+    And fell so roundly to a large confession
+    To angle for your thoughts; but you are wise-
+    Or else you love not; for to be wise and love
+    Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above.
+  TROILUS. O that I thought it could be in a woman-
+    As, if it can, I will presume in you-  
+    To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;
+    To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
+    Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
+    That doth renew swifter than blood decays!
+    Or that persuasion could but thus convince me
+    That my integrity and truth to you
+    Might be affronted with the match and weight
+    Of such a winnowed purity in love.
+    How were I then uplifted! but, alas,
+    I am as true as truth's simplicity,
+    And simpler than the infancy of truth.
+  CRESSIDA. In that I'll war with you.
+  TROILUS. O virtuous fight,
+    When right with right wars who shall be most right!
+    True swains in love shall in the world to come
+    Approve their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes,
+    Full of protest, of oath, and big compare,
+    Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration-
+    As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
+    As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,  
+    As iron to adamant, as earth to th' centre-
+    Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
+    As truth's authentic author to be cited,
+    'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse
+    And sanctify the numbers.
+  CRESSIDA. Prophet may you be!
+    If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,
+    When time is old and hath forgot itself,
+    When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,
+    And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up,
+    And mighty states characterless are grated
+    To dusty nothing-yet let memory
+    From false to false, among false maids in love,
+    Upbraid my falsehood when th' have said 'As false
+    As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,
+    As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf,
+    Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son'-
+    Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,
+    'As false as Cressid.'
+  PANDARUS. Go to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I'll be the  
+    witness. Here I hold your hand; here my cousin's. If ever you
+    prove false one to another, since I have taken such pains to
+    bring you together, let all pitiful goers- between be call'd to
+    the world's end after my name-call them all Pandars; let all
+    constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all
+    brokers between Pandars. Say 'Amen.'
+  TROILUS. Amen.
+  CRESSIDA. Amen.
+  PANDARUS. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber
+    and a bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your
+    pretty encounters, press it to death. Away!
+    And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here,
+    Bed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear!                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE 3.
+The Greek camp
+
+Flourish. Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, NESTOR, AJAX, MENELAUS,
+and CALCHAS
+
+  CALCHAS. Now, Princes, for the service I have done,
+    Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud
+    To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind
+    That, through the sight I bear in things to come,
+    I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
+    Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd myself
+    From certain and possess'd conveniences
+    To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all
+    That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
+    Made tame and most familiar to my nature;
+    And here, to do you service, am become
+    As new into the world, strange, unacquainted-
+    I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
+    To give me now a little benefit
+    Out of those many regist'red in promise,
+    Which you say live to come in my behalf.  
+  AGAMEMNON. What wouldst thou of us, Troyan? Make demand.
+  CALCHAS. You have a Troyan prisoner call'd Antenor,
+    Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.
+    Oft have you-often have you thanks therefore-
+    Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange,
+    Whom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor,
+    I know, is such a wrest in their affairs
+    That their negotiations all must slack
+    Wanting his manage; and they will almost
+    Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
+    In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,
+    And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence
+    Shall quite strike off all service I have done
+    In most accepted pain.
+  AGAMEMNON. Let Diomedes bear him,
+    And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have
+    What he requests of us. Good Diomed,
+    Furnish you fairly for this interchange;
+    Withal, bring word if Hector will to-morrow
+    Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready.  
+  DIOMEDES. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden
+    Which I am proud to bear.
+                                          Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS
+
+           ACHILLES and PATROCLUS stand in their tent
+
+  ULYSSES. Achilles stands i' th' entrance of his tent.
+    Please it our general pass strangely by him,
+    As if he were forgot; and, Princes all,
+    Lay negligent and loose regard upon him.
+    I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me
+    Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him?
+    If so, I have derision med'cinable
+    To use between your strangeness and his pride,
+    Which his own will shall have desire to drink.
+    It may do good. Pride hath no other glass
+    To show itself but pride; for supple knees
+    Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
+  AGAMEMNON. We'll execute your purpose, and put on
+    A form of strangeness as we pass along.  
+    So do each lord; and either greet him not,
+    Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
+    Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.
+  ACHILLES. What comes the general to speak with me?
+    You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.
+  AGAMEMNON. What says Achilles? Would he aught with us?
+  NESTOR. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?
+  ACHILLES. No.
+  NESTOR. Nothing, my lord.
+  AGAMEMNON. The better.
+                                          Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR
+  ACHILLES. Good day, good day.
+  MENELAUS. How do you? How do you?                              Exit
+  ACHILLES. What, does the cuckold scorn me?
+  AJAX. How now, Patroclus?
+  ACHILLES. Good morrow, Ajax.
+  AJAX. Ha?
+  ACHILLES. Good morrow.
+  AJAX. Ay, and good next day too.                               Exit
+  ACHILLES. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?  
+  PATROCLUS. They pass by strangely. They were us'd to bend,
+    To send their smiles before them to Achilles,
+    To come as humbly as they us'd to creep
+    To holy altars.
+  ACHILLES. What, am I poor of late?
+    'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune,
+    Must fall out with men too. What the declin'd is,
+    He shall as soon read in the eyes of others
+    As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,
+    Show not their mealy wings but to the summer;
+    And not a man for being simply man
+    Hath any honour, but honour for those honours
+    That are without him, as place, riches, and favour,
+    Prizes of accident, as oft as merit;
+    Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
+    The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
+    Doth one pluck down another, and together
+    Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
+    Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy
+    At ample point all that I did possess  
+    Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
+    Something not worth in me such rich beholding
+    As they have often given. Here is Ulysses.
+    I'll interrupt his reading.
+    How now, Ulysses!
+  ULYSSES. Now, great Thetis' son!
+  ACHILLES. What are you reading?
+  ULYSSES. A strange fellow here
+    Writes me that man-how dearly ever parted,
+    How much in having, or without or in-
+    Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,
+    Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
+    As when his virtues shining upon others
+    Heat them, and they retort that heat again
+    To the first giver.
+  ACHILLES. This is not strange, Ulysses.
+    The beauty that is borne here in the face
+    The bearer knows not, but commends itself
+    To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself-
+    That most pure spirit of sense-behold itself,  
+    Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed
+    Salutes each other with each other's form;
+    For speculation turns not to itself
+    Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there
+    Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all.
+  ULYSSES. I do not strain at the position-
+    It is familiar-but at the author's drift;
+    Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves
+    That no man is the lord of anything,
+    Though in and of him there be much consisting,
+    Till he communicate his parts to others;
+    Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
+    Till he behold them formed in th' applause
+    Where th' are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate
+    The voice again; or, like a gate of steel
+    Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
+    His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;
+    And apprehended here immediately
+    Th' unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there!
+    A very horse that has he knows not what!  
+    Nature, what things there are
+    Most abject in regard and dear in use!
+    What things again most dear in the esteem
+    And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow-
+    An act that very chance doth throw upon him-
+    Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
+    While some men leave to do!
+    How some men creep in skittish Fortune's-hall,
+    Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
+    How one man eats into another's pride,
+    While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
+    To see these Grecian lords!-why, even already
+    They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
+    As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
+    And great Troy shrinking.
+  ACHILLES. I do believe it; for they pass'd by me
+    As misers do by beggars-neither gave to me
+    Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?
+  ULYSSES. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
+    Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,  
+    A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes.
+    Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd
+    As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
+    As done. Perseverance, dear my lord,
+    Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang
+    Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
+    In monumental mock'ry. Take the instant way;
+    For honour travels in a strait so narrow -
+    Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,
+    For emulation hath a thousand sons
+    That one by one pursue; if you give way,
+    Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
+    Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by
+    And leave you hindmost;
+    Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
+    Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
+    O'er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present,
+    Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;
+    For Time is like a fashionable host,
+    That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand;  
+    And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
+    Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles,
+    And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
+    Remuneration for the thing it was;
+    For beauty, wit,
+    High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
+    Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
+    To envious and calumniating Time.
+    One touch of nature makes the whole world kin-
+    That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
+    Though they are made and moulded of things past,
+    And give to dust that is a little gilt
+    More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
+    The present eye praises the present object.
+    Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
+    That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,
+    Since things in motion sooner catch the eye
+    Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,
+    And still it might, and yet it may again,
+    If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive  
+    And case thy reputation in thy tent,
+    Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late
+    Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves,
+    And drave great Mars to faction.
+  ACHILLES. Of this my privacy
+    I have strong reasons.
+  ULYSSES. But 'gainst your privacy
+    The reasons are more potent and heroical.
+    'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
+    With one of Priam's daughters.
+  ACHILLES. Ha! known!
+  ULYSSES. Is that a wonder?
+    The providence that's in a watchful state
+    Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold;
+    Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deeps;
+    Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,
+    Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
+    There is a mystery-with whom relation
+    Durst never meddle-in the soul of state,
+    Which hath an operation more divine  
+    Than breath or pen can give expressure to.
+    All the commerce that you have had with Troy
+    As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;
+    And better would it fit Achilles much
+    To throw down Hector than Polyxena.
+    But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
+    When fame shall in our island sound her trump,
+    And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing
+    'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win;
+    But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.'
+    Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.
+    The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.          Exit
+  PATROCLUS. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you.
+    A woman impudent and mannish grown
+    Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man
+    In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this;
+    They think my little stomach to the war
+    And your great love to me restrains you thus.
+    Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
+    Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,  
+    And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
+    Be shook to airy air.
+  ACHILLES. Shall Ajax fight with Hector?
+  PATROCLUS. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.
+  ACHILLES. I see my reputation is at stake;
+    My fame is shrewdly gor'd.
+  PATROCLUS. O, then, beware:
+    Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves;
+    Omission to do what is necessary
+    Seals a commission to a blank of danger;
+    And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
+    Even then when they sit idly in the sun.
+  ACHILLES. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.
+    I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him
+    T' invite the Troyan lords, after the combat,
+    To see us here unarm'd. I have a woman's longing,
+    An appetite that I am sick withal,
+    To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;
+    To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
+    Even to my full of view.  
+
+                     Enter THERSITES
+
+    A labour sav'd!
+  THERSITES. A wonder!
+  ACHILLES. What?
+  THERSITES. Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself.
+  ACHILLES. How so?
+  THERSITES. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so
+    prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in
+    saying nothing.
+  ACHILLES. How can that be?
+  THERSITES. Why, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock-a stride and a
+    stand; ruminaies like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her
+    brain to set down her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic
+    regard, as who should say 'There were wit in this head, an
+    'twould out'; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as
+    fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's
+    undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' th' combat,
+    he'll break't himself in vainglory. He knows not me. I said 'Good  
+    morrow, Ajax'; and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think you
+    of this man that takes me for the general? He's grown a very land
+    fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may
+    wear it on both sides, like leather jerkin.
+  ACHILLES. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.
+  THERSITES. Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not
+    answering. Speaking is for beggars: he wears his tongue in's
+    arms. I will put on his presence. Let Patroclus make his demands
+    to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax.
+  ACHILLES. To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant
+    Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my
+    tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person of the
+    magnanimous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd
+    Captain General of the Grecian army, et cetera, Agamemnon. Do
+    this.
+  PATROCLUS. Jove bless great Ajax!
+  THERSITES. Hum!
+  PATROCLUS. I come from the worthy Achilles-
+  THERSITES. Ha!
+  PATROCLUS. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his  
+    tent-
+  THERSITES. Hum!
+  PATROCLUS. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.
+  THERSITES. Agamemnon!
+  PATROCLUS. Ay, my lord.
+  THERSITES. Ha!
+  PATROCLUS. What you say to't?
+  THERSITES. God buy you, with all my heart.
+  PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir.
+  THERSITES. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it
+    will go one way or other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he
+    has me.
+  PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir.
+  THERSITES. Fare ye well, with all my heart.
+  ACHILLES. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?
+  THERSITES. No, but he's out a tune thus. What music will be in him
+    when Hector has knock'd out his brains I know not; but, I am sure,
+    none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings
+    on.
+  ACHILLES. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.  
+  THERSITES. Let me carry another to his horse; for that's the more
+    capable creature.
+  ACHILLES. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
+    And I myself see not the bottom of it.
+                                        Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS
+  THERSITES. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I
+    might water an ass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than
+    such a valiant ignorance.                                    Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 1.
+Troy. A street
+
+Enter, at one side, AENEAS, and servant with a torch; at another,
+PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, DIOMEDES the Grecian, and others, with torches
+
+  PARIS. See, ho! Who is that there?
+  DEIPHOBUS. It is the Lord Aeneas.
+  AENEAS. Is the Prince there in person?
+    Had I so good occasion to lie long
+    As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
+    Should rob my bed-mate of my company.
+  DIOMEDES. That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.
+  PARIS. A valiant Greek, Aeneas -take his hand:
+    Witness the process of your speech, wherein
+    You told how Diomed, a whole week by days,
+    Did haunt you in the field.
+  AENEAS. Health to you, valiant sir,
+    During all question of the gentle truce;
+    But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance
+    As heart can think or courage execute.  
+  DIOMEDES. The one and other Diomed embraces.
+    Our bloods are now in calm; and so long health!
+    But when contention and occasion meet,
+    By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life
+    With all my force, pursuit, and policy.
+  AENEAS. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
+    With his face backward. In humane gentleness,
+    Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life,
+    Welcome indeed! By Venus' hand I swear
+    No man alive can love in such a sort
+    The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
+  DIOMEDES. We sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live,
+    If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
+    A thousand complete courses of the sun!
+    But in mine emulous honour let him die
+    With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow!
+  AENEAS. We know each other well.
+  DIOMEDES.We do; and long to know each other worse.
+  PARIS. This is the most despiteful'st gentle greeting
+    The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.  
+    What business, lord, so early?
+  AENEAS. I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.
+  PARIS. His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek
+    To Calchas' house, and there to render him,
+    For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.
+    Let's have your company; or, if you please,
+    Haste there before us. I constantly believe-
+    Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge-
+    My brother Troilus lodges there to-night.
+    Rouse him and give him note of our approach,
+    With the whole quality wherefore; I fear
+    We shall be much unwelcome.
+  AENEAS. That I assure you:
+    Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece
+    Than Cressid borne from Troy.
+  PARIS. There is no help;
+    The bitter disposition of the time
+    Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you.
+  AENEAS. Good morrow, all.                         Exit with servant
+  PARIS. And tell me, noble Diomed-faith, tell me true,  
+    Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship-
+    Who in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best,
+    Myself or Menelaus?
+  DIOMEDES. Both alike:
+    He merits well to have her that doth seek her,
+    Not making any scruple of her soilure,
+    With such a hell of pain and world of charge;
+    And you as well to keep her that defend her,
+    Not palating the taste of her dishonour,
+    With such a costly loss of wealth and friends.
+    He like a puling cuckold would drink up
+    The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
+    You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
+    Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors.
+    Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more;
+    But he as he, the heavier for a whore.
+  PARIS. You are too bitter to your country-woman.
+  DIOMEDES. She's bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris:
+    For every false drop in her bawdy veins
+    A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple  
+    Of her contaminated carrion weight
+    A Troyan hath been slain; since she could speak,
+    She hath not given so many good words breath
+    As for her Greeks and Troyans suff'red death.
+  PARIS. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
+    Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy;
+    But we in silence hold this virtue well:
+    We'll not commend what we intend to sell.
+    Here lies our way.                                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 2.
+Troy. The court of PANDARUS' house
+
+Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA
+
+  TROILUS. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
+  CRESSIDA. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down;
+    He shall unbolt the gates.
+  TROILUS. Trouble him not;
+    To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes,
+    And give as soft attachment to thy senses
+    As infants' empty of all thought!
+  CRESSIDA. Good morrow, then.
+  TROILUS. I prithee now, to bed.
+  CRESSIDA. Are you aweary of me?
+  TROILUS. O Cressida! but that the busy day,
+    Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows,
+    And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
+    I would not from thee.
+  CRESSIDA. Night hath been too brief.
+  TROILUS. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays
+    As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love  
+    With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
+    You will catch cold, and curse me.
+  CRESSIDA. Prithee tarry.
+    You men will never tarry.
+    O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
+    And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up.
+  PANDARUS. [Within] What's all the doors open here?
+  TROILUS. It is your uncle.
+
+                     Enter PANDARUS
+
+  CRESSIDA. A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.
+    I shall have such a life!
+  PANDARUS. How now, how now! How go maidenheads?
+    Here, you maid! Where's my cousin Cressid?
+  CRESSIDA. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle.
+    You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
+  PANDARUS. To do what? to do what? Let her say what.
+    What have I brought you to do?
+  CRESSIDA. Come, come, beshrew your heart! You'll ne'er be good,  
+    Nor suffer others.
+  PANDARUS. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capocchia! hast not
+    slept to-night? Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A
+    bugbear take him!
+  CRESSIDA. Did not I tell you? Would he were knock'd i' th' head!
+                                                         [One knocks]
+    Who's that at door? Good uncle, go and see.
+    My lord, come you again into my chamber.
+    You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.
+  TROILUS. Ha! ha!
+  CRESSIDA. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing.
+   [Knock]
+    How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in:
+    I would not for half Troy have you seen here.
+                                          Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA
+  PANDARUS. Who's there? What's the matter? Will you beat down the
+    door? How now? What's the matter?
+
+                          Enter AENEAS  
+  AENEAS. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
+  PANDARUS. Who's there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,
+    I knew you not. What news with you so early?
+  AENEAS. Is not Prince Troilus here?
+  PANDARUS. Here! What should he do here?
+  AENEAS. Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.
+    It doth import him much to speak with me.
+  PANDARUS. Is he here, say you? It's more than I know, I'll be
+    sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here?
+  AENEAS. Who!-nay, then. Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are
+    ware; you'll be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you
+    know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go.
+
+                       Re-enter TROILUS
+
+  TROILUS. How now! What's the matter?
+  AENEAS. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
+    My matter is so rash. There is at hand
+    Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
+    The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor  
+    Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
+    Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
+    We must give up to Diomedes' hand
+    The Lady Cressida.
+  TROILUS. Is it so concluded?
+  AENEAS. By Priam, and the general state of Troy.
+    They are at hand and ready to effect it.
+  TROILUS. How my achievements mock me!
+    I will go meet them; and, my lord Aeneas,
+    We met by chance; you did not find me here.
+  AENEAS. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar
+    Have not more gift in taciturnity.
+                                            Exeunt TROILUS and AENEAS
+  PANDARUS. Is't possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take
+    Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I
+    would they had broke's neck.
+
+                     Re-enter CRESSIDA
+
+  CRESSIDA. How now! What's the matter? Who was here?  
+  PANDARUS. Ah, ah!
+  CRESSIDA. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where's my lord? Gone? Tell
+    me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?
+  PANDARUS. Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!
+  CRESSIDA. O the gods! What's the matter?
+  PANDARUS. Pray thee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne'er been born!
+    I knew thou wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague
+    upon Antenor!
+  CRESSIDA. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you,
+    what's the matter?
+  PANDARUS. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art
+    chang'd for Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from
+    Troilus. 'Twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear
+    it.
+  CRESSIDA. O you immortal gods! I will not go.
+  PANDARUS. Thou must.
+  CRESSIDA. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father;
+    I know no touch of consanguinity,
+    No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me
+    As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine,  
+    Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood,
+    If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
+    Do to this body what extremes you can,
+    But the strong base and building of my love
+    Is as the very centre of the earth,
+    Drawing all things to it. I'll go in and weep-
+  PANDARUS. Do, do.
+  CRESSIDA. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,
+    Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,
+    With sounding 'Troilus.' I will not go from Troy.
+    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 3.
+Troy. A street before PANDARUS' house
+
+Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, and DIOMEDES
+
+  PARIS. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd
+    For her delivery to this valiant Greek
+    Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,
+    Tell you the lady what she is to do
+    And haste her to the purpose.
+  TROILUS. Walk into her house.
+    I'll bring her to the Grecian presently;
+    And to his hand when I deliver her,
+    Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
+    A priest, there off'ring to it his own heart.                Exit
+  PARIS. I know what 'tis to love,
+    And would, as I shall pity, I could help!
+    Please you walk in, my lords.                              Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 4.
+Troy. PANDARUS' house
+
+Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA
+
+  PANDARUS. Be moderate, be moderate.
+  CRESSIDA. Why tell you me of moderation?
+    The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
+    And violenteth in a sense as strong
+    As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
+    If I could temporize with my affections
+    Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
+    The like allayment could I give my grief.
+    My love admits no qualifying dross;
+    No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
+
+                    Enter TROILUS
+
+  PANDARUS. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!
+  CRESSIDA. O Troilus! Troilus! [Embracing him]
+  PANDARUS. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. 'O
+    heart,' as the goodly saying is,  
+          O heart, heavy heart,
+       Why sigh'st thou without breaking?
+    where he answers again
+       Because thou canst not ease thy smart
+       By friendship nor by speaking.
+    There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we
+    may live to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How
+    now, lambs!
+  TROILUS. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity
+    That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy,
+    More bright in zeal than the devotion which
+    Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.
+  CRESSIDA. Have the gods envy?
+  PANDARUS. Ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.
+  CRESSIDA. And is it true that I must go from Troy?
+  TROILUS. A hateful truth.
+  CRESSIDA. What, and from Troilus too?
+  TROILUS. From Troy and Troilus.
+  CRESSIDA. Is't possible?
+  TROILUS. And suddenly; where injury of chance  
+    Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
+    All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
+    Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
+    Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
+    Even in the birth of our own labouring breath.
+    We two, that with so many thousand sighs
+    Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
+    With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
+    Injurious time now with a robber's haste
+    Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how.
+    As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
+    With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them,
+    He fumbles up into a loose adieu,
+    And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
+    Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
+  AENEAS. [Within] My lord, is the lady ready?
+  TROILUS. Hark! you are call'd. Some say the Genius so
+    Cries 'Come' to him that instantly must die.
+    Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
+  PANDARUS. Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart  
+    will be blown up by th' root?                                Exit
+  CRESSIDA. I must then to the Grecians?
+  TROILUS. No remedy.
+  CRESSIDA. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
+    When shall we see again?
+  TROILUS. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart-
+  CRESSIDA. I true! how now! What wicked deem is this?
+  TROILUS. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
+    For it is parting from us.
+    I speak not 'Be thou true' as fearing thee,
+    For I will throw my glove to Death himself
+    That there's no maculation in thy heart;
+    But 'Be thou true' say I to fashion in
+    My sequent protestation: be thou true,
+    And I will see thee.
+  CRESSIDA. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers
+    As infinite as imminent! But I'll be true.
+  TROILUS. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
+  CRESSIDA. And you this glove. When shall I see you?
+  TROILUS. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels  
+    To give thee nightly visitation.
+    But yet be true.
+  CRESSIDA. O heavens! 'Be true' again!
+  TROILUS. Hear why I speak it, love.
+    The Grecian youths are full of quality;
+    They're loving, well compos'd with gifts of nature,
+    And flowing o'er with arts and exercise.
+    How novelties may move, and parts with person,
+    Alas, a kind of godly jealousy,
+    Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin,
+    Makes me afeard.
+  CRESSIDA. O heavens! you love me not.
+  TROILUS. Die I a villain, then!
+    In this I do not call your faith in question
+    So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,
+    Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
+    Nor play at subtle games-fair virtues all,
+    To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;
+    But I can tell that in each grace of these
+    There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil  
+    That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.
+  CRESSIDA. Do you think I will?
+  TROILUS. No.
+    But something may be done that we will not;
+    And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
+    When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
+    Presuming on their changeful potency.
+  AENEAS. [Within] Nay, good my lord!
+  TROILUS. Come, kiss; and let us part.
+  PARIS. [Within] Brother Troilus!
+  TROILUS. Good brother, come you hither;
+    And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.
+  CRESSIDA. My lord, will you be true?
+  TROILUS. Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!
+    Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion,
+    I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
+    Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
+    With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
+
+      Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, DEIPHOBUS, and DIOMEDES  
+
+    Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit
+    Is 'plain and true'; there's all the reach of it.
+    Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady
+    Which for Antenor we deliver you;
+    At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand,
+    And by the way possess thee what she is.
+    Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
+    If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
+    Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
+    As Priam is in Ilion.
+  DIOMEDES. Fair Lady Cressid,
+    So please you, save the thanks this prince expects.
+    The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
+    Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed
+    You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.
+  TROILUS. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously
+    To shame the zeal of my petition to the
+    In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,
+    She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises  
+    As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant.
+    I charge thee use her well, even for my charge;
+    For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
+    Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
+    I'll cut thy throat.
+  DIOMEDES. O, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus.
+    Let me be privileg'd by my place and message
+    To be a speaker free: when I am hence
+    I'll answer to my lust. And know you, lord,
+    I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth
+    She shall be priz'd. But that you say 'Be't so,'
+    I speak it in my spirit and honour, 'No.'
+  TROILUS. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed,
+    This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.
+    Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk,
+    To our own selves bend we our needful talk.
+                               Exeunt TROILUS, CRESSIDA, and DIOMEDES
+                                                      [Sound trumpet]
+  PARIS. Hark! Hector's trumpet.
+  AENEAS. How have we spent this morning!  
+    The Prince must think me tardy and remiss,
+    That swore to ride before him to the field.
+  PARIS. 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come to field with him.
+  DEIPHOBUS. Let us make ready straight.
+  AENEAS. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity
+    Let us address to tend on Hector's heels.
+    The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
+    On his fair worth and single chivalry.                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE 5.
+The Grecian camp. Lists set out
+
+Enter AJAX, armed; AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES, PATROCLUS, MENELAUS, ULYSSES,
+NESTOR, and others
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,
+    Anticipating time with starting courage.
+    Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
+    Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air
+    May pierce the head of the great combatant,
+    And hale him hither.
+  AJAX. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse.
+    Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe;
+    Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
+    Out-swell the colic of puff Aquilon'd.
+    Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:
+    Thou blowest for Hector.                         [Trumpet sounds]
+  ULYSSES. No trumpet answers.
+  ACHILLES. 'Tis but early days.
+
+                Enter DIOMEDES, with CRESSIDA  
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' daughter?
+  ULYSSES. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait:
+    He rises on the toe. That spirit of his
+    In aspiration lifts him from the earth.
+  AGAMEMNON. Is this the lady Cressid?
+  DIOMEDES. Even she.
+  AGAMEMNON. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.
+  NESTOR. Our general doth salute you with a kiss.
+  ULYSSES. Yet is the kindness but particular;
+    'Twere better she were kiss'd in general.
+  NESTOR. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin.
+    So much for Nestor.
+  ACHILLES. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady.
+    Achilles bids you welcome.
+  MENELAUS. I had good argument for kissing once.
+  PATROCLUS. But that's no argument for kissing now;
+    For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment,
+    And parted thus you and your argument.
+  ULYSSES. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!  
+    For which we lose our heads to gild his horns.
+  PATROCLUS. The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, mine-
+                                                   [Kisses her again]
+    Patroclus kisses you.
+  MENELAUS. O, this is trim!
+  PATROCLUS. Paris and I kiss evermore for him.
+  MENELAUS. I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.
+  CRESSIDA. In kissing, do you render or receive?
+  PATROCLUS. Both take and give.
+  CRESSIDA. I'll make my match to live,
+    The kiss you take is better than you give;
+    Therefore no kiss.
+  MENELAUS. I'll give you boot; I'll give you three for one.
+  CRESSIDA. You are an odd man; give even or give none.
+  MENELAUS. An odd man, lady? Every man is odd.
+  CRESSIDA. No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true
+    That you are odd, and he is even with you.
+  MENELAUS. You fillip me o' th' head.
+  CRESSIDA. No, I'll be sworn.
+  ULYSSES. It were no match, your nail against his horn.  
+    May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?
+  CRESSIDA. You may.
+  ULYSSES. I do desire it.
+  CRESSIDA. Why, beg then.
+  ULYSSES. Why then, for Venus' sake give me a kiss
+    When Helen is a maid again, and his.
+  CRESSIDA. I am your debtor; claim it when 'tis due.
+  ULYSSES. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you.
+  DIOMEDES. Lady, a word. I'll bring you to your father.
+                                                   Exit with CRESSIDA
+  NESTOR. A woman of quick sense.
+  ULYSSES. Fie, fie upon her!
+    There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
+    Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
+    At every joint and motive of her body.
+    O these encounters so glib of tongue
+    That give a coasting welcome ere it comes,
+    And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
+    To every ticklish reader! Set them down
+    For sluttish spoils of opportunity,  
+    And daughters of the game.                       [Trumpet within]
+  ALL. The Troyans' trumpet.
+
+        Enter HECTOR, armed; AENEAS, TROILUS, PARIS, HELENUS,
+                 and other Trojans, with attendants
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Yonder comes the troop.
+  AENEAS. Hail, all the state of Greece! What shall be done
+    To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose
+    A victor shall be known? Will you the knights
+    Shall to the edge of all extremity
+    Pursue each other, or shall they be divided
+    By any voice or order of the field?
+    Hector bade ask.
+  AGAMEMNON. Which way would Hector have it?
+  AENEAS. He cares not; he'll obey conditions.
+  ACHILLES. 'Tis done like Hector; but securely done,
+    A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
+    The knight oppos'd.
+  AENEAS. If not Achilles, sir,  
+    What is your name?
+  ACHILLES. If not Achilles, nothing.
+  AENEAS. Therefore Achilles. But whate'er, know this:
+    In the extremity of great and little
+    Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
+    The one almost as infinite as all,
+    The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,
+    And that which looks like pride is courtesy.
+    This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood;
+    In love whereof half Hector stays at home;
+    Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
+    This blended knight, half Troyan and half Greek.
+  ACHILLES. A maiden battle then? O, I perceive you!
+
+                   Re-enter DIOMEDES
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,
+    Stand by our Ajax. As you and Lord ]Eneas
+    Consent upon the order of their fight,
+    So be it; either to the uttermost,  
+    Or else a breath. The combatants being kin
+    Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.
+                                    [AJAX and HECTOR enter the lists]
+  ULYSSES. They are oppos'd already.
+  AGAMEMNON. What Troyan is that same that looks so heavy?
+  ULYSSES. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
+    Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;
+    Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;
+    Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd soon calm'd;
+    His heart and hand both open and both free;
+    For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows,
+    Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty,
+    Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath;
+    Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
+    For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
+    To tender objects, but he in heat of action
+    Is more vindicative than jealous love.
+    They call him Troilus, and on him erect
+    A second hope as fairly built as Hector.
+    Thus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth  
+    Even to his inches, and, with private soul,
+    Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.
+                                      [Alarum. HECTOR and AJAX fight]
+  AGAMEMNON. They are in action.
+  NESTOR. Now, Ajax, hold thine own!
+  TROILUS. Hector, thou sleep'st;
+    Awake thee.
+  AGAMEMNON. His blows are well dispos'd. There, Ajax!
+                                                     [Trumpets cease]
+  DIOMEDES. You must no more.
+  AENEAS. Princes, enough, so please you.
+  AJAX. I am not warm yet; let us fight again.
+  DIOMEDES. As Hector pleases.
+  HECTOR. Why, then will I no more.
+    Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son,
+    A cousin-german to great Priam's seed;
+    The obligation of our blood forbids
+    A gory emulation 'twixt us twain:
+    Were thy commixtion Greek and Troyan so
+    That thou could'st say 'This hand is Grecian all,  
+    And this is Troyan; the sinews of this leg
+    All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
+    Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister
+    Bounds in my father's'; by Jove multipotent,
+    Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member
+    Wherein my sword had not impressure made
+    Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay
+    That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother,
+    My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
+    Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax.
+    By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
+    Hector would have them fall upon him thus.
+    Cousin, all honour to thee!
+  AJAX. I thank thee, Hector.
+    Thou art too gentle and too free a man.
+    I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
+    A great addition earned in thy death.
+  HECTOR. Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
+    On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes
+    Cries 'This is he' could promise to himself  
+    A thought of added honour torn from Hector.
+  AENEAS. There is expectance here from both the sides
+    What further you will do.
+  HECTOR. We'll answer it:
+    The issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.
+  AJAX. If I might in entreaties find success,
+    As seld I have the chance, I would desire
+    My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.
+  DIOMEDES. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish; and great Achilles
+    Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.
+  HECTOR. Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,
+    And signify this loving interview
+    To the expecters of our Troyan part;
+    Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;
+    I will go eat with thee, and see your knights.
+
+        AGAMEMNON and the rest of the Greeks come forward
+
+  AJAX. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.
+  HECTOR. The worthiest of them tell me name by name;  
+    But for Achilles, my own searching eyes
+    Shall find him by his large and portly size.
+  AGAMEMNON.Worthy all arms! as welcome as to one
+    That would be rid of such an enemy.
+    But that's no welcome. Understand more clear,
+    What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks
+    And formless ruin of oblivion;
+    But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
+    Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
+    Bids thee with most divine integrity,
+    From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
+  HECTOR. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.
+  AGAMEMNON. [To Troilus] My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you.
+  MENELAUS. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting.
+    You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
+  HECTOR. Who must we answer?
+  AENEAS. The noble Menelaus.
+  HECTOR. O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks!
+    Mock not that I affect the untraded oath;
+    Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove.  
+    She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.
+  MENELAUS. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme.
+  HECTOR. O, pardon; I offend.
+  NESTOR. I have, thou gallant Troyan, seen thee oft,
+    Labouring for destiny, make cruel way
+    Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,
+    As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
+    Despising many forfeits and subduements,
+    When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' th' air,
+    Not letting it decline on the declined;
+    That I have said to some my standers-by
+    'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!'
+    And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,
+    When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in,
+    Like an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen;
+    But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
+    I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,
+    And once fought with him. He was a soldier good,
+    But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
+    Never like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee;  
+    And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
+  AENEAS. 'Tis the old Nestor.
+  HECTOR. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
+    That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time.
+    Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.
+  NESTOR. I would my arms could match thee in contention
+    As they contend with thee in courtesy.
+  HECTOR. I would they could.
+  NESTOR. Ha!
+    By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow.
+    Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.
+  ULYSSES. I wonder now how yonder city stands,
+    When we have here her base and pillar by us.
+  HECTOR. I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.
+    Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Troyan dead,
+    Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
+    In Ilion on your Greekish embassy.
+  ULYSSES. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue.
+    My prophecy is but half his journey yet;
+    For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,  
+    Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
+    Must kiss their own feet.
+  HECTOR. I must not believe you.
+    There they stand yet; and modestly I think
+    The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
+    A drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all;
+    And that old common arbitrator, Time,
+    Will one day end it.
+  ULYSSES. So to him we leave it.
+    Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome.
+    After the General, I beseech you next
+    To feast with me and see me at my tent.
+  ACHILLES. I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!
+    Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
+    I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector,
+    And quoted joint by joint.
+  HECTOR. Is this Achilles?
+  ACHILLES. I am Achilles.
+  HECTOR. Stand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.
+  ACHILLES. Behold thy fill.  
+  HECTOR. Nay, I have done already.
+  ACHILLES. Thou art too brief. I will the second time,
+    As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.
+  HECTOR. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er;
+    But there's more in me than thou understand'st.
+    Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?
+  ACHILLES. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body
+    Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there?
+    That I may give the local wound a name,
+    And make distinct the very breach whereout
+    Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens.
+  HECTOR. It would discredit the blest gods, proud man,
+    To answer such a question. Stand again.
+    Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly
+    As to prenominate in nice conjecture
+    Where thou wilt hit me dead?
+  ACHILLES. I tell thee yea.
+  HECTOR. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,
+    I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;
+    For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;  
+    But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,
+    I'll kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er.
+    You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.
+    His insolence draws folly from my lips;
+    But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
+    Or may I never-
+  AJAX. Do not chafe thee, cousin;
+    And you, Achilles, let these threats alone
+    Till accident or purpose bring you to't.
+    You may have every day enough of Hector,
+    If you have stomach. The general state, I fear,
+    Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.
+  HECTOR. I pray you let us see you in the field;
+    We have had pelting wars since you refus'd
+    The Grecians' cause.
+  ACHILLES. Dost thou entreat me, Hector?
+    To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death;
+    To-night all friends.
+  HECTOR. Thy hand upon that match.
+  AGAMEMNON. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;  
+    There in the full convive we; afterwards,
+    As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall
+    Concur together, severally entreat him.
+    Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow,
+    That this great soldier may his welcome know.
+                                   Exeunt all but TROILUS and ULYSSES
+  TROILUS. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
+    In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
+  ULYSSES. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus.
+    There Diomed doth feast with him to-night,
+    Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,
+    But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
+    On the fair Cressid.
+  TROILUS. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,
+    After we part from Agamemnon's tent,
+    To bring me thither?
+  ULYSSES. You shall command me, sir.
+    As gentle tell me of what honour was
+    This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there
+    That wails her absence?  
+  TROILUS. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars
+    A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
+    She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth;
+    But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 1.
+The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES
+
+Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS
+
+  ACHILLES. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night,
+    Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
+    Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
+  PATROCLUS. Here comes Thersites.
+
+                   Enter THERSITES
+
+  ACHILLES. How now, thou core of envy!
+    Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?
+  THERSITES. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of
+    idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee.
+  ACHILLES. From whence, fragment?
+  THERSITES. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
+  PATROCLUS. Who keeps the tent now?
+  THERSITES. The surgeon's box or the patient's wound.
+  PATROCLUS. Well said, Adversity! and what needs these tricks?
+  THERSITES. Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou  
+    art said to be Achilles' male varlet.
+  PATROCLUS. Male varlet, you rogue! What's that?
+  THERSITES. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of
+    the south, the guts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel
+    in the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten
+    livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas,
+    limekilns i' th' palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-
+    simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous
+    discoveries!
+  PATROCLUS. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou
+    to curse thus?
+  THERSITES. Do I curse thee?
+  PATROCLUS. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson
+    indistinguishable cur, no.
+  THERSITES. No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial
+    skein of sleid silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye,
+    thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is
+    pest'red with such water-flies-diminutives of nature!
+  PATROCLUS. Out, gall!
+  THERSITES. Finch egg!  
+  ACHILLES. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
+    From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
+    Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
+    A token from her daughter, my fair love,
+    Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
+    An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it.
+    Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
+    My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
+    Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;
+    This night in banqueting must all be spent.
+    Away, Patroclus!                              Exit with PATROCLUS
+  THERSITES. With too much blood and too little brain these two may
+    run mad; but, if with too much brain and to little blood they do,
+    I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow
+    enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain
+    as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his
+    brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of
+    cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his
+    brother's leg-to what form but that he is, should wit larded with
+    malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were  
+    nothing: he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both
+    ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a
+    lizard, an owl, a put-tock, or a herring without a roe, I would
+    not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny.
+    Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites; for I care
+    not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Hey-day!
+    sprites and fires!
+
+         Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES,
+            NESTOR, MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights
+
+  AGAMEMNON. We go wrong, we go wrong.
+  AJAX. No, yonder 'tis;
+    There, where we see the lights.
+  HECTOR. I trouble you.
+  AJAX. No, not a whit.
+
+                    Re-enter ACHILLES
+
+  ULYSSES. Here comes himself to guide you.  
+  ACHILLES. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.
+  AGAMEMNON. So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night;
+    Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.
+  HECTOR. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks' general.
+  MENELAUS. Good night, my lord.
+  HECTOR. Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus.
+  THERSITES. Sweet draught! 'Sweet' quoth 'a?
+    Sweet sink, sweet sewer!
+  ACHILLES. Good night and welcome, both at once, to those
+    That go or tarry.
+  AGAMEMNON. Good night.
+                                        Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS
+  ACHILLES. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,
+    Keep Hector company an hour or two.
+  DIOMEDES. I cannot, lord; I have important business,
+    The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.
+  HECTOR. Give me your hand.
+  ULYSSES. [Aside to TROILUS] Follow his torch; he goes to
+    Calchas' tent; I'll keep you company.
+  TROILUS. Sweet sir, you honour me.  
+  HECTOR. And so, good night.
+                         Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and TROILUS following
+  ACHILLES. Come, come, enter my tent.
+                                             Exeunt all but THERSITES
+  THERSITES. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust
+    knave; I will no more trust him when he leers than I will a
+    serpent when he hisses. He will spend his mouth and promise, like
+    Brabbler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers foretell
+    it: it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun
+    borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather
+    leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps a
+    Troyan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent. I'll after.
+    Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets!                Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 2.
+The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS' tent
+
+Enter DIOMEDES
+
+  DIOMEDES. What, are you up here, ho? Speak.
+  CALCHAS. [Within] Who calls?
+  DIOMEDES. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter?
+  CALCHAS. [Within] She comes to you.
+
+      Enter TROILUS and ULYSSES, at a distance; after them
+                        THERSITES
+
+  ULYSSES. Stand where the torch may not discover us.
+
+                     Enter CRESSIDA
+
+  TROILUS. Cressid comes forth to him.
+  DIOMEDES. How now, my charge!
+  CRESSIDA. Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.
+[Whispers]
+  TROILUS. Yea, so familiar!  
+  ULYSSES. She will sing any man at first sight.
+  THERSITES. And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff;
+    she's noted.
+  DIOMEDES. Will you remember?
+  CRESSIDA. Remember? Yes.
+  DIOMEDES. Nay, but do, then;
+    And let your mind be coupled with your words.
+  TROILUS. What shall she remember?
+  ULYSSES. List!
+  CRESSIDA. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.
+  THERSITES. Roguery!
+  DIOMEDES. Nay, then-
+  CRESSIDA. I'll tell you what-
+  DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn-
+  CRESSIDA. In faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?
+  THERSITES. A juggling trick, to be secretly open.
+  DIOMEDES. What did you swear you would bestow on me?
+  CRESSIDA. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;
+    Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.
+  DIOMEDES. Good night.  
+  TROILUS. Hold, patience!
+  ULYSSES. How now, Troyan!
+  CRESSIDA. Diomed!
+  DIOMEDES. No, no, good night; I'll be your fool no more.
+  TROILUS. Thy better must.
+  CRESSIDA. Hark! a word in your ear.
+  TROILUS. O plague and madness!
+  ULYSSES. You are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray,
+    Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
+    To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous;
+    The time right deadly; I beseech you, go.
+  TROILUS. Behold, I pray you.
+  ULYSSES. Nay, good my lord, go off;
+    You flow to great distraction; come, my lord.
+  TROILUS. I prithee stay.
+  ULYSSES. You have not patience; come.
+  TROILUS. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments,
+    I will not speak a word.
+  DIOMEDES. And so, good night.
+  CRESSIDA. Nay, but you part in anger.  
+  TROILUS. Doth that grieve thee? O withered truth!
+  ULYSSES. How now, my lord?
+  TROILUS. By Jove, I will be patient.
+  CRESSIDA. Guardian! Why, Greek!
+  DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! adieu! you palter.
+  CRESSIDA. In faith, I do not. Come hither once again.
+  ULYSSES. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go?
+    You will break out.
+  TROILUS. She strokes his cheek.
+  ULYSSES. Come, come.
+  TROILUS. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
+    There is between my will and all offences
+    A guard of patience. Stay a little while.
+  THERSITES. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and potato
+    finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry!
+  DIOMEDES. But will you, then?
+  CRESSIDA. In faith, I will, lo; never trust me else.
+  DIOMEDES. Give me some token for the surety of it.
+  CRESSIDA. I'll fetch you one.                                  Exit
+  ULYSSES. You have sworn patience.  
+  TROILUS. Fear me not, my lord;
+    I will not be myself, nor have cognition
+    Of what I feel. I am all patience.
+
+                    Re-enter CRESSIDA
+
+  THERSITES. Now the pledge; now, now, now!
+  CRESSIDA. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.
+  TROILUS. O beauty! where is thy faith?
+  ULYSSES. My lord!
+  TROILUS. I will be patient; outwardly I will.
+  CRESSIDA. You look upon that sleeve; behold it well.
+    He lov'd me-O false wench!-Give't me again.
+  DIOMEDES. Whose was't?
+  CRESSIDA. It is no matter, now I ha't again.
+    I will not meet with you to-morrow night.
+    I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.
+  THERSITES. Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.
+  DIOMEDES. I shall have it.
+  CRESSIDA. What, this?  
+  DIOMEDES. Ay, that.
+  CRESSIDA. O all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!
+    Thy master now lies thinking on his bed
+    Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
+    And gives memorial dainty kisses to it,
+    As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;
+    He that takes that doth take my heart withal.
+  DIOMEDES. I had your heart before; this follows it.
+  TROILUS. I did swear patience.
+  CRESSIDA. You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;
+    I'll give you something else.
+  DIOMEDES. I will have this. Whose was it?
+  CRESSIDA. It is no matter.
+  DIOMEDES. Come, tell me whose it was.
+  CRESSIDA. 'Twas one's that lov'd me better than you will.
+    But, now you have it, take it.
+  DIOMEDES. Whose was it?
+  CRESSIDA. By all Diana's waiting women yond,
+    And by herself, I will not tell you whose.
+  DIOMEDES. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm,  
+    And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.
+  TROILUS. Wert thou the devil and wor'st it on thy horn,
+    It should be challeng'd.
+  CRESSIDA. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and yet it is not;
+    I will not keep my word.
+  DIOMEDES. Why, then farewell;
+    Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.
+  CRESSIDA. You shall not go. One cannot speak a word
+    But it straight starts you.
+  DIOMEDES. I do not like this fooling.
+  THERSITES. Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you
+    Pleases me best.
+  DIOMEDES. What, shall I come? The hour-
+  CRESSIDA. Ay, come-O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu'd.
+  DIOMEDES. Farewell till then.
+  CRESSIDA. Good night. I prithee come.                 Exit DIOMEDES
+    Troilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee;
+    But with my heart the other eye doth see.
+    Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
+    The error of our eye directs our mind.  
+    What error leads must err; O, then conclude,
+    Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude.                  Exit
+  THERSITES. A proof of strength she could not publish more,
+    Unless she said 'My mind is now turn'd whore.'
+  ULYSSES. All's done, my lord.
+  TROILUS. It is.
+  ULYSSES. Why stay we, then?
+  TROILUS. To make a recordation to my soul
+    Of every syllable that here was spoke.
+    But if I tell how these two did coact,
+    Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?
+    Sith yet there is a credence in my heart,
+    An esperance so obstinately strong,
+    That doth invert th' attest of eyes and ears;
+    As if those organs had deceptious functions
+    Created only to calumniate.
+    Was Cressid here?
+  ULYSSES. I cannot conjure, Troyan.
+  TROILUS. She was not, sure.
+  ULYSSES. Most sure she was.  
+  TROILUS. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.
+  ULYSSES. Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.
+  TROILUS. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood.
+    Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
+    To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,
+    For depravation, to square the general sex
+    By Cressid's rule. Rather think this not Cressid.
+  ULYSSES. What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?
+  TROILUS. Nothing at all, unless that this were she.
+  THERSITES. Will 'a swagger himself out on's own eyes?
+  TROILUS. This she? No; this is Diomed's Cressida.
+    If beauty have a soul, this is not she;
+    If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,
+    If sanctimony be the god's delight,
+    If there be rule in unity itself,
+    This was not she. O madness of discourse,
+    That cause sets up with and against itself!
+    Bifold authority! where reason can revolt
+    Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
+    Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.  
+    Within my soul there doth conduce a fight
+    Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate
+    Divides more wider than the sky and earth;
+    And yet the spacious breadth of this division
+    Admits no orifex for a point as subtle
+    As Ariachne's broken woof to enter.
+    Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates:
+    Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven.
+    Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself:
+    The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd;
+    And with another knot, five-finger-tied,
+    The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
+    The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics
+    Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.
+  ULYSSES. May worthy Troilus be half-attach'd
+    With that which here his passion doth express?
+  TROILUS. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well
+    In characters as red as Mars his heart
+    Inflam'd with Venus. Never did young man fancy
+    With so eternal and so fix'd a soul.  
+    Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,
+    So much by weight hate I her Diomed.
+    That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm;
+    Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill
+    My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout
+    Which shipmen do the hurricano call,
+    Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun,
+    Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
+    In his descent than shall my prompted sword
+    Falling on Diomed.
+  THERSITES. He'll tickle it for his concupy.
+  TROILUS. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!
+    Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
+    And they'll seem glorious.
+  ULYSSES. O, contain yourself;
+    Your passion draws ears hither.
+
+                       Enter AENEAS
+
+  AENEAS. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord.  
+    Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy;
+    Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.
+  TROILUS. Have with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu.
+    Fairwell, revolted fair!-and, Diomed,
+    Stand fast and wear a castle on thy head.
+  ULYSSES. I'll bring you to the gates.
+  TROILUS. Accept distracted thanks.
+
+            Exeunt TROILUS, AENEAS. and ULYSSES
+
+  THERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like
+    a raven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me
+    anything for the intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not
+    do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery,
+    lechery! Still wars and lechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A
+    burning devil take them!                                     Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 3.
+Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace
+
+Enter HECTOR and ANDROMACHE
+
+  ANDROMACHE. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd
+    To stop his ears against admonishment?
+    Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.
+  HECTOR. You train me to offend you; get you in.
+    By all the everlasting gods, I'll go.
+  ANDROMACHE. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.
+  HECTOR. No more, I say.
+
+                    Enter CASSANDRA
+
+  CASSANDRA. Where is my brother Hector?
+  ANDROMACHE. Here, sister, arm'd, and bloody in intent.
+    Consort with me in loud and dear petition,
+    Pursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt
+    Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
+    Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.
+  CASSANDRA. O, 'tis true!  
+  HECTOR. Ho! bid my trumpet sound.
+  CASSANDRA. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!
+  HECTOR. Be gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.
+  CASSANDRA. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;
+    They are polluted off'rings, more abhorr'd
+    Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
+  ANDROMACHE. O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy
+    To hurt by being just. It is as lawful,
+    For we would give much, to use violent thefts
+    And rob in the behalf of charity.
+  CASSANDRA. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
+    But vows to every purpose must not hold.
+    Unarm, sweet Hector.
+  HECTOR. Hold you still, I say.
+    Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate.
+    Life every man holds dear; but the dear man
+    Holds honour far more precious dear than life.
+
+                      Enter TROILUS
+  
+    How now, young man! Mean'st thou to fight to-day?
+  ANDROMACHE. Cassandra, call my father to persuade.
+                                                       Exit CASSANDRA
+  HECTOR. No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;
+    I am to-day i' th' vein of chivalry.
+    Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
+    And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
+    Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
+    I'll stand to-day for thee and me and Troy.
+  TROILUS. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you
+    Which better fits a lion than a man.
+  HECTOR. What vice is that, good Troilus?
+    Chide me for it.
+  TROILUS. When many times the captive Grecian falls,
+    Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
+    You bid them rise and live.
+  HECTOR. O, 'tis fair play!
+  TROILUS. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector.
+  HECTOR. How now! how now!
+  TROILUS. For th' love of all the gods,  
+    Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mother;
+    And when we have our armours buckled on,
+    The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords,
+    Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth!
+  HECTOR. Fie, savage, fie!
+  TROILUS. Hector, then 'tis wars.
+  HECTOR. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.
+  TROILUS. Who should withhold me?
+    Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
+    Beck'ning with fiery truncheon my retire;
+    Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
+    Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears;
+    Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,
+    Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way,
+    But by my ruin.
+
+              Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAM
+
+  CASSANDRA. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast;
+    He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay,  
+    Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,
+    Fall all together.
+  PRIAM. Come, Hector, come, go back.
+    Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions;
+    Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself
+    Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt
+    To tell thee that this day is ominous.
+    Therefore, come back.
+  HECTOR. Aeneas is a-field;
+    And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks,
+    Even in the faith of valour, to appear
+    This morning to them.
+  PRIAM. Ay, but thou shalt not go.
+  HECTOR. I must not break my faith.
+    You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,
+    Let me not shame respect; but give me leave
+    To take that course by your consent and voice
+    Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam.
+  CASSANDRA. O Priam, yield not to him!
+  ANDROMACHE. Do not, dear father.  
+  HECTOR. Andromache, I am offended with you.
+    Upon the love you bear me, get you in.
+                                                      Exit ANDROMACHE
+  TROILUS. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
+    Makes all these bodements.
+  CASSANDRA. O, farewell, dear Hector!
+    Look how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale.
+    Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents.
+    Hark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;
+    How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth;
+    Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,
+    Like witless antics, one another meet,
+    And all cry, Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector!
+  TROILUS. Away, away!
+  CASSANDRA. Farewell!-yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave.
+    Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.                  Exit
+  HECTOR. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim.
+    Go in, and cheer the town; we'll forth, and fight,
+    Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.
+  PRIAM. Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!  
+                           Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR. Alarums
+  TROILUS. They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,
+    I come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.
+
+                     Enter PANDARUS
+
+  PANDARUS. Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear?
+  TROILUS. What now?
+  PANDARUS. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.
+  TROILUS. Let me read.
+  PANDARUS. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick so troubles
+    me, and the foolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing,
+    what another, that I shall leave you one o' th's days; and I have
+    a rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones that
+    unless a man were curs'd I cannot tell what to think on't. What
+    says she there?
+  TROILUS. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;
+    Th' effect doth operate another way.
+                                                 [Tearing the letter]
+    Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.  
+    My love with words and errors still she feeds,
+    But edifies another with her deeds.              Exeunt severally
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 4.
+The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp
+
+Enter THERSITES. Excursions
+
+  THERSITES. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look
+    on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same
+    scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his
+    helm. I would fain see them meet, that that same young Troyan ass
+    that loves the whore there might send that Greekish whoremasterly
+    villain with the sleeve back to the dissembling luxurious drab of
+    a sleeve-less errand. A th' t'other side, the policy of those
+    crafty swearing rascals-that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese,
+    Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses -is not prov'd worth a
+    blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax,
+    against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur,
+    Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day;
+    whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy
+    grows into an ill opinion.
+
+             Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following
+  
+    Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other.
+  TROILUS. Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx
+    I would swim after.
+  DIOMEDES. Thou dost miscall retire.
+    I do not fly; but advantageous care
+    Withdrew me from the odds of multitude.
+    Have at thee.
+  THERSITES. Hold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore,
+    Troyan-now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
+                                 Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES fighting
+
+                        Enter HECTOR
+
+  HECTOR. What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector's match?
+    Art thou of blood and honour?
+  THERSITES. No, no-I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very
+    filthy rogue.
+  HECTOR. I do believe thee. Live.                               Exit
+  THERSITES. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague
+    break thy neck for frighting me! What's become of the wenching  
+    rogues? I think they have swallowed one another. I would laugh at
+    that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek
+    them.                                                        Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 5.
+Another part of the plain
+
+Enter DIOMEDES and A SERVANT
+
+  DIOMEDES. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse;
+    Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid.
+    Fellow, commend my service to her beauty;
+    Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Troyan,
+    And am her knight by proof.
+  SERVANT. I go, my lord.                                        Exit
+
+                       Enter AGAMEMNON
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus
+    Hath beat down enon; bastard Margarelon
+    Hath Doreus prisoner,
+    And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,
+    Upon the pashed corses of the kings
+    Epistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain;
+    Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt;
+    Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Palamedes  
+    Sore hurt and bruis'd. The dreadful Sagittary
+    Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,
+    To reinforcement, or we perish all.
+
+                        Enter NESTOR
+
+  NESTOR. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles,
+    And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame.
+    There is a thousand Hectors in the field;
+    Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
+    And there lacks work; anon he's there afoot,
+    And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls
+    Before the belching whale; then is he yonder,
+    And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
+    Fall down before him like the mower's swath.
+    Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes;
+    Dexterity so obeying appetite
+    That what he will he does, and does so much
+    That proof is call'd impossibility.
+  
+                       Enter ULYSSES
+
+  ULYSSES. O, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great
+    Achilles Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.
+    Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood,
+    Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
+    That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to
+    him, Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend
+    And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it,
+    Roaring for Troilus; who hath done to-day
+    Mad and fantastic execution,
+    Engaging and redeeming of himself
+    With such a careless force and forceless care
+    As if that luck, in very spite of cunning,
+    Bade him win all.
+
+                        Enter AJAX
+
+  AJAX. Troilus! thou coward Troilus!                            Exit
+  DIOMEDES. Ay, there, there.  
+  NESTOR. So, so, we draw together.                              Exit
+                      Enter ACHILLES
+
+  ACHILLES. Where is this Hector?
+    Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;
+    Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
+    Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector.            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 6.
+Another part of the plain
+
+Enter AJAX
+
+  AJAX. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.
+
+                     Enter DIOMEDES
+
+  DIOMEDES. Troilus, I say! Where's Troilus?
+  AJAX. What wouldst thou?
+  DIOMEDES. I would correct him.
+  AJAX. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office
+    Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!
+
+                      Enter TROILUS
+
+  TROILUS. O traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor,
+    And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse.
+  DIOMEDES. Ha! art thou there?
+  AJAX. I'll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.
+  DIOMEDES. He is my prize. I will not look upon.  
+  TROILUS. Come, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you
+                                                      Exeunt fighting
+
+                      Enter HECTOR
+
+  HECTOR. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!
+
+                     Enter ACHILLES
+
+  ACHILLES. Now do I see thee, ha! Have at thee, Hector!
+  HECTOR. Pause, if thou wilt.
+  ACHILLES. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Troyan.
+    Be happy that my arms are out of use;
+    My rest and negligence befriends thee now,
+    But thou anon shalt hear of me again;
+    Till when, go seek thy fortune.                              Exit
+  HECTOR. Fare thee well.
+    I would have been much more a fresher man,
+    Had I expected thee.
+  
+                     Re-enter TROILUS
+
+    How now, my brother!
+  TROILUS. Ajax hath ta'en Aeneas. Shall it be?
+    No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
+    He shall not carry him; I'll be ta'en too,
+    Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:
+    I reck not though thou end my life to-day.                   Exit
+
+                    Enter one in armour
+
+  HECTOR. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark.
+    No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;
+    I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all
+    But I'll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?
+    Why then, fly on; I'll hunt thee for thy hide.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 7.
+Another part of the plain
+
+Enter ACHILLES, with Myrmidons
+
+  ACHILLES. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
+    Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel;
+    Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;
+    And when I have the bloody Hector found,
+    Empale him with your weapons round about;
+    In fellest manner execute your arms.
+    Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.
+    It is decreed Hector the great must die.                   Exeunt
+
+      Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting; then THERSITES
+
+  THERSITES. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull!
+    now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-horn'd Spartan! 'loo,
+    Paris, 'loo! The bull has the game. Ware horns, ho!
+                                            Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS
+
+                      Enter MARGARELON  
+
+  MARGARELON. Turn, slave, and fight.
+  THERSITES. What art thou?
+  MARGARELON. A bastard son of Priam's.
+  THERSITES. I am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard
+    begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in
+    everything illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and
+    wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most
+    ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts
+    judgment. Farewell, bastard.
+      Exit
+  MARGARELON. The devil take thee, coward!                       Exit
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 8.
+Another part of the plain
+
+Enter HECTOR
+
+  HECTOR. Most putrified core so fair without,
+    Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
+    Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath:
+    Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!
+ [Disarms]
+
+              Enter ACHILLES and his Myrmidons
+
+  ACHILLES. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set;
+    How ugly night comes breathing at his heels;
+    Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun,
+    To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
+  HECTOR. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.
+  ACHILLES. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.
+                                                       [HECTOR falls]
+    So, Ilion, fall thou next! Come, Troy, sink down;
+    Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.  
+    On, Myrmidons, and cry you an amain
+    'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'
+                                                  [A retreat sounded]
+    Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.
+  MYRMIDON. The Troyan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
+  ACHILLES. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth
+    And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
+    My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
+    Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.
+                                                 [Sheathes his sword]
+    Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
+    Along the field I will the Troyan trail.                   Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 9.
+Another part of the plain
+
+Sound retreat. Shout. Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, NESTOR, DIOMEDES,
+and the rest, marching
+
+  AGAMEMNON. Hark! hark! what shout is this?
+  NESTOR. Peace, drums!
+  SOLDIERS. [Within] Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain. Achilles!
+  DIOMEDES. The bruit is Hector's slain, and by Achilles.
+  AJAX. If it be so, yet bragless let it be;
+    Great Hector was as good a man as he.
+  AGAMEMNON. March patiently along. Let one be sent
+    To pray Achilles see us at our tent.
+    If in his death the gods have us befriended;
+    Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.
+    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE 10.
+Another part of the plain
+
+Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, and DEIPHOBUS
+
+  AENEAS. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.
+    Never go home; here starve we out the night.
+
+                         Enter TROILUS
+
+  TROILUS. Hector is slain.
+  ALL. Hector! The gods forbid!
+  TROILUS. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail,
+    In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.
+    Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed.
+    Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.
+    I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
+    And linger not our sure destructions on.
+  AENEAS. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.
+  TROILUS. You understand me not that tell me so.
+    I do not speak of flight, of fear of death,
+    But dare all imminence that gods and men  
+    Address their dangers in. Hector is gone.
+    Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
+    Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd
+    Go in to Troy, and say there 'Hector's dead.'
+    There is a word will Priam turn to stone;
+    Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
+    Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word,
+    Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away;
+    Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
+    Stay yet. You vile abominable tents,
+    Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,
+    Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
+    I'll through and through you. And, thou great-siz'd coward,
+    No space of earth shall sunder our two hates;
+    I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
+    That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts.
+    Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go;
+    Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.
+
+                        Enter PANDARUS  
+
+  PANDARUS. But hear you, hear you!
+  TROILUS. Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame
+    Pursue thy life and live aye with thy name!
+                                              Exeunt all but PANDARUS
+  PANDARUS. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! world! world! thus
+    is the poor agent despis'd! traitors and bawds, how earnestly are
+    you set a work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be
+    so lov'd, and the performance so loathed? What verse for it? What
+    instance for it? Let me see-
+
+          Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing
+          Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
+          And being once subdu'd in armed trail,
+          Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
+
+    Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted
+    cloths. As many as be here of pander's hall,
+    Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall;
+    Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,  
+    Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
+    Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
+    Some two months hence my will shall here be made.
+    It should be now, but that my fear is this,
+    Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss.
+    Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases,
+    And at that time bequeath you my diseases.                   Exit
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1602
+
+
+TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  ORSINO, Duke of Illyria
+  SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola
+  ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian
+  A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola
+  VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke
+  CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke
+  SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia
+  SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK
+  MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia
+  FABIAN, servant to Olivia
+  FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia
+
+  OLIVIA, a rich countess
+  VIOLA, sister of Sebastian
+  MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman
+
+  Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
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+
+
+SCENE:
+A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS; MUSICIANS attending
+
+  DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on,
+    Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
+    The appetite may sicken and so die.
+    That strain again! It had a dying fall;
+    O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
+    That breathes upon a bank of violets,
+    Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more;
+    'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
+    O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
+    That, notwithstanding thy capacity
+    Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
+    Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
+    But falls into abatement and low price
+    Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy,
+    That it alone is high fantastical.
+  CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord?  
+  DUKE. What, Curio?
+  CURIO. The hart.
+  DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.
+    O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
+    Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!
+    That instant was I turn'd into a hart,
+    And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
+    E'er since pursue me.
+
+                     Enter VALENTINE
+
+    How now! what news from her?
+  VALENTINE. So please my lord, I might not be admitted,
+    But from her handmaid do return this answer:
+    The element itself, till seven years' heat,
+    Shall not behold her face at ample view;
+    But like a cloistress she will veiled walk,
+    And water once a day her chamber round
+    With eye-offending brine; all this to season
+    A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh  
+    And lasting in her sad remembrance.
+  DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
+    To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
+    How will she love when the rich golden shaft
+    Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
+    That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,
+    These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd,
+    Her sweet perfections, with one self king!
+    Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs:
+    Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+The sea-coast
+
+Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS
+
+  VIOLA. What country, friends, is this?
+  CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady.
+  VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria?
+    My brother he is in Elysium.
+    Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors?
+  CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved.
+  VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.
+  CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance,
+    Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
+    When you, and those poor number saved with you,
+    Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
+    Most provident in peril, bind himself-
+    Courage and hope both teaching him the practice-
+    To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;
+    Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
+    I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
+    So long as I could see.  
+  VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold.
+    Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
+    Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
+    The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
+  CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
+    Not three hours' travel from this very place.
+  VIOLA. Who governs here?
+  CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name.
+  VIOLA. What is his name?
+  CAPTAIN. Orsino.
+  VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him.
+    He was a bachelor then.
+  CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late;
+    For but a month ago I went from hence,
+    And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know,
+    What great ones do the less will prattle of-
+    That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
+  VIOLA. What's she?
+  CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
+    That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her  
+    In the protection of his son, her brother,
+    Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,
+    They say, she hath abjur'd the company
+    And sight of men.
+  VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady,
+    And might not be delivered to the world,
+    Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
+    What my estate is!
+  CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass,
+    Because she will admit no kind of suit-
+    No, not the Duke's.
+  VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;
+    And though that nature with a beauteous wall
+    Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
+    I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
+    With this thy fair and outward character.
+    I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
+    Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
+    For such disguise as haply shall become
+    The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:  
+    Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him;
+    It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing
+    And speak to him in many sorts of music,
+    That will allow me very worth his service.
+    What else may hap to time I will commit;
+    Only shape thou silence to my wit.
+  CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be;
+    When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
+  VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on.                        Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+OLIVIA'S house
+
+Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA
+
+  SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her
+    brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
+  MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights;
+    your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
+  SIR TOBY. Why, let her except before excepted.
+  MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits
+    of order.
+  SIR TOBY. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These
+    clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too;
+    an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.
+  MARIA. That quaffing and drinking will undo you; I heard my lady
+    talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish knight that you brought in
+    one night here to be her wooer.
+  SIR TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
+  MARIA. Ay, he.
+  SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
+  MARIA. What's that to th' purpose?  
+  SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
+  MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a
+    very fool and a prodigal.
+  SIR TOBY. Fie that you'll say so! He plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys,
+    and speaks three or four languages word for word without book,
+    and hath all the good gifts of nature.
+  MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural; for, besides that he's a
+    fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a
+    coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought
+    among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
+  SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that
+    say so of him. Who are they?
+  MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
+  SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as
+    long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria.
+    He's a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece
+    till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
+    Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
+
+                    Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK  
+
+  AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch!
+  SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew!
+  AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew.
+  MARIA. And you too, sir.
+  SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
+  AGUECHEEK. What's that?
+  SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid.
+  AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
+  MARIA. My name is Mary, sir.
+  AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary Accost-
+  SIR Toby. You mistake, knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her,
+    woo her, assail her.
+  AGUECHEEK. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company.
+    Is that the meaning of 'accost'?
+  MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen.
+  SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never
+    draw sword again!
+  AGUECHEEK. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw
+    sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?  
+  MARIA. Sir, I have not you by th' hand.
+  AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
+  MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to
+    th' buttry-bar and let it drink.
+  AGUECHEEK. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor?
+  MARIA. It's dry, sir.
+  AGUECHEEK. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my
+    hand dry. But what's your jest?
+  MARIA. A dry jest, sir.
+  AGUECHEEK. Are you full of them?
+  MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let
+    go your hand, I am barren.                        Exit MARIA
+  SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see
+    thee so put down?
+  AGUECHEEK. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put
+    me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian
+    or an ordinary man has; but I am great eater of beef, and I
+    believe that does harm to my wit.
+  SIR TOBY. No question.
+  AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home  
+    to-morrow, Sir Toby.
+  SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight?
+  AGUECHEEK. What is 'pourquoi'- do or not do? I would I had bestowed
+    that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and
+    bear-baiting. Oh, had I but followed the arts!
+  SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
+  AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my hair?
+  SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
+  AGUECHEEK. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
+  SIR TOBY. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to
+    see a huswife take thee between her legs and spin it off.
+  AGUECHEEK. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Your niece will
+    not be seen, or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me;
+    the Count himself here hard by woos her.
+  SIR TOBY. She'll none o' th' Count; she'll not match above her
+    degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her
+    swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.
+  AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest
+    mind i' th' world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes
+    altogether.  
+  SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
+  AGUECHEEK. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
+    degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.
+  SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
+  AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper.
+  SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't.
+  AGUECHEEK. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as
+    any man in Illyria.
+  SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these
+    gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like
+    Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a
+    galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a
+    jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What
+    dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by
+    the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the
+    star of a galliard.
+  AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in
+    flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?
+  SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?
+  AGUECHEEK. Taurus? That's sides and heart.  
+  SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha,
+    higher! Ha, ha, excellent!                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire
+
+  VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario,
+    you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three
+    days, and already you are no stranger.
+  VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call
+    in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir,
+    in his favours?
+  VALENTINE. No, believe me.
+
+                  Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count.
+  DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho?
+  VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here.
+  DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario,
+    Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
+    To thee the book even of my secret soul.
+    Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;  
+    Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
+    And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow
+    Till thou have audience.
+  VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord,
+    If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
+    As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
+  DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds,
+    Rather than make unprofited return.
+  VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
+  DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
+    Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith!
+    It shall become thee well to act my woes:
+    She will attend it better in thy youth
+    Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.
+  VIOLA. I think not so, my lord.
+  DUKE. Dear lad, believe it,
+    For they shall yet belie thy happy years
+    That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
+    Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
+    Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,  
+    And all is semblative a woman's part.
+    I know thy constellation is right apt
+    For this affair. Some four or five attend him-
+    All, if you will, for I myself am best
+    When least in company. Prosper well in this,
+    And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord
+    To call his fortunes thine.
+  VIOLA. I'll do my best
+    To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife!
+    Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+OLIVIA'S house
+
+Enter MARIA and CLOWN
+
+  MARIA. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open
+    my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse; my
+    lady will hang thee for thy absence.
+  CLOWN. Let her hang me. He that is well hang'd in this world needs
+    to fear no colours.
+  MARIA. Make that good.
+  CLOWN. He shall see none to fear.
+  MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was
+    born, of 'I fear no colours.'
+  CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary?
+  MARIA. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your
+    foolery.
+  CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are
+    fools, let them use their talents.
+  MARIA. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent; or to be
+    turn'd away- is not that as good as a hanging to you?
+  CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning  
+    away, let summer bear it out.
+  MARIA. You are resolute, then?
+  CLOWN. Not so, neither; but I am resolv'd on two points.
+  MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break,
+    your gaskins fall.
+  CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby
+    would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh
+    as any in Illyria.
+  MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make
+    your excuse wisely, you were best.                      Exit
+
+                     Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO
+
+  CLOWN. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits
+    that think they have thee do very oft prove fools; and I that am
+    sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For what says
+    Quinapalus? 'Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.' God bless
+    thee, lady!
+  OLIVIA. Take the fool away.
+  CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.  
+  OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you
+    grow dishonest.
+  CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend;
+    for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the
+    dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no longer
+    dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything
+    that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but
+    patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but patch'd with virtue.
+    If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
+    what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so
+    beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I
+    say again, take her away.
+  OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you.
+  CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit
+    monachum'; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my
+    brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.
+  OLIVIA. Can you do it?
+  CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna.
+  OLIVIA. Make your proof.
+  CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna.  
+    Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
+  OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your
+    proof.
+  CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
+  OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.
+  CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
+  OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
+  CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul
+    being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
+  OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?
+  MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him.
+    Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.
+  CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better
+    increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox;
+    but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.
+  OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio?
+  MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren
+    rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool
+    that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of
+    his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him,  
+    he is gagg'd. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at
+    these set kind of fools no better than the fools' zanies.
+  OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a
+    distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free
+    disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem
+    cannon bullets. There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he
+    do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though
+    he do nothing but reprove.
+  CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well
+    of fools!
+
+                             Re-enter MARIA
+
+  MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires
+    to speak with you.
+  OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it?
+  MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.
+  OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay?
+  MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
+  OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman.  
+    Fie on him! [Exit MARIA] Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from
+    the Count, I am sick, or not at home- what you will to dismiss
+    it. [Exit MALVOLIO] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old,
+    and people dislike it.
+  CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should
+    be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! For- here he comes-
+    one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.
+
+                         Enter SIR TOBY
+
+  OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin?
+  SIR TOBY. A gentleman.
+  OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman?
+  SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] A plague o' these
+    pickle-herring! How now, sot!
+  CLOWN. Good Sir Toby!
+  OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this
+    lethargy?
+  SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.
+  OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is he?  
+  SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me
+    faith, say I. Well, it's all one.                       Exit
+  OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool?
+  CLOWN. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above
+    heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns
+    him.
+  OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz;
+    for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd; go look
+    after him.
+  CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the
+    madman.                                                 Exit
+
+                           Re-enter MALVOLIO
+
+  MALVOLIO. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I
+    told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much,
+     and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were
+    asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and
+    therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him,
+    lady? He's fortified against any denial.  
+  OLIVIA. Tell him he shall not speak with me.
+  MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door
+    like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll
+    speak with you.
+  OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he?
+  MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind.
+  OLIVIA. What manner of man?
+  MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.
+  OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?
+  MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy;
+    as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis
+    almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and
+    man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
+    would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
+  OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
+  MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.                     Exit
+
+                          Re-enter MARIA
+
+  OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;  
+    We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
+
+                             Enter VIOLA
+
+  VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?
+  OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?
+  VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you
+    tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I
+    would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is
+    excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
+    beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to
+    the least sinister usage.
+  OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir?
+  VIOLA. I can say little more than I have studied, and that
+    question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest
+    assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in
+    my speech.
+  OLIVIA. Are you a comedian?
+  VIOLA. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice
+    I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?  
+  OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am.
+  VIOLA. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for
+    what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from
+    my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then
+    show you the heart of my message.
+  OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise.
+  VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.
+  OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I
+    heard you were saucy at my gates, and allow'd your approach
+    rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be
+    gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that time of moon
+    with me to make one in so skipping dialogue.
+  MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
+  VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
+    Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.
+  OLIVIA. Tell me your mind.
+  VIOLA. I am a messenger.
+  OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the
+    courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.
+  VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no  
+    taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as
+    full of peace as matter.
+  OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?
+  VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my
+    entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as
+    maidenhead- to your cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation.
+  OLIVIA. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity.
+    [Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text?
+  VIOLA. Most sweet lady-
+  OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
+    Where lies your text?
+  VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom.
+  OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?
+  VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his heart.
+  OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?
+  VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face.
+  OLIVIA. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my
+    face? You are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain
+    and show you the picture. [Unveiling] Look you, sir, such a one I
+    was this present. Is't not well done?  
+  VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all.
+  OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
+  VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
+    Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
+    Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
+    If you will lead these graces to the grave,
+    And leave the world no copy.
+  OLIVIA. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out
+    divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every
+    particle and utensil labell'd to my will: as- item, two lips
+    indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one
+    neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?
+  VIOLA. I see you what you are: you are too proud;
+    But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
+    My lord and master loves you- O, such love
+    Could be but recompens'd though you were crown'd
+    The nonpareil of beauty!
+  OLIVIA. How does he love me?
+  VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears,
+    With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.  
+  OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him.
+    Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
+    Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
+    In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
+    And in dimension and the shape of nature
+    A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him.
+    He might have took his answer long ago.
+  VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame,
+    With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,
+    In your denial I would find no sense;
+    I would not understand it.
+  OLIVIA. Why, what would you?
+  VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
+    And call upon my soul within the house;
+    Write loyal cantons of contemned love
+    And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
+    Halloo your name to the reverberate hals,
+    And make the babbling gossip of the air
+    Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest
+    Between the elements of air and earth  
+    But you should pity me!
+  OLIVIA. You might do much.
+    What is your parentage?
+  VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
+    I am a gentleman.
+  OLIVIA. Get you to your lord.
+    I cannot love him; let him send no more-
+    Unless perchance you come to me again
+    To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.
+    I thank you for your pains; spend this for me.
+  VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
+    My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
+    Love make his heart of flint that you shall love;
+    And let your fervour, like my master's, be
+    Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.             Exit
+  OLIVIA. 'What is your parentage?'
+    'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
+    I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
+    Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
+    Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft!  
+    Unless the master were the man. How now!
+    Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
+    Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
+    With an invisible and subtle stealth
+    To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
+    What ho, Malvolio!
+
+                        Re-enter MALVOLIO
+
+  MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service.
+  OLIVIA. Run after that same peevish messenger,
+    The County's man. He left this ring behind him,
+    Would I or not. Tell him I'll none of it.
+    Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
+    Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.
+    If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
+    I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
+  MALVOLIO. Madam, I will.                                  Exit
+  OLIVIA. I do I know not what, and fear to find
+    Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.  
+    Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
+    What is decreed must be; and be this so!                Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+The sea-coast
+
+Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN
+
+  ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer; nor will you not that I go with
+    you?
+  SEBASTIAN. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the
+    malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I
+    shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It
+    were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.
+  ANTONIO. Let me know of you whither you are bound.
+  SEBASTIAN. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere
+    extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of
+    modesty that you will not extort from me what I am willing to
+    keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express
+    myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian,
+    which I call'd Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of
+    Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him
+    myself and a sister, both born in an hour; if the heavens had
+    been pleas'd, would we had so ended! But you, sir, alter'd that;
+    for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was  
+    my sister drown'd.
+  ANTONIO. Alas the day!
+  SEBASTIAN. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me,
+    was yet of many accounted beautiful; but though I could not with
+    such estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will
+    boldly publish her: she bore mind that envy could not but call
+    fair. She is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, though I seem
+    to drown her remembrance again with more.
+  ANTONIO. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
+  SEBASTIAN. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
+  ANTONIO. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your
+    servant.
+  SEBASTIAN. If you will not undo what you have done- that is, kill
+    him whom you have recover'd-desire it not. Fare ye well at once;
+    my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of
+    my mother that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell
+    tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court. Farewell.
+ Exit
+  ANTONIO. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
+    I have many cnemies in Orsino's court,  
+    Else would I very shortly see thee there.
+    But come what may, I do adore thee so
+    That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.            Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+A street
+
+Enter VIOLA and MALVOLIO at several doors
+
+  MALVOLIO. Were you not ev'n now with the Countess Olivia?
+  VIOLA. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arriv'd but
+    hither.
+  MALVOLIO. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved
+    me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover,
+    that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will
+    none of him. And one thing more: that you be never so hardy to
+    come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's
+    taking of this. Receive it so.
+  VIOLA. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it.
+  MALVOLIO. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is
+    it should be so return'd. If it be worth stooping for, there it
+    lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.
+ Exit
+  VIOLA. I left no ring with her; what means this lady?
+    Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
+    She made good view of me; indeed, so much  
+    That methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
+    For she did speak in starts distractedly.
+    She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion
+    Invites me in this churlish messenger.
+    None of my lord's ring! Why, he sent her none.
+    I am the man. If it be so- as 'tis-
+    Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
+    Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
+    Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
+    How easy is it for the proper-false
+    In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
+    Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!
+    For such as we are made of, such we be.
+    How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
+    And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
+    And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
+    What will become of this? As I am man,
+    My state is desperate for my master's love;
+    As I am woman- now alas the day!-
+    What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!  
+    O Time, thou must untangle this, not I;
+    It is too hard a knot for me t' untie!                  Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+OLIVIA'S house
+
+Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW
+
+  SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight is to
+    be up betimes; and 'diluculo surgere' thou know'st-
+  AGUECHEEK. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late
+    is to be up late.
+  SIR TOBY. A false conclusion! I hate it as an unfill'd can. To be
+    up after midnight and to go to bed then is early; so that to go
+    to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives
+    consist of the four elements?
+  AGUECHEEK. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of
+    eating and drinking.
+  SIR TOBY. Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
+    Marian, I say! a stoup of wine.
+
+                          Enter CLOWN
+
+  AGUECHEEK. Here comes the fool, i' faith.
+  CLOWN. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we  
+    three'?
+  SIR TOBY. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.
+  AGUECHEEK. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had
+    rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a
+    breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very
+    gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus,
+    of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very
+    good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman; hadst it?
+  CLOWN. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no
+    whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no
+    bottle-ale houses.
+  AGUECHEEK. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is
+    done. Now, a song.
+  SIR TOBY. Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let's have a song.
+  AGUECHEEK. There's a testril of me too; if one knight give a-
+CLOWN. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
+  SIR TOBY. A love-song, a love-song.
+  AGUECHEEK. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
+
+                         CLOWN sings
+  
+         O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
+         O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
+           That can sing both high and low.
+           Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
+           Journeys end in lovers meeting,
+           Every wise man's son doth know.
+
+  AGUECHEEK. Excellent good, i' faith!
+  SIR TOBY. Good, good!
+
+                         CLOWN sings
+
+           What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
+           Present mirth hath present laughter;
+             What's to come is still unsure.
+           In delay there lies no plenty,
+           Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty;
+             Youth's a stuff will not endure.
+
+  AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.  
+  SIR TOBY. A contagious breath.
+  AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.
+  SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall
+    we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in
+    a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do
+    that?
+  AGUECHEEK. An you love me, let's do't. I am dog at a catch.
+  CLOWN. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
+  AGUECHEEK. Most certain. Let our catch be 'Thou knave.'
+  CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd
+    in't to call thee knave, knight.
+  AGUECHEEK. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call
+    me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.'
+  CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
+  AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin.           [Catch sung]
+
+                         Enter MARIA
+
+  MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not
+    call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of  
+    doors, never trust me.
+  SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a
+    Peg-a-Ramsey, and                                    [Sings]
+                  Three merry men be we.
+    Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally,
+    lady.                                                [Sings]
+              There dwelt a man in Babylon,
+              Lady, lady.
+  CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.
+  AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I
+    too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
+  SIR TOBY. [Sings] O' the twelfth day of December-
+  MARIA. For the love o' God, peace!
+
+                       Enter MALVOLIO
+
+  MALVOLIO. My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no
+    wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this
+    time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that
+    ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or  
+    remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor
+    time, in you?
+  SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
+  MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell
+    you that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, she's nothing
+    allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your
+    misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would
+    please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you
+    farewell.
+  SIR TOBY. [Sings] Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.
+  MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby.
+  CLOWN. [Sings] His eyes do show his days are almost done.
+  MALVOLIO. Is't even so?
+  SIR TOBY. [Sings] But I will never die.           [Falls down]
+  CLOWN. [Sings] Sir Toby, there you lie.
+  MALVOLIO. This is much credit to you.
+  SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go?
+  CLOWN. [Sings] What an if you do?
+  SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
+  CLOWN. [Sings] O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.  
+  SIR TOBY. [Rising] Out o' tune, sir! Ye lie. Art any more than a
+    steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall
+    be no more cakes and ale?
+  CLOWN. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth
+    too.
+ SIR TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs.
+    A stoup of wine, Maria!
+  MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at anything
+    more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil
+    rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.
+ Exit
+  MARIA. Go shake your ears.
+  AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry,
+    to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him
+    and make a fool of him.
+  SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll
+    deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
+  MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of
+    the Count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet.
+    For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if I do not gull
+    him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not  
+    think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can
+    do it.
+  SIR TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
+  MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
+  AGUECHEEK. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.
+  SIR TOBY. What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear
+    knight?
+  AGUECHEEK. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good
+    enough.
+  MARIA. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a
+    time-pleaser; an affection'd ass that cons state without book and
+     utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so
+    cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is his grounds
+    of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in
+    him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
+  SIR TOBY. What wilt thou do?
+  MARIA. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love;
+    wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the
+    manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and
+    complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I  
+    can write very like my lady, your niece; on forgotten matter we
+    can hardly make distinction of our hands.
+  SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device.
+  AGUECHEEK. I have't in my nose too.
+  SIR TOBY. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that
+    they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him.
+  MARIA. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
+  AGUECHEEK. And your horse now would make him an ass.
+  MARIA. Ass, I doubt not.
+  AGUECHEEK. O, 'twill be admirable!
+  MARIA. Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with
+    him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where
+    he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For
+    this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.
+ Exit
+  SIR TOBY. Good night, Penthesilea.
+  AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench.
+  SIR TOBY. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me.
+    What o' that?
+  AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too.  
+  SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more
+    money.
+  AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
+  SIR TOBY. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end,
+    call me Cut.
+  AGUECHEEK. If I do not, never trust me; take it how you will.
+  SIR TOBY. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go
+    to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and OTHERS
+
+  DUKE. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.
+    Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
+    That old and antique song we heard last night;
+    Methought it did relieve my passion much,
+    More than light airs and recollected terms
+    Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
+    Come, but one verse.
+  CURIO. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing
+    it.
+  DUKE. Who was it?
+  CURIO. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the Lady Olivia's
+    father took much delight in. He is about the house.
+  DUKE. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.
+                                       Exit CURIO. [Music plays]
+    Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love,
+    In the sweet pangs of it remember me;
+    For such as I am all true lovers are,  
+    Unstaid and skittish in all motions else
+    Save in the constant image of the creature
+    That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune?
+  VIOLA. It gives a very echo to the seat
+    Where Love is thron'd.
+  DUKE. Thou dost speak masterly.
+    My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
+    Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;
+    Hath it not, boy?
+  VIOLA. A little, by your favour.
+  DUKE. What kind of woman is't?
+  VIOLA. Of your complexion.
+  DUKE. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?
+  VIOLA. About your years, my lord.
+  DUKE. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take
+    An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
+    So sways she level in her husband's heart.
+    For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
+    Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
+    More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won,  
+    Than women's are.
+  VIOLA. I think it well, my lord.
+  DUKE. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
+    Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
+    For women are as roses, whose fair flow'r
+    Being once display'd doth fall that very hour.
+  VIOLA. And so they are; alas, that they are so!
+    To die, even when they to perfection grow!
+
+                  Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN
+
+  DUKE. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.
+    Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain;
+    The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
+    And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,
+    Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth,
+    And dallies with the innocence of love,
+    Like the old age.
+  CLOWN. Are you ready, sir?
+  DUKE. Ay; prithee, sing.                               [Music]  
+
+                     FESTE'S SONG
+
+            Come away, come away, death;
+          And in sad cypress let me be laid;
+            Fly away, fly away, breath,
+          I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
+          My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
+                 O, prepare it!
+          My part of death no one so true
+                 Did share it.
+
+            Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
+          On my black coffin let there be strown;
+            Not a friend, not a friend greet
+          My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown;
+          A thousand thousand to save,
+                 Lay me, O, where
+          Sad true lover never find my grave,
+                 To weep there!  
+
+  DUKE. There's for thy pains.
+  CLOWN. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
+  DUKE. I'll pay thy pleasure, then.
+  CLOWN. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.
+  DUKE. Give me now leave to leave thee.
+  CLOWN. Now the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy
+    doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I
+    would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business
+    might be everything, and their intent everywhere: for that's it
+    that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.
+                                                      Exit CLOWN
+  DUKE. Let all the rest give place.
+                                     Exeunt CURIO and ATTENDANTS
+    Once more, Cesario,
+    Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.
+    Tell her my love, more noble than the world,
+    Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
+    The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
+    Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune;  
+    But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems
+    That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul.
+  VIOLA. But if she cannot love you, sir?
+  DUKE. I cannot be so answer'd.
+  VIOLA. Sooth, but you must.
+    Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,
+    Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
+    As you have for Olivia. You cannot love her;
+    You tell her so. Must she not then be answer'd?
+  DUKE. There is no woman's sides
+    Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
+    As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
+    So big to hold so much; they lack retention.
+    Alas, their love may be call'd appetite-
+    No motion of the liver, but the palate-
+    That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
+    But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
+    And can digest as much. Make no compare
+    Between that love a woman can bear me
+    And that I owe Olivia.  
+  VIOLA. Ay, but I know-
+  DUKE. What dost thou know?
+  VIOLA. Too well what love women to men may owe.
+    In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
+    My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
+    As it might be perhaps, were I a woman,
+    I should your lordship.
+  DUKE. And what's her history?
+  VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
+    But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
+    Feed on her damask cheek. She pin'd in thought;
+    And with a green and yellow melancholy
+    She sat like Patience on a monument,
+    Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
+    We men may say more, swear more, but indeed
+    Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
+    Much in our vows, but little in our love.
+  DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
+  VIOLA. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
+    And all the brothers too- and yet I know not.  
+    Sir, shall I to this lady?
+  DUKE. Ay, that's the theme.
+    To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say
+    My love can give no place, bide no denay.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+OLIVIA'S garden
+
+Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN
+
+  SIR TOBY. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
+  FABIAN. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be
+    boil'd to death with melancholy.
+  SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally
+    sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
+  FABIAN. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out o' favour
+    with my lady about a bear-baiting here.
+  SIR TOBY. To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will fool
+    him black and blue- shall we not, Sir Andrew?
+  AGUECHEEK. And we do not, it is pity of our lives.
+
+                       Enter MARIA
+
+  SIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain.
+    How now, my metal of India!
+  MARIA. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio's coming down
+    this walk. He has been yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to  
+    his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of
+    mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot
+    of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [As the men hide she drops
+    a letter] Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be
+    caught with tickling.
+ Exit
+
+                      Enter MALVOLIO
+
+  MALVOLIO. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me she
+    did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that,
+    should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she
+    uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that
+    follows her. What should I think on't?
+  SIR TOBY. Here's an overweening rogue!
+  FABIAN. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him;
+    how he jets under his advanc'd plumes!
+  AGUECHEEK. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue-
+  SIR TOBY. Peace, I say.
+  MALVOLIO. To be Count Malvolio!  
+  SIR TOBY. Ah, rogue!
+  AGUECHEEK. Pistol him, pistol him.
+  SIR TOBY. Peace, peace!
+  MALVOLIO. There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married
+    the yeoman of the wardrobe.
+  AGUECHEEK. Fie on him, Jezebel!
+  FABIAN. O, peace! Now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows
+    him.
+  MALVOLIO. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my
+    state-
+  SIR TOBY. O, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!
+  MALVOLIO. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown,
+    having come from a day-bed- where I have left Olivia sleeping-
+  SIR TOBY. Fire and brimstone!
+  FABIAN. O, peace, peace!
+  MALVOLIO. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure
+    travel of regard, telling them I know my place as I would they
+    should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby-
+  SIR TOBY. Bolts and shackles!
+  FABIAN. O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.  
+  MALVOLIO. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for
+    him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play
+    with my- some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me-
+  SIR TOBY. Shall this fellow live?
+  FABIAN. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
+  MALVOLIO. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile
+   with an austere regard of control-
+  SIR TOBY. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?
+  MALVOLIO. Saying 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your
+    niece give me this prerogative of speech'-
+  SIR TOBY. What, what?
+  MALVOLIO. 'You must amend your drunkenness'-
+  SIR TOBY. Out, scab!
+  FABIAN. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
+  MALVOLIO. 'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a
+    foolish knight'-
+  AGUECHEEK. That's me, I warrant you.
+  MALVOLIO. 'One Sir Andrew.'
+  AGUECHEEK. I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.
+  MALVOLIO. What employment have we here?  
+                                          [Taking up the letter]
+  FABIAN. Now is the woodcock near the gin.
+  SIR TOBY. O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading
+    aloud to him!
+  MALVOLIO. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very
+    C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It
+    is, in contempt of question, her hand.
+  AGUECHEEK. Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that?
+  MALVOLIO. [Reads] 'To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good
+    wishes.' Her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! And the
+    impressure her Lucrece with which she uses to seal; 'tis my lady.
+    To whom should this be?
+  FABIAN. This wins him, liver and all.
+  MALVOLIO. [Reads]
+
+                    Jove knows I love,
+                      But who?
+                    Lips, do not move;
+                    No man must know.'
+  
+    'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd!
+    'No man must know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio?
+  SIR TOBY. Marry, hang thee, brock!
+  MALVOLIO. [Reads]
+
+             'I may command where I adore;
+               But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
+             With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
+               M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.'
+
+  FABIAN. A fustian riddle!
+  SIR TOBY. Excellent wench, say I.
+  MALVOLIO. 'M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.'
+    Nay, but first let me see, let me see, let me see.
+  FABIAN. What dish o' poison has she dress'd him!
+  SIR TOBY. And with what wing the staniel checks at it!
+  MALVOLIO. 'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command me: I
+    serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal
+    capacity; there is no obstruction in this. And the end- what
+    should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that  
+    resemble something in me. Softly! M. O. A. I.-
+  SIR TOBY. O, ay, make up that! He is now at a cold scent.
+  FABIAN. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank
+    as a fox.
+  MALVOLIO. M- Malvolio; M- why, that begins my name.
+  FABIAN. Did not I say he would work it out?
+    The cur is excellent at faults.
+  MALVOLIO. M- But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that
+    suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.
+  FABIAN. And O shall end, I hope.
+  SIR TOBY. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 'O!'
+  MALVOLIO. And then I comes behind.
+  FABIAN. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more
+    detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.
+  MALVOLIO. M. O. A. I. This simulation is not as the former; and
+    yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of
+    these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose.
+                                                         [Reads]
+      'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above
+    thee; but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some  
+    achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy
+    Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them;
+    and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy
+    humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly
+    with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put
+    thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee that
+    sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and
+    wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember, Go to,
+    thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee
+    a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch
+    Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with
+    thee,
+                                         THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.'
+
+    Daylight and champain discovers not more. This is open. I will be
+    proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I
+    will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very
+    man. I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade me; for
+    every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did
+    commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being  
+    cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
+    with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her
+    liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in
+    yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of
+    putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a
+    postscript.
+
+    [Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
+    entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles
+    become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my
+    sweet, I prithee.'
+
+    Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou
+    wilt have me.                                           Exit
+  FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of
+    thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
+  SIR TOBY. I could marry this wench for this device.
+  AGUECHEEK. So could I too.
+  SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
+  
+                          Enter MARIA
+
+  AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither.
+  FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
+  SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
+  AGUECHEEK. Or o' mine either?
+  SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy
+    bond-slave?
+  AGUECHEEK. I' faith, or I either?
+  SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the
+    image of it leaves him he must run mad.
+  MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
+  SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vita! with a midwife.
+  AIARIA. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his
+    first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow
+    stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors, and cross-garter'd, a
+    fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now
+    be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
+    melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable
+    contempt. If you will see it, follow me.  
+  SIR TOBY. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
+  AGUECHEEK. I'll make one too.                           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+OLIVIA'S garden
+
+Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor
+
+  VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music!
+    Dost thou live by thy tabor?
+  CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church.
+  VIOLA. Art thou a churchman?
+  CLOWN. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live
+    at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.
+  VIOLA. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar
+    dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor
+    stand by the church.
+  CLOWN. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a
+    chev'ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be
+    turn'd outward!
+  VIOLA. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may
+    quickly make them wanton.
+  CLOWN. I would, therefore, my sister had had name, sir.
+  VIOLA. Why, man?
+  CLOWN. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word  
+    might make my sister wanton. But indeed words are very rascals
+    since bonds disgrac'd them.
+  VIOLA. Thy reason, man?
+  CLOWN. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words
+    are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.
+  VIOLA. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for nothing.
+  CLOWN. Not so, sir; I do care for something; but in my conscience,
+    sir, I do not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir,
+    I would it would make you invisible.
+  VIOLA. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?
+  CLOWN. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep
+    no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands
+    as pilchers are to herrings- the husband's the bigger. I am
+    indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words.
+  VIOLA. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.
+  CLOWN. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun- it
+    shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be
+    as oft with your master as with my mistress: think I saw your
+    wisdom there.
+  VIOLA. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.  
+    Hold, there's expenses for thee.             [Giving a coin]
+  CLOWN. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send the a beard!
+  VIOLA. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one;
+    [Aside] though I would not have it grow on my chin.- Is thy lady
+    within?
+  CLOWN. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
+  VIOLA. Yes, being kept together and put to use.
+  CLOWN. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a
+    Cressida to this Troilus.
+  VIOLA. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd.
+                                           [Giving another coin]
+  CLOWN. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar:
+    Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to
+    them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of
+    my welkin- I might say 'element' but the word is overworn.
+                                                      Exit CLOWN
+  VIOLA. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
+    And to do that well craves a kind of wit.
+    He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
+    The quality of persons, and the time;  
+    And, like the haggard, check at every feather
+    That comes before his eye. This is a practice
+    As full of labour as a wise man's art;
+    For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
+    But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.
+
+                Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW
+
+  SIR TOBY. Save you, gentleman!
+  VIOLA. And you, sir.
+  AGUECHEEK. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
+  VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
+  AGUECHEEK. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
+  SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you
+    should enter, if your trade be to her.
+  VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my
+    voyage.
+  SIR TOBY. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
+  VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what
+    you mean by bidding me taste my legs.  
+  SIR TOBY. I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
+  VIOLA. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are
+    prevented.
+
+                  Enter OLIVIA and MARIA
+
+    Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
+  AGUECHEEK. That youth's a rare courtier- 'Rain odours' well!
+  VIOLA. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant
+    and vouchsafed car.
+  AGUECHEEK. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed'- I'll get 'em all
+    three all ready.
+  OLIVIA. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
+    [Exeunt all but OLIVIA and VIOLA] Give me your hand, sir.
+  VIOLA. My duty, madam, and most humble service.
+  OLIVIA. What is your name?
+  VIOLA. Cesario is your servant's name, fair Princess.
+  OLIVIA. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
+    Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment.
+    Y'are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.  
+  VIOLA. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
+    Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
+  OLIVIA. For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts,
+    Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me!
+  VIOLA. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
+    On his behalf.
+  OLIVIA. O, by your leave, I pray you:
+    I bade you never speak again of him;
+    But, would you undertake another suit,
+    I had rather hear you to solicit that
+    Than music from the spheres.
+  VIOLA. Dear lady-
+  OLIVIA. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
+    After the last enchantment you did here,
+    A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
+    Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.
+    Under your hard construction must I sit,
+    To force that on you in a shameful cunning
+    Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
+    Have you not set mine honour at the stake,  
+    And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts
+    That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
+    Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
+    Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
+  VIOLA. I Pity YOU.
+  OLIVIA. That's a degree to love.
+  VIOLA. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof
+    That very oft we pity enemies.
+  OLIVIA. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.
+    O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
+    If one should be a prey, how much the better
+    To fall before the lion than the wolf!       [Clock strikes]
+    The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
+    Be not afraid, good youth; I will not have you;
+    And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
+    Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
+    There lies your way, due west.
+  VIOLA. Then westward-ho!
+    Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship!
+    You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?  
+  OLIVIA. Stay.
+    I prithee tell me what thou think'st of me.
+  VIOLA. That you do think you are not what you are.
+  OLIVIA. If I think so, I think the same of you.
+  VIOLA. Then think you right: I am not what I am.
+  OLIVIA. I would you were as I would have you be!
+  VIOLA. Would it be better, madam, than I am?
+    I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
+  OLIVIA. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
+    In the contempt and anger of his lip!
+    A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
+    Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
+    Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
+    By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
+    I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride,
+    Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
+    Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
+    For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
+    But rather reason thus with reason fetter:
+    Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.  
+  VIOLA. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
+    I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
+    And that no woman has; nor never none
+    Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
+    And so adieu, good madam; never more
+    Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
+  OLIVIA. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
+    That heart which now abhors to like his love.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+OLIVIA'S house
+
+Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN
+
+  AGUECHEEK. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
+  SIR TOBY. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
+  FABIAN. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
+  AGUECHEEK. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's
+    servingman than ever she bestow'd upon me; I saw't i' th'
+    orchard.
+  SIR TOBY. Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.
+  AGUECHEEK. As plain as I see you now.
+  FABIAN. This was a great argument of love in her toward you.
+  AGUECHEEK. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?
+  FABIAN. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment
+    and reason.
+  SIR TOBY. And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a
+    sailor.
+  FABIAN. She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to
+    exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in
+    your heart and brimstone in your liver. You should then have  
+    accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the
+    mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was
+    look'd for at your hand, and this was baulk'd. The double gilt of
+    this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd
+    into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an
+    icicle on Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some
+    laudable attempt either of valour or policy.
+  AGUECHEEK. An't be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I
+    hate; I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.
+  SIR TOBY. Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of
+    valour. Challenge me the Count's youth to fight with him; hurt
+    him in eleven places. My niece shall take note of it; and assure
+    thyself there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in
+    man's commendation with woman than report of valour.
+  FABIAN. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
+  AGUECHEEK. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
+  SIR TOBY. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is
+    no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention.
+    Taunt him with the license of ink; if thou thou'st him some
+    thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in  
+    thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the
+    bed of Ware in England, set 'em down; go about it. Let there be
+    gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no
+    matter. About it.
+  AGUECHEEK. Where shall I find you?
+  SIR TOBY. We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.
+                                                 Exit SIR ANDREW
+  FABIAN. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.
+  SIR TOBY. I have been dear to him, lad- some two thousand strong,
+    or so.
+  FABIAN. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not
+    deliver't?
+  SIR TOBY. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth
+    to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them
+    together. For Andrew, if he were open'd and you find so much
+    blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the
+    rest of th' anatomy.
+  FABIAN. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great
+    presage of cruelty.
+  
+                         Enter MARIA
+
+  SIR TOBY. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.
+  MARIA. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into
+    stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very
+    renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by
+    believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of
+    grossness. He's in yellow stockings.
+  SIR TOBY. And cross-garter'd?
+  MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th'
+    church. I have dogg'd him like his murderer. He does obey every
+    point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him. He does smile
+    his face into more lines than is in the new map with the
+    augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as
+    'tis; I  can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady
+    will strike him; if she do, he'll smile and take't for a great
+    favour.
+  SIR TOBY. Come, bring us, bring us where he is.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+A street
+
+Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO
+
+  SEBASTIAN. I would not by my will have troubled you;
+    But since you make your pleasure of your pains,
+    I will no further chide you.
+  ANTONIO. I could not stay behind you: my desire,
+    More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
+    And not all love to see you- though so much
+    As might have drawn one to a longer voyage-
+    But jealousy what might befall your travel,
+    Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
+    Unguided and unfriended, often prove
+    Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
+    The rather by these arguments of fear,
+    Set forth in your pursuit.
+  SEBASTIAN. My kind Antonio,
+    I can no other answer make but thanks,
+    And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns
+    Are shuffl'd off with such uncurrent pay;  
+    But were my worth as is my conscience firm,
+    You should find better dealing. What's to do?
+    Shall we go see the reliques of this town?
+  ANTONIO. To-morrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.
+  SEBASTIAN. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
+    I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
+    With the memorials and the things of fame
+    That do renown this city.
+  ANTONIO. Would you'd pardon me.
+    I do not without danger walk these streets:
+    Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his galleys
+    I did some service; of such note, indeed,
+    That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.
+  SEBASTIAN. Belike you slew great number of his people.
+  ANTONIO.Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature;
+    Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
+    Might well have given us bloody argument.
+    It might have since been answer'd in repaying
+    What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake,
+    Most of our city did. Only myself stood out;  
+    For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
+    I shall pay dear.
+  SEBASTIAN. Do not then walk too open.
+  ANTONIO. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse;
+    In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
+    Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet,
+    Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge
+    With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.
+  SEBASTIAN. Why I your purse?
+  ANTONIO. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy
+    You have desire to purchase; and your store,
+    I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
+  SEBASTIAN. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
+    An hour.
+  ANTONIO. To th' Elephant.
+  SEBASTIAN. I do remember.                               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+OLIVIA'S garden
+
+Enter OLIVIA and MARIA
+
+  OLIVIA. I have sent after him; he says he'll come.
+    How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
+    For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd.
+    I speak too loud.
+    Where's Malvolio? He is sad and civil,
+    And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.
+    Where is Malvolio?
+  MARIA. He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner.
+    He is sure possess'd, madam.
+  OLIVIA. Why, what's the matter? Does he rave?
+  MARIA. No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were
+    best to have some guard about you if he come; for sure the man is
+    tainted in's wits.
+  OLIVIA. Go call him hither.                         Exit MARIA
+    I am as mad as he,
+    If sad and merry madness equal be.
+  
+               Re-enter MARIA with MALVOLIO
+
+    How now, Malvolio!
+  MALVOLIO. Sweet lady, ho, ho.
+  OLIVIA. Smil'st thou?
+    I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
+  MALVOLIO. Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make some
+    obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but what of that?
+    If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true
+    sonnet is: 'Please one and please all.'
+  OLIVIA. Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?
+  MALVOLIO. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs.
+    It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed.
+    I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.
+  OLIVIA. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
+  MALVOLIO. To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee.
+  OLIVIA. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand
+    so oft?
+  MARIA. How do you, Malvolio?
+  MALVOLIO. At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!  
+  MARIA. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
+  MALVOLIO. 'Be not afraid of greatness.' 'Twas well writ.
+  OLIVIA. What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio?
+  AIALVOLIO. 'Some are born great,'-
+  OLIVIA. Ha?
+  MALVOLIO. 'Some achieve greatness,'-
+  OLIVIA. What say'st thou?
+  MALVOLIO. 'And some have greatness thrust upon them.'
+  OLIVIA. Heaven restore thee!
+  MALVOLIO. 'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,'-
+  OLIVIA. 'Thy yellow stockings?'
+  MALVOLIO. 'And wish'd to see thee cross-garterd.'
+  OLIVIA. 'Cross-garter'd?'
+  MALVOLIO. 'Go to, thou an made, if thou desir'st to be so';-
+  OLIVIA. Am I made?
+  MALVOLIO. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'
+  OLIVIA. Why, this is very midsummer madness.
+
+                     Enter SERVANT
+  
+  SERVANT. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is
+    return'd; I could hardly entreat him back; he attends your
+    ladyship's pleasure.
+  OLIVIA. I'll come to him. [Exit SERVANT] Good Maria, let this
+    fellow be look'd to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my
+    people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry
+    for the half of my dowry.
+                                         Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA
+  MALVOLIO. O, ho! do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir
+    Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with the letter: she
+    sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she
+    incites me to that in the letter. 'Cast thy humble slough,' says
+    she. 'Be opposite with kinsman, surly with servants; let thy
+    tongue tang with arguments of state; put thyself into the trick
+    of singularity' and consequently sets down the manner how, as: a
+    sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of
+    some sir of note, and so forth. I have lim'd her; but it is
+    Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she went away
+    now- 'Let this fellow be look'd to.' 'Fellow,' not 'Malvolio' nor
+    after my degree, but 'fellow.' Why, everything adheres together,  
+    that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle,
+    no incredulous or unsafe circumstance- What can be said? Nothing
+    that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my
+    hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be
+    thanked.
+
+             Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN
+
+  SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the
+    devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possess'd
+    him, yet I'll speak to him.
+  FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir?
+  SIR TOBY. How is't with you, man?
+  MALVOLIO. Go off; I discard you. Let me enjoy my private; go off.
+  MARIA. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell
+    you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
+  MALVOLIO. Ah, ha! does she so?
+  SIR TOBY. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal gently with him.
+    Let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? How is't with you? What, man,
+    defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to mankind.  
+  MALVOLIO. Do you know what you say?
+  MARIA. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at
+    heart! Pray God he be not bewitched.
+  FABIAN. Carry his water to th' wise woman.
+  MARIA. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My
+    lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.
+  MALVOLIO. How now, mistress!
+  MARIA. O Lord!
+  SIR TOBY. Prithee hold thy peace; this is not the way. Do you not
+    see you move him? Let me alone with him.
+  FABIAN. No way but gentleness- gently, gently. The fiend is rough,
+    and will not be roughly us'd.
+  SIR TOBY. Why, how now, my bawcock!
+    How dost thou, chuck?
+  MALVOLIO. Sir!
+  SIR TOBY. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man, 'tis not for gravity
+    to play at cherrypit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
+  MARIA. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
+  MALVOLIO. My prayers, minx!
+  MARIA. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.  
+  MALVOLIO. Go, hang yourselves all! You are idle shallow things; I
+    am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter.
+ Exit
+  SIR TOBY. Is't possible?
+  FABIAN. If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as
+    an improbable fiction.
+  SIR TOBY. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device,
+    man.
+  MARIA. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.
+  FABIAN. Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
+  MARIA. The house will be the quieter.
+  SIR TOBY. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece
+    is already in the belief that he's mad. We may carry it thus, for
+    our pleasure and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of
+    breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will
+    bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a finder of
+    madmen. But see, but see.
+
+                     Enter SIR ANDREW
+  
+  FABIAN. More matter for a May morning.
+  AGUECHEEK. Here's the challenge; read it. I warrant there's vinegar
+    and pepper in't.
+  FABIAN. Is't so saucy?
+  AGUECHEEK. Ay, is't, I warrant him; do but read.
+  SIR TOBY. Give me. [Reads] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art
+    but a scurvy fellow.'
+  FABIAN. Good and valiant.
+  SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do
+    call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't.'
+  FABIAN. A good note; that keeps you from the blow of the law.
+  SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Thou com'st to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight
+    she uses thee kindly; but thou liest in thy throat; that is not
+    the matter I challenge thee for.'
+  FABIAN. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense- less.
+  SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going home; where if it be
+    thy chance to kill me'-
+  FABIAN. Good.
+  SIR TOBY. 'Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.'
+  FABIAN. Still you keep o' th' windy side of the law. Good!  
+  SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Fare thee well; and God have mercy upon one of
+    our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better,
+    and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy
+    sworn enemy,
+                                              ANDREW AGUECHEEK.'
+
+    If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I'll give't him.
+  MARIA. You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some
+    commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.
+  SIR TOBY. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the
+    orchard, like a bum-baily; so soon as ever thou seest him, draw;
+    and as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft
+    that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twang'd
+    off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would
+    have earn'd him. Away.
+  AGUECHEEK. Nay, let me alone for swearing.                Exit
+  SIR TOBY. Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behaviour of
+    the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and
+    breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms
+    no less. Therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant,  
+    will breed no terror in the youth: he will find it comes from a
+    clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of
+    mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of valour, and drive the
+    gentleman- as know his youth will aptly receive it- into a most
+    hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This
+    will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the
+    look, like cockatrices.
+
+                Re-enter OLIVIA. With VIOLA
+
+  FABIAN. Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take
+    leave, and presently after him.
+  SIR TOBY. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a
+    challenge.
+                              Exeunt SIR TOBY, FABIAN, and MARIA
+  OLIVIA. I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
+    And laid mine honour too unchary out;
+    There's something in me that reproves my fault;
+    But such a headstrong potent fault it is
+    That it but mocks reproof.  
+  VIOLA. With the same haviour that your passion bears
+    Goes on my master's griefs.
+  OLIVIA. Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture.
+    Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you.
+    And I beseech you come again to-morrow.
+    What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
+    That honour sav'd may upon asking give?
+  VIOLA. Nothing but this- your true love for my master.
+  OLIVIA. How with mine honour may I give him that
+    Which I have given to you?
+  VIOLA. I will acquit you.
+  OLIVIA. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well;
+    A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.           Exit
+
+              Re-enter SIR TOBY and SIR FABIAN
+
+  SIR TOBY. Gentleman, God save thee.
+  VIOLA. And you, sir.
+  SIR TOBY. That defence thou hast, betake thee tot. Of what nature
+    the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy  
+    intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends
+    thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy
+    preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.
+  VIOLA. You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me;
+    my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence
+    done to any man.
+  SIR TOBY. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you; therefore, if you
+    hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your
+    opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can
+    furnish man withal.
+  VIOLA. I pray you, sir, what is he?
+  SIR TOBY. He is knight, dubb'd with unhatch'd rapier and on carpet
+    consideration; but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and
+    bodies hath he divorc'd three; and his incensement at this moment
+    is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of
+    death and sepulchre. Hob-nob is his word- give't or take't.
+  VIOLA. I will return again into the house and desire some conduct
+    of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men
+    that put quarrels purposely on others to taste their valour;
+    belike this is a man of that quirk.  
+  SIR TOBY. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a very
+    competent injury; therefore, get you on and give him his desire.
+    Back you shall not to the house, unless you undertake that with
+    me which with as much safety you might answer him; therefore on,
+    or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's
+    certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.
+  VIOLA. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you do me this
+    courteous office as to know of the knight what my offence to him
+    is: it is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.
+  SIR TOBY. I Will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman
+    till my return.                                Exit SIR TOBY
+  VIOLA. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?
+  FABIAN. I know the knight is incens'd against you, even to a mortal
+    arbitrement; but nothing of the circumstance more.
+  VIOLA. I beseech you, what manner of man is he?
+  FABIAN. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form,
+    as you are like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is
+    indeed, sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that
+    you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you
+    walk towards him? I will make your peace with him if I can.  
+  VIOLA. I shall be much bound to you for't. I am one that would
+    rather go with sir priest than sir knight. I care not who knows
+    so much of my mettle.                                 Exeunt
+
+                Re-enter SIR TOBY With SIR ANDREW
+
+  SIR TOBY. Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a
+    firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he
+    gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion that it is
+    inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet
+    hit the ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the
+    Sophy.
+  AGUECHEEK. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.
+  SIR TOBY. Ay, but he will not now be pacified; Fabian can scarce
+    hold him yonder.
+  AGUECHEEK. Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant, and so
+    cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damn'd ere I'd have
+    challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him
+    my horse, grey Capilet.
+  SIR TOBY. I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on't;  
+    this shall end without the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry,
+    I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.
+
+              Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA
+
+    [To FABIAN] I have his horse to take up the quarrel; I have
+    persuaded him the youth's a devil.
+  FABIAN. [To SIR TOBY] He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants
+   and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.
+  SIR TOBY. [To VIOLA] There's no remedy, sir: he will fight with you
+    for's oath sake. Marry, he hath better bethought him of his
+    quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of.
+    Therefore draw for the supportance of his vow; he protests he
+    will not hurt you.
+  VIOLA. [Aside] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me
+    tell them how much I lack of a man.
+  FABIAN. Give ground if you see him furious.
+  SIR TOBY. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman will,
+    for his honour's sake, have one bout with you; he cannot by the
+    duello avoid it; but he has promis'd me, as he is a gentleman and  
+    a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; to't.
+  AGUECHEEK. Pray God he keep his oath!                [They draw]
+
+                      Enter ANTONIO
+
+  VIOLA. I do assure you 'tis against my will.
+  ANTONIO. Put up your sword. If this young gentleman
+    Have done offence, I take the fault on me:
+    If you offend him, I for him defy you.
+  SIR TOBY. You, sir! Why, what are you?
+  ANTONIO. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
+    Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
+  SIR TOBY. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
+                                                     [They draw]
+
+                         Enter OFFICERS
+
+  FABIAN. O good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.
+  SIR TOBY. [To ANTONIO] I'll be with you anon.
+  VIOLA. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.  
+  AGUECHEEK. Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promis'd you, I'll be
+    as good as my word. He will bear you easily and reins well.
+  FIRST OFFICER. This is the man; do thy office.
+  SECOND OFFICER. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit
+    Of Count Orsino.
+  ANTONIO. You do mistake me, sir.
+  FIRST OFFICER. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well,
+    Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.
+    Take him away; he knows I know him well.
+  ANTONIO. I Must obey. [To VIOLA] This comes with seeking you;
+    But there's no remedy; I shall answer it.
+    What will you do, now my necessity
+    Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me
+    Much more for what I cannot do for you
+    Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd;
+    But be of comfort.
+  SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, away.
+  ANTONIO. I must entreat of you some of that money.
+  VIOLA. What money, sir?
+    For the fair kindness you have show'd me here,  
+    And part being prompted by your present trouble,
+    Out of my lean and low ability
+    I'll lend you something. My having is not much;
+    I'll make division of my present with you;
+    Hold, there's half my coffer.
+  ANTONIO. Will you deny me now?
+    Is't possible that my deserts to you
+    Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
+    Lest that it make me so unsound a man
+    As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
+    That I have done for you.
+  VIOLA. I know of none,
+    Nor know I you by voice or any feature.
+    I hate ingratitude more in a man
+    Than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness,
+    Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
+    Inhabits our frail blood.
+  ANTONIO. O heavens themselves!
+  SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, I pray you go.
+  ANTONIO. Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here  
+    I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death,
+    Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love,
+    And to his image, which methought did promise
+    Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
+  FIRST OFFICER. What's that to us? The time goes by; away.
+  ANTONIO. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god!
+    Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
+    In nature there's no blemish but the mind:
+    None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind.
+    Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil
+    Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil.
+  FIRST OFFICER. The man grows mad. Away with him.
+    Come, come, sir.
+  ANTONIO. Lead me on.                        Exit with OFFICERS
+  VIOLA. Methinks his words do from such passion fly
+    That he believes himself; so do not I.
+    Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
+    That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!
+  SIR TOBY. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; we'll whisper
+    o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.  
+  VIOLA. He nam'd Sebastian. I my brother know
+    Yet living in my glass; even such and so
+    In favour was my brother; and he went
+    Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
+    For him I imitate. O, if it prove,
+    Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!        Exit
+  SIR TOBY. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a
+    hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in
+    necessity and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.
+  FABIAN. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.
+  AGUECHEEK. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.
+  SIR TOBY. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
+  AGUECHEEK. And I do not-                                  Exit
+  FABIAN. Come, let's see the event.
+  SIR TOBY. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+Before OLIVIA'S house
+
+Enter SEBASTIAN and CLOWN
+
+  CLOWN. Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?
+  SEBASTIAN. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; let me be clear
+    of thee.
+  CLOWN. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor I am not
+    sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your
+    name is not Master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither.
+    Nothing that is so is so.
+  SEBASTIAN. I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else.
+    Thou know'st not me.
+  CLOWN. Vent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and
+    now applies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great
+    lubber, the world, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird
+    thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall
+    I vent to her that thou art coming?
+  SEBASTIAN. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me;
+    There's money for thee; if you tarry longer
+    I shall give worse payment.  
+  CLOWN. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that
+    give fools money get themselves a good report after fourteen
+    years' purchase.
+
+             Enter SIR ANDREW, SIR TOBY, and FABIAN
+
+  AGUECHEEK. Now, sir, have I met you again?
+    [Striking SEBASTIAN] There's for you.
+  SEBASTIAN. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there.
+    Are all the people mad?
+  SIR TOBY. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.
+                                             [Holding SEBASTIAN]
+  CLOWN. This will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of
+    your coats for two-pence.                               Exit
+  SIR TOBY. Come on, sir; hold.
+  AGUECHEEK. Nay, let him alone. I'll go another way to work with
+    him; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any
+    law in Illyria; though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for
+    that.
+  SEBASTIAN. Let go thy hand.  
+  SIR TOBY. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier,
+    put up your iron; you are well flesh'd. Come on.
+  SEBASTIAN. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?
+    If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.     [Draws]
+  SIR TOBY. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this
+    malapert blood from you. [Draws]
+
+                        Enter OLIVIA
+
+  OLIVIA. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee hold.
+  SIR TOBY. Madam!
+  OLIVIA. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
+    Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
+    Where manners ne'er were preach'd! Out of my sight!
+    Be not offended, dear Cesario-
+    Rudesby, be gone!
+                         Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN
+    I prithee, gentle friend,
+    Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
+    In this uncivil and unjust extent  
+    Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
+    And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
+    This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
+    Mayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go;
+    Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me!
+    He started one poor heart of mine in thee.
+  SEBASTIAN. What relish is in this? How runs the stream?
+    Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.
+    Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
+    If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
+  OLIVIA. Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou'dst be rul'd by me!
+  SEBASTIAN. Madam, I will.
+  OLIVIA. O, say so, and so be!                           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+OLIVIA'S house
+
+Enter MARIA and CLOWN
+
+  MARIA. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him
+    believe thou art Sir Topas the curate; do it quickly. I'll call
+    Sir Toby the whilst.                                    Exit
+  CLOWN. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't; and
+    I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I
+    am not tall enough to become the function well nor lean enough to
+    be thought a good student; but to be said an honest man and a
+    good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a careful man and a
+    great scholar. The competitors enter.
+
+                 Enter SIR TOBY and MARIA
+
+  SIR TOBY. Jove bless thee, Master Parson.
+  CLOWN. Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for as the old hermit of Prague, that
+    never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to niece of King
+    Gorboduc 'That that is is'; so I, being Master Parson, am Master
+    Parson; for what is 'that' but that, and 'is' but is?  
+  SIR TOBY. To him, Sir Topas.
+  CLOWN. What ho, I say! Peace in this prison!
+  SIR TOBY. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.
+  MALVOLIO. [Within] Who calls there?
+  CLOWN. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the
+    lunatic.
+  MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.
+  CLOWN. Out, hyperbolical fiend! How vexest thou this man!
+    Talkest thou nothing but of ladies?
+  SIR TOBY. Well said, Master Parson.
+  MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do
+    not think I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness.
+  CLOWN. Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest
+    terms, for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil
+    himself with courtesy. Say'st thou that house is dark?
+  MALVOLIO. As hell, Sir Topas.
+  CLOWN. Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the
+    clerestories toward the south north are as lustrous as ebony; and
+    yet complainest thou of obstruction?
+  MALVOLIO. I am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark.  
+  CLOWN. Madman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but
+    ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in
+    their fog.
+  MALVOLIO. I say this house is as dark as ignorance, though
+    ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say there was never man
+    thus abus'd. I am no more mad than you are; make the trial of it
+    in any constant question.
+  CLOWN. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?
+  MALVOLIO. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.
+  CLOWN. What think'st thou of his opinion?
+  MALVOLIO. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his
+    opinion.
+  CLOWN. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt
+   hold th' opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits; and
+    fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy
+    grandam. Fare thee well.
+  MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas!
+  SIR TOBY. My most exquisite Sir Topas!
+  CLOWN. Nay, I am for all waters.
+  MARIA. Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown: he  
+    sees thee not.
+  SIR TOBY. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou
+    find'st him. I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may
+    be conveniently deliver'd, I would he were; for I am now so far
+    in offence with my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety
+    this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.
+                                                 Exit with MARIA
+  CLOWN. [Sings] Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
+    Tell me how thy lady does.
+  MALVOLIO. Fool!
+  CLOWN. [Sings] My lady is unkind, perdy.
+  MALVOLIO. Fool!
+  CLOWN. [Sings] Alas, why is she so?
+  MALVOLIO. Fool I say!
+  CLOWN. [Sings] She loves another- Who calls, ha?
+  MALVOLIO. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand,
+    help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper; as I am a
+    gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't.
+  CLOWN. Master Malvolio?
+  MALVOLIO. Ay, good fool.  
+  CLOWN. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
+  MALVOLIO. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abus'd;
+    I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.
+  CLOWN. But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in
+    your wits than a fool.
+  MALVOLIO. They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send
+    ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my
+    wits.
+  CLOWN. Advise you what. you say: the minister is here.
+    [Speaking as SIR TOPAS] Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore!
+    Endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.
+  MALVOLIO. Sir Topas!
+  CLOWN. Maintain no words with him, good fellow.- Who, I, sir? Not
+    I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas.- Marry, amen.- I will sir, I
+    will.
+  MALVOLIO. Fool, fool, fool, I say!
+  CLOWN. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for
+    speaking to you.
+  MALVOLIO. Good fool, help me to some light and some paper.
+    I tell thee I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria.  
+  CLOWN. Well-a-day that you were, sir!
+  MALVOLIO. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and
+    light; and convey what I will set down to my lady. It shall
+    advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did.
+  CLOWN. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad
+    indeed, or do you but counterfeit?
+  MALVOLIO. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.
+  CLOWN. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his brains.
+    I will fetch you light and paper and ink.
+  MALVOLIO. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree; I prithe be
+    gone.
+  CLOWN. [Singing]
+                   I am gone, sir,
+                   And anon, sir,
+                 I'll be with you again,
+                   In a trice,
+                   Like to the old Vice,
+                 Your need to sustain;
+
+                 Who with dagger of lath,  
+                 In his rage and his wrath,
+                   Cries, Ah, ha! to the devil,
+                 Like a mad lad,
+                 Pare thy nails, dad.
+                   Adieu, goodman devil.                    Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+OLIVIA'S garden
+
+Enter SEBASTIAN
+
+  SEBASTIAN. This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
+    This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;
+    And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
+    Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?
+    I could not find him at the Elephant;
+    Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
+    That he did range the town to seek me out.
+    His counsel now might do me golden service;
+    For though my soul disputes well with my sense
+    That this may be some error, but no madness,
+    Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
+    So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
+    That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
+    And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
+    To any other trust but that I am mad,
+    Or else the lady's mad; yet if 'twere so,
+    She could not sway her house, command her followers,  
+    Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
+    With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing,
+    As I perceive she does. There's something in't
+    That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.
+
+                Enter OLIVIA and PRIEST
+
+  OLIVIA. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
+    Now go with me and with this holy man
+    Into the chantry by; there, before him
+    And underneath that consecrated roof,
+    Plight me the fun assurance of your faith,
+    That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
+    May live at peace. He shall conceal it
+    Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
+    What time we will our celebration keep
+    According to my birth. What do you say?
+  SEBASTIAN. I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
+    And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.
+  OLIVIA. Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine  
+    That they may fairly note this act of mine!           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Before OLIVIA's house
+
+Enter CLOWN and FABIAN
+
+  FABIAN. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter.
+  CLOWN. Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.
+  FABIAN. Anything.
+  CLOWN. Do not desire to see this letter.
+  FABIAN. This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog
+    again.
+
+             Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and LORDS
+
+  DUKE. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?
+  CLOWN. Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.
+  DUKE. I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?
+  CLOWN. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse for my
+    friends.
+  DUKE. Just the contrary: the better for thy friends.
+  CLOWN. No, sir, the worse.
+  DUKE. How can that be?  
+  CLOWN. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my
+    foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so that by my foes, sir, I
+    profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I am abused;
+    so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make
+    your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and
+    the better for my foes.
+  DUKE. Why, this is excellent.
+  CLOWN. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my
+    friends.
+  DUKE. Thou shalt not be the worse for me. There's gold.
+  CLOWN. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could
+    make it another.
+  DUKE. O, you give me ill counsel.
+  CLOWN. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let
+    your flesh and blood obey it.
+  DUKE. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer.
+    There's another.
+  CLOWN. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying
+    is 'The third pays for all.' The triplex, sir, is a good tripping
+    measure; or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind-  
+    one, two, three.
+  DUKE. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw; if you
+    will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring
+    her along with you, it may awake my bounty further.
+  CLOWN. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go,
+    sir; but I would not have you to think that my desire of having
+    is the sin of covetousness. But, as you say, sir, let your bounty
+    take a nap; I will awake it anon.                       Exit
+
+                 Enter ANTONIO and OFFICERS
+
+  VIOLA. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
+  DUKE. That face of his I do remember well;
+    Yet when I saw it last it was besmear'd
+    As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war.
+    A baubling vessel was he captain of,
+    For shallow draught and bulk unprizable,
+    With which such scathful grapple did he make
+    With the most noble bottom of our fleet
+    That very envy and the tongue of los  
+    Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter?
+  FIRST OFFICER. Orsino, this is that Antonio
+    That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy;
+    And this is he that did the Tiger board
+    When your young nephew Titus lost his leg.
+    Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
+    In private brabble did we apprehend him.
+  VIOLA. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side;
+    But in conclusion put strange speech upon me.
+    I know not what 'twas but distraction.
+  DUKE. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief!
+    What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies
+    Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
+    Hast made thine enemies?
+  ANTONIO. Orsino, noble sir,
+    Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me:
+    Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
+    Though I confess, on base and ground enough,
+    Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
+    That most ingrateful boy there by your side  
+    From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth
+    Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.
+    His life I gave him, and did thereto ad
+    My love without retention or restraint,
+    All his in dedication; for his sake,
+    Did I expose myself, pure for his love,
+    Into the danger of this adverse town;
+    Drew to defend him when he was beset;
+    Where being apprehended, his false cunning,
+    Not meaning to partake with me in danger,
+    Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
+    And grew a twenty years removed thing
+    While one would wink; denied me mine own purse,
+    Which I had recommended to his use
+    Not half an hour before.
+  VIOLA. How can this be?
+  DUKE. When came he to this town?
+  ANTONIO. To-day, my lord; and for three months before,
+    No int'rim, not a minute's vacancy,
+    Both day and night did we keep company.  
+
+              Enter OLIVIA and ATTENDANTS
+
+  DUKE. Here comes the Countess; now heaven walks on earth.
+    But for thee, fellow- fellow, thy words are madness.
+    Three months this youth hath tended upon me-
+    But more of that anon. Take him aside.
+  OLIVIA. What would my lord, but that he may not have,
+    Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
+    Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
+  VIOLA. Madam?
+  DUKE. Gracious Olivia-
+  OLIVIA. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord-
+  VIOLA. My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.
+  OLIVIA. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
+    It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
+    As howling after music.
+  DUKE. Still so cruel?
+  OLIVIA. Still so constant, lord.
+  DUKE. What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,  
+    To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
+    My soul the faithfull'st off'rings hath breath'd out
+    That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?
+  OLIVIA. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.
+  DUKE. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
+    Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death,
+    Kill what I love?- a savage jealousy
+    That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:
+    Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
+    And that I partly know the instrument
+    That screws me from my true place in your favour,
+    Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still;
+    But this your minion, whom I know you love,
+    And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
+    Him will I tear out of that cruel eye
+    Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.
+    Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:
+    I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love
+    To spite a raven's heart within a dove.
+  VIOLA. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,  
+    To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
+  OLIVIA. Where goes Cesario?
+  VIOLA. After him I love
+    More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
+    More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife.
+    If I do feign, you witnesses above
+    Punish my life for tainting of my love!
+  OLIVIA. Ay me, detested! How am I beguil'd!
+  VIOLA. Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?
+  OLIVIA. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?
+    Call forth the holy father.                Exit an ATTENDANT
+  DUKE. Come, away!
+  OLIVIA. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
+  DUKE. Husband?
+  OLIVIA. Ay, husband; can he that deny?
+  DUKE. Her husband, sirrah?
+  VIOLA. No, my lord, not I.
+  OLIVIA. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
+    That makes thee strangle thy propriety.
+    Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up;  
+    Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
+    As great as that thou fear'st.
+
+                   Enter PRIEST
+
+    O, welcome, father!
+    Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
+    Here to unfold- though lately we intended
+    To keep in darkness what occasion now
+    Reveals before 'tis ripe- what thou dost know
+    Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.
+  PRIEST. A contract of eternal bond of love,
+    Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
+    Attested by the holy close of lips,
+    Strength'ned by interchangement of your rings;
+    And all the ceremony of this compact
+    Seal'd in my function, by my testimony;
+    Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,
+    I have travell'd but two hours.
+  DUKE. O thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be,  
+    When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
+    Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow
+    That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
+    Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet
+    Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
+  VIOLA. My lord, I do protest-
+  OLIVIA. O, do not swear!
+    Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear.
+
+                  Enter SIR ANDREW
+
+  AGUECHEEK. For the love of God, a surgeon!
+    Send one presently to Sir Toby.
+  OLIVIA. What's the matter?
+  AGUECHEEK. Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a
+    bloody coxcomb too. For the love of God, your help! I had rather
+    than forty pound I were at home.
+  OLIVIA. Who has done this, Sir Andrew?
+  AGUECHEEK. The Count's gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a
+    coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.  
+  DUKE. My gentleman, Cesario?
+  AGUECHEEK. Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for
+    nothing; and that that did, I was set on to do't by Sir Toby.
+  VIOLA. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you.
+    You drew your sword upon me without cause;
+    But I bespake you fair and hurt you not.
+
+                Enter SIR TOBY and CLOWN
+
+  AGUECHEEK. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I think
+    you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting;
+    you shall hear more; but if he had not been in drink, he would
+    have tickl'd you othergates than he did.
+  DUKE. How now, gentleman? How is't with you?
+  SIR TOBY. That's all one; has hurt me, and there's th' end on't.
+    Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot?
+  CLOWN. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at
+    eight i' th' morning.
+  SIR TOBY. Then he's a rogue and a passy measures pavin. I hate a
+    drunken rogue.  
+  OLIVIA. Away with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?
+  AGUECHEEK. I'll help you, Sir Toby, because we'll be dress'd
+    together.
+  SIR TOBY. Will you help- an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave, a
+    thin fac'd knave, a gull?
+  OLIVIA. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
+                  Exeunt CLOWN, FABIAN, SIR TOBY, and SIR ANDREW
+
+                      Enter SEBASTIAN
+
+  SEBASTIAN. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;
+    But, had it been the brother of my blood,
+    I must have done no less with wit and safety.
+    You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that
+    I do perceive it hath offended you.
+    Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
+    We made each other but so late ago.
+  DUKE. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!
+    A natural perspective, that is and is not.
+  SEBASTIAN. Antonio, O my dear Antonio!  
+    How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me
+    Since I have lost thee!
+  ANTONIO. Sebastian are you?
+  SEBASTIAN. Fear'st thou that, Antonio?
+  ANTONIO. How have you made division of yourself?
+    An apple cleft in two is not more twin
+    Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?
+  OLIVIA. Most wonderful!
+  SEBASTIAN. Do I stand there? I never had a brother;
+    Nor can there be that deity in my nature
+    Of here and everywhere. I had a sister
+    Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd.
+    Of charity, what kin are you to me?
+    What countryman, what name, what parentage?
+  VIOLA. Of Messaline; Sebastian was my father.
+    Such a Sebastian was my brother too;
+    So went he suited to his watery tomb;
+    If spirits can assume both form and suit,
+    You come to fright us.
+  SEBASTIAN. A spirit I am indeed,  
+    But am in that dimension grossly clad
+    Which from the womb I did participate.
+    Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
+    I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
+    And say 'Thrice welcome, drowned Viola!'
+  VIOLA. My father had a mole upon his brow.
+  SEBASTIAN. And so had mine.
+  VIOLA. And died that day when Viola from her birth
+    Had numb'red thirteen years.
+  SEBASTIAN. O, that record is lively in my soul!
+    He finished indeed his mortal act
+    That day that made my sister thirteen years.
+  VIOLA. If nothing lets to make us happy both
+    But this my masculine usurp'd attire,
+    Do not embrace me till each circumstance
+    Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
+    That I am Viola; which to confirm,
+    I'll bring you to a captain in this town,
+    Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help
+    I was preserv'd to serve this noble Count.  
+    All the occurrence of my fortune since
+    Hath been between this lady and this lord.
+  SEBASTIAN. [To OLIVIA] So Comes it, lady, you have been mistook;
+    But nature to her bias drew in that.
+    You would have been contracted to a maid;
+    Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd;
+    You are betroth'd both to a maid and man.
+  DUKE. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood.
+    If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
+    I shall have share in this most happy wreck.
+    [To VIOLA] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
+    Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.
+  VIOLA. And all those sayings will I overswear;
+    And all those swearings keep as true in soul
+    As doth that orbed continent the fire
+    That severs day from night.
+  DUKE. Give me thy hand;
+    And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.
+  VIOLA. The captain that did bring me first on shore
+    Hath my maid's garments. He, upon some action,  
+    Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit,
+    A gentleman and follower of my lady's.
+  OLIVIA. He shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither;
+    And yet, alas, now I remember me,
+    They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.
+
+        Re-enter CLOWN, with a letter, and FABIAN
+
+    A most extracting frenzy of mine own
+    From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
+    How does he, sirrah?
+  CLOWN. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's end as well
+    as a man in his case may do. Has here writ a letter to you; I
+    should have given 't you to-day morning, but as a madman's
+    epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are
+    deliver'd.
+  OLIVIA. Open't, and read it.
+  CLOWN. Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers the
+    madman. [Reads madly ] 'By the Lord, madam-'
+  OLIVIA. How now! Art thou mad?  
+  CLOWN. No, madam, I do but read madness. An your ladyship will have
+    it as it ought to be, you must allow vox.
+  OLIVIA. Prithee read i' thy right wits.
+  CLOWN. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to read
+    thus; therefore perpend, my Princess, and give ear.
+  OLIVIA. [To FABIAN] Read it you, sirrah.
+  FABIAN. [Reads] 'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world
+    shall know it. Though you have put me into darkness and given
+    your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my
+    senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that
+    induced me to the semblance I put on, with the which I doubt not
+    but to do myself much right or you much shame. Think of me as you
+    please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of
+    my injury.
+                                        THE MADLY-US'D MALVOLIO'
+
+  OLIVIA. Did he write this?
+  CLOWN. Ay, Madam.
+  DUKE. This savours not much of distraction.
+  OLIVIA. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.  
+                                                     Exit FABIAN
+    My lord, so please you, these things further thought on,
+    To think me as well a sister as a wife,
+    One day shall crown th' alliance on't, so please you,
+    Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
+  DUKE. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer.
+    [To VIOLA] Your master quits you; and, for your service done
+      him,
+    So much against the mettle of your sex,
+    So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
+    And since you call'd me master for so long,
+    Here is my hand; you shall from this time be
+    You master's mistress.
+  OLIVIA. A sister! You are she.
+
+                Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO
+
+  DUKE. Is this the madman?
+  OLIVIA. Ay, my lord, this same.
+    How now, Malvolio!  
+  MALVOLIO. Madam, you have done me wrong,
+    Notorious wrong.
+  OLIVIA. Have I, Malvolio? No.
+  MALVOLIO. Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.
+    You must not now deny it is your hand;
+    Write from it if you can, in hand or phrase;
+    Or say 'tis not your seal, not your invention;
+    You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
+    And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
+    Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
+    Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you,
+    To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
+    Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people;
+    And, acting this in an obedient hope,
+    Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
+    Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
+    And made the most notorious geck and gul
+    That e'er invention play'd on? Tell me why.
+  OLIVIA. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
+    Though, I confess, much like the character;  
+    But out of question 'tis Maria's hand.
+    And now I do bethink me, it was she
+    First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling,
+    And in such forms which here were presuppos'd
+    Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content;
+    This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee,
+    But, when we know the grounds and authors of it,
+    Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
+    Of thine own cause.
+  FABIAN. Good madam, hear me speak,
+    And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
+    Taint the condition of this present hour,
+    Which I have wond'red at. In hope it shall not,
+    Most freely I confess myself and Toby
+    Set this device against Malvolio here,
+    Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
+    We had conceiv'd against him. Maria writ
+    The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance,
+    In recompense whereof he hath married her.
+    How with a sportful malice it was follow'd  
+    May rather pluck on laughter than revenge,
+    If that the injuries be justly weigh'd
+    That have on both sides pass'd.
+  OLIVIA. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffl'd thee!
+  CLOWN. Why, 'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
+    have greatness thrown upon them.' I was one, sir, in this
+    interlude- one Sir Topas, sir; but that's all one. 'By the Lord,
+    fool, I am not mad!' But do you remember- 'Madam, why laugh you
+    at such a barren rascal? An you smile not, he's gagg'd'? And thus
+    the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.
+  MALVOLIO. I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you.
+ Exit
+  OLIVIA. He hath been most notoriously abus'd.
+  DUKE. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace;
+    He hath not told us of the captain yet.
+    When that is known, and golden time convents,
+    A solemn combination shall be made
+    Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister,
+    We will not part from hence. Cesario, come;
+    For so you shall be while you are a man;  
+    But when in other habits you are seen,
+    Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen.
+                                        Exeunt all but the CLOWN
+
+                        CLOWN sings
+
+           When that I was and a little tiny boy,
+             With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
+           A foolish thing was but a toy,
+             For the rain it raineth every day.
+
+           But when I came to man's estate,
+             With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
+           'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
+             For the rain it raineth every day.
+
+           But when I came, alas! to wive,
+             With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
+           By swaggering could I never thrive,
+             For the rain it raineth every day.  
+
+           But when I came unto my beds,
+             With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
+           With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
+             For the rain it raineth every day.
+
+           A great while ago the world begun,
+             With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
+           But that's all one, our play is done,
+           And we'll strive to please you every day.
+ Exit
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+1595
+
+THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+  DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia
+  VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen
+  PROTEUS,    "  "   "   "     "
+  ANTONIO, father to Proteus
+  THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine
+  EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape
+  SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine
+  LAUNCE, the like to Proteus
+  PANTHINO, servant to Antonio
+  HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan
+  OUTLAWS, with Valentine
+
+  JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus
+  SILVIA, the Duke's daughter, beloved of Valentine
+  LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia
+
+  SERVANTS
+  MUSICIANS
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+SCENE:  
+Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Verona. An open place
+
+Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS
+
+  VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
+    Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
+    Were't not affection chains thy tender days
+    To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
+    I rather would entreat thy company
+    To see the wonders of the world abroad,
+    Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
+    Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
+    But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,
+    Even as I would, when I to love begin.
+  PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
+    Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
+    Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.
+    Wish me partaker in thy happiness
+    When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
+    If ever danger do environ thee,
+    Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,  
+    For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.
+  VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?
+  PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.
+  VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love:
+    How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
+  PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love;
+    For he was more than over shoes in love.
+  VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
+    And yet you never swum the Hellespont.
+  PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.
+  VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.
+  PROTEUS. What?
+  VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,
+    Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth
+    With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;
+    If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
+    If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
+    However, but a folly bought with wit,
+    Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
+  PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.  
+  VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.
+  PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.
+  VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;
+    And he that is so yoked by a fool,
+    Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
+  PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
+    The eating canker dwells, so eating love
+    Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
+  VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud
+    Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
+    Even so by love the young and tender wit
+    Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
+    Losing his verdure even in the prime,
+    And all the fair effects of future hopes.
+    But wherefore waste I time to counsel the
+    That art a votary to fond desire?
+    Once more adieu. My father at the road
+    Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
+  PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
+  VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.  
+    To Milan let me hear from thee by letters
+    Of thy success in love, and what news else
+    Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
+    And I likewise will visit thee with mine.
+  PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!
+  VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!
+                                                  Exit VALENTINE
+  PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;
+    He leaves his friends to dignify them more:
+    I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
+    Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis'd me,
+    Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
+    War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
+    Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.
+
+                         Enter SPEED
+
+  SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?
+  PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.
+  SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,  
+    And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.
+  PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,
+    An if the shepherd be awhile away.
+  SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and
+    I a sheep?
+  PROTEUS. I do.
+  SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.
+  PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.
+  SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.
+  PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.
+  SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.
+  PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.
+  SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the
+    shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;
+    therefore, I am no sheep.
+  PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for
+    food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;
+    thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a
+    sheep.
+  SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'  
+  PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav'st thou my letter to Julia?
+  SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd
+    mutton; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing
+    for my labour.
+  PROTEUS. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.
+  SPEED. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her.
+  PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound you.
+  SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your
+    letter.
+  PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.
+  SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,
+    'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.
+  PROTEUS. But what said she?
+  SPEED.  [Nodding]  Ay.
+  PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that's 'noddy.'
+  SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she
+    did nod; and I say 'Ay.'
+  PROTEUS. And that set together is 'noddy.'
+  SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for
+    your pains.  
+  PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.
+  SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.
+  PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?
+  SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the
+    word 'noddy' for my pains.
+  PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
+  SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.
+  PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?
+  SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both
+    at once delivered.
+  PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?
+  SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.
+  PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?
+  SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so
+    much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to
+    me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in
+    telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as
+    hard as steel.
+  PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?
+  SPEED. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify  
+    your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital
+    whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,
+    I'll commend you to my master.
+  PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,
+    Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,
+    Being destin'd to a drier death on shore.         Exit SPEED
+    I must go send some better messenger.
+    I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
+    Receiving them from such a worthless post.              Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Verona. The garden Of JULIA'S house
+
+Enter JULIA and LUCETTA
+
+  JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
+    Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?
+  LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.
+  JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
+    That every day with parle encounter me,
+    In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
+  LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I'll show my mind
+    According to my shallow simple skill.
+  JULIA. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
+  LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;
+    But, were I you, he never should be mine.
+  JULIA. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?
+  LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.
+  JULIA. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?
+  LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!
+  JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?
+  LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame  
+    That I, unworthy body as I am,
+    Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.
+  JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?
+  LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.
+  JULIA. Your reason?
+  LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman's reason:
+    I think him so, because I think him so.
+  JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?
+  LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.
+  JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me.
+  LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.
+  JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small.
+  LUCETTA. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.
+  JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.
+  LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love.
+  JULIA. I would I knew his mind.
+  LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.
+  JULIA. 'To Julia'- Say, from whom?
+  LUCETTA. That the contents will show.
+  JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?  
+  LUCETTA. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.
+    He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,
+    Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.
+  JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
+    Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
+    To whisper and conspire against my youth?
+    Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,
+    And you an officer fit for the place.
+    There, take the paper; see it be return'd;
+    Or else return no more into my sight.
+  LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
+  JULIA. Will ye be gone?
+  LUCETTA. That you may ruminate.                           Exit
+  JULIA. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter.
+    It were a shame to call her back again,
+    And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
+    What fool is she, that knows I am a maid
+    And would not force the letter to my view!
+    Since maids, in modesty, say 'No' to that
+    Which they would have the profferer construe 'Ay.'  
+    Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,
+    That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,
+    And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!
+    How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,
+    When willingly I would have had her here!
+    How angerly I taught my brow to frown,
+    When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile!
+    My penance is to call Lucetta back
+    And ask remission for my folly past.
+    What ho! Lucetta!
+
+                     Re-enter LUCETTA
+
+  LUCETTA. What would your ladyship?
+  JULIA. Is't near dinner time?
+  LUCETTA. I would it were,
+    That you might kill your stomach on your meat
+    And not upon your maid.
+  JULIA. What is't that you took up so gingerly?
+  LUCETTA. Nothing.  
+  JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then?
+  LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall.
+  JULIA. And is that paper nothing?
+  LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me.
+  JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.
+  LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,
+    Unless it have a false interpreter.
+  JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.
+  LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.
+    Give me a note; your ladyship can set.
+  JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible.
+    Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' Love.'
+  LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
+  JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then.
+  LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.
+  JULIA. And why not you?
+  LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high.
+  JULIA. Let's see your song.     [LUCETTA withholds the letter]
+    How now, minion!
+  LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.  
+    And yet methinks I do not like this tune.
+  JULIA. You do not!
+  LUCETTA. No, madam; 'tis too sharp.
+  JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy.
+  LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat
+    And mar the concord with too harsh a descant;
+    There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.
+  JULIA. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass.
+  LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.
+  JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
+    Here is a coil with protestation!         [Tears the letter]
+    Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie.
+    You would be fing'ring them, to anger me.
+  LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd
+    To be so ang'red with another letter.                   Exit
+  JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang'red with the same!
+    O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!
+    Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey
+    And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!
+    I'll kiss each several paper for amends.  
+    Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia,
+    As in revenge of thy ingratitude,
+    I throw thy name against the bruising stones,
+    Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
+    And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.'
+    Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed,
+    Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd;
+    And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
+    But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down.
+    Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away
+    Till I have found each letter in the letter-
+    Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear
+    Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,
+    And throw it thence into the raging sea.
+    Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:
+    'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,
+    To the sweet Julia.' That I'll tear away;
+    And yet I will not, sith so prettily
+    He couples it to his complaining names.
+    Thus will I fold them one upon another;  
+    Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
+
+                        Re-enter LUCETTA
+
+  LUCETTA. Madam,
+    Dinner is ready, and your father stays.
+  JULIA. Well, let us go.
+  LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?
+  JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up.
+  LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;
+    Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.
+  JULIA. I see you have a month's mind to them.
+  LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;
+    I see things too, although you judge I wink.
+  JULIA. Come, come; will't please you go?                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Verona. ANTONIO'S house
+
+Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO
+
+  ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that
+    Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
+  PANTHINO. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
+  ANTONIO. Why, what of him?
+  PANTHINO. He wond'red that your lordship
+    Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,
+    While other men, of slender reputation,
+    Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
+    Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
+    Some to discover islands far away;
+    Some to the studious universities.
+    For any, or for all these exercises,
+    He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;
+    And did request me to importune you
+    To let him spend his time no more at home,
+    Which would be great impeachment to his age,
+    In having known no travel in his youth.  
+  ANTONIO. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that
+    Whereon this month I have been hammering.
+    I have consider'd well his loss of time,
+    And how he cannot be a perfect man,
+    Not being tried and tutor'd in the world:
+    Experience is by industry achiev'd,
+    And perfected by the swift course of time.
+    Then tell me whither were I best to send him.
+  PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant
+    How his companion, youthful Valentine,
+    Attends the Emperor in his royal court.
+  ANTONIO. I know it well.
+  PANTHINO. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:
+    There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,
+    Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,
+    And be in eye of every exercise
+    Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.
+  ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd;
+    And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,
+    The execution of it shall make known:  
+    Even with the speediest expedition
+    I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court.
+  PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso
+    With other gentlemen of good esteem
+    Are journeying to salute the Emperor,
+    And to commend their service to his will.
+  ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.
+
+                        Enter PROTEUS
+
+    And- in good time!- now will we break with him.
+  PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!
+    Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
+    Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn.
+    O that our fathers would applaud our loves,
+    To seal our happiness with their consents!
+    O heavenly Julia!
+  ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there?
+  PROTEUS. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
+    Of commendations sent from Valentine,  
+    Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.
+  ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news.
+  PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes
+    How happily he lives, how well-belov'd
+    And daily graced by the Emperor;
+    Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.
+  ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish?
+  PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship's will,
+    And not depending on his friendly wish.
+  ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish.
+    Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;
+    For what I will, I will, and there an end.
+    I am resolv'd that thou shalt spend some time
+    With Valentinus in the Emperor's court;
+    What maintenance he from his friends receives,
+    Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.
+    To-morrow be in readiness to go-
+    Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.
+  PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;
+    Please you, deliberate a day or two.  
+  ANTONIO. Look what thou want'st shall be sent after thee.
+    No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.
+    Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd
+    To hasten on his expedition.
+                                     Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO
+  PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning,
+    And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd.
+    I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter,
+    Lest he should take exceptions to my love;
+    And with the vantage of mine own excuse
+    Hath he excepted most against my love.
+    O, how this spring of love resembleth
+    The uncertain glory of an April day,
+    Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
+    And by an by a cloud takes all away!
+
+                       Re-enter PANTHINO
+
+  PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;
+    He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.  
+  PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto;
+    And yet a thousand times it answers 'No.'             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Milan. The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter VALENTINE and SPEED
+
+  SPEED. Sir, your glove.
+  VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on.
+  SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one.
+  VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it's mine;
+    Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
+    Ah, Silvia! Silvia!
+  SPEED.  [Calling]  Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!
+  VALENTINE. How now, sirrah?
+  SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir.
+  VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her?
+  SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.
+  VALENTINE. Well, you'll still be too forward.
+  SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.
+  VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?
+  SPEED. She that your worship loves?
+  VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love?
+  SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn'd, like  
+    Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a
+    love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that
+    had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his
+    A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;
+    to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears
+    robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were
+    wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to
+    walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently
+    after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money.
+    And now you are metamorphis'd with a mistress, that, when I look
+    on you, I can hardly think you my master.
+  VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv'd in me?
+  SPEED. They are all perceiv'd without ye.
+  VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.
+  SPEED. Without you! Nay, that's certain; for, without you were so
+    simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies
+    that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the
+    water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a
+    physician to comment on your malady.
+  VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?  
+  SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?
+  VALENTINE. Hast thou observ'd that? Even she, I mean.
+  SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.
+  VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st
+    her not?
+  SPEED. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir?
+  VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour'd.
+  SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough.
+  VALENTINE. What dost thou know?
+  SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour'd.
+  VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour
+    infinite.
+  SPEED. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all
+    count.
+  VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count?
+  SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts
+    of her beauty.
+  VALENTINE. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty.
+  SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform'd.
+  VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform'd?  
+  SPEED. Ever since you lov'd her.
+  VALENTINE. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her, and still
+    I see her beautiful.
+  SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her.
+  VALENTINE. Why?
+  SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own
+    eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir
+    Proteus for going ungarter'd!
+  VALENTINE. What should I see then?
+  SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he,
+    being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being
+    in love, cannot see to put on your hose.
+  VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you
+    could not see to wipe my shoes.
+  SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you
+    swing'd me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you
+    for yours.
+  VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
+  SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.
+  VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one  
+    she loves.
+  SPEED. And have you?
+  VALENTINE. I have.
+  SPEED. Are they not lamely writ?
+  VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.
+
+                           Enter SILVIA
+
+    Peace! here she comes.
+  SPEED.  [Aside]  O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
+    Now will he interpret to her.
+  VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.
+  SPEED.  [Aside]  O, give ye good ev'n!
+    Here's a million of manners.
+  SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
+  SPEED.  [Aside]  He should give her interest, and she gives it him.
+  VALENTINE. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter
+    Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
+    Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
+    But for my duty to your ladyship.  
+  SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done.
+  VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;
+    For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
+    I writ at random, very doubtfully.
+  SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
+  VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
+    Please you command, a thousand times as much;
+    And yet-
+  SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
+    And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.
+    And yet take this again- and yet I thank you-
+    Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
+  SPEED.  [Aside]  And yet you will; and yet another' yet.'
+  VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?
+  SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;
+    But, since unwillingly, take them again.
+    Nay, take them.                      [Gives hack the letter]
+  VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you.
+  SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;
+    But I will none of them; they are for you:  
+    I would have had them writ more movingly.
+  VALENTINE. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.
+  SILVIA. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over;
+    And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.
+  VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then?
+  SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.
+    And so good morrow, servant.                     Exit SILVIA
+  SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
+    As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
+    My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,
+    He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
+    O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,
+    That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?
+  VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself?
+  SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason.
+  VALENTINE. To do what?
+  SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia?
+  VALENTINE. To whom?
+  SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.
+  VALENTINE. What figure?  
+  SPEED. By a letter, I should say.
+  VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me.
+  SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself?
+    Why, do you not perceive the jest?
+  VALENTINE. No, believe me.
+  SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her
+    earnest?
+  VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word.
+  SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter.
+  VALENTINE. That's the letter I writ to her friend.
+  SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end.
+  VALENTINE. I would it were no worse.
+  SPEED. I'll warrant you 'tis as well.
+    'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,
+    Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
+    Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,
+    Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.'
+    All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you,
+    sir? 'Tis dinner time.
+  VALENTINE. I have din'd.  
+  SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on
+    the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would
+    fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Verona. JULIA'S house
+
+Enter PROTEUS and JULIA
+
+  PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia.
+  JULIA. I must, where is no remedy.
+  PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return.
+  JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.
+    Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
+                                                 [Giving a ring]
+  PROTEUS. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this.
+  JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
+  PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
+    And when that hour o'erslips me in the day
+    Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,
+    The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
+    Torment me for my love's forgetfulness!
+    My father stays my coming; answer not;
+    The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears:
+    That tide will stay me longer than I should.
+    Julia, farewell!                                  Exit JULIA  
+    What, gone without a word?
+    Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
+    For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
+
+                          Enter PANTHINO
+
+  PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.
+  PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.
+    Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Verona. A street
+
+Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog
+
+  LAUNCE. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the
+    kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv'd my
+    proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir
+    Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the
+    sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father
+    wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her
+    hands, and all our house in a great perplexity; yet did not this
+    cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble
+    stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have
+    wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes,
+    look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you
+    the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this left shoe is
+    my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that cannot be so
+    neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. This
+    shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A
+    vengeance on 't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister,
+    for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand;  
+    this hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself,
+    and I am the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so.
+    Now come I to my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not
+    the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father;
+    well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O that she could
+    speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her- why there 'tis;
+    here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister;
+    mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a
+    tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my
+    tears.
+
+                            Enter PANTHINO
+
+  PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp'd, and
+    thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? Why weep'st
+    thou, man? Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any
+    longer.
+  LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the
+    unkindest tied that ever any man tied.
+  PANTHINO. What's the unkindest tide?  
+  LAUNCE. Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog.
+  PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in losing
+    the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy
+    master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in
+    losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth?
+  LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
+  PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?
+  LAUNCE. In thy tale.
+  PANTHINO. In thy tail!
+  LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the
+    service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able
+    to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive
+    the boat with my sighs.
+  PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
+  LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
+  PANTHINO. Will thou go?
+  LAUNCE. Well, I will go.                                Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Milan. The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED
+
+  SILVIA. Servant!
+  VALENTINE. Mistress?
+  SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
+  VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it's for love.
+  SPEED. Not of you.
+  VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then.
+  SPEED. 'Twere good you knock'd him.                       Exit
+  SILVIA. Servant, you are sad.
+  VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
+  THURIO. Seem you that you are not?
+  VALENTINE. Haply I do.
+  THURIO. So do counterfeits.
+  VALENTINE. So do you.
+  THURIO. What seem I that I am not?
+  VALENTINE. Wise.
+  THURIO. What instance of the contrary?
+  VALENTINE. Your folly.  
+  THURIO. And how quote you my folly?
+  VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin.
+  THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet.
+  VALENTINE. Well, then, I'll double your folly.
+  THURIO. How?
+  SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour?
+  VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.
+  THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your
+    air.
+  VALENTINE. You have said, sir.
+  THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.
+  VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.
+  SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.
+  VALENTINE. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.
+  SILVIA. Who is that, servant?
+  VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio
+    borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he
+    borrows kindly in your company.
+  THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your
+    wit bankrupt.  
+  VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,
+    and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it
+    appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.
+
+                             Enter DUKE
+
+  SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.
+  DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
+    Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.
+    What say you to a letter from your friends
+    Of much good news?
+  VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful
+    To any happy messenger from thence.
+  DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?
+  VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
+    To be of worth and worthy estimation,
+    And not without desert so well reputed.
+  DUKE. Hath he not a son?
+  VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves
+    The honour and regard of such a father.  
+  DUKE. You know him well?
+  VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy
+    We have convers'd and spent our hours together;
+    And though myself have been an idle truant,
+    Omitting the sweet benefit of time
+    To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
+    Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,
+    Made use and fair advantage of his days:
+    His years but young, but his experience old;
+    His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;
+    And, in a word, for far behind his worth
+    Comes all the praises that I now bestow,
+    He is complete in feature and in mind,
+    With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
+  DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,
+    He is as worthy for an empress' love
+    As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
+    Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me
+    With commendation from great potentates,
+    And here he means to spend his time awhile.  
+    I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you.
+  VALENTINE. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.
+  DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth-
+    Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;
+    For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.
+    I will send him hither to you presently.           Exit DUKE
+  VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship
+    Had come along with me but that his mistresss
+    Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
+  SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them
+    Upon some other pawn for fealty.
+  VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.
+  SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind,
+    How could he see his way to seek out you?
+  VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.
+  THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all.
+  VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;
+    Upon a homely object Love can wink.              Exit THURIO
+
+                         Enter PROTEUS  
+
+  SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.
+  VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you
+    Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
+  SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
+    If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
+  VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him
+    To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
+  SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
+  PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant
+    To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
+  VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability;
+    Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
+  PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
+  SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed.
+    Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
+  PROTEUS. I'll die on him that says so but yourself.
+  SILVIA. That you are welcome?
+  PROTEUS. That you are worthless.
+  
+                          Re-enter THURIO
+
+  THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.
+  SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,
+    Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.
+    I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
+    When you have done we look to hear from you.
+  PROTEUS. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
+                                        Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO
+  VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?
+  PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.
+  VALENTINE. And how do yours?
+  PROTEUS. I left them all in health.
+  VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love?
+  PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you;
+    I know you joy not in a love-discourse.
+  VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now;
+    I have done penance for contemning Love,
+    Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
+    With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,  
+    With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
+    For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
+    Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes
+    And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
+    O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,
+    And hath so humbled me as I confess
+    There is no woe to his correction,
+    Nor to his service no such joy on earth.
+    Now no discourse, except it be of love;
+    Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
+    Upon the very naked name of love.
+  PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.
+    Was this the idol that you worship so?
+  VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?
+  PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon.
+  VALENTINE. Call her divine.
+  PROTEUS. I will not flatter her.
+  VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises!
+  PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,
+    And I must minister the like to you.  
+  VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
+    Yet let her be a principality,
+    Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
+  PROTEUS. Except my mistress.
+  VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any;
+    Except thou wilt except against my love.
+  PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
+  VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too:
+    She shall be dignified with this high honour-
+    To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth
+    Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss
+    And, of so great a favour growing proud,
+    Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow'r
+    And make rough winter everlastingly.
+  PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
+  VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing
+    To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
+    She is alone.
+  PROTEUS. Then let her alone.
+  VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;  
+    And I as rich in having such a jewel
+    As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
+    The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
+    Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,
+    Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
+    My foolish rival, that her father likes
+    Only for his possessions are so huge,
+    Is gone with her along; and I must after,
+    For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.
+  PROTEUS. But she loves you?
+  VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay more, our marriage-hour,
+    With all the cunning manner of our flight,
+    Determin'd of- how I must climb her window,
+    The ladder made of cords, and all the means
+    Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness.
+    Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,
+    In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.
+  PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth;
+    I must unto the road to disembark
+    Some necessaries that I needs must use;  
+    And then I'll presently attend you.
+  VALENTINE. Will you make haste?
+  PROTEUS. I will.                                Exit VALENTINE
+    Even as one heat another heat expels
+    Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
+    So the remembrance of my former love
+    Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
+    Is it my mind, or Valentinus' praise,
+    Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
+    That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
+    She is fair; and so is Julia that I love-
+    That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
+    Which like a waxen image 'gainst a fire
+    Bears no impression of the thing it was.
+    Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
+    And that I love him not as I was wont.
+    O! but I love his lady too too much,
+    And that's the reason I love him so little.
+    How shall I dote on her with more advice
+    That thus without advice begin to love her!  
+    'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
+    And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
+    But when I look on her perfections,
+    There is no reason but I shall be blind.
+    If I can check my erring love, I will;
+    If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.               Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+Milan. A street
+
+Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally
+
+  SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua.
+  LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I
+    reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang'd,
+    nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and
+    the hostess say 'Welcome!'
+  SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I'll to the alehouse with you
+    presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have
+    five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with
+    Madam Julia?
+  LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very
+    fairly in jest.
+  SPEED. But shall she marry him?
+  LAUNCE. No.
+  SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her?
+  LAUNCE. No, neither.
+  SPEED. What, are they broken?
+  LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish.  
+  SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them?
+  LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well
+    with her.
+  SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.
+  LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff
+    understands me.
+  SPEED. What thou say'st?
+  LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I'll but lean, and my
+    staff understands me.
+  SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed.
+  LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.
+  SPEED. But tell me true, will't be a match?
+  LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will;
+    if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.
+  SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will.
+  LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a
+    parable.
+  SPEED. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou
+    that my master is become a notable lover?
+  LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise.  
+  SPEED. Than how?
+  LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
+  SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me.
+  LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.
+  SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.
+  LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love.
+    If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an
+    Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.
+  SPEED. Why?
+  LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to
+    the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?
+  SPEED. At thy service.                                  Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+Milan. The DUKE's palace
+
+Enter PROTEUS
+
+  PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
+    To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
+    To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
+    And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath
+    Provokes me to this threefold perjury:
+    Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.
+    O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd,
+    Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!
+    At first I did adore a twinkling star,
+    But now I worship a celestial sun.
+    Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
+    And he wants wit that wants resolved will
+    To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better.
+    Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad
+    Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
+    With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!
+    I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;  
+    But there I leave to love where I should love.
+    Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;
+    If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
+    If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:
+    For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
+    I to myself am dearer than a friend;
+    For love is still most precious in itself;
+    And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!-
+    Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
+    I will forget that Julia is alive,
+    Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead;
+    And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
+    Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
+    I cannot now prove constant to myself
+    Without some treachery us'd to Valentine.
+    This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
+    To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window,
+    Myself in counsel, his competitor.
+    Now presently I'll give her father notice
+    Of their disguising and pretended flight,  
+    Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine,
+    For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;
+    But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross
+    By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
+    Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
+    As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift.            Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+Verona. JULIA'S house
+
+Enter JULIA and LUCETTA
+
+  JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;
+    And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,
+    Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
+    Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,
+    To lesson me and tell me some good mean
+    How, with my honour, I may undertake
+    A journey to my loving Proteus.
+  LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!
+  JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
+    To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
+    Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly,
+    And when the flight is made to one so dear,
+    Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.
+  LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return.
+  JULIA. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food?
+    Pity the dearth that I have pined in
+    By longing for that food so long a time.  
+    Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.
+    Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow
+    As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
+  LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire,
+    But qualify the fire's extreme rage,
+    Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
+  JULIA. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
+    The current that with gentle murmur glides,
+    Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
+    But when his fair course is not hindered,
+    He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones,
+    Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
+    He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
+    And so by many winding nooks he strays,
+    With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
+    Then let me go, and hinder not my course.
+    I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
+    And make a pastime of each weary step,
+    Till the last step have brought me to my love;
+    And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil,  
+    A blessed soul doth in Elysium.
+  LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along?
+  JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent
+    The loose encounters of lascivious men;
+    Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
+    As may beseem some well-reputed page.
+  LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.
+  JULIA. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings
+    With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots-
+    To be fantastic may become a youth
+    Of greater time than I shall show to be.
+  LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?
+  JULIA. That fits as well as 'Tell me, good my lord,
+    What compass will you wear your farthingale.'
+    Why ev'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.
+  LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.
+  JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour'd.
+  LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin,
+    Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.
+  JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have  
+    What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly.
+    But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me
+    For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
+    I fear me it will make me scandaliz'd.
+  LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not.
+  JULIA. Nay, that I will not.
+  LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
+    If Proteus like your journey when you come,
+    No matter who's displeas'd when you are gone.
+    I fear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal.
+  JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
+    A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
+    And instances of infinite of love,
+    Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
+  LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men.
+  JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect!
+    But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth;
+    His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
+    His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
+    His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,  
+    His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
+  LUCETTA. Pray heav'n he prove so when you come to him.
+  JULIA. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong
+    To bear a hard opinion of his truth;
+    Only deserve my love by loving him.
+    And presently go with me to my chamber,
+    To take a note of what I stand in need of
+    To furnish me upon my longing journey.
+    All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
+    My goods, my lands, my reputation;
+    Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
+    Come, answer not, but to it presently;
+    I am impatient of my tarriance.                       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Milan. The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS
+
+  DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
+    We have some secrets to confer about.            Exit THURIO
+    Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me?
+  PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover
+    The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
+    But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
+    Done to me, undeserving as I am,
+    My duty pricks me on to utter that
+    Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
+    Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,
+    This night intends to steal away your daughter;
+    Myself am one made privy to the plot.
+    I know you have determin'd to bestow her
+    On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
+    And should she thus be stol'n away from you,
+    It would be much vexation to your age.
+    Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose  
+    To cross my friend in his intended drift
+    Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
+    A pack of sorrows which would press you down,
+    Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
+  DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
+    Which to requite, command me while I live.
+    This love of theirs myself have often seen,
+    Haply when they have judg'd me fast asleep,
+    And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
+    Sir Valentine her company and my court;
+    But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err
+    And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
+    A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,
+    I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
+    That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
+    And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,
+    Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
+    I nightly lodge her in an upper tow'r,
+    The key whereof myself have ever kept;
+    And thence she cannot be convey'd away.  
+  PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
+    How he her chamber window will ascend
+    And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
+    For which the youthful lover now is gone,
+    And this way comes he with it presently;
+    Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
+    But, good my lord, do it so cunningly
+    That my discovery be not aimed at;
+    For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
+    Hath made me publisher of this pretence.
+  DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
+    That I had any light from thee of this.
+  PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming.         Exit
+
+                        Enter VALENTINE
+
+  DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
+  VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger
+    That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
+    And I am going to deliver them.  
+  DUKE. Be they of much import?
+  VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify
+    My health and happy being at your court.
+  DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;
+    I am to break with thee of some affairs
+    That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
+    'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought
+    To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.
+  VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match
+    Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman
+    Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
+    Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.
+    Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
+  DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,
+    Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
+    Neither regarding that she is my child
+    Nor fearing me as if I were her father;
+    And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
+    Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
+    And, where I thought the remnant of mine age  
+    Should have been cherish'd by her childlike duty,
+    I now am full resolv'd to take a wife
+    And turn her out to who will take her in.
+    Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow'r;
+    For me and my possessions she esteems not.
+  VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this?
+  DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here,
+    Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,
+    And nought esteems my aged eloquence.
+    Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor-
+    For long agone I have forgot to court;
+    Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd-
+    How and which way I may bestow myself
+    To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
+  VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:
+    Dumb jewels often in their silent kind
+    More than quick words do move a woman's mind.
+  DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.
+  VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.
+    Send her another; never give her o'er,  
+    For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
+    If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
+    But rather to beget more love in you;
+    If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone,
+    For why, the fools are mad if left alone.
+    Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
+    For 'Get you gone' she doth not mean 'Away!'
+    Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;
+    Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.
+    That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
+    If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
+  DUKE. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends
+    Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;
+    And kept severely from resort of men,
+    That no man hath access by day to her.
+  VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night.
+  DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe,
+    That no man hath recourse to her by night.
+  VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window?
+  DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,  
+    And built so shelving that one cannot climb it
+    Without apparent hazard of his life.
+  VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords,
+    To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,
+    Would serve to scale another Hero's tow'r,
+    So bold Leander would adventure it.
+  DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
+    Advise me where I may have such a ladder.
+  VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that.
+  DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child,
+    That longs for everything that he can come by.
+  VALENTINE. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.
+  DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;
+    How shall I best convey the ladder thither?
+  VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
+    Under a cloak that is of any length.
+  DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?
+  VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord.
+  DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak.
+    I'll get me one of such another length.  
+  VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.
+  DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
+    I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
+    What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'!
+    And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
+    I'll be so bold to break the seal for once.          [Reads]
+      'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,
+        And slaves they are to me, that send them flying.
+      O, could their master come and go as lightly,
+        Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying!
+      My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,
+        While I, their king, that thither them importune,
+      Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them,
+        Because myself do want my servants' fortune.
+      I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
+        That they should harbour where their lord should be.'
+    What's here?
+      'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.'
+    'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
+    Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops' son-  
+    Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
+    And with thy daring folly burn the world?
+    Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?
+    Go, base intruder, over-weening slave,
+    Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
+    And think my patience, more than thy desert,
+    Is privilege for thy departure hence.
+    Thank me for this more than for all the favours
+    Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
+    But if thou linger in my territories
+    Longer than swiftest expedition
+    Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
+    By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love
+    I ever bore my daughter or thyself.
+    Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse,
+    But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.    Exit
+  VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment?
+    To die is to be banish'd from myself,
+    And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her
+    Is self from self, a deadly banishment.  
+    What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
+    What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
+    Unless it be to think that she is by,
+    And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
+    Except I be by Silvia in the night,
+    There is no music in the nightingale;
+    Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
+    There is no day for me to look upon.
+    She is my essence, and I leave to be
+    If I be not by her fair influence
+    Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
+    I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
+    Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
+    But fly I hence, I fly away from life.
+
+                      Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE
+
+  PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out.
+  LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho!
+  PROTEUS. What seest thou?  
+  LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on 's head but 'tis a
+    Valentine.
+  PROTEUS. Valentine?
+  VALENTINE. No.
+  PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit?
+  VALENTINE. Neither.
+  PROTEUS. What then?
+  VALENTINE. Nothing.
+  LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?
+  PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike?
+  LAUNCE. Nothing.
+  PROTEUS. Villain, forbear.
+  LAUNCE. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing. I pray you-
+  PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.
+  VALENTINE. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear good news,
+    So much of bad already hath possess'd them.
+  PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,
+    For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.
+  VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead?
+  PROTEUS. No, Valentine.  
+  VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.
+    Hath she forsworn me?
+  PROTEUS. No, Valentine.
+  VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.
+    What is your news?
+  LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.
+  PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that's the news!-
+    From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.
+  VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already,
+    And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
+    Doth Silvia know that I am banished?
+  PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom-
+    Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force-
+    A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;
+    Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd;
+    With them, upon her knees, her humble self,
+    Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them
+    As if but now they waxed pale for woe.
+    But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
+    Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,  
+    Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire-
+    But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
+    Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so,
+    When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
+    That to close prison he commanded her,
+    With many bitter threats of biding there.
+  VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st
+    Have some malignant power upon my life:
+    If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,
+    As ending anthem of my endless dolour.
+  PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,
+    And study help for that which thou lament'st.
+    Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
+    Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love;
+    Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
+    Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that,
+    And manage it against despairing thoughts.
+    Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,
+    Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
+    Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.  
+    The time now serves not to expostulate.
+    Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate;
+    And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
+    Of all that may concern thy love affairs.
+    As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself,
+    Regard thy danger, and along with me.
+  VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,
+    Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.
+  PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.
+  VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!
+                                    Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS
+  LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think
+    my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one if he be but
+    one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am
+    in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor
+    who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman I will not
+    tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for
+    she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's
+    maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a
+    water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the  
+    cate-log  [Pulling out a paper]  of her condition. 'Inprimis: She
+    can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse
+    cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a
+    jade. 'Item: She can milk.' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid
+    with clean hands.
+
+                             Enter SPEED
+
+  SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?
+  LAUNCE. With my master's ship? Why, it is at sea.
+  SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,
+    then, in your paper?
+  LAUNCE. The black'st news that ever thou heard'st.
+  SPEED. Why, man? how black?
+  LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.
+  SPEED. Let me read them.
+  LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.
+  SPEED. Thou liest; I can.
+  LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?
+  SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.  
+  LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.
+    This proves that thou canst not read.
+  SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.
+  LAUNCE.  [Handing over the paper]  There; and Saint Nicholas be thy
+    speed.
+  SPEED.  [Reads]  'Inprimis: She can milk.'
+  LAUNCE. Ay, that she can.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She brews good ale.'
+  LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you
+    brew good ale.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She can sew.'
+  LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'Can she so?'
+  SPEED. 'Item: She can knit.'
+  LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can
+    knit him a stock.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She can wash and scour.'
+  LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and
+    scour'd.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She can spin.'
+  LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for  
+    her living.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.'
+  LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'bastard virtues'; that indeed
+    know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.
+  SPEED. 'Here follow her vices.'
+  LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She is not to be kiss'd fasting, in respect of her
+    breath.'
+  LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.
+    Read on.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.'
+  LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.'
+  LAUNCE. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She is slow in words.'
+  LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow
+    in words is a woman's only virtue. I pray thee, out with't; and
+    place it for her chief virtue.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She is proud.'
+  LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en  
+    from her.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She hath no teeth.'
+  LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She is curst.'
+  LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She will often praise her liquor.'
+  LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will;
+    for good things should be praised.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She is too liberal.'
+  LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is slow
+    of; of her purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut. Now of
+    another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults
+    than hairs, and more wealth than faults.'
+  LAUNCE. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, and not mine,
+    twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.
+  SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit'-
+  LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I'll prove it: the cover of
+    the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt;
+    the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the  
+    greater hides the less. What's next?
+  SPEED. 'And more faults than hairs'-
+  LAUNCE. That's monstrous. O that that were out!
+  SPEED. 'And more wealth than faults.'
+  LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have
+    her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible-
+  SPEED. What then?
+  LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee
+    at the Northgate.
+  SPEED. For me?
+  LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay'd for a better man
+    than thee.
+  SPEED. And must I go to him?
+  LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long that
+    going will scarce serve the turn.
+  SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters!
+ Exit
+  LAUNCE. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly
+    slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I'll after, to
+    rejoice in the boy's correction.                        Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Milan. The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter DUKE and THURIO
+
+  DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you
+    Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.
+  THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most,
+    Forsworn my company and rail'd at me,
+    That I am desperate of obtaining her.
+  DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure
+    Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat
+    Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.
+    A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
+    And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.
+
+                          Enter PROTEUS
+
+    How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman,
+    According to our proclamation, gone?
+  PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord.
+  DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously.  
+  PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.
+  DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.
+    Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee-
+    For thou hast shown some sign of good desert-
+    Makes me the better to confer with thee.
+  PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace
+    Let me not live to look upon your Grace.
+  DUKE. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect
+    The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.
+  PROTEUS. I do, my lord.
+  DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
+    How she opposes her against my will.
+  PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.
+  DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so.
+    What might we do to make the girl forget
+    The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?
+  PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine
+    With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent-
+    Three things that women highly hold in hate.
+  DUKE. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate.  
+  PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it;
+    Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken
+    By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.
+  DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him.
+  PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:
+    'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,
+    Especially against his very friend.
+  DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him,
+    Your slander never can endamage him;
+    Therefore the office is indifferent,
+    Being entreated to it by your friend.
+  PROTEUS. You have prevail'd, my lord; if I can do it
+    By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
+    She shall not long continue love to him.
+    But say this weed her love from Valentine,
+    It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.
+  THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,
+    Lest it should ravel and be good to none,
+    You must provide to bottom it on me;
+    Which must be done by praising me as much  
+    As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.
+  DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,
+    Because we know, on Valentine's report,
+    You are already Love's firm votary
+    And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
+    Upon this warrant shall you have access
+    Where you with Silvia may confer at large-
+    For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
+    And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you-
+    Where you may temper her by your persuasion
+    To hate young Valentine and love my friend.
+  PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect.
+    But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;
+    You must lay lime to tangle her desires
+    By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
+    Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.
+  DUKE. Ay,
+    Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
+  PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty
+    You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;  
+    Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
+    Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
+    That may discover such integrity;
+    For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,
+    Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
+    Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
+    Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
+    After your dire-lamenting elegies,
+    Visit by night your lady's chamber window
+    With some sweet consort; to their instruments
+    Tune a deploring dump- the night's dead silence
+    Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.
+    This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
+  DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.
+  THURIO. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice;
+    Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
+    Let us into the city presently
+    To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music.
+    I have a sonnet that will serve the turn
+    To give the onset to thy good advice.  
+  DUKE. About it, gentlemen!
+  PROTEUS. We'll wait upon your Grace till after supper,
+    And afterward determine our proceedings.
+  DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+ACT_4|SC_1
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+The frontiers of Mantua. A forest
+
+Enter certain OUTLAWS
+
+  FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em.
+
+                  Enter VALENTINE and SPEED
+
+  THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;
+    If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you.
+  SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains
+    That all the travellers do fear so much.
+  VALENTINE. My friends-
+  FIRST OUTLAW. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we'll hear him.
+  THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.
+  VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose;
+    A man I am cross'd with adversity;
+    My riches are these poor habiliments,
+    Of which if you should here disfurnish me,  
+    You take the sum and substance that I have.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?
+  VALENTINE. To Verona.
+  FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?
+  VALENTINE. From Milan.
+  THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn'd there?
+  VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd,
+    If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.
+  FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish'd thence?
+  VALENTINE. I was.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence?
+  VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse:
+    I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent;
+    But yet I slew him manfully in fight,
+    Without false vantage or base treachery.
+  FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so.
+    But were you banish'd for so small a fault?
+  VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues?
+  VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy,  
+    Or else I often had been miserable.
+  THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,
+    This fellow were a king for our wild faction!
+  FIRST OUTLAW. We'll have him. Sirs, a word.
+  SPEED. Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery.
+  VALENTINE. Peace, villain!
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to?
+  VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune.
+  THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,
+    Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth
+    Thrust from the company of awful men;
+    Myself was from Verona banished
+    For practising to steal away a lady,
+    An heir, and near allied unto the Duke.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman
+    Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart.
+  FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these.
+    But to the purpose- for we cite our faults
+    That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives;
+    And, partly, seeing you are beautified  
+    With goodly shape, and by your own report
+    A linguist, and a man of such perfection
+    As we do in our quality much want-
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man,
+    Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.
+    Are you content to be our general-
+    To make a virtue of necessity,
+    And live as we do in this wilderness?
+  THIRD OUTLAW. What say'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort?
+    Say 'ay' and be the captain of us all.
+    We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee,
+    Love thee as our commander and our king.
+  FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd.
+  VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you,
+    Provided that you do no outrages
+    On silly women or poor passengers.
+  THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices.
+    Come, go with us; we'll bring thee to our crews,
+    And show thee all the treasure we have got;  
+    Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.       Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Milan. Outside the DUKE'S palace, under SILVIA'S window
+
+Enter PROTEUS
+
+  PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine,
+    And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
+    Under the colour of commending him
+    I have access my own love to prefer;
+    But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,
+    To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
+    When I protest true loyalty to her,
+    She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;
+    When to her beauty I commend my vows,
+    She bids me think how I have been forsworn
+    In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd;
+    And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,
+    The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
+    Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love
+    The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
+
+                 Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS  
+
+    But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window,
+    And give some evening music to her ear.
+  THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?
+  PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love
+    Will creep in service where it cannot go.
+  THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
+  PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.
+  THURIO. Who? Silvia?
+  PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.
+  THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,
+    Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.
+
+    Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy's clothes
+
+  HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly; I pray you,
+    why is it?
+  JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.
+  HOST. Come, we'll have you merry; I'll bring you where you shall
+    hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for.  
+  JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?
+  HOST. Ay, that you shall.                        [Music plays]
+  JULIA. That will be music.
+  HOST. Hark, hark!
+  JULIA. Is he among these?
+  HOST. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em.
+
+                   SONG
+         Who is Silvia? What is she,
+           That all our swains commend her?
+         Holy, fair, and wise is she;
+           The heaven such grace did lend her,
+         That she might admired be.
+
+         Is she kind as she is fair?
+           For beauty lives with kindness.
+         Love doth to her eyes repair,
+           To help him of his blindness;
+         And, being help'd, inhabits there.
+  
+         Then to Silvia let us sing
+           That Silvia is excelling;
+         She excels each mortal thing
+           Upon the dull earth dwelling.
+         'To her let us garlands bring.
+
+  HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before?
+    How do you, man? The music likes you not.
+  JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.
+  HOST. Why, my pretty youth?
+  JULIA. He plays false, father.
+  HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?
+  JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very
+    heart-strings.
+  HOST. You have a quick ear.
+  JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.
+  HOST. I perceive you delight not in music.
+  JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.
+  HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!
+  JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.  
+  HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?
+  JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing.
+    But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,
+    Often resort unto this gentlewoman?
+  HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov'd her out of
+    all nick.
+  JULIA. Where is Launce?
+  HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master's
+    command, he must carry for a present to his lady.
+  JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts.
+  PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead
+    That you shall say my cunning drift excels.
+  THURIO. Where meet we?
+  PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory's well.
+  THURIO. Farewell.                  Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS
+
+                  Enter SILVIA above, at her window
+
+  PROTEUS. Madam, good ev'n to your ladyship.
+  SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.  
+    Who is that that spake?
+  PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth,
+    You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.
+  SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it.
+  PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
+  SILVIA. What's your will?
+  PROTEUS. That I may compass yours.
+  SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this,
+    That presently you hie you home to bed.
+    Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man,
+    Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,
+    To be seduced by thy flattery
+    That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows?
+    Return, return, and make thy love amends.
+    For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,
+    I am so far from granting thy request
+    That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,
+    And by and by intend to chide myself
+    Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
+  PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;  
+    But she is dead.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  'Twere false, if I should speak it;
+    For I am sure she is not buried.
+  SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend,
+    Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,
+    I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd
+    To wrong him with thy importunacy?
+  PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.
+  SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave
+    Assure thyself my love is buried.
+  PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.
+  SILVIA. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence;
+    Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  He heard not that.
+  PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,
+    Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,
+    The picture that is hanging in your chamber;
+    To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep;
+    For, since the substance of your perfect self
+    Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;  
+    And to your shadow will I make true love.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it
+    And make it but a shadow, as I am.
+  SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir;
+    But since your falsehood shall become you well
+    To worship shadows and adore false shapes,
+    Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it;
+    And so, good rest.
+  PROTEUS. As wretches have o'ernight
+    That wait for execution in the morn.
+                                       Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA
+  JULIA. Host, will you go?
+  HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep.
+  JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?
+  HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost day.
+  JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night
+    That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest.           Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Under SILVIA'S window
+
+Enter EGLAMOUR
+
+  EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia
+    Entreated me to call and know her mind;
+    There's some great matter she'd employ me in.
+    Madam, madam!
+
+             Enter SILVIA above, at her window
+
+  SILVIA. Who calls?
+  EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend;
+    One that attends your ladyship's command.
+  SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow!
+  EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself!
+    According to your ladyship's impose,
+    I am thus early come to know what service
+    It is your pleasure to command me in.
+  SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman-
+    Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not-  
+    Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd.
+    Thou art not ignorant what dear good will
+    I bear unto the banish'd Valentine;
+    Nor how my father would enforce me marry
+    Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.
+    Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say
+    No grief did ever come so near thy heart
+    As when thy lady and thy true love died,
+    Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity.
+    Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
+    To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;
+    And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
+    I do desire thy worthy company,
+    Upon whose faith and honour I repose.
+    Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour,
+    But think upon my grief, a lady's grief,
+    And on the justice of my flying hence
+    To keep me from a most unholy match,
+    Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.
+    I do desire thee, even from a heart  
+    As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
+    To bear me company and go with me;
+    If not, to hide what I have said to thee,
+    That I may venture to depart alone.
+  EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances;
+    Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd,
+    I give consent to go along with you,
+    Recking as little what betideth me
+    As much I wish all good befortune you.
+    When will you go?
+  SILVIA. This evening coming.
+  EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you?
+  SILVIA. At Friar Patrick's cell,
+    Where I intend holy confession.
+  EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.
+  SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour.                 Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Under SILVIA'S Window
+
+Enter LAUNCE with his dog
+
+  LAUNCE. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you,
+    it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav'd
+    from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and
+    sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say
+    precisely 'Thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver him
+    as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no
+    sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher
+    and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur
+    cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as one should
+    say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it
+    were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to
+    take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been
+    hang'd for't; sure as I live, he had suffer'd for't. You shall
+    judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four
+    gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table; he had not been
+    there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the chamber smelt
+    him. 'Out with the dog' says one; 'What cur is that?' says  
+    another; 'Whip him out' says the third; 'Hang him up' says the
+    Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it
+    was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs.
+    'Friend,' quoth I 'you mean to whip the dog.' 'Ay, marry do I'
+    quoth he. 'You do him the more wrong,' quoth I; "twas I did the
+    thing you wot of.' He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of
+    the chamber. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay,
+    I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stock for puddings he hath
+    stol'n, otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the
+    pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had suffer'd
+    for't. Thou think'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick
+    you serv'd me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I bid
+    thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave
+    up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale?
+    Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?
+
+               Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy's clothes
+
+  PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,
+    And will employ thee in some service presently.  
+  JULIA. In what you please; I'll do what I can.
+  PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt.  [To LAUNCE]  How now, you whoreson
+      peasant!
+    Where have you been these two days loitering?
+  LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.
+  PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel?
+  LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish
+    thanks is good enough for such a present.
+  PROTEUS. But she receiv'd my dog?
+  LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back
+    again.
+  PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me?
+  LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol'n from me by the
+    hangman's boys in the market-place; and then I offer'd her mine
+    own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift
+    the greater.
+  PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again,
+    Or ne'er return again into my sight.
+    Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here?        Exit LAUNCE
+    A slave that still an end turns me to shame!  
+    Sebastian, I have entertained thee
+    Partly that I have need of such a youth
+    That can with some discretion do my business,
+    For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,
+    But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour,
+    Which, if my augury deceive me not,
+    Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth;
+    Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.
+    Go presently, and take this ring with thee,
+    Deliver it to Madam Silvia-
+    She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me.
+  JULIA. It seems you lov'd not her, to leave her token.
+    She is dead, belike?
+  PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives.
+  JULIA. Alas!
+  PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry 'Alas'?
+  JULIA. I cannot choose
+    But pity her.
+  PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?
+  JULIA. Because methinks that she lov'd you as well  
+    As you do love your lady Silvia.
+    She dreams on him that has forgot her love:
+    You dote on her that cares not for your love.
+    'Tis pity love should be so contrary;
+    And thinking on it makes me cry 'Alas!'
+  PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal
+    This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady
+    I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.
+    Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,
+    Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.      Exit PROTEUS
+  JULIA. How many women would do such a message?
+    Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain'd
+    A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.
+    Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him
+    That with his very heart despiseth me?
+    Because he loves her, he despiseth me;
+    Because I love him, I must pity him.
+    This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,
+    To bind him to remember my good will;
+    And now am I, unhappy messenger,  
+    To plead for that which I would not obtain,
+    To carry that which I would have refus'd,
+    To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd.
+    I am my master's true confirmed love,
+    But cannot be true servant to my master
+    Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
+    Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly
+    As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.
+
+                     Enter SILVIA, attended
+
+    Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean
+    To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.
+  SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she?
+  JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience
+    To hear me speak the message I am sent on.
+  SILVIA. From whom?
+  JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.
+  SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture?
+  JULIA. Ay, madam.  
+  SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there.
+    Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,
+    One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
+    Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.
+  JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter.
+    Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd
+    Deliver'd you a paper that I should not.
+    This is the letter to your ladyship.
+  SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again.
+  JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.
+  SILVIA. There, hold!
+    I will not look upon your master's lines.
+    I know they are stuff'd with protestations,
+    And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break
+    As easily as I do tear his paper.
+  JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.
+  SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me;
+    For I have heard him say a thousand times
+    His Julia gave it him at his departure.
+    Though his false finger have profan'd the ring,  
+    Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.
+  JULIA. She thanks you.
+  SILVIA. What say'st thou?
+  JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her.
+    Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.
+  SILVIA. Dost thou know her?
+  JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself.
+    To think upon her woes, I do protest
+    That I have wept a hundred several times.
+  SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.
+  JULIA. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow.
+  SILVIA. Is she not passing fair?
+  JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.
+    When she did think my master lov'd her well,
+    She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;
+    But since she did neglect her looking-glass
+    And threw her sun-expelling mask away,
+    The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks
+    And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face,
+    That now she is become as black as I.  
+  SILVIA. How tall was she?
+  JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost,
+    When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
+    Our youth got me to play the woman's part,
+    And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown;
+    Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments,
+    As if the garment had been made for me;
+    Therefore I know she is about my height.
+    And at that time I made her weep a good,
+    For I did play a lamentable part.
+    Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning
+    For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight;
+    Which I so lively acted with my tears
+    That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,
+    Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead
+    If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.
+  SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.
+    Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!
+    I weep myself, to think upon thy words.
+    Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this  
+    For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her.
+    Farewell.                        Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS
+  JULIA. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her.
+    A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!
+    I hope my master's suit will be but cold,
+    Since she respects my mistress' love so much.
+    Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
+    Here is her picture; let me see. I think,
+    If I had such a tire, this face of mine
+    Were full as lovely as is this of hers;
+    And yet the painter flatter'd her a little,
+    Unless I flatter with myself too much.
+    Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;
+    If that be all the difference in his love,
+    I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
+    Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;
+    Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high.
+    What should it be that he respects in her
+    But I can make respective in myself,
+    If this fond Love were not a blinded god?  
+    Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
+    For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,
+    Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd!
+    And were there sense in his idolatry
+    My substance should be statue in thy stead.
+    I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake,
+    That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow,
+    I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes,
+    To make my master out of love with thee.                Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Milan. An abbey
+
+Enter EGLAMOUR
+
+  EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky,
+    And now it is about the very hour
+    That Silvia at Friar Patrick's cell should meet me.
+    She will not fail, for lovers break not hours
+    Unless it be to come before their time,
+    So much they spur their expedition.
+
+                         Enter SILVIA
+
+    See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening!
+  SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,
+    Out at the postern by the abbey wall;
+    I fear I am attended by some spies.
+  EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off;
+    If we recover that, we are sure enough.               Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Milan. The DUKE'S palace
+
+Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN
+
+  THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?
+  PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;
+    And yet she takes exceptions at your person.
+  THURIO. What, that my leg is too long?
+  PROTEUS. No; that it is too little.
+  THURIO. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  But love will not be spurr'd to what it loathes.
+  THURIO. What says she to my face?
+  PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one.
+  THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.
+  PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:
+    Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes;
+    For I had rather wink than look on them.
+  THURIO. How likes she my discourse?
+  PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war.
+  THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace?  
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.
+  THURIO. What says she to my valour?
+  PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.
+  THURIO. What says she to my birth?
+  PROTEUS. That you are well deriv'd.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  True; from a gentleman to a fool.
+  THURIO. Considers she my possessions?
+  PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them.
+  THURIO. Wherefore?
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  That such an ass should owe them.
+  PROTEUS. That they are out by lease.
+  JULIA. Here comes the Duke.
+
+                          Enter DUKE
+
+  DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!
+    Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?
+  THURIO. Not I.
+  PROTEUS. Nor I.  
+  DUKE. Saw you my daughter?
+  PROTEUS. Neither.
+  DUKE. Why then,
+    She's fled unto that peasant Valentine;
+    And Eglamour is in her company.
+    'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both
+    As he in penance wander'd through the forest;
+    Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she,
+    But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it;
+    Besides, she did intend confession
+    At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not.
+    These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;
+    Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,
+    But mount you presently, and meet with me
+    Upon the rising of the mountain foot
+    That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.
+    Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.               Exit
+  THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl
+    That flies her fortune when it follows her.
+    I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour  
+    Than for the love of reckless Silvia.                   Exit
+  PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love
+    Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her.              Exit
+  JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love
+    Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love.            Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+The frontiers of Mantua. The forest
+
+Enter OUTLAWS with SILVA
+
+  FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come.
+    Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.
+  SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one
+    Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently.
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away.
+  FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her?
+  SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,
+    But Moyses and Valerius follow him.
+    Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;
+    There is our captain; we'll follow him that's fled.
+    The thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape.
+  FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave;
+    Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,
+    And will not use a woman lawlessly.
+  SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee!            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Another part of the forest
+
+Enter VALENTINE
+
+  VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man!
+    This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
+    I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.
+    Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
+    And to the nightingale's complaining notes
+    Tune my distresses and record my woes.
+    O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
+    Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,
+    Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall
+    And leave no memory of what it was!
+    Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:
+    Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.
+    What halloing and what stir is this to-day?
+    These are my mates, that make their wills their law,
+    Have some unhappy passenger in chase.
+    They love me well; yet I have much to do
+    To keep them from uncivil outrages.  
+    Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who's this comes here?
+                                                   [Steps aside]
+
+          Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian
+
+  PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you,
+    Though you respect not aught your servant doth,
+    To hazard life, and rescue you from him
+    That would have forc'd your honour and your love.
+    Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;
+    A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,
+    And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.
+  VALENTINE.  [Aside]  How like a dream is this I see and hear!
+    Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.
+  SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am!
+  PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;
+    But by my coming I have made you happy.
+  SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy.
+  JULIA.  [Aside]  And me, when he approacheth to your presence.
+  SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,  
+    I would have been a breakfast to the beast
+    Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.
+    O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine,
+    Whose life's as tender to me as my soul!
+    And full as much, for more there cannot be,
+    I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus.
+    Therefore be gone; solicit me no more.
+  PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death,
+    Would I not undergo for one calm look?
+    O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd,
+    When women cannot love where they're belov'd!
+  SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd!
+    Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love,
+    For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith
+    Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths
+    Descended into perjury, to love me.
+    Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two,
+    And that's far worse than none; better have none
+    Than plural faith, which is too much by one.
+    Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!  
+  PROTEUS. In love,
+    Who respects friend?
+  SILVIA. All men but Proteus.
+  PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
+    Can no way change you to a milder form,
+    I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end,
+    And love you 'gainst the nature of love- force ye.
+  SILVIA. O heaven!
+  PROTEUS. I'll force thee yield to my desire.
+  VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch;
+    Thou friend of an ill fashion!
+  PROTEUS. Valentine!
+  VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love-
+    For such is a friend now; treacherous man,
+    Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye
+    Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say
+    I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me.
+    Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand
+    Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,
+    I am sorry I must never trust thee more,  
+    But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
+    The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst!
+    'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!
+  PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me.
+    Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow
+    Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
+    I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer
+    As e'er I did commit.
+  VALENTINE. Then I am paid;
+    And once again I do receive thee honest.
+    Who by repentance is not satisfied
+    Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas'd;
+    By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd.
+    And, that my love may appear plain and free,
+    All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.
+  JULIA. O me unhappy!                                  [Swoons]
+  PROTEUS. Look to the boy.
+  VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now!
+    What's the matter? Look up; speak.
+  JULIA. O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliver a ring to Madam  
+    Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.
+  PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy?
+  JULIA. Here 'tis; this is it.
+  PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.
+  JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook;
+    This is the ring you sent to Silvia.
+  PROTEUS. But how cam'st thou by this ring?
+    At my depart I gave this unto Julia.
+  JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me;
+    And Julia herself have brought it hither.
+  PROTEUS. How! Julia!
+  JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,
+    And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart.
+    How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!
+    O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!
+    Be thou asham'd that I have took upon me
+    Such an immodest raiment- if shame live
+    In a disguise of love.
+    It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
+    Women to change their shapes than men their minds.  
+  PROTEUS. Than men their minds! 'tis true. O heaven, were man
+    But constant, he were perfect! That one error
+    Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th' sins:
+    Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
+    What is in Silvia's face but I may spy
+    More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye?
+  VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either.
+    Let me be blest to make this happy close;
+    'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.
+  PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.
+  JULIA. And I mine.
+
+                Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO
+
+  OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize!
+  VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke.
+    Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd,
+    Banished Valentine.
+  DUKE. Sir Valentine!
+  THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine.  
+  VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;
+    Come not within the measure of my wrath;
+    Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,
+    Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands
+    Take but possession of her with a touch-
+    I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.
+  THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;
+    I hold him but a fool that will endanger
+    His body for a girl that loves him not.
+    I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.
+  DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou
+    To make such means for her as thou hast done
+    And leave her on such slight conditions.
+    Now, by the honour of my ancestry,
+    I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,
+    And think thee worthy of an empress' love.
+    Know then, I here forget all former griefs,
+    Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,
+    Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit,
+    To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,  
+    Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd;
+    Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her.
+  VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy.
+    I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake,
+    To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.
+  DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be.
+  VALENTINE. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal,
+    Are men endu'd with worthy qualities;
+    Forgive them what they have committed here,
+    And let them be recall'd from their exile:
+    They are reformed, civil, full of good,
+    And fit for great employment, worthy lord.
+  DUKE. Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them, and thee;
+    Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts.
+    Come, let us go; we will include all jars
+    With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.
+  VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold
+    With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.
+    What think you of this page, my lord?
+  DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.  
+  VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy.
+  DUKE. What mean you by that saying?
+  VALENTINE. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along,
+    That you will wonder what hath fortuned.
+    Come, Proteus, 'tis your penance but to hear
+    The story of your loves discovered.
+    That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;
+    One feast, one house, one mutual happiness!     Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+
+
+1611
+
+THE WINTER'S TALE
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+Dramatis Personae
+
+  LEONTES, King of Sicilia
+  MAMILLIUS, his son, the young Prince of Sicilia
+  CAMILLO,    lord of Sicilia
+  ANTIGONUS,    "   "     "
+  CLEOMENES,    "   "     "
+  DION,         "   "     "
+  POLIXENES, King of Bohemia
+  FLORIZEL, his son, Prince of Bohemia
+  ARCHIDAMUS, a lord of Bohemia
+  OLD SHEPHERD, reputed father of Perdita
+  CLOWN, his son
+  AUTOLYCUS, a rogue
+  A MARINER
+  A GAOLER
+  TIME, as Chorus
+
+  HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes
+  PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione
+  PAULINA, wife to Antigonus
+  EMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen  
+  MOPSA,   shepherdess
+  DORCAS,        "
+
+  Other Lords, Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers, Servants, Shepherds,
+    Shepherdesses
+
+                              SCENE:
+                       Sicilia and Bohemia
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
+PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
+WITH PERMISSION.  ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
+DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
+PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
+COMMERCIALLY.  PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
+SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
+
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
+
+Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS
+
+  ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the
+    like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see,
+    as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your
+    Sicilia.
+  CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to
+    pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.
+  ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be
+    justified in our loves; for indeed-
+  CAMILLO. Beseech you-
+  ARCHIDAMUS. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we
+    cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to
+    say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses,
+    unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot
+    praise us, as little accuse us.
+  CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.
+  ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me
+    and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.  
+  CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They were
+    train'd together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt
+    them then such an affection which cannot choose but branch now.
+    Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made
+    separation of their society, their encounters, though not
+    personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts,
+    letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to be together,
+    though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it
+    were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their
+    loves!
+  ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or
+    matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young
+    Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that
+    ever came into my note.
+  CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a
+    gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old
+    hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born desire
+    yet their life to see him a man.
+  ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die?
+  CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire  
+    to live.
+  ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live on
+    crutches till he had one.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
+
+Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been
+    The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
+    Without a burden. Time as long again
+    Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
+    And yet we should for perpetuity
+    Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher,
+    Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
+    With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
+    That go before it.
+  LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while,
+    And pay them when you part.
+  POLIXENES. Sir, that's to-morrow.
+    I am question'd by my fears of what may chance
+    Or breed upon our absence, that may blow
+    No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
+    'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd  
+    To tire your royalty.
+  LEONTES. We are tougher, brother,
+    Than you can put us to't.
+  POLIXENES. No longer stay.
+  LEONTES. One sev'night longer.
+  POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow.
+  LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that
+    I'll no gainsaying.
+  POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so.
+    There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world,
+    So soon as yours could win me. So it should now,
+    Were there necessity in your request, although
+    'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
+    Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder
+    Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
+    To you a charge and trouble. To save both,
+    Farewell, our brother.
+  LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you.
+  HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
+    You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,  
+    Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure
+    All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction
+    The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,
+    He's beat from his best ward.
+  LEONTES. Well said, Hermione.
+  HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong;
+    But let him say so then, and let him go;
+    But let him swear so, and he shall not stay;
+    We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
+    [To POLIXENES]  Yet of your royal presence I'll
+    adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
+    You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
+    To let him there a month behind the gest
+    Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes,
+    I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind
+    What lady she her lord.- You'll stay?
+  POLIXENES. No, madam.
+  HERMIONE. Nay, but you will?
+  POLIXENES. I may not, verily.
+  HERMIONE. Verily!  
+    You put me off with limber vows; but I,
+    Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths,
+    Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
+    You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is
+    As potent as a lord's. Will go yet?
+    Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
+    Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
+    When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
+    My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,'
+    One of them you shall be.
+  POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam:
+    To be your prisoner should import offending;
+    Which is for me less easy to commit
+    Than you to punish.
+  HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then,
+    But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you
+    Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys.
+    You were pretty lordings then!
+  POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen,
+    Two lads that thought there was no more behind  
+    But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
+    And to be boy eternal.
+  HERMIONE. Was not my lord
+    The verier wag o' th' two?
+  POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun
+    And bleat the one at th' other. What we chang'd
+    Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
+    The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
+    That any did. Had we pursu'd that life,
+    And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
+    With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
+    Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd
+    Hereditary ours.
+  HERMIONE. By this we gather
+    You have tripp'd since.
+  POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady,
+    Temptations have since then been born to 's, for
+    In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
+    Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
+    Of my young playfellow.  
+  HERMIONE. Grace to boot!
+    Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
+    Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on;
+    Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer,
+    If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
+    You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
+    With any but with us.
+  LEONTES. Is he won yet?
+  HERMIONE. He'll stay, my lord.
+  LEONTES. At my request he would not.
+    Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
+    To better purpose.
+  HERMIONE. Never?
+  LEONTES. Never but once.
+  HERMIONE. What! Have I twice said well? When was't before?
+    I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
+    As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless
+    Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
+    Our praises are our wages; you may ride's
+    With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere  
+    With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal:
+    My last good deed was to entreat his stay;
+    What was my first? It has an elder sister,
+    Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace!
+    But once before I spoke to th' purpose- When?
+    Nay, let me have't; I long.
+  LEONTES. Why, that was when
+    Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
+    Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
+    And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter
+    'I am yours for ever.'
+  HERMIONE. 'Tis Grace indeed.
+    Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice:
+    The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
+    Th' other for some while a friend.
+                                  [Giving her hand to POLIXENES]
+  LEONTES.  [Aside]  Too hot, too hot!
+    To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
+    I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances,
+    But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment  
+    May a free face put on; derive a liberty
+    From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
+    And well become the agent. 'T may, I grant;
+    But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
+    As now they are, and making practis'd smiles
+    As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere
+    The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment
+    My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
+    Art thou my boy?
+  MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord.
+  LEONTES. I' fecks!
+    Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose?
+    They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, Captain,
+    We must be neat- not neat, but cleanly, Captain.
+    And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
+    Are all call'd neat.- Still virginalling
+    Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf,
+    Art thou my calf?
+  MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord.
+  LEONTES. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,  
+    To be full like me; yet they say we are
+    Almost as like as eggs. Women say so,
+    That will say anything. But were they false
+    As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters- false
+    As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
+    No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
+    To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
+    Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain!
+    Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?- may't be?
+    Affection! thy intention stabs the centre.
+    Thou dost make possible things not so held,
+    Communicat'st with dreams- how can this be?-
+    With what's unreal thou coactive art,
+    And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent
+    Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost-
+    And that beyond commission; and I find it,
+    And that to the infection of my brains
+    And hard'ning of my brows.
+  POLIXENES. What means Sicilia?
+  HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled.  
+  POLIXENES. How, my lord!
+    What cheer? How is't with you, best brother?
+  HERMIONE. You look
+    As if you held a brow of much distraction.
+    Are you mov'd, my lord?
+  LEONTES. No, in good earnest.
+    How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
+    Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
+    To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
+    Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil
+    Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd,
+    In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd,
+    Lest it should bite its master and so prove,
+    As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.
+    How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
+    This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
+    Will you take eggs for money?
+  MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight.
+  LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother,
+    Are you so fond of your young prince as we  
+    Do seem to be of ours?
+  POLIXENES. If at home, sir,
+    He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter;
+    Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
+    My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.
+    He makes a July's day short as December,
+    And with his varying childness cures in me
+    Thoughts that would thick my blood.
+  LEONTES. So stands this squire
+    Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord,
+    And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
+    How thou lov'st us show in our brother's welcome;
+    Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap;
+    Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
+    Apparent to my heart.
+  HERMIONE. If you would seek us,
+    We are yours i' th' garden. Shall's attend you there?
+  LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found,
+    Be you beneath the sky.  [Aside]  I am angling now,
+    Though you perceive me not how I give line.  
+    Go to, go to!
+    How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!
+    And arms her with the boldness of a wife
+    To her allowing husband!
+
+                      Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS
+
+    Gone already!
+    Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one!
+    Go, play, boy, play; thy mother plays, and I
+    Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
+    Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour
+    Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,
+    Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;
+    And many a man there is, even at this present,
+    Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm
+    That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence,
+    And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
+    Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't,
+    Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,  
+    As mine, against their will. Should all despair
+    That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
+    Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none;
+    It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
+    Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, think it,
+    From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,
+    No barricado for a belly. Know't,
+    It will let in and out the enemy
+    With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's
+    Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!
+  MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say.
+  LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort.
+    What! Camillo there?
+  CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord.
+  LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.
+                                                  Exit MAMILLIUS
+    Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
+  CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold;
+    When you cast out, it still came home.
+  LEONTES. Didst note it?  
+  CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made
+    His business more material.
+  LEONTES. Didst perceive it?
+    [Aside]  They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding,
+    'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis far gone
+    When I shall gust it last.- How came't, Camillo,
+    That he did stay?
+  CAMILLO. At the good Queen's entreaty.
+  LEONTES. 'At the Queen's' be't. 'Good' should be pertinent;
+    But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
+    By any understanding pate but thine?
+    For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
+    More than the common blocks. Not noted, is't,
+    But of the finer natures, by some severals
+    Of head-piece extraordinary? Lower messes
+    Perchance are to this business purblind? Say.
+  CAMILLO. Business, my lord? I think most understand
+    Bohemia stays here longer.
+  LEONTES. Ha?
+  CAMILLO. Stays here longer.  
+  LEONTES. Ay, but why?
+  CAMILLO. To satisfy your Highness, and the entreaties
+    Of our most gracious mistress.
+  LEONTES. Satisfy
+    Th' entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy!
+    Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
+    With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
+    My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou
+    Hast cleans'd my bosom- I from thee departed
+    Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been
+    Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
+    In that which seems so.
+  CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord!
+  LEONTES. To bide upon't: thou art not honest; or,
+    If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward,
+    Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
+    From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted
+    A servant grafted in my serious trust,
+    And therein negligent; or else a fool
+    That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,  
+    And tak'st it all for jest.
+  CAMILLO. My gracious lord,
+    I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful:
+    In every one of these no man is free
+    But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
+    Among the infinite doings of the world,
+    Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
+    If ever I were wilfull-negligent,
+    It was my folly; if industriously
+    I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
+    Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
+    To do a thing where I the issue doubted,
+    Whereof the execution did cry out
+    Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
+    Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord,
+    Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
+    Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace,
+    Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
+    By its own visage; if I then deny it,
+    'Tis none of mine.  
+  LEONTES. Ha' not you seen, Camillo-
+    But that's past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass
+    Is thicker than a cuckold's horn- or heard-
+    For to a vision so apparent rumour
+    Cannot be mute- or thought- for cogitation
+    Resides not in that man that does not think-
+    My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess-
+    Or else be impudently negative,
+    To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought- then say
+    My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
+    As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
+    Before her troth-plight. Say't and justify't.
+  CAMILLO. I would not be a stander-by to hear
+    My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
+    My present vengeance taken. Shrew my heart!
+    You never spoke what did become you less
+    Than this; which to reiterate were sin
+    As deep as that, though true.
+  LEONTES. Is whispering nothing?
+    Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?  
+    Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career
+    Of laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible
+    Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot?
+    Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift;
+    Hours, minutes; noon, midnight? And all eyes
+    Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
+    That would unseen be wicked- is this nothing?
+    Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;
+    The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
+    My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
+    If this be nothing.
+  CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur'd
+    Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
+    For 'tis most dangerous.
+  LEONTES. Say it be, 'tis true.
+  CAMILLO. No, no, my lord.
+  LEONTES. It is; you lie, you lie.
+    I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
+    Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
+    Or else a hovering temporizer that  
+    Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
+    Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver
+    Infected as her life, she would not live
+    The running of one glass.
+  CAMILLO. Who does her?
+  LEONTES. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging
+    About his neck, Bohemia; who- if I
+    Had servants true about me that bare eyes
+    To see alike mine honour as their profits,
+    Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
+    Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou,
+    His cupbearer- whom I from meaner form
+    Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who mayst see,
+    Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
+    How I am gall'd- mightst bespice a cup
+    To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
+    Which draught to me were cordial.
+  CAMILLO. Sir, my lord,
+    I could do this; and that with no rash potion,
+    But with a ling'ring dram that should not work  
+    Maliciously like poison. But I cannot
+    Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
+    So sovereignly being honourable.
+    I have lov'd thee-
+  LEONTES. Make that thy question, and go rot!
+    Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
+    To appoint myself in this vexation; sully
+    The purity and whiteness of my sheets-
+    Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
+    Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps;
+    Give scandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my son-
+    Who I do think is mine, and love as mine-
+    Without ripe moving to 't? Would I do this?
+    Could man so blench?
+  CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir.
+    I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
+    Provided that, when he's remov'd, your Highness
+    Will take again your queen as yours at first,
+    Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
+    The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms  
+    Known and allied to yours.
+  LEONTES. Thou dost advise me
+    Even so as I mine own course have set down.
+    I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
+  CAMILLO. My lord,
+    Go then; and with a countenance as clear
+    As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia
+    And with your queen. I am his cupbearer;
+    If from me he have wholesome beverage,
+    Account me not your servant.
+  LEONTES. This is all:
+    Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
+    Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
+  CAMILLO. I'll do't, my lord.
+  LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me.   Exit
+  CAMILLO. O miserable lady! But, for me,
+    What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
+    Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't
+    Is the obedience to a master; one
+    Who, in rebellion with himself, will have  
+    All that are his so too. To do this deed,
+    Promotion follows. If I could find example
+    Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
+    And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since
+    Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
+    Let villainy itself forswear't. I must
+    Forsake the court. To do't, or no, is certain
+    To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!
+    Here comes Bohemia.
+
+                     Enter POLIXENES
+
+  POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks
+    My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
+    Good day, Camillo.
+  CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir!
+  POLIXENES. What is the news i' th' court?
+  CAMILLO. None rare, my lord.
+  POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance
+    As he had lost some province, and a region  
+    Lov'd as he loves himself; even now I met him
+    With customary compliment, when he,
+    Wafting his eyes to th' contrary and falling
+    A lip of much contempt, speeds from me;
+    So leaves me to consider what is breeding
+    That changes thus his manners.
+  CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord.
+  POLIXENES. How, dare not! Do not. Do you know, and dare not
+    Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts;
+    For, to yourself, what you do know, you must,
+    And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,
+    Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror
+    Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be
+    A party in this alteration, finding
+    Myself thus alter'd with't.
+  CAMILLO. There is a sickness
+    Which puts some of us in distemper; but
+    I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
+    Of you that yet are well.
+  POLIXENES. How! caught of me?  
+    Make me not sighted like the basilisk;
+    I have look'd on thousands who have sped the better
+    By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo-
+    As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto
+    Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns
+    Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
+    In whose success we are gentle- I beseech you,
+    If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
+    Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
+    In ignorant concealment.
+  CAMILLO. I may not answer.
+  POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well?
+    I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo?
+    I conjure thee, by all the parts of man
+    Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
+    Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
+    What incidency thou dost guess of harm
+    Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
+    Which way to be prevented, if to be;
+    If not, how best to bear it.  
+  CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you;
+    Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
+    That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,
+    Which must be ev'n as swiftly followed as
+    I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
+    Cry lost, and so goodnight.
+  POLIXENES. On, good Camillo.
+  CAMILLO. I am appointed him to murder you.
+  POLIXENES. By whom, Camillo?
+  CAMILLO. By the King.
+  POLIXENES. For what?
+  CAMILLO. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
+    As he had seen 't or been an instrument
+    To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
+    Forbiddenly.
+  POLIXENES. O, then my best blood turn
+    To an infected jelly, and my name
+    Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best!
+    Turn then my freshest reputation to
+    A savour that may strike the dullest nostril  
+    Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
+    Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
+    That e'er was heard or read!
+  CAMILLO. Swear his thought over
+    By each particular star in heaven and
+    By all their influences, you may as well
+    Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
+    As or by oath remove or counsel shake
+    The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
+    Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue
+    The standing of his body.
+  POLIXENES. How should this grow?
+  CAMILLO. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to
+    Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.
+    If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
+    That lies enclosed in this trunk which you
+    Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night.
+    Your followers I will whisper to the business;
+    And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns,
+    Clear them o' th' city. For myself, I'll put  
+    My fortunes to your service, which are here
+    By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,
+    For, by the honour of my parents, I
+    Have utt'red truth; which if you seek to prove,
+    I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
+    Than one condemn'd by the King's own mouth, thereon
+    His execution sworn.
+  POLIXENES. I do believe thee:
+    I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand;
+    Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
+    Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and
+    My people did expect my hence departure
+    Two days ago. This jealousy
+    Is for a precious creature; as she's rare,
+    Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
+    Must it be violent; and as he does conceive
+    He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
+    Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
+    In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me.
+    Good expedition be my friend, and comfort  
+    The gracious Queen, part of this theme, but nothing
+    Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
+    I will respect thee as a father, if
+    Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid.
+  CAMILLO. It is in mine authority to command
+    The keys of all the posterns. Please your Highness
+    To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.             Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
+
+Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and LADIES
+
+  HERMIONE. Take the boy to you; he so troubles me,
+    'Tis past enduring.
+  FIRST LADY. Come, my gracious lord,
+    Shall I be your playfellow?
+  MAMILLIUS. No, I'll none of you.
+  FIRST LADY. Why, my sweet lord?
+  MAMILLIUS. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if
+    I were a baby still. I love you better.
+  SECOND LADY. And why so, my lord?
+  MAMILLIUS. Not for because
+    Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
+    Become some women best; so that there be not
+    Too much hair there, but in a semicircle
+    Or a half-moon made with a pen.
+  SECOND LADY. Who taught't this?
+  MAMILLIUS. I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now,
+    What colour are your eyebrows?  
+  FIRST LADY. Blue, my lord.
+  MAMILLIUS. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose
+    That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
+  FIRST LADY. Hark ye:
+    The Queen your mother rounds apace. We shall
+    Present our services to a fine new prince
+    One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us,
+    If we would have you.
+  SECOND LADY. She is spread of late
+    Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her!
+  HERMIONE. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
+    I am for you again. Pray you sit by us,
+    And tell's a tale.
+  MAMILLIUS. Merry or sad shall't be?
+  HERMIONE. As merry as you will.
+  MAMILLIUS. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one
+    Of sprites and goblins.
+  HERMIONE. Let's have that, good sir.
+    Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best
+    To fright me with your sprites; you're pow'rfull at it.  
+  MAMILLIUS. There was a man-
+  HERMIONE. Nay, come, sit down; then on.
+  MAMILLIUS. Dwelt by a churchyard- I will tell it softly;
+    Yond crickets shall not hear it.
+  HERMIONE. Come on then,
+    And give't me in mine ear.
+
+             Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and OTHERS
+
+  LEONTES. he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
+  FIRST LORD. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
+    Saw I men scour so on their way. I ey'd them
+    Even to their ships.
+  LEONTES. How blest am I
+    In my just censure, in my true opinion!
+    Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd
+    In being so blest! There may be in the cup
+    A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
+    And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
+    Is not infected; but if one present  
+    Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
+    How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
+    With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.
+    Camillo was his help in this, his pander.
+    There is a plot against my life, my crown;
+    All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain
+    Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him;
+    He has discover'd my design, and I
+    Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
+    For them to play at will. How came the posterns
+    So easily open?
+  FIRST LORD. By his great authority;
+    Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
+    On your command.
+  LEONTES. I know't too well.
+    Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him;
+    Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
+    Have too much blood in him.
+  HERMIONE. What is this? Sport?
+  LEONTES. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;  
+    Away with him; and let her sport herself
+                                          [MAMILLIUS is led out]
+    With that she's big with- for 'tis Polixenes
+    Has made thee swell thus.
+  HERMIONE. But I'd say he had not,
+    And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,
+    Howe'er you lean to th' nayward.
+  LEONTES. You, my lords,
+    Look on her, mark her well; be but about
+    To say 'She is a goodly lady' and
+    The justice of your hearts will thereto ad
+    'Tis pity she's not honest- honourable.'
+    Praise her but for this her without-door form,
+    Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight
+    The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands
+    That calumny doth use- O, I am out!-
+    That mercy does, for calumny will sear
+    Virtue itself- these shrugs, these hum's and ha's,
+    When you have said she's goodly, come between,
+    Ere you can say she's honest. But be't known,  
+    From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
+    She's an adultress.
+  HERMIONE. Should a villain say so,
+    The most replenish'd villain in the world,
+    He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
+    Do but mistake.
+  LEONTES. You have mistook, my lady,
+    Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing!
+    Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
+    Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
+    Should a like language use to all degrees
+    And mannerly distinguishment leave out
+    Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said
+    She's an adultress; I have said with whom.
+    More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is
+    A federary with her, and one that knows
+    What she should shame to know herself
+    But with her most vile principal- that she's
+    A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
+    That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy  
+    To this their late escape.
+  HERMIONE. No, by my life,
+    Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,
+    When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
+    You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord,
+    You scarce can right me throughly then to say
+    You did mistake.
+  LEONTES. No; if I mistake
+    In those foundations which I build upon,
+    The centre is not big enough to bear
+    A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison.
+    He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
+    But that he speaks.
+  HERMIONE. There's some ill planet reigns.
+    I must be patient till the heavens look
+    With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,
+    I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
+    Commonly are- the want of which vain dew
+    Perchance shall dry your pities- but I have
+    That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns  
+    Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords,
+    With thoughts so qualified as your charities
+    Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
+    The King's will be perform'd!
+  LEONTES.  [To the GUARD]  Shall I be heard?
+  HERMIONE. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness
+    My women may be with me, for you see
+    My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
+    There is no cause; when you shall know your mistress
+    Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears
+    As I come out: this action I now go on
+    Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord.
+    I never wish'd to see you sorry; now
+    I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.
+  LEONTES. Go, do our bidding; hence!
+                            Exeunt HERMIONE, guarded, and LADIES
+  FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, call the Queen again.
+  ANTIGONUS. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice
+    Prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer,
+    Yourself, your queen, your son.  
+  FIRST LORD. For her, my lord,
+    I dare my life lay down- and will do't, sir,
+    Please you t' accept it- that the Queen is spotless
+    I' th' eyes of heaven and to you- I mean
+    In this which you accuse her.
+  ANTIGONUS. If it prove
+    She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
+    I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;
+    Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;
+    For every inch of woman in the world,
+    Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false,
+    If she be.
+  LEONTES. Hold your peaces.
+  FIRST LORD. Good my lord-
+  ANTIGONUS. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves.
+    You are abus'd, and by some putter-on
+    That will be damn'd for't. Would I knew the villain!
+    I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd-
+    I have three daughters: the eldest is eleven;
+    The second and the third, nine and some five;  
+    If this prove true, they'll pay for 't. By mine honour,
+    I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see
+    To bring false generations. They are co-heirs;
+    And I had rather glib myself than they
+    Should not produce fair issue.
+  LEONTES. Cease; no more.
+    You smell this business with a sense as cold
+    As is a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't
+    As you feel doing thus; and see withal
+    The instruments that feel.
+  ANTIGONUS. If it be so,
+    We need no grave to bury honesty;
+    There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
+    Of the whole dungy earth.
+  LEONTES. What! Lack I credit?
+  FIRST LORD. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
+    Upon this ground; and more it would content me
+    To have her honour true than your suspicion,
+    Be blam'd for't how you might.
+  LEONTES. Why, what need we  
+    Commune with you of this, but rather follow
+    Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
+    Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness
+    Imparts this; which, if you- or stupified
+    Or seeming so in skill- cannot or will not
+    Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
+    We need no more of your advice. The matter,
+    The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all
+    Properly ours.
+  ANTIGONUS. And I wish, my liege,
+    You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
+    Without more overture.
+  LEONTES. How could that be?
+    Either thou art most ignorant by age,
+    Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
+    Added to their familiarity-
+    Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
+    That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
+    But only seeing, all other circumstances
+    Made up to th' deed- doth push on this proceeding.  
+    Yet, for a greater confirmation-
+    For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
+    Most piteous to be wild- I have dispatch'd in post
+    To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
+    Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
+    Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle
+    They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,
+    Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?
+  FIRST LORD. Well done, my lord.
+  LEONTES. Though I am satisfied, and need no more
+    Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
+    Give rest to th' minds of others such as he
+    Whose ignorant credulity will not
+    Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good
+    From our free person she should be confin'd,
+    Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence
+    Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;
+    We are to speak in public; for this business
+    Will raise us all.
+  ANTIGONUS.  [Aside]  To laughter, as I take it,  
+    If the good truth were known.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Sicilia. A prison
+
+Enter PAULINA, a GENTLEMAN, and ATTENDANTS
+
+  PAULINA. The keeper of the prison- call to him;
+    Let him have knowledge who I am.              Exit GENTLEMAN
+    Good lady!
+    No court in Europe is too good for thee;
+    What dost thou then in prison?
+
+                 Re-enter GENTLEMAN with the GAOLER
+
+    Now, good sir,
+    You know me, do you not?
+  GAOLER. For a worthy lady,
+    And one who much I honour.
+  PAULINA. Pray you, then,
+    Conduct me to the Queen.
+  GAOLER. I may not, madam;
+    To the contrary I have express commandment.
+  PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from  
+    Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you,
+    To see her women- any of them? Emilia?
+  GAOLER. So please you, madam,
+    To put apart these your attendants,
+    Shall bring Emilia forth.
+  PAULINA. I pray now, call her.
+    Withdraw yourselves.                       Exeunt ATTENDANTS
+  GAOLER. And, madam,
+    I must be present at your conference.
+  PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee.                   Exit GAOLER
+    Here's such ado to make no stain a stain
+    As passes colouring.
+
+                 Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA
+
+    Dear gentlewoman,
+    How fares our gracious lady?
+  EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn
+    May hold together. On her frights and griefs,
+    Which never tender lady hath borne greater,  
+    She is, something before her time, deliver'd.
+  PAULINA. A boy?
+  EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe,
+    Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives
+    Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner,
+    I am as innocent as you.'
+  PAULINA. I dare be sworn.
+    These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them!
+    He must be told on't, and he shall. The office
+    Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me;
+    If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister,
+    And never to my red-look'd anger be
+    The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,
+    Commend my best obedience to the Queen;
+    If she dares trust me with her little babe,
+    I'll show't the King, and undertake to be
+    Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know
+    How he may soften at the sight o' th' child:
+    The silence often of pure innocence
+    Persuades when speaking fails.  
+  EMILIA. Most worthy madam,
+    Your honour and your goodness is so evident
+    That your free undertaking cannot miss
+    A thriving issue; there is no lady living
+    So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
+    To visit the next room, I'll presently
+    Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer
+    Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,
+    But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
+    Lest she should be denied.
+  PAULINA. Tell her, Emilia,
+    I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't
+    As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted
+    I shall do good.
+  EMILIA. Now be you blest for it!
+    I'll to the Queen. Please you come something nearer.
+  GAOLER. Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe,
+    I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
+    Having no warrant.
+  PAULINA. You need not fear it, sir.  
+    This child was prisoner to the womb, and is
+    By law and process of great Nature thence
+    Freed and enfranchis'd- not a party to
+    The anger of the King, nor guilty of,
+    If any be, the trespass of the Queen.
+  GAOLER. I do believe it.
+  PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I
+    Will stand betwixt you and danger.                    Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
+
+Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and SERVANTS
+
+  LEONTES. Nor night nor day no rest! It is but weakness
+    To bear the matter thus- mere weakness. If
+    The cause were not in being- part o' th' cause,
+    She, th' adultress; for the harlot king
+    Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
+    And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she
+    I can hook to me- say that she were gone,
+    Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
+    Might come to me again. Who's there?
+  FIRST SERVANT. My lord?
+  LEONTES. How does the boy?
+  FIRST SERVANT. He took good rest to-night;
+    'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd.
+  LEONTES. To see his nobleness!
+    Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
+    He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply,
+    Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,  
+    Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
+    And downright languish'd. Leave me solely. Go,
+    See how he fares.  [Exit SERVANT]  Fie, fie! no thought of him!
+    The very thought of my revenges that way
+    Recoil upon me- in himself too mighty,
+    And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,
+    Until a time may serve; for present vengeance,
+    Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
+    Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow.
+    They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor
+    Shall she, within my pow'r.
+
+                 Enter PAULINA, with a CHILD
+
+  FIRST LORD. You must not enter.
+  PAULINA. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me.
+    Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
+    Than the Queen's life? A gracious innocent soul,
+    More free than he is jealous.
+  ANTIGONUS. That's enough.  
+  SECOND SERVANT. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded
+    None should come at him.
+  PAULINA. Not so hot, good sir;
+    I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,
+    That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
+    At each his needless heavings- such as you
+    Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
+    Do come with words as medicinal as true,
+    Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
+    That presses him from sleep.
+  LEONTES. What noise there, ho?
+  PAULINA. No noise, my lord; but needful conference
+    About some gossips for your Highness.
+  LEONTES. How!
+    Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,
+    I charg'd thee that she should not come about me;
+    I knew she would.
+  ANTIGONUS. I told her so, my lord,
+    On your displeasure's peril, and on mine,
+    She should not visit you.  
+  LEONTES. What, canst not rule her?
+  PAULINA. From all dishonesty he can: in this,
+    Unless he take the course that you have done-
+    Commit me for committing honour- trust it,
+    He shall not rule me.
+  ANTIGONUS. La you now, you hear!
+    When she will take the rein, I let her run;
+    But she'll not stumble.
+  PAULINA. Good my liege, I come-
+    And I beseech you hear me, who professes
+    Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
+    Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares
+    Less appear so, in comforting your evils,
+    Than such as most seem yours- I say I come
+    From your good Queen.
+  LEONTES. Good Queen!
+  PAULINA. Good Queen, my lord, good Queen- I say good Queen;
+    And would by combat make her good, so were I
+    A man, the worst about you.
+  LEONTES. Force her hence.  
+  PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes
+    First hand me. On mine own accord I'll off;
+    But first I'll do my errand. The good Queen,
+    For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
+    Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.
+                                         [Laying down the child]
+  LEONTES. Out!
+    A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door!
+    A most intelligencing bawd!
+  PAULINA. Not so.
+    I am as ignorant in that as you
+    In so entitling me; and no less honest
+    Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
+    As this world goes, to pass for honest.
+  LEONTES. Traitors!
+    Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.
+    [To ANTIGONUS]  Thou dotard, thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted
+    By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;
+    Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.
+  PAULINA. For ever  
+    Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
+    Tak'st up the Princess by that forced baseness
+    Which he has put upon't!
+  LEONTES. He dreads his wife.
+  PAULINA. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
+    You'd call your children yours.
+  LEONTES. A nest of traitors!
+  ANTIGONUS. I am none, by this good light.
+  PAULINA. Nor I; nor any
+    But one that's here; and that's himself; for he
+    The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's,
+    His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
+    Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not-
+    For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
+    He cannot be compell'd to 't- once remove
+    The root of his opinion, which is rotten
+    As ever oak or stone was sound.
+  LEONTES. A callat
+    Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,
+    And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;  
+    It is the issue of Polixenes.
+    Hence with it, and together with the dam
+    Commit them to the fire.
+  PAULINA. It is yours.
+    And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge,
+    So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
+    Although the print be little, the whole matter
+    And copy of the father- eye, nose, lip,
+    The trick of's frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,
+    The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;
+    The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
+    And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it
+    So like to him that got it, if thou hast
+    The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
+    No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,
+    Her children not her husband's!
+  LEONTES. A gross hag!
+    And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd
+    That wilt not stay her tongue.
+  ANTIGONUS. Hang all the husbands  
+    That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
+    Hardly one subject.
+  LEONTES. Once more, take her hence.
+  PAULINA. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
+    Can do no more.
+  LEONTES. I'll ha' thee burnt.
+  PAULINA. I care not.
+    It is an heretic that makes the fire,
+    Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant
+    But this most cruel usage of your Queen-
+    Not able to produce more accusation
+    Than your own weak-hing'd fancy- something savours
+    Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
+    Yea, scandalous to the world.
+  LEONTES. On your allegiance,
+    Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,
+    Where were her life? She durst not call me so,
+    If she did know me one. Away with her!
+  PAULINA. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
+    Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove send her  
+    A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
+    You that are thus so tender o'er his follies
+    Will never do him good, not one of you.
+    So, so. Farewell; we are gone.                          Exit
+  LEONTES. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
+    My child! Away with't. Even thou, that hast
+    A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence,
+    And see it instantly consum'd with fire;
+    Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight.
+    Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
+    And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
+    With that thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse,
+    And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
+    The bastard brains with these my proper hands
+    Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
+    For thou set'st on thy wife.
+  ANTIGONUS. I did not, sir.
+    These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
+    Can clear me in't.
+  LORDS. We can. My royal liege,  
+    He is not guilty of her coming hither.
+  LEONTES. You're liars all.
+  FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, give us better credit.
+    We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech
+    So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg,
+    As recompense of our dear services
+    Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
+    Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
+    Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.
+  LEONTES. I am a feather for each wind that blows.
+    Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel
+    And call me father? Better burn it now
+    Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
+    It shall not neither.  [To ANTIGONUS]  You, Sir, come you hither.
+    You that have been so tenderly officious
+    With Lady Margery, your midwife there,
+    To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard,
+    So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure
+    To save this brat's life?
+  ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord,  
+    That my ability may undergo,
+    And nobleness impose. At least, thus much:
+    I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
+    To save the innocent- anything possible.
+  LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword
+    Thou wilt perform my bidding.
+  ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord.
+  LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail
+    Of any point in't shall not only be
+    Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife,
+    Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
+    As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry
+    This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it
+    To some remote and desert place, quite out
+    Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
+    Without more mercy, to it own protection
+    And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
+    It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
+    On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
+    That thou commend it strangely to some place  
+    Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.
+  ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death
+    Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe.
+    Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
+    To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,
+    Casting their savageness aside, have done
+    Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
+    In more than this deed does require! And blessing
+    Against this cruelty fight on thy side,
+    Poor thing, condemn'd to loss!           Exit with the child
+  LEONTES. No, I'll not rear
+    Another's issue.
+
+                         Enter a SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts
+    From those you sent to th' oracle are come
+    An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion,
+    Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
+    Hasting to th' court.  
+  FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed
+    Hath been beyond account.
+  LEONTES. Twenty-three days
+    They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells
+    The great Apollo suddenly will have
+    The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
+    Summon a session, that we may arraign
+    Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath
+    Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have
+    A just and open trial. While she lives,
+    My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me;
+    And think upon my bidding.                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+Sicilia. On the road to the Capital
+
+Enter CLEOMENES and DION
+
+  CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
+    Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
+    The common praise it bears.
+  DION. I shall report,
+    For most it caught me, the celestial habits-
+    Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence
+    Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
+    How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,
+    It was i' th' off'ring!
+  CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst
+    And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle,
+    Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense
+    That I was nothing.
+  DION. If th' event o' th' journey
+    Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!-
+    As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
+    The time is worth the use on't.  
+  CLEOMENES. Great Apollo
+    Turn all to th' best! These proclamations,
+    So forcing faults upon Hermione,
+    I little like.
+  DION. The violent carriage of it
+    Will clear or end the business. When the oracle-
+    Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up-
+    Shall the contents discover, something rare
+    Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses.
+    And gracious be the issue!                            Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Sicilia. A court of justice
+
+Enter LEONTES, LORDS, and OFFICERS
+
+  LEONTES. This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
+    Even pushes 'gainst our heart- the party tried,
+    The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
+    Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd
+    Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
+    Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
+    Even to the guilt or the purgation.
+    Produce the prisoner.
+  OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen
+    Appear in person here in court.
+
+         Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES
+
+    Silence!
+  LEONTES. Read the indictment.
+  OFFICER.  [Reads]  'Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King of
+    Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in  
+    committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia; and
+    conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign
+    lord the King, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being by
+    circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the
+    faith and allegiance of true subject, didst counsel and aid them,
+    for their better safety, to fly away by night.'
+  HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that
+    Which contradicts my accusation, and
+    The testimony on my part no other
+    But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
+    To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity
+    Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it,
+    Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine
+    Behold our human actions, as they do,
+    I doubt not then but innocence shall make
+    False accusation blush, and tyranny
+    Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know-
+    Who least will seem to do so- my past life
+    Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
+    As I am now unhappy; which is more  
+    Than history can pattern, though devis'd
+    And play'd to take spectators; for behold me-
+    A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
+    A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
+    The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing
+    To prate and talk for life and honour fore
+    Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
+    As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour,
+    'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
+    And only that I stand for. I appeal
+    To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
+    Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
+    How merited to be so; since he came,
+    With what encounter so uncurrent I
+    Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond
+    The bound of honour, or in act or will
+    That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts
+    Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
+    Cry fie upon my grave!
+  LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet  
+    That any of these bolder vices wanted
+    Less impudence to gainsay what they did
+    Than to perform it first.
+  HERMIONE. That's true enough;
+    Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
+  LEONTES. You will not own it.
+  HERMIONE. More than mistress of
+    Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
+    At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
+    With whom I am accus'd, I do confess
+    I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd;
+    With such a kind of love as might become
+    A lady like me; with a love even such,
+    So and no other, as yourself commanded;
+    Which not to have done, I think had been in me
+    Both disobedience and ingratitude
+    To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke,
+    Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
+    That it was yours. Now for conspiracy:
+    I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd  
+    For me to try how; all I know of it
+    Is that Camillo was an honest man;
+    And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
+    Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
+  LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know
+    What you have underta'en to do in's absence.
+  HERMIONE. Sir,
+    You speak a language that I understand not.
+    My life stands in the level of your dreams,
+    Which I'll lay down.
+  LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams.
+    You had a bastard by Polixenes,
+    And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame-
+    Those of your fact are so- so past all truth;
+    Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
+    Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
+    No father owning it- which is indeed
+    More criminal in thee than it- so thou
+    Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage
+    Look for no less than death.  
+  HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats.
+    The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
+    To me can life be no commodity.
+    The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
+    I do give lost, for I do feel it gone,
+    But know not how it went; my second joy
+    And first fruits of my body, from his presence
+    I am barr'd, like one infectious; my third comfort,
+    Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast-
+    The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth-
+    Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post
+    Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred
+    The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
+    To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
+    Here to this place, i' th' open air, before
+    I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
+    Tell me what blessings I have here alive
+    That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.
+    But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life,
+    I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour  
+    Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd
+    Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
+    But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
+    'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,
+    I do refer me to the oracle:
+    Apollo be my judge!
+  FIRST LORD. This your request
+    Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth,
+    And in Apollo's name, his oracle.
+                                         Exeunt certain OFFICERS
+  HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father;
+    O that he were alive, and here beholding
+    His daughter's trial! that he did but see
+    The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes
+    Of pity, not revenge!
+
+           Re-enter OFFICERS, with CLEOMENES and DION
+
+  OFFICER. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice
+    That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have  
+    Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
+    This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
+    Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then
+    You have not dar'd to break the holy seal
+    Nor read the secrets in't.
+  CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear.
+  LEONTES. Break up the seals and read.
+  OFFICER.  [Reads]  'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless;
+    Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent
+    babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if
+    that which is lost be not found.'
+  LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo!
+  HERMIONE. Praised!
+  LEONTES. Hast thou read truth?
+  OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so
+    As it is here set down.
+  LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle.
+    The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.
+
+                        Enter a SERVANT  
+
+  SERVANT. My lord the King, the King!
+  LEONTES. What is the business?
+  SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it:
+    The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
+    Of the Queen's speed, is gone.
+  LEONTES. How! Gone?
+  SERVANT. Is dead.
+  LEONTES. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
+    Do strike at my injustice.                 [HERMIONE swoons]
+    How now, there!
+  PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down
+    And see what death is doing.
+  LEONTES. Take her hence.
+    Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.
+    I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion.
+    Beseech you tenderly apply to her
+    Some remedies for life.
+                         Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE
+    Apollo, pardon  
+    My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle.
+    I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
+    New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo-
+    Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy.
+    For, being transported by my jealousies
+    To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
+    Camillo for the minister to poison
+    My friend Polixenes; which had been done
+    But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
+    My swift command, though I with death and with
+    Reward did threaten and encourage him,
+    Not doing it and being done. He, most humane
+    And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
+    Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
+    Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard
+    Of all incertainties himself commended,
+    No richer than his honour. How he glisters
+    Thorough my rust! And how his piety
+    Does my deeds make the blacker!
+  
+                      Re-enter PAULINA
+
+  PAULINA. Woe the while!
+    O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
+    Break too!
+  FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady?
+  PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
+    What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling
+    In leads or oils? What old or newer torture
+    Must I receive, whose every word deserves
+    To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
+    Together working with thy jealousies,
+    Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
+    For girls of nine- O, think what they have done,
+    And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all
+    Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
+    That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
+    That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant,
+    And damnable ingrateful. Nor was't much
+    Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,  
+    To have him kill a king- poor trespasses,
+    More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon
+    The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter
+    To be or none or little, though a devil
+    Would have shed water out of fire ere done't;
+    Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
+    Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts-
+    Thoughts high for one so tender- cleft the heart
+    That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
+    Blemish'd his gracious dam. This is not, no,
+    Laid to thy answer; but the last- O lords,
+    When I have said, cry 'Woe!'- the Queen, the Queen,
+    The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance
+    For't not dropp'd down yet.
+  FIRST LORD. The higher pow'rs forbid!
+  PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath
+    Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring
+    Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
+    Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
+    As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!  
+    Do not repent these things, for they are heavier
+    Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee
+    To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
+    Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
+    Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
+    In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
+    To look that way thou wert.
+  LEONTES. Go on, go on.
+    Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
+    All tongues to talk their bitt'rest.
+  FIRST LORD. Say no more;
+    Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
+    I' th' boldness of your speech.
+  PAULINA. I am sorry for't.
+    All faults I make, when I shall come to know them.
+    I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much
+    The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd
+    To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help
+    Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction
+    At my petition; I beseech you, rather  
+    Let me be punish'd that have minded you
+    Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
+    Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman.
+    The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again!
+    I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
+    I'll not remember you of my own lord,
+    Who is lost too. Take your patience to you,
+    And I'll say nothing.
+  LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well
+    When most the truth; which I receive much better
+    Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me
+    To the dead bodies of my queen and son.
+    One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall
+    The causes of their death appear, unto
+    Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
+    The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there
+    Shall be my recreation. So long as nature
+    Will bear up with this exercise, so long
+    I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me
+    To these sorrows.                                     Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Bohemia. The sea-coast
+
+Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER
+
+  ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon
+    The deserts of Bohemia?
+  MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear
+    We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly
+    And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
+    The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
+    And frown upon 's.
+  ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
+    Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before
+    I call upon thee.
+  MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not
+    Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather;
+    Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
+    Of prey that keep upon't.
+  ANTIGONUS. Go thou away;
+    I'll follow instantly.
+  MARINER. I am glad at heart  
+    To be so rid o' th' business.                           Exit
+  ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe.
+    I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead
+    May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother
+    Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
+    So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
+    Sometimes her head on one side some another-
+    I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
+    So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes,
+    Like very sanctity, she did approach
+    My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me;
+    And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
+    Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon
+    Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus,
+    Since fate, against thy better disposition,
+    Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
+    Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
+    Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
+    There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
+    Is counted lost for ever, Perdita  
+    I prithee call't. For this ungentle business,
+    Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
+    Thy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks,
+    She melted into air. Affrighted much,
+    I did in time collect myself, and thought
+    This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys;
+    Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
+    I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
+    Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
+    Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
+    Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
+    Either for life or death, upon the earth
+    Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
+                                         [Laying down the child]
+    There lie, and there thy character; there these
+                                          [Laying down a bundle]
+    Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
+    And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch,
+    That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd
+    To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,  
+    But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I
+    To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
+    The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have
+    A lullaby too rough; I never saw
+    The heavens so dim by day.  [Noise of hunt within]  A savage
+      clamour!
+    Well may I get aboard! This is the chase;
+    I am gone for ever.                  Exit, pursued by a bear
+
+                      Enter an old SHEPHERD
+
+  SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and
+    twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is
+    nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging
+    the ancientry, stealing, fighting-  [Horns]  Hark you now! Would
+    any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt
+    this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep, which I
+    fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where I
+    have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't
+    be thy will! What have we here?  [Taking up the child]  Mercy  
+    on's, a barne! A very pretty barne. A boy or a child, I wonder? A
+    pretty one; a very pretty one- sure, some scape. Though I am not
+    bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This
+    has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work;
+    they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll
+    take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come; he halloo'd
+    but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!
+
+                          Enter CLOWN
+
+  CLOWN. Hilloa, loa!
+  SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when
+    thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man?
+  CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am
+    not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the
+    firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.
+  SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it?
+  CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it
+    takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most
+    piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not to  
+    see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon
+    swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a
+    hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear tore
+    out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his
+    name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the ship-
+    to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor
+    souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor gentleman
+    roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the sea
+    or weather.
+  SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
+  CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights; the
+    men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on the
+    gentleman; he's at it now.
+  SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man!
+  CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd her;
+    there your charity would have lack'd footing.
+  SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy.
+    Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things
+    new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for
+    a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't.  
+    So, let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the fairies.
+    This is some changeling. Open't. What's within, boy?
+  CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are
+    forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!
+  SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up with't,
+    keep it close. Home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy; and
+    to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go.
+    Come, good boy, the next way home.
+  CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the
+    bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They
+    are never curst but when they are hungry. If there be any of him
+    left, I'll bury it.
+  SHEPHERD. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which
+    is left of him what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him.
+  CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' th' ground.
+  SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+
+Enter TIME, the CHORUS
+
+  TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
+    Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,
+    Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
+    To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
+    To me or my swift passage that I slide
+    O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
+    Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r
+    To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
+    To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
+    The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
+    Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to
+    The times that brought them in; so shall I do
+    To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale
+    The glistering of this present, as my tale
+    Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
+    I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing
+    As you had slept between. Leontes leaving-
+    Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving  
+    That he shuts up himself- imagine me,
+    Gentle spectators, that I now may be
+    In fair Bohemia; and remember well
+    I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel
+    I now name to you; and with speed so pace
+    To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
+    Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues
+    I list not prophesy; but let Time's news
+    Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter,
+    And what to her adheres, which follows after,
+    Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow,
+    If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
+    If never, yet that Time himself doth say
+    He wishes earnestly you never may.                      Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES
+
+Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO
+
+  POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis
+    a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this.
+  CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have
+    for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones
+    there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me;
+    to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to
+    think so, which is another spur to my departure.
+  POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy
+    services by leaving me now. The need I have of thee thine own
+    goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee than thus to want
+    thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can
+    sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or
+    take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I
+    have not enough considered- as too much I cannot- to be more
+    thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the
+    heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee,
+    speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance  
+    of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my
+    brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are
+    even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the
+    Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue
+    not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have
+    approved their virtues.
+  CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his
+    happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly
+    noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent
+    to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared.
+  POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care,
+    so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his
+    removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is
+    seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say,
+    that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
+    neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.
+  CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of
+    most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be
+    thought to begin from such a cottage.
+  POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the  
+    angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the
+    place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some
+    question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not
+    uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my
+    present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of
+    Sicilia.
+  CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command.
+  POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.
+                                                          Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage
+
+Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing
+
+      When daffodils begin to peer,
+        With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
+      Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year,
+        For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
+
+      The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
+        With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
+      Doth set my pugging tooth on edge,
+        For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
+
+      The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,
+        With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
+      Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
+        While we lie tumbling in the hay.
+
+    I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile;
+    but now I am out of service.  
+
+      But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
+        The pale moon shines by night;
+      And when I wander here and there,
+        I then do most go right.
+
+      If tinkers may have leave to live,
+        And bear the sow-skin budget,
+      Then my account I well may give
+        And in the stocks avouch it.
+
+    My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen.
+    My father nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under
+    Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With
+    die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the
+    silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway;
+    beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I
+    sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize!
+
+                            Enter CLOWN  
+
+  CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound
+    and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?
+  AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  If the springe hold, the cock's mine.
+  CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to
+    buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five
+    pound of currants, rice- what will this sister of mine do with
+    rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she
+    lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the
+    shearers- three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they
+    are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan amongst them,
+    and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour
+    the warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note;
+    nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four
+    pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun.
+  AUTOLYCUS.  [Grovelling on the ground]  O that ever I was born!
+  CLOWN. I' th' name of me!
+  AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then,
+    death, death!
+  CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on  
+    thee, rather than have these off.
+  AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the
+    stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
+  CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great
+    matter.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en
+    from me, and these detestable things put upon me.
+  CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman?
+  AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
+  CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left
+    with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot
+    service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy
+    hand.                                       [Helping him up]
+  AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O!
+  CLOWN. Alas, poor soul!
+  AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder
+    blade is out.
+  CLOWN. How now! Canst stand?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir  [Picks his pocket];  good sir, softly.
+    You ha' done me a charitable office.  
+  CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.
+  AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a
+    kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was
+    going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no
+    money, I pray you; that kills my heart.
+  CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you?
+  AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with
+    troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the Prince. I cannot
+    tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was
+    certainly whipt out of the court.
+  CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the
+    court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no
+    more but abide.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well; he hath
+    been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then
+    he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
+    wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having
+    flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue.
+    Some call him Autolycus.
+  CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes,  
+    fairs, and bear-baitings.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put
+    me into this apparel.
+  CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but
+    look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false
+    of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him.
+  CLOWN. How do you now?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk.
+    I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my
+    kinsman's.
+  CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way?
+  AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir.
+  CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our
+    sheep-shearing.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir!                  Exit CLOWN
+    Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with
+    you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring
+    out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unroll'd,
+    and my name put in the book of virtue!  
+                                                         [Sings]
+            Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
+              And merrily hent the stile-a;
+            A merry heart goes all the day,
+              Your sad tires in a mile-a.                   Exit
+
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage
+
+Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA
+
+  FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you
+    Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora
+    Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
+    Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
+    And you the Queen on't.
+  PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord,
+    To chide at your extremes it not becomes me-
+    O, pardon that I name them! Your high self,
+    The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd
+    With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
+    Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts
+    In every mess have folly, and the feeders
+    Digest it with a custom, I should blush
+    To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think,
+    To show myself a glass.
+  FLORIZEL. I bless the time
+    When my good falcon made her flight across  
+    Thy father's ground.
+  PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause!
+    To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
+    Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble
+    To think your father, by some accident,
+    Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!
+    How would he look to see his work, so noble,
+    Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
+    Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold
+    The sternness of his presence?
+  FLORIZEL. Apprehend
+    Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
+    Humbling their deities to love, have taken
+    The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
+    Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune
+    A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
+    Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
+    As I seem now. Their transformations
+    Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
+    Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires  
+    Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
+    Burn hotter than my faith.
+  PERDITA. O, but, sir,
+    Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis
+    Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King.
+    One of these two must be necessities,
+    Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,
+    Or I my life.
+  FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita,
+    With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not
+    The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,
+    Or not my father's; for I cannot be
+    Mine own, nor anything to any, if
+    I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
+    Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
+    Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
+    That you behold the while. Your guests are coming.
+    Lift up your countenance, as it were the day
+    Of celebration of that nuptial which
+    We two have sworn shall come.  
+  PERDITA. O Lady Fortune,
+    Stand you auspicious!
+  FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach.
+    Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
+    And let's be red with mirth.
+
+        Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised;
+                 CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS
+
+  SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon
+    This day she was both pantler, butler, cook;
+    Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all;
+    Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here
+    At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle;
+    On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire
+    With labour, and the thing she took to quench it
+    She would to each one sip. You are retired,
+    As if you were a feasted one, and not
+    The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid
+    These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is  
+    A way to make us better friends, more known.
+    Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself
+    That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on,
+    And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
+    As your good flock shall prosper.
+  PERDITA.  [To POLIXENES]  Sir, welcome.
+    It is my father's will I should take on me
+    The hostess-ship o' th' day.  [To CAMILLO]
+    You're welcome, sir.
+    Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,
+    For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
+    Seeming and savour all the winter long.
+    Grace and remembrance be to you both!
+    And welcome to our shearing.
+  POLIXENES. Shepherdess-
+    A fair one are you- well you fit our ages
+    With flow'rs of winter.
+  PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient,
+    Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth
+    Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season  
+    Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
+    Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind
+    Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
+    To get slips of them.
+  POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
+    Do you neglect them?
+  PERDITA. For I have heard it said
+    There is an art which in their piedness shares
+    With great creating nature.
+  POLIXENES. Say there be;
+    Yet nature is made better by no mean
+    But nature makes that mean; so over that art
+    Which you say adds to nature, is an art
+    That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
+    A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
+    And make conceive a bark of baser kind
+    By bud of nobler race. This is an art
+    Which does mend nature- change it rather; but
+    The art itself is nature.
+  PERDITA. So it is.  
+  POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
+    And do not call them bastards.
+  PERDITA. I'll not put
+    The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;
+    No more than were I painted I would wish
+    This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore
+    Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you:
+    Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
+    The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun,
+    And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs
+    Of middle summer, and I think they are given
+    To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome.
+  CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
+    And only live by gazing.
+  PERDITA. Out, alas!
+    You'd be so lean that blasts of January
+    Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend,
+    I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might
+    Become your time of day- and yours, and yours,
+    That wear upon your virgin branches yet  
+    Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,
+    From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall
+    From Dis's waggon!- daffodils,
+    That come before the swallow dares, and take
+    The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim
+    But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
+    Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
+    That die unmarried ere they can behold
+    Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady
+    Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
+    The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
+    The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack
+    To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend
+    To strew him o'er and o'er!
+  FLORIZEL. What, like a corse?
+  PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on;
+    Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried,
+    But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs.
+    Methinks I play as I have seen them do
+    In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine  
+    Does change my disposition.
+  FLORIZEL. What you do
+    Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
+    I'd have you do it ever. When you sing,
+    I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
+    Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs,
+    To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
+    A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do
+    Nothing but that; move still, still so,
+    And own no other function. Each your doing,
+    So singular in each particular,
+    Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
+    That all your acts are queens.
+  PERDITA. O Doricles,
+    Your praises are too large. But that your youth,
+    And the true blood which peeps fairly through't,
+    Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
+    With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
+    You woo'd me the false way.
+  FLORIZEL. I think you have  
+    As little skill to fear as I have purpose
+    To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray.
+    Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair
+    That never mean to part.
+  PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em.
+  POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
+    Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems
+    But smacks of something greater than herself,
+    Too noble for this place.
+  CAMILLO. He tells her something
+    That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is
+    The queen of curds and cream.
+  CLOWN. Come on, strike up.
+  DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic,
+    To mend her kissing with!
+  MOPSA. Now, in good time!
+  CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
+    Come, strike up.                                     [Music]
+
+          Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES  
+
+  POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
+    Which dances with your daughter?
+  SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself
+    To have a worthy feeding; but I have it
+    Upon his own report, and I believe it:
+    He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter;
+    I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
+    Upon the water as he'll stand and read,
+    As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain,
+    I think there is not half a kiss to choose
+    Who loves another best.
+  POLIXENES. She dances featly.
+  SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it
+    That should be silent. If young Doricles
+    Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
+    Which he not dreams of.
+
+                      Enter a SERVANT
+  
+  SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you
+    would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe
+    could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll
+    tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's
+    ears grew to his tunes.
+  CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a
+    ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set
+    down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
+  SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner
+    can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest
+    love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with
+    such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump
+    her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were,
+    mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the
+    maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off,
+    slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'
+  POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow.
+  CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow.
+    Has he any unbraided wares?
+  SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points,  
+    more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though
+    they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics,
+    lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you
+    would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the
+    sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.
+  CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.
+  PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes.
+                                                    Exit SERVANT
+  CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd
+    think, sister.
+  PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
+
+                   Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing
+
+           Lawn as white as driven snow;
+           Cypress black as e'er was crow;
+           Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
+           Masks for faces and for noses;
+           Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
+           Perfume for a lady's chamber;  
+           Golden quoifs and stomachers,
+           For my lads to give their dears;
+           Pins and poking-sticks of steel-
+           What maids lack from head to heel.
+           Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
+           Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry.
+           Come, buy.
+
+  CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no
+    money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the
+    bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
+  MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too
+    late now.
+  DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.
+  MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you
+    more, which will shame you to give him again.
+  CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their
+    plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not
+    milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle
+    off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our  
+    guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and
+    not a word more.
+  MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair
+    of sweet gloves.
+  CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost
+    all my money?
+  AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it
+    behoves men to be wary.
+  CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of
+    charge.
+  CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads?
+  MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for
+    then we are sure they are true.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife
+    was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she
+    long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd.
+  MOPSA. Is it true, think you?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old.
+  DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer!  
+  AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter,
+    and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I
+    carry lies abroad?
+  MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it.
+  CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll
+    buy the other things anon.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the
+    coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom
+    above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of
+    maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold
+    fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her.
+    The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.
+  DORCAS. Is it true too, think you?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my
+    pack will hold.
+  CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another.
+  AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
+  MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune
+    of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but  
+    she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.
+  MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear;
+    'tis in three parts.
+  DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation.
+    Have at it with you.
+
+                        SONG
+
+  AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go
+             Where it fits not you to know.
+  DORCAS.    Whither?
+  MOPSA.       O, whither?
+  DORCAS.        Whither?
+  MOPSA.     It becomes thy oath full well
+             Thou to me thy secrets tell.
+  DORCAS.    Me too! Let me go thither
+  MOPSA.     Or thou goest to th' grange or mill.
+  DORCAS.    If to either, thou dost ill.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Neither.  
+  DORCAS.    What, neither?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Neither.
+  DORCAS.    Thou hast sworn my love to be.
+  MOPSA.     Thou hast sworn it more to me.
+             Then whither goest? Say, whither?
+
+  CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and
+    the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come,
+    bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both.
+    Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls.
+                                      Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA
+  AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em.
+                                         Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing
+
+             Will you buy any tape,
+             Or lace for your cape,
+           My dainty duck, my dear-a?
+             Any silk, any thread,
+             Any toys for your head,
+           Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?  
+             Come to the pedlar;
+             Money's a meddler
+           That doth utter all men's ware-a.
+
+                   Re-enter SERVANT
+
+  SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three
+    neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men
+    of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which
+    the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not
+    in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough
+    for some that know little but bowling, it will please
+    plentifully.
+  SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely
+    foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.
+  POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these
+    four threes of herdsmen.
+  SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd
+    before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve
+    foot and a half by th' squier.  
+  SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let
+    them come in; but quickly now.
+  SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir.                     Exit
+
+                    Here a dance of twelve SATYRS
+
+  POLIXENES.  [To SHEPHERD]  O, father, you'll know more of that
+      hereafter.
+    [To CAMILLO]  Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.
+    He's simple and tells much.  [To FLORIZEL]  How now, fair
+      shepherd!
+    Your heart is full of something that does take
+    Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young
+    And handed love as you do, I was wont
+    To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd
+    The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
+    To her acceptance: you have let him go
+    And nothing marted with him. If your lass
+    Interpretation should abuse and call this
+    Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited  
+    For a reply, at least if you make a care
+    Of happy holding her.
+  FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know
+    She prizes not such trifles as these are.
+    The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd
+    Up in my heart, which I have given already,
+    But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life
+    Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem,
+    Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand,
+    As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
+    Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted
+    By th' northern blasts twice o'er.
+  POLIXENES. What follows this?
+    How prettily the young swain seems to wash
+    The hand was fair before! I have put you out.
+    But to your protestation; let me hear
+    What you profess.
+  FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't.
+  POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too?
+  FLORIZEL. And he, and more  
+    Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all:
+    That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
+    Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
+    That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge
+    More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
+    Without her love; for her employ them all;
+    Commend them and condemn them to her service
+    Or to their own perdition.
+  POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd.
+  CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection.
+  SHEPHERD. But, my daughter,
+    Say you the like to him?
+  PERDITA. I cannot speak
+    So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better.
+    By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
+    The purity of his.
+  SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain!
+    And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't:
+    I give my daughter to him, and will make
+    Her portion equal his.  
+  FLORIZEL. O, that must be
+    I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead,
+    I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
+    Enough then for your wonder. But come on,
+    Contract us fore these witnesses.
+  SHEPHERD. Come, your hand;
+    And, daughter, yours.
+  POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you;
+    Have you a father?
+  FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him?
+  POLIXENES. Knows he of this?
+  FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall.
+  POLIXENES. Methinks a father
+    Is at the nuptial of his son a guest
+    That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more,
+    Is not your father grown incapable
+    Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid
+    With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear,
+    Know man from man, dispute his own estate?
+    Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing  
+    But what he did being childish?
+  FLORIZEL. No, good sir;
+    He has his health, and ampler strength indeed
+    Than most have of his age.
+  POLIXENES. By my white beard,
+    You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
+    Something unfilial. Reason my son
+    Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason
+    The father- all whose joy is nothing else
+    But fair posterity- should hold some counsel
+    In such a business.
+  FLORIZEL. I yield all this;
+    But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
+    Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
+    My father of this business.
+  POLIXENES. Let him know't.
+  FLORIZEL. He shall not.
+  POLIXENES. Prithee let him.
+  FLORIZEL. No, he must not.
+  SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve  
+    At knowing of thy choice.
+  FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not.
+    Mark our contract.
+  POLIXENES.  [Discovering himself]  Mark your divorce, young sir,
+    Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
+    To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir,
+    That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,
+    I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but
+    Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
+    Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
+    The royal fool thou cop'st with-
+  SHEPHERD. O, my heart!
+  POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made
+    More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,
+    If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
+    That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never
+    I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession;
+    Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
+    Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.
+    Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,  
+    Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
+    From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,
+    Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too
+    That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
+    Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou
+    These rural latches to his entrance open,
+    Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
+    I will devise a death as cruel for thee
+    As thou art tender to't.                                Exit
+  PERDITA. Even here undone!
+    I was not much afeard; for once or twice
+    I was about to speak and tell him plainly
+    The self-same sun that shines upon his court
+    Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
+    Looks on alike.  [To FLORIZEL]  Will't please you, sir, be gone?
+    I told you what would come of this. Beseech you,
+    Of your own state take care. This dream of mine-
+    Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
+    But milk my ewes and weep.
+  CAMILLO. Why, how now, father!  
+    Speak ere thou diest.
+  SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think,
+    Nor dare to know that which I know.  [To FLORIZEL]  O sir,
+    You have undone a man of fourscore-three
+    That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,
+    To die upon the bed my father died,
+    To lie close by his honest bones; but now
+    Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me
+    Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch,
+    That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure
+    To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone!
+    If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
+    To die when I desire.                                   Exit
+  FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me?
+    I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
+    But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am:
+    More straining on for plucking back; not following
+    My leash unwillingly.
+  CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord,
+    You know your father's temper. At this time  
+    He will allow no speech- which I do guess
+    You do not purpose to him- and as hardly
+    Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear;
+    Then, till the fury of his Highness settle,
+    Come not before him.
+  FLORIZEL. I not purpose it.
+    I think Camillo?
+  CAMILLO. Even he, my lord.
+  PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus!
+    How often said my dignity would last
+    But till 'twere known!
+  FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by
+    The violation of my faith; and then
+    Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together
+    And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.
+    From my succession wipe me, father; I
+    Am heir to my affection.
+  CAMILLO. Be advis'd.
+  FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason
+    Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;  
+    If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
+    Do bid it welcome.
+  CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir.
+  FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow:
+    I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
+    Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
+    Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or
+    The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides
+    In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
+    To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you,
+    As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
+    When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not
+    To see him any more- cast your good counsels
+    Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune
+    Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
+    And so deliver: I am put to sea
+    With her who here I cannot hold on shore.
+    And most opportune to her need I have
+    A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
+    For this design. What course I mean to hold  
+    Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
+    Concern me the reporting.
+  CAMILLO. O my lord,
+    I would your spirit were easier for advice.
+    Or stronger for your need.
+  FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita.                     [Takes her aside]
+    [To CAMILLO]  I'll hear you by and by.
+  CAMILLO. He's irremovable,
+    Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if
+    His going I could frame to serve my turn,
+    Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
+    Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
+    And that unhappy king, my master, whom
+    I so much thirst to see.
+  FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo,
+    I am so fraught with curious business that
+    I leave out ceremony.
+  CAMILLO. Sir, I think
+    You have heard of my poor services i' th' love
+    That I have borne your father?  
+  FLORIZEL. Very nobly
+    Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music
+    To speak your deeds; not little of his care
+    To have them recompens'd as thought on.
+  CAMILLO. Well, my lord,
+    If you may please to think I love the King,
+    And through him what's nearest to him, which is
+    Your gracious self, embrace but my direction.
+    If your more ponderous and settled project
+    May suffer alteration, on mine honour,
+    I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
+    As shall become your Highness; where you may
+    Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see,
+    There's no disjunction to be made but by,
+    As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her;
+    And with my best endeavours in your absence
+    Your discontenting father strive to qualify,
+    And bring him up to liking.
+  FLORIZEL. How, Camillo,
+    May this, almost a miracle, be done?  
+    That I may call thee something more than man,
+    And after that trust to thee.
+  CAMILLO. Have you thought on
+    A place whereto you'll go?
+  FLORIZEL. Not any yet;
+    But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty
+    To what we wildly do, so we profess
+    Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies
+    Of every wind that blows.
+  CAMILLO. Then list to me.
+    This follows, if you will not change your purpose
+    But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia,
+    And there present yourself and your fair princess-
+    For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes.
+    She shall be habited as it becomes
+    The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
+    Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
+    His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!'
+    As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands
+    Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him  
+    'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one
+    He chides to hell, and bids the other grow
+    Faster than thought or time.
+  FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo,
+    What colour for my visitation shall I
+    Hold up before him?
+  CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father
+    To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,
+    The manner of your bearing towards him, with
+    What you as from your father shall deliver,
+    Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down;
+    The which shall point you forth at every sitting
+    What you must say, that he shall not perceive
+    But that you have your father's bosom there
+    And speak his very heart.
+  FLORIZEL. I am bound to you.
+    There is some sap in this.
+  CAMILLO. A course more promising
+    Than a wild dedication of yourselves
+    To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain  
+    To miseries enough; no hope to help you,
+    But as you shake off one to take another;
+    Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
+    Do their best office if they can but stay you
+    Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know
+    Prosperity's the very bond of love,
+    Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
+    Affliction alters.
+  PERDITA. One of these is true:
+    I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
+    But not take in the mind.
+  CAMILLO. Yea, say you so?
+    There shall not at your father's house these seven years
+    Be born another such.
+  FLORIZEL. My good Camillo,
+    She is as forward of her breeding as
+    She is i' th' rear o' our birth.
+  CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity
+    She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress
+    To most that teach.  
+  PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this
+    I'll blush you thanks.
+  FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita!
+    But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo-
+    Preserver of my father, now of me;
+    The medicine of our house- how shall we do?
+    We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;
+    Nor shall appear in Sicilia.
+  CAMILLO. My lord,
+    Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes
+    Do all lie there. It shall be so my care
+    To have you royally appointed as if
+    The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,
+    That you may know you shall not want- one word.
+                                               [They talk aside]
+
+                     Re-enter AUTOLYCUS
+
+  AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn
+    brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery;  
+    not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch,
+    table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet,
+    horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should
+    buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a
+    benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was
+    best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My
+    clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in
+    love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes
+    till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the
+    herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might
+    have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a
+    codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in
+    chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring
+    the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and
+    cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come
+    in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and
+    scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in
+    the whole army.
+
+              CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward  
+
+  CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there
+    So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
+  FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes?
+  CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father.
+  PERDITA. Happy be you!
+    All that you speak shows fair.
+  CAMILLO.  [seeing AUTOLYCUS]  Who have we here?
+    We'll make an instrument of this; omit
+    Nothing may give us aid.
+  AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  If they have overheard me now- why, hanging.
+  CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so?
+    Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir.
+  CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee.
+    Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange;
+    therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a
+    necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though
+    the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's
+    some boot.  [Giving money]  
+  AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir.  [Aside]  I know ye well
+    enough.
+  CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd
+    already.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir?  [Aside]  I smell the trick
+    on't.
+  FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience
+    take it.
+  CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle.
+
+             FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments
+
+    Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy
+    Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself
+    Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat
+    And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face,
+    Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken
+    The truth of your own seeming, that you may-
+    For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard  
+    Get undescried.
+  PERDITA. I see the play so lies
+    That I must bear a part.
+  CAMILLO. No remedy.
+    Have you done there?
+  FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father,
+    He would not call me son.
+  CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat.
+                                          [Giving it to PERDITA]
+    Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir.
+  FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot!
+    Pray you a word.                       [They converse apart]
+  CAMILLO.  [Aside]  What I do next shall be to tell the King
+    Of this escape, and whither they are bound;
+    Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail
+    To force him after; in whose company
+    I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight
+    I have a woman's longing.
+  FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us!  
+    Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side.
+  CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better.
+                           Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO
+  AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open
+    ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a
+    cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for
+    th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth
+    thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot
+    is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive
+    at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is
+    about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his
+    clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to
+    acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more
+    knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my
+    profession.
+
+                   Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD
+
+    Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's
+    end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man  
+    work.
+  CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but
+    to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and
+    blood.
+  SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me.
+  CLOWN. Nay- but hear me.
+  SHEPHERD. Go to, then.
+  CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood
+    has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to
+    be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those
+    secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done,
+    let the law go whistle; I warrant you.
+  SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's
+    pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his
+    father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's
+    brother-in-law.
+  CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have
+    been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know
+    how much an ounce.
+  AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  Very wisely, puppies!  
+  SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel
+    will make him scratch his beard.
+  AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  I know not what impediment this complaint may
+    be to the flight of my master.
+  CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace.
+  AUTOLYCUS.  [Aside]  Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
+    sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement.
+    [Takes off his false beard]  How now, rustics! Whither are you
+    bound?
+  SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of
+    that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages,
+    of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be
+    known- discover.
+  CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir.
+  AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it
+    becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the
+    lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing
+    steel; therefore they do not give us the lie.
+  CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not  
+    taken yourself with the manner.
+  SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou
+    not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in
+    it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour
+    from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st
+    thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I
+    am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that
+    will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I
+    command the to open thy affair.
+  SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King.
+  AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him?
+  SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you.
+  CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none.
+  SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.
+  AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men!
+    Yet nature might have made me as these are,
+    Therefore I will not disdain.
+  CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier.
+  SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.  
+  CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical.
+    A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth.
+  AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that
+    box?
+  SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which
+    none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this
+    hour, if I may come to th' speech of him.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
+  SHEPHERD. Why, Sir?
+  AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new
+    ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st
+    capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of
+    grief.
+  SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have
+    married a shepherd's daughter.
+  AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the
+    curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the
+    back of man, the heart of monster.
+  CLOWN. Think you so, sir?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and  
+    vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though
+    remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which,
+    though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old
+    sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his
+    daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that
+    death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a
+    sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.
+  CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you,
+    sir?
+  AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed
+    over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand
+    till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again
+    with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is,
+    and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set
+    against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon
+    him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But
+    what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be
+    smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem
+    to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being
+    something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard,  
+    tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs;
+    and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here
+    is man shall do it.
+  CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him
+    gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led
+    by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the
+    outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd
+    alive.
+  SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us,
+    here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave
+    this young man in pawn till I bring it you.
+  AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised?
+  SHEPHERD. Ay, sir.
+  AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this
+    business?
+  CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I
+    hope I shall not be flay'd out of it.
+  AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him,
+    he'll be made an example.
+  CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our  
+    strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my
+    sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this
+    old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he
+    says, your pawn till it be brought you.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on
+    the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.
+  CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest.
+  SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us
+    good.                              Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN
+  AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not
+    suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a
+    double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master
+    good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I
+    will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he
+    think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they
+    have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for
+    being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and
+    what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There
+    may be matter in it.                                    Exit
+
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
+
+Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS
+
+  CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
+    A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make
+    Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down
+    More penitence than done trespass. At the last,
+    Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil;
+    With them forgive yourself.
+  LEONTES. Whilst I remember
+    Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
+    My blemishes in them, and so still think of
+    The wrong I did myself; which was so much
+    That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and
+    Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man
+    Bred his hopes out of.
+  PAULINA. True, too true, my lord.
+    If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
+    Or from the all that are took something good
+    To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd  
+    Would be unparallel'd.
+  LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd!
+    She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me
+    Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter
+    Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,
+    Say so but seldom.
+  CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady.
+    You might have spoken a thousand things that would
+    Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd
+    Your kindness better.
+  PAULINA. You are one of those
+    Would have him wed again.
+  DION. If you would not so,
+    You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
+    Of his most sovereign name; consider little
+    What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue,
+    May drop upon his kingdom and devour
+    Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy
+    Than to rejoice the former queen is well?
+    What holier than, for royalty's repair,  
+    For present comfort, and for future good,
+    To bless the bed of majesty again
+    With a sweet fellow to't?
+  PAULINA. There is none worthy,
+    Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
+    Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes;
+    For has not the divine Apollo said,
+    Is't not the tenour of his oracle,
+    That King Leontes shall not have an heir
+    Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall,
+    Is all as monstrous to our human reason
+    As my Antigonus to break his grave
+    And come again to me; who, on my life,
+    Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel
+    My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
+    Oppose against their wills.  [To LEONTES]  Care not for issue;
+    The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander
+    Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor
+    Was like to be the best.
+  LEONTES. Good Paulina,  
+    Who hast the memory of Hermione,
+    I know, in honour, O that ever I
+    Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now,
+    I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
+    Have taken treasure from her lips-
+  PAULINA. And left them
+    More rich for what they yielded.
+  LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth.
+    No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse,
+    And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit
+    Again possess her corpse, and on this stage,
+    Where we offend her now, appear soul-vex'd,
+    And begin 'Why to me'-
+  PAULINA. Had she such power,
+    She had just cause.
+  LEONTES. She had; and would incense me
+    To murder her I married.
+  PAULINA. I should so.
+    Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark
+    Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't  
+    You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears
+    Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd
+    Should be 'Remember mine.'
+  LEONTES. Stars, stars,
+    And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;
+    I'll have no wife, Paulina.
+  PAULINA. Will you swear
+    Never to marry but by my free leave?
+  LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit!
+  PAULINA. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.
+  CLEOMENES. You tempt him over-much.
+  PAULINA. Unless another,
+    As like Hermione as is her picture,
+    Affront his eye.
+  CLEOMENES. Good madam-
+  PAULINA. I have done.
+    Yet, if my lord will marry- if you will, sir,
+    No remedy but you will- give me the office
+    To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young
+    As was your former; but she shall be such  
+    As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy
+    To see her in your arms.
+  LEONTES. My true Paulina,
+    We shall not marry till thou bid'st us.
+  PAULINA. That
+    Shall be when your first queen's again in breath;
+    Never till then.
+
+                       Enter a GENTLEMAN
+
+  GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel,
+    Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she
+    The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access
+    To your high presence.
+  LEONTES. What with him? He comes not
+    Like to his father's greatness. His approach,
+    So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us
+    'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd
+    By need and accident. What train?
+  GENTLEMAN. But few,  
+    And those but mean.
+  LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him?
+  GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
+    That e'er the sun shone bright on.
+  PAULINA. O Hermione,
+    As every present time doth boast itself
+    Above a better gone, so must thy grave
+    Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself
+    Have said and writ so, but your writing now
+    Is colder than that theme: 'She had not been,
+    Nor was not to be equall'd.' Thus your verse
+    Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
+    To say you have seen a better.
+  GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam.
+    The one I have almost forgot- your pardon;
+    The other, when she has obtain'd your eye,
+    Will have your tongue too. This is a creature,
+    Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
+    Of all professors else, make proselytes
+    Of who she but bid follow.  
+  PAULINA. How! not women?
+  GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman
+    More worth than any man; men, that she is
+    The rarest of all women.
+  LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes;
+    Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends,
+    Bring them to our embracement.                        Exeunt
+    Still, 'tis strange
+    He thus should steal upon us.
+  PAULINA. Had our prince,
+    Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd
+    Well with this lord; there was not full a month
+    Between their births.
+  LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st
+    He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure,
+    When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
+    Will bring me to consider that which may
+    Unfurnish me of reason.
+
+         Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and  
+                            ATTENDANTS
+
+    They are come.
+    Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince;
+    For she did print your royal father off,
+    Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,
+    Your father's image is so hit in you
+    His very air, that I should call you brother,
+    As I did him, and speak of something wildly
+    By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome!
+    And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas!
+    I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth
+    Might thus have stood begetting wonder as
+    You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost-
+    All mine own folly- the society,
+    Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
+    Though bearing misery, I desire my life
+    Once more to look on him.
+  FLORIZEL. By his command
+    Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him  
+    Give you all greetings that a king, at friend,
+    Can send his brother; and, but infirmity,
+    Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd
+    His wish'd ability, he had himself
+    The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
+    Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves,
+    He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres
+    And those that bear them living.
+  LEONTES. O my brother-
+    Good gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir
+    Afresh within me; and these thy offices,
+    So rarely kind, are as interpreters
+    Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,
+    As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too
+    Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage,
+    At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
+    To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
+    Th' adventure of her person?
+  FLORIZEL. Good, my lord,
+    She came from Libya.  
+  LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus,
+    That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd?
+  FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter
+    His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence,
+    A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd,
+    To execute the charge my father gave me
+    For visiting your Highness. My best train
+    I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
+    Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
+    Not only my success in Libya, sir,
+    But my arrival and my wife's in safety
+    Here where we are.
+  LEONTES. The blessed gods
+    Purge all infection from our air whilst you
+    Do climate here! You have a holy father,
+    A graceful gentleman, against whose person,
+    So sacred as it is, I have done sin,
+    For which the heavens, taking angry note,
+    Have left me issueless; and your father's blest,
+    As he from heaven merits it, with you,  
+    Worthy his goodness. What might I have been,
+    Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on,
+    Such goodly things as you!
+
+                      Enter a LORD
+
+  LORD. Most noble sir,
+    That which I shall report will bear no credit,
+    Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,
+    Bohemia greets you from himself by me;
+    Desires you to attach his son, who has-
+    His dignity and duty both cast off-
+    Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with
+    A shepherd's daughter.
+  LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak.
+  LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him.
+    I speak amazedly; and it becomes
+    My marvel and my message. To your court
+    Whiles he was hast'ning- in the chase, it seems,
+    Of this fair couple- meets he on the way  
+    The father of this seeming lady and
+    Her brother, having both their country quitted
+    With this young prince.
+  FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me;
+    Whose honour and whose honesty till now
+    Endur'd all weathers.
+  LORD. Lay't so to his charge;
+    He's with the King your father.
+  LEONTES. Who? Camillo?
+  LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now
+    Has these poor men in question. Never saw I
+    Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth;
+    Forswear themselves as often as they speak.
+    Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
+    With divers deaths in death.
+  PERDITA. O my poor father!
+    The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
+    Our contract celebrated.
+  LEONTES. You are married?
+  FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;  
+    The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.
+    The odds for high and low's alike.
+  LEONTES. My lord,
+    Is this the daughter of a king?
+  FLORIZEL. She is,
+    When once she is my wife.
+  LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed,
+    Will come on very slowly. I am sorry,
+    Most sorry, you have broken from his liking
+    Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry
+    Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
+    That you might well enjoy her.
+  FLORIZEL. Dear, look up.
+    Though Fortune, visible an enemy,
+    Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot
+    Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,
+    Remember since you ow'd no more to time
+    Than I do now. With thought of such affections,
+    Step forth mine advocate; at your request
+    My father will grant precious things as trifles.  
+  LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress,
+    Which he counts but a trifle.
+  PAULINA. Sir, my liege,
+    Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month
+    Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
+    Than what you look on now.
+  LEONTES. I thought of her
+    Even in these looks I made.  [To FLORIZEL]  But your petition
+    Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father.
+    Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
+    I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand
+    I now go toward him; therefore, follow me,
+    And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord.         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES
+
+Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN
+
+  AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the
+    old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after
+    a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber;
+    only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the
+    changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of
+    admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on one another, to
+    tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness,
+    language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of
+    a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder
+    appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but
+    seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in
+    the extremity of the one it must needs be.
+
+                    Enter another GENTLEMAN  
+
+    Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd:
+    the King's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out
+    within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it.
+
+                    Enter another GENTLEMAN
+
+    Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more.
+    How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like
+    an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the
+    King found his heir?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by
+    circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is
+    such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her
+    jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with
+    it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the
+    creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness
+    which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences-
+    proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did  
+    you see the meeting of the two kings?
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. No.
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen,
+    cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown
+    another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take
+    leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up
+    of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such
+    distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour.
+    Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found
+    daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy
+    mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces
+    his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping
+    her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a
+    weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of
+    such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and
+    undoes description to do it.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried
+    hence the child?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to
+    rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was  
+    torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who
+    has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but
+    a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd the same instant of their master's death,
+    and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the instruments
+    which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was
+    found. But, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was
+    fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her
+    husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She
+    lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing
+    as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be
+    in danger of losing.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of
+    kings and princes; for by such was it acted.
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that
+    which angl'd for mine eyes- caught the water, though not the
+    fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's death, with the
+    manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the
+    King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign  
+    of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say-
+    bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most
+    marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all
+    the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal.
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court?
+  THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue,
+    which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing
+    and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio
+    Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into
+    his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is
+    her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say
+    one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with
+    all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend
+    to sup.
+  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in
+    hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since
+    the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we
+    thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing?
+  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of
+    access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our  
+    absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along.
+                                                Exeunt GENTLEMEN
+  AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would
+    preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son
+    aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I
+    know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's
+    daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much
+    sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather
+    continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one
+    to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not
+    have relish'd among my other discredits.
+
+                    Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN
+
+    Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already
+    appearing in the blossoms of their fortune.
+  SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and
+    daughters will be all gentlemen born.
+  CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this
+    other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these  
+    clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no gentleman
+    born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give
+    me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.
+  CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.
+  SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy.
+  CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father;
+    for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and
+    then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince,
+    my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father.
+    And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that
+    ever we shed.
+  SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more.
+  CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous
+    estate as we are.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I
+    have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report
+    to the Prince my master.
+  SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are
+    gentlemen.  
+  CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life?
+  AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship.
+  CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as
+    honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.
+  SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it.
+  CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins
+    say it: I'll swear it.
+  SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son?
+  CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in
+    the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a
+    tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I
+    know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be
+    drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall
+    fellow of thy hands.
+  AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power.
+  CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder
+    how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow,
+    trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are
+    going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy
+    good masters.                                         Exeunt
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house
+
+Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA,
+LORDS and ATTENDANTS
+
+  LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
+    That I have had of thee!
+  PAULINA. What, sovereign sir,
+    I did not well, I meant well. All my services
+    You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd,
+    With your crown'd brother and these your contracted
+    Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
+    It is a surplus of your grace, which never
+    My life may last to answer.
+  LEONTES. O Paulina,
+    We honour you with trouble; but we came
+    To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery
+    Have we pass'd through, not without much content
+    In many singularities; but we saw not
+    That which my daughter came to look upon,
+    The statue of her mother.  
+  PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless,
+    So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
+    Excels whatever yet you look'd upon
+    Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
+    Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare
+    To see the life as lively mock'd as ever
+    Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well.
+                [PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE
+                                         standing like a statue]
+    I like your silence; it the more shows off
+    Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege.
+    Comes it not something near?
+  LEONTES. Her natural posture!
+    Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed
+    Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she
+    In thy not chiding; for she was as tender
+    As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,
+    Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
+    So aged as this seems.
+  POLIXENES. O, not by much!  
+  PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence,
+    Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her
+    As she liv'd now.
+  LEONTES. As now she might have done,
+    So much to my good comfort as it is
+    Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
+    Even with such life of majesty- warm life,
+    As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her!
+    I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me
+    For being more stone than it? O royal piece,
+    There's magic in thy majesty, which has
+    My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and
+    From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
+    Standing like stone with thee!
+  PERDITA. And give me leave,
+    And do not say 'tis superstition that
+    I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,
+    Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
+    Give me that hand of yours to kiss.
+  PAULINA. O, patience!  
+    The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
+    Not dry.
+  CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
+    Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
+    So many summers dry. Scarce any joy
+    Did ever so long live; no sorrow
+    But kill'd itself much sooner.
+  POLIXENES. Dear my brother,
+    Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r
+    To take off so much grief from you as he
+    Will piece up in himself.
+  PAULINA. Indeed, my lord,
+    If I had thought the sight of my poor image
+    Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine-
+    I'd not have show'd it.
+  LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain.
+  PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
+    May think anon it moves.
+  LEONTES. Let be, let be.
+    Would I were dead, but that methinks already-  
+    What was he that did make it? See, my lord,
+    Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins
+    Did verily bear blood?
+  POLIXENES. Masterly done!
+    The very life seems warm upon her lip.
+  LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't,
+    As we are mock'd with art.
+  PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain.
+    My lord's almost so far transported that
+    He'll think anon it lives.
+  LEONTES. O sweet Paulina,
+    Make me to think so twenty years together!
+    No settled senses of the world can match
+    The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.
+  PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but
+    I could afflict you farther.
+  LEONTES. Do, Paulina;
+    For this affliction has a taste as sweet
+    As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
+    There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel  
+    Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
+    For I will kiss her.
+  PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear.
+    The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
+    You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own
+    With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
+  LEONTES. No, not these twenty years.
+  PERDITA. So long could I
+    Stand by, a looker-on.
+  PAULINA. Either forbear,
+    Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
+    For more amazement. If you can behold it,
+    I'll make the statue move indeed, descend,
+    And take you by the hand, but then you'll think-
+    Which I protest against- I am assisted
+    By wicked powers.
+  LEONTES. What you can make her do
+    I am content to look on; what to speak
+    I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
+    To make her speak as move.  
+  PAULINA. It is requir'd
+    You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
+    Or those that think it is unlawful business
+    I am about, let them depart.
+  LEONTES. Proceed.
+    No foot shall stir.
+  PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike.                     [Music]
+    'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;
+    Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;
+    I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away.
+    Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
+    Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.
+                         [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal]
+    Start not; her actions shall be holy as
+    You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her
+    Until you see her die again; for then
+    You kill her double. Nay, present your hand.
+    When she was young you woo'd her; now in age
+    Is she become the suitor?
+  LEONTES. O, she's warm!  
+    If this be magic, let it be an art
+    Lawful as eating.
+  POLIXENES. She embraces him.
+  CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck.
+    If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
+  POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd,
+    Or how stol'n from the dead.
+  PAULINA. That she is living,
+    Were it but told you, should be hooted at
+    Like an old tale; but it appears she lives
+    Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.
+    Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel,
+    And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady;
+    Our Perdita is found.
+  HERMIONE. You gods, look down,
+    And from your sacred vials pour your graces
+    Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own,
+    Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found
+    Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I,
+    Knowing by Paulina that the oracle  
+    Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd
+    Myself to see the issue.
+  PAULINA. There's time enough for that,
+    Lest they desire upon this push to trouble
+    Your joys with like relation. Go together,
+    You precious winners all; your exultation
+    Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,
+    Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there
+    My mate, that's never to be found again,
+    Lament till I am lost.
+  LEONTES. O peace, Paulina!
+    Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
+    As I by thine a wife. This is a match,
+    And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine;
+    But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her,
+    As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many
+    A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far-
+    For him, I partly know his mind- to find thee
+    An honourable husband. Come, Camillo,
+    And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty  
+    Is richly noted, and here justified
+    By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place.
+    What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons,
+    That e'er I put between your holy looks
+    My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,
+    And son unto the King, whom heavens directing,
+    Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,
+    Lead us from hence where we may leisurely
+    Each one demand and answer to his part
+    Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first
+    We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away.                Exeunt
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
+SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
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+
+
+
+
+
+1609
+
+A LOVER'S COMPLAINT
+
+by William Shakespeare
+
+
+
+  From off a hill whose concave womb reworded
+  A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale,
+  My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded,
+  And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale,
+  Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
+  Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain,
+  Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
+
+  Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
+  Which fortified her visage from the sun,
+  Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
+  The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
+  Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
+  Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage
+  Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age.
+
+  Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
+  Which on it had conceited characters,
+  Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine
+  That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,
+  And often reading what contents it bears;  
+  As often shrieking undistinguished woe,
+  In clamours of all size, both high and low.
+
+  Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride,
+  As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend;
+  Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
+  To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
+  Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
+  To every place at once, and nowhere fixed,
+  The mind and sight distractedly commixed.
+
+  Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
+  Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride;
+  For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat,
+  Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
+  Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
+  And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,
+  Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
+
+  A thousand favours from a maund she drew  
+  Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
+  Which one by one she in a river threw,
+  Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
+  Like usury applying wet to wet,
+  Or monarchs' hands that lets not bounty fall
+  Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.
+
+  Of folded schedules had she many a one,
+  Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood;
+  Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone,
+  Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
+  Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood,
+  With sleided silk feat and affectedly
+  Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy.
+
+  These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
+  And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear;
+  Cried, 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
+  What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
+  Ink would have seemed more black and damned here!  
+  This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
+  Big discontents so breaking their contents.
+
+  A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,
+  Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew
+  Of court, of city, and had let go by
+  The swiftest hours observed as they flew,
+  Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;
+  And, privileged by age, desires to know
+  In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
+
+  So slides he down upon his grained bat,
+  And comely distant sits he by her side;
+  When he again desires her, being sat,
+  Her grievance with his hearing to divide.
+  If that from him there may be aught applied
+  Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
+  'Tis promised in the charity of age.
+
+  'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold  
+  The injury of many a blasting hour,
+  Let it not tell your judgement I am old:
+  Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power.
+  I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
+  Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied
+  Love to myself, and to no love beside.
+
+  'But woe is me! too early I attended
+  A youthful suit- it was to gain my grace-
+  O, one by nature's outwards so commended
+  That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face.
+  Love lacked a dwelling and made him her place;
+  And when in his fair parts she did abide,
+  She was new lodged and newly deified.
+
+  'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
+  And every light occasion of the wind
+  Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
+  What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
+  Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind;  
+  For on his visage was in little drawn
+  What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.
+
+  'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
+  His phoenix down began but to appear,
+  Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,
+  Whose bare out-bragged the web it seemed to wear:
+  Yet showed his visage by that cost more dear;
+  And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
+  If best were as it was, or best without.
+
+  'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
+  For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
+  Yet if men moved him, was he such a storm
+  As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
+  When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.
+  His rudeness so with his authorized youth
+  Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
+
+  'Well could he ride, and often men would say,  
+  "That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
+  Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
+  What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!"
+  And controversy hence a question takes
+  Whether the horse by him became his deed,
+  Or he his manage by th' well-doing steed.
+
+  'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
+  His real habitude gave life and grace
+  To appertainings and to ornament,
+  Accomplished in himself, not in his case,
+  All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
+  Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
+  Pierced not his grace, but were all graced by him.
+
+  'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
+  All kind of arguments and question deep,
+  All replication prompt, and reason strong,
+  For his advantage still did wake and sleep.
+  To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,  
+  He had the dialect and different skill,
+  Catching all passions in his craft of will,
+
+  'That he did in the general bosom reign
+  Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,
+  To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
+  In personal duty, following where he haunted.
+  Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted,
+  And dialogued for him what he would say,
+  Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey.
+
+  'Many there were that did his picture get,
+  To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
+  Like fools that in th' imagination set
+  The goodly objects which abroad they find
+  Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned;
+  And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
+  Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.
+
+  'So many have, that never touched his hand,  
+  Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
+  My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
+  And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
+  What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
+  Threw my affections in his charmed power
+  Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.
+
+  'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
+  Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
+  Finding myself in honour so forbid,
+  With safest distance I mine honour shielded.
+  Experience for me many bulwarks builded
+  Of proofs new-bleeding, which remained the foil
+  Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
+
+  'But ah, who ever shunned by precedent
+  The destined ill she must herself assay?
+  Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
+  To put the by-past perils in her way?
+  Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;  
+  For when we rage, advice is often seen
+  By blunting us to make our wills more keen.
+
+  'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood
+  That we must curb it upon others' proof,
+  To be forbod the sweets that seems so good
+  For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
+  O appetite, from judgement stand aloof!
+  The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
+  Though Reason weep, and cry it is thy last.
+
+  'For further I could say this man's untrue,
+  And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
+  Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew;
+  Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
+  Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
+  Thought characters and words merely but art,
+  And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
+
+  'And long upon these terms I held my city,  
+  Till thus he 'gan besiege me: "Gentle maid,
+  Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
+  And be not of my holy vows afraid.
+  That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
+  For feasts of love I have been called unto,
+  Till now did ne'er invite nor never woo.
+
+  '"All my offences that abroad you see
+  Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
+  Love made them not; with acture they may be,
+  Where neither party is nor true nor kind.
+  They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
+  And so much less of shame in me remains
+  By how much of me their reproach contains.
+
+  '"Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
+  Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,
+  Or my affection put to th' smallest teen,
+  Or any of my leisures ever charmed.
+  Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harmed;  
+  Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
+  And reigned commanding in his monarchy.
+
+  '"Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
+  Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
+  Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
+  Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
+  In bloodless white and the encrimsoned mood-
+  Effects of terror and dear modesty,
+  Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
+
+  '"And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
+  With twisted metal amorously empleached,
+  I have receiv'd from many a several fair,
+  Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched,
+  With the annexions of fair gems enriched,
+  And deep-brained sonnets that did amplify
+  Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.
+
+  '"The diamond? why, 'twas beautiful and hard,  
+  Whereto his invised properties did tend;
+  The deep-green em'rald, in whose fresh regard
+  Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
+  The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
+  With objects manifold; each several stone,
+  With wit well blazoned, smiled, or made some moan.
+
+  '"Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
+  Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
+  Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
+  But yield them up where I myself must render-
+  That is, to you, my origin and ender;
+  For these, of force, must your oblations be,
+  Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
+
+  '"O then advance of yours that phraseless hand
+  Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
+  Take all these similes to your own command,
+  Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
+  What me your minister for you obeys  
+  Works under you; and to your audit comes
+  Their distract parcels in combined sums.
+
+  '"Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
+  Or sister sanctified, of holiest note,
+  Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
+  Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
+  For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
+  But kept cold distance, and did thence remove
+  To spend her living in eternal love.
+
+  '"But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
+  The thing we have not, mast'ring what not strives,
+  Playing the place which did no form receive,
+  Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves!
+  She that her fame so to herself contrives,
+  The scars of battle scapeth by the flight,
+  And makes her absence valiant, not her might.
+
+  '"O pardon me in that my boast is true!  
+  The accident which brought me to her eye
+  Upon the moment did her force subdue,
+  And now she would the caged cloister fly.
+  Religious love put out religion's eye.
+  Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
+  And now to tempt all liberty procured.
+
+  '"How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!
+  The broken bosoms that to me belong
+  Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
+  And mine I pour your ocean all among.
+  I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
+  Must for your victory us all congest,
+  As compound love to physic your cold breast.
+
+  '"My parts had pow'r to charm a sacred nun,
+  Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
+  Believed her eyes when they t'assail begun,
+  All vows and consecrations giving place,
+  O most potential love, vow, bond, nor space,  
+  In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
+  For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
+
+  '"When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
+  Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
+  How coldly those impediments stand forth,
+  Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
+  Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame.
+  And sweetens, in the suff'ring pangs it bears,
+  The aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.
+
+  '"Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
+  Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,
+  And supplicant their sighs to your extend,
+  To leave the batt'ry that you make 'gainst mine,
+  Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
+  And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,
+  That shall prefer and undertake my troth."
+
+  'This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount,  
+  Whose sights till then were levelled on my face;
+  Each cheek a river running from a fount
+  With brinish current downward flowed apace.
+  O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
+  Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
+  That flame through water which their hue encloses.
+
+  'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
+  In the small orb of one particular tear!
+  But with the inundation of the eyes
+  What rocky heart to water will not wear?
+  What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
+  O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
+  Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.
+
+  'For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
+  Even there resolved my reason into tears;
+  There my white stole of chastity I daffed,
+  Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
+  Appear to him as he to me appears,  
+  All melting; though our drops this diff'rence bore:
+  His poisoned me, and mine did him restore.
+
+  'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
+  Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
+  Of burning blushes or of weeping water,
+  Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
+  In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
+  To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
+  Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows;
+
+  'That not a heart which in his level came
+  Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
+  Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
+  And, veiled in them, did win whom he would maim.
+  Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
+  When he most burned in heart-wished luxury,
+  He preached pure maid and praised cold chastity.
+
+  'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace  
+  The naked and concealed fiend he covered,
+  That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,
+  Which, like a cherubin, above them hovered.
+  Who, young and simple, would not be so lovered?
+  Ay me, I fell, and yet do question make
+  What I should do again for such a sake.
+
+  'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
+  O, that false fire which in his cheek so glowed,
+  O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
+  O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed,
+  O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,
+  Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed,
+  And new pervert a reconciled maid.'
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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+End of this Etext of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
+
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