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Complete Works of Shakespeare - Part 3
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
AT- >
A Lord. ^
CHRISTOPHER SLY, a drunken Persons
Tinker. \- in the
Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, I Induction.
and Servants.
BAPTISTA, a rich Gentleman of Padua.
VINCENT 10, an old Gentleman of Pisa.
LUCENTIO, Son to VINCENTIO, in love with
BIANCA.
PETRUCHIO, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor
to KATHARINA.
HORTEN'SIO, }**" B
*""*> LUCENTIO.
L A NDELLO, .
CURTIS? }sva*ts te PETRUCHIO.
Pedant, an old fellow set up to personate VlN-
CENTIO.
KATHARINA, the Shrew, \Daughters to BAP-
BIANCA, j TISTA.
Widow.
Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending
on BAPTISTA and PETRUCHIO.
SCENE, Sometimes in PADUA, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO'S House in the Country.
INDUCTION.
SCENE I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath.
Enter Hostess and SLY.
Sly. I '11 pheeze you, in faith.
Host. 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!
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you
have burst?
Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jer-
onimy, go to thy cold bed and warm thee.
Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch
the thirdborough. {Exit.
Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I '11
answer him by law: I'll not budge an inch,
boy : let him come, and kindly.
[Lies down on the ground and falls asleep.
Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting,
with Huntsmen and Servants.
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 do&fix twenty pound.
I Hun. 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.
1 Hun. 1 will, my lord.
Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk?
See, doth he breathe?
2 Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not
warm'd with ale,
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine
he lies ! [image !
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine
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 beet,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself ?
1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot
choose.
2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when
he wak'd. [less fancy.
Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worth-
Then take him up, and manage well the jest :
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,
SCENE I.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
315
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.
I Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we '11 play
our part,
As he shall think, by our true diligence,
He is no less than what we say he is. [him ;
Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with
And each one to his office when he wakes.
[Some bear ottt SLY. A trumpet sotmds.
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 Servant.
How now ! who is it?
Serv. An it please your honour,
Players that offer service to your lordship.
Lord. Bid them come near.
Enter Players.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.
1 Play. We thank your honour.
Lord. Do you in tend to stay with me to-night ?
2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our
duty. [member,
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I re-
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.
I Play. 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.
I Play. 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.
[Exeunt Servant and Players.
Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,
[To a Servant.
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady :
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's
chamber ;
And call him madam, do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, as he will win my love,
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished:
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy;
And say, What is't your honour will com-
mand,
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 overjoy'd
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 tezrs,
An onion will do well for such a shift ;
Which in a napkin being close conveyed,
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. [canst :
See this despatch'd with all the haste thou
Anon I '11 give thee more instructions.
[Exit Servant
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 '11 in to counsel them : haply my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen,
Which otherwise would grow into extremes.
[Exeunt.
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[INDUCTION.
SCENE II. A Bedchamber in the Lord's
House.
SLY is discovered in a rich nightgown, with
Attendants ; some with apparel, others with
basin , ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter
Lord, dressed like a Servant.
Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.
1 Serv. Will 't please your lordship drink a
cup of sack? [these conserves?
2 Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of
3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear
to-day?
Sly. I am Christophero Sly j 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. [honour !
Lord. Heaven cease this idb humour in your
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 pedler, by education a card-
maker, by transmutation a bear -herd, and now
by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian
Hacketj the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know
me not : if she say I am not fourteen-pence on
the score for sheer ale, score me up for the
lyingest knave in Christendom. What ! I am
not bestraught : here's [mourn!
1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady
2 Ssrv. O, this it is that makes your servants
droop ! [your house,
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth !
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banish-
ment,
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 wil)
soar
Above the morning lark : or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answe*
them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
1 Serv. Say thou wilt course ; thy greyhounds
are as swift
As breathed stags ; ay, fleeter than the roe.
2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures : we will
fetch thee straight
Adonis painted by a running brook,
And Cytherea all in sedges hid, [breath,
Which seem to move and wanton with her
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.
Lord. We '11 show thee lo as she was a maid,
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.
3 Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a
thorny wood, [bleeds ;
Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she
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. [for thee,
1 Se-v. And, till the tears that she hath shed
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 Christophero Sly.-~
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight ;
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.
2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to
wash your hands?
[Servants present a ewer, fiasin, and napkin.
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?
I Serv. 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
SCENE II.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
317
Slv. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor
no such maid ;
Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up,
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell;
And twenty more such na, ics and msn as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good
amends.
All. Amen.
Sly. I thank thee : thou shalt not lose by it.
Enter the Page as a lady> with Attendants.
Page. How fares my noble lord? [enough.
Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer
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? [man.
My men should call me lord : I am your good-
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. [dream'd,
Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have
And slept aoove some fifteen year or more.
Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
Being all this time abandoned from your bed.
Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and
her alone.
Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.
Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
To pardon me yet for a night or two ;
Or, if not so, until the sun be set :
For your physicians have expressly charg'd.
In peril to incur your 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 Servant.
Serv. 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 commonty a Christmas gambol or a tumbling-
trick? [stuff.
Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing
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 : w
shall nc er be younger. \They sit down.
ACT 1.
SCENE I. PADUA. A public Place.
Enter LUCENTIO and TRANIO.
Luc. Tranio, since, for the great desire I had
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,
I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy ;
And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd
With his good-will and thy good company,
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 achieved.
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.
Tra. Mi perdonate^ gentle master mine,
I am in all affected as yourself;
Glad that you thus continue your resolve
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue and this moral discipline,
Let 's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;
Or so devote to Aristotle's ethics
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;
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT S.
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en :
In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
Lite. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou
advise.
If Biondello now were come ashore
We could at once put us in readiness,
And take a lodging fit to entertain
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.
But stay awhile: what company is this?
Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to
town.
Enter BAPTISTA, KATHARINA, BIANCA,
GREMIO, and HORTENSIO. LUCENTIO
and TRANIO stand aside.
Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no further,
For how I firmly am resolv'd you know ;
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter
Before I have a husband for the elder :
If either of you both love Katharina,
Because I know you well, and love you well,
Leave shall you have to court her at your
pleasure. [for me.
Gre. To cart her rather : she 's too rough
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife ?
Kath. [To BAP.] I pray you, sir, is it your
will
To make a stale of me amongst these mates ?
Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? no
mates for you,
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.
Kath. V faith, sir, you shall never need to
fear;
I wis it is not half-way to her heart ;
But if it were, doubt not her care should be
To comb ycur noddle with a three-legg'd stool,
And paint your face, and use you like a fool.
Hor. From all such devils, good Lord de-
liver us !
Gre. And me too, good Lord !
Tra. Hush, master ! here is some good pas-
time toward ;
That wench is stark mad, or wonderful fro ward.
Luc. But in the other's silence do I see
Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.
Peace, Tranio ! [your fill.
Tra. Well said, master ; mum ! and gaze
Bap. 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.
Kath. A pretty peat ! it is best
Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.
Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent.
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe :
My books and instruments shall be my company,
On them to look, and practise by myself.
Luc.
Hark, Tranio ! thou mayst hear
Minerva speak. [Aside.
If or. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange ?
Sorry am I that our good- will effects
Bianca's grief.
Gre. Why will you mew her up,
Signior Baptista, for :his fiend of hell,
And make her bear tiie penance of her tongue?
Baf. 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. Katharina, you may stay;
For I have more to commune with Bianca.
[Exit.
Kath. Why, and I trust I may go too, may
I not? . [belike,
What ! shall I be appointed hours ; as though,
I knew not what to take and what to leave?
Ha ! [Exit.
Gre. You may go to the devil's dam ; your
gifts are so good here is none will hold you.
Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we
may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly
out ; our cake 's dough on both sides. Fare-
well; yet, for the love I bear my sweet
Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit
man to teach her that wherein she delights, I
will wish him to her father.
Hor. So will I, Signior Gremio ; but a
word, I pray. Though the nature of our
quarrel yet never brooked 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.
Gre. What 's that, I pray? [sister.
Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her
Gre. A husband ! a devil.
Hor. I say, a husband.
Gre. I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hor-
tensio, though her father be very rich, any man
is so very a fool to be married to hell?
Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your
patience and mine to endure her loud alarums,
why, man, there be good fellows in the world,
an a man could light on them, would take her
with all faults and money enough. i jol
Gre. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her
dowry with this condition, to be whipped at
the high-cross every morning.
I.J
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
319
Hor. Faith, as you say, there 's small choice
in rotten apples. But, come ; since this bar in
law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth
friendly maintained, till, by helping Baptista's
eldest daughter to a husband, we set his
youngest free for a husband, and then have to't
afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his
dole ! He that runs fastest gets the ring.
How say you, Signior Gremio?
Gre. I am agreed : and would I had given
him the best horse in Padua to begin his woo-
ing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her,
and bed her, and rid the house of her. Come
on. [Exeunt GRE. and HOR.
Tra. [Advancing.~\ I pray, sir, tell me, is
it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold ?
Luc. 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.
Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ;
Affection is not rated from the heart ; [so,
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but
Redime te captum quam queas minimo.
Luc. Gramercies, lad ; go forward ; this con-
tents :
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel 's sound.
Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the
maid,
Perhaps you mark'd not what 's the pith of all.
Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty ir her face,
Such as the daughter of Agenor had, [hand,
That made great Jove to humble him to her
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.
Tra. Saw you no more? mark'd you not how
her sister
Began to scold, and raise up such a storm,
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?
Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move,
And with her breath she did perfume the air ;
Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.
Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from
his trance.
I pray, awake, sir. If you love the maid,
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus
it stands :
Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd
That, till the father rid his hands of her,
Master, your love must live a maid at home;
And therefore has he elosely mew'd her up,
Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors.
Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel lather 's he !
But art thou not advis'd he took some care
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct
her? [plotted.
Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis
Luc. I have it, Tranio.
Tra. Master, for my hand,
Both our inventions meet and jump in one.
Lut. Tell me thine first.
Tra, You will be schoolmaster.
And undertake the teaching of the maid :
That 's your device.
Luc. It is: may it be done?
Tra. Not possible ; for who shall bear your
part,
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son ;
Keep house, and ply his book; welcome his
friends ;
Visit his countrymen and banquet them?
Luc. Basta ; content thee ; for I have it full.
We have not yet been seen in any house;
Nor can we be distinguished by our faces
For man or master : then it follows thus:
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,
Keep house, and port, and servants, as I should r
I will some other be ; some I .orentine,
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.
'Tis hatch'd, and shall be Sw : - 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.
Tra. So yu had need.
[ They exchange habits.
In brief, then, sir, sith it your pleasure is,
And I am tied to be obedient,
For so your father charg'd me at our parting;
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.
Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves:
And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid
Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded
eye.
Here comes the rogue.
Enter BIONDELLO.
Sirrah, where hare you been?
Bion. Where have I been? Nay, how now !
where are you?
Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes?
Or you stolen his? or both? pray, what's the
news?
Luc. Sirrah, come hither ; 'tis no time to iest,
And therefore frame your manners to the time.
320
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT t.
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,
Puts my apparel and my countenance on,
And I for my escape have put on his ;
For in a quarrel, since I came ashore,
I 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?
Bion. I, sir j ne'er a whit.
Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth ;
Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. [too !
Bion. The better for him ; would I were so
Tra. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next
wish after, [daughter.
That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest
But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's,
I advise [companies:
You use your manners discreetly in all kind of
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;
But in all places else, your master Lucentio.
Luc. Tranio, let 's go :
One thing more rests, that thyself execute,
To make one among these wooers. If thou ask
me why,
Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and
weighty. [Exeunt.
[i Serv. 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 !]
SCENE II. The same. Before HORTENSIO'S
House.
Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.
Pet. Verona, for awhile I take my leave,
To see my friends in Paduf J but, of all,
My best beloved and approved friend,
Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house :
Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, I say.
Gru. Knock, sir! whom should I knock ? is
there any man has rebused your worship?
Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.
Gru. Knock you here- sir? why, sir, what
am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir?
Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate,
And rap me well, or I '11 knock your knave's
pate.
Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome: I
should knock you first,
And then I know after who comes by the worst.
Pet. Will it not be?
Faith, sirrah, an you '11 not knock I '11 wring it:
I '11 try how you can so!, fa, and sing it.
[He wrings GRUMIO by the ears.
Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad.
Pet. Now, knock when I bid you; sirran
villain !
Enter HORTENSIO.
Hor. How now! what's the matter? My
old friend Grumio! and my good friend
Petruchio ! How do you all at Verona?
Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the
fray? Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say.
Hor. Alia nostra casa bene venuto, moltc
honorato Signor mio Petruchio.
Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this
quarrel.
Gru. 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 ought 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.
Pet. A senseless villain ! Good Hortensio,
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate,
And could not get him for my heart to do it.
Gru. Knock at the gate ! O heavens !
Spake you not these words plain, Strrah,
knock me here,
Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me
soundly?
And come you now with knocking at the gate ?
Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise
you. [pledge :
Hor Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's
Why, .his' a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale
Blows you to Padua here from old. Verona?
Pet, Such wind as scatters young men
through the world,
To seek their fortunes further than at home,
Where small experience grows. But, in a 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.
Hor. 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 '11 promise thee she shall be rich,
SCENE II. J
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
321
And very rich: but thou'rt too much my
friend,
And I '11 not wish thee to her. [we
Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as
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' Xantippe, or a worse,
She moves me not, or not removes, at least,
Affection's edge in me were she as rough
As are the swelling Adriatic seas:
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;
If wealthily, then happily in Padua.
Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly
what his mind is : why, give him gold enough
and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby ;
or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head,
though she have as many diseases as two and
fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so
money comes withal. [far in,
Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus
I will continue that I broach'd in jest.
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
With wealth enough, and young and beauteous ;
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman ;
Her only fault, and that is faults enough,
Is that she is intolerably curst,
And shrewd, and forward; so beyond all
measure,
That, were my state far worser than it is,
I would not wed her for a mine of gold.
Pet. Hortensio, peace ! thou know'st not
gold's effect :
Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough ;
For I will board her though she chide as loud
As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack.
Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola,
An affable and courteous gentleman :
Her name is Katharina Minola,
Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.
Pet. 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.
Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the
humour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him
as well as I do, she would think scolding would
do little good upon him. She may, perhaps,
call him half a score knaves, or so: why, that 's
nothing ; an he begin once, he '11 rail in his rope-
tricks. I '11 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.
Hor. 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 Katharina will be woo'd,
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en ;
That none shall have access unto Bianca
Till Katharine the curst have got a husband.
Gru. Katharine the curst !
A title for a maid, of all titles the worst.
Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me
grace;
And offer me disguis'd in sober robes
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster (3W t
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.
Gru. [Aside.] Here's no knavery! See, to
beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay
their heads together !
Enter GREMIO ; with him LUCENTIO dis-
guised, with books under his arm.
Master, master, look about you: who goes
there, ha?
Hor. Peace, Grumio ! 'tis the rival of my love.
Petruchio, stand by awhile.
Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous !
[They retire.
Gre. O, very well : I have perused 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, [too,
I '11 mend it with a largess : take your papers
And let me have them very well perfum'd ;
For she is sweeter than perfume itself, [her?
To whom they go to. What will you read to
Lite. Whate'er I read to her I '11 plead for
you
As for my patron, stand you so assur'dj-
As firmly as yourself were still in place :
Yea, and perhaps with more successful
Than you, unless you were a scholar, SHV ,
Gre. O this learning ! what a thing h is !
Gru. O this woodcock I what an ass it is I
Pa. Peace, sirrah 1
322
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT i.
Hor. Grumio, mum! [Coming forward.]
God save you, Signior Gremio !
Gre. And you 're well met, Signior Hortensio.
Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista
Minola.
I promis'd to inquire carefully
About a schoolmaster for 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 you.
Hor. 'Tis well ; and I have met a gentleman
Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
A fine musician to instruct our mistress ;
So shall I no whit be behind in duty
To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. [prove.
Gre. Belov'd of me, and that my deeds shall
Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside.
Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our
love:
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair
I '11 tell you news indifferent good for either.
Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met,
Upon agreement from us to his liking,
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ;
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.
Gre. So said, so done, is well :
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?
Pet. I know she is an irksome brawling
scold ;
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What
countryman?
Pet. 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.
Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife,
were strange :
But if you have a stomach, to 't o' God's name;
You shall have me assisting you in all.
But will you woo this wild-cat?
Pet. Will I live?
Gru. Will he woo her? ay, or I '11 hang her.
Pet. Why came T hither but to that intent?
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
Have I not in my time heard Hons roar?
Have I not heard the sea, puft u 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 [clang?
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets
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 farmer's fire?
Tush ! tush ! fear boys with bugs.
Gru. For he fears none.
Gre. Hortensio, hark:
This gentleman is happily arriv'd,
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.
Hor. I promis'd we would be contributors,
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.
Gre. And so we will provided that he win
her.
Gru. I would I were as sure of a good dinner.
Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled, and
BlONDELLO.
Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may
be bold, [way
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?
Bion. He that has the two fair daughters :
is 't {aside to TRANIO] he you mean?
Tra. Even he, Biondello !
Gre. Hark you, sir ; you mean not her to,
Tra. Perhaps, him and her? sir; what have
you to do? [pray.
Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I
Tra. I love no chiders, sir ; Biondello, let 's
away.
Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside.
Hor. Sir, a word ere you go; [or no?
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea
Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence?
Gre. No ; if without more words you will get
you hence. [free
Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as
For me as for you?
Gre. But so is not she.
Tra. For what reason, I beseech you?
Gre. For this reason, if you '11 know,
That she 's the choice love of Signior Gremio.
Hor. That she's the chosen of Signior
Hortensio. [men
Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentle-
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.
Gre. What ! this gentleman will out-talk us
all. [jade.
Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know he '11 prove a
Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these
words?
Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?
Tra. No, sir; but hear I do that he hath
two;
SCENE II.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
323
The one as famous fcr a scoldirg tongue
As is the other for beauteous modesty.
Pet. Sir, sir, the first 's for me ; let her go by.
Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules;
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.
Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, 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.
Tra. 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 [her
For our access, whose hap shall be to have
Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.
Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do
conceive ;
And since you do profess to be a suitor,
Yo- must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
To whom we all rest generally beholding, [of,
Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign where-
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.
Gru. Bion. O excellent motion! Fellows,
let 's Le gone. [so ;
Hor. The motion 's good indeed, and be it
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto.
[Exeunt.
Mi ni tts ?r Jsrft fol ^sVolSSfl 1 ,?J jjerlT
ACT II
SCENE I. The same. A Room in BAP-
TISTA'S House.
Enter KATHARINA and BIANCA.
Bian. 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 '11 pull them off myself,
Yea, all my raiment, tc my petticoat ;
Or what you will command me will I do,
So well I know my duty to my elders.
Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee,
tell
Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not.
Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive,
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.
Kath. Minion, thou liest ; is 't not Hortensio?
Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear
I '11 plead for you myself, but you shall have
him.
Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches more ;
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
Bian. Is it for hii.i you do envy me so?
Nay, then you jest ; and now I well perceive
You have but jested with me all this while :
I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
[Strikes her.
Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows
this insolence?
Bianca, stand aside; poor girl ! she weeps:
Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong
thee?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I '11 be re-
veng'd. [Flies after BIANCA.
Bap. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee
in. [Exit BIANCA.
Kath. 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 KATHARINA.
Bap. Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I?
But who comes here?
Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit
of a mean man; PETRUCHIO, with HOR-
TENSIO as a musician; and TRANIO, with
BlONDELLO bearing a lute and books.
Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista.
Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio : God
save you, gentlemen ! [a daughter
Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you not
Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous?
Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina.
Gre. You are too blunt: go to it orderly.
Pet. You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give
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.
324
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT II.
Cunning in music and the mathematics.
To instruct hei fmly in those sciences,
Whereof I know she is net ignorant:
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong :
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
Bap. You're welcome, sir; and he for your
good sake ;
But for my daughter Katharine, this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her ;
Or else you like not of my company.
Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? what may I call your
name?
Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.
Bap. I know him well : you are welcome for
his sake.
Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too :
Baccare ! you are marvellous forward.
Pet. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I
would fain be doing.
Gre. 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, I freely give unto you this young scholar
{presenting LUCENTIO], that hath been long
studying at Rlisims; as cunning in Greek,
Latin, and other languages, as the other in
music and mathematics : his name is Cambio ;
pray, accept his service.
Bap. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio:
welcome, good Cambio. But, gentle sir {to
TRANIO], methinks you walk like a stranger.
May I be so bold to know the cause of your
coming? [own ;
Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine
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.
Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, I
pray?
Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio.
Bap. A mighty man of Pisa : by report
I know him v/ell : you ai"; very welcome, sir.
Take you {to HOR.] ^he lute, and you [to Luc.]
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 Sorv., with HOR., Luc., atuiBioi*.
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.
Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh
haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well ; and in him, me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd :
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love.
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
Bap. After my death, the one half of my
lands
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.
Pet. And for that dowry, I '11 assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
In all my lands and leases whatsoever :
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.
Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well ob-
tain'd,
That is, her love ; for that is all in all.
Pet. W T hy, that is nothing; for I tell you,
father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury :
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all :
So I to her, and so she yields to me ;
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.
Bap. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be
thy speed !
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.
Pet. Ay. to the proof; as mountains are for
winds,
That shake not though they blow perpetually.
Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broken.
Bap. How now, my friend ! why dost thou
look so pale?
Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good
musician?
ffor. I think she '11 sooner prove a soldier.-
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
I.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
3*5
Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to
the lute? [tome.
Hor. Why, no ; for she ? .ath broke the lute
I did but tell her she rruV.ook 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 1 II 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 awhile,
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.
Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ;
I love her ten times more than e'er I did :
O, how I long to have some chat with her !
Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so dis-
comfited :
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter :
She's apt to learn, and thankful for good
turns.
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
Pet. I pray you do : I will attend her here,
[Exeunt BAP., GRE., TRA., and HOR.
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say that she rail ; why, then I '11 tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale :
Say that she frown ; I '11 say she looks as clear
As morning roses newly washed with dew :
Say she be mute, and will not speak a word ;
Then I '11 commend her volubility,
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence :
If she do bid me pack, I '11 give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week :
If she deny to wed, I '11 crave the day
When I shall ask the banns, and when be
married.
But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.
Enter KATHARINA.
Good-morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I
hear.
Kath. Well have you heard, but something
hard of hearing :
They call me Katharine that do talk of me.
Pet. 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 cates ; 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.
Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that
mov'd you hither
Remove you hence : I knew you at the first
You were a movable.
Pet. Why, what 's a movable ?
Kath. A joint-stool.
Pet. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me.
Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are
you. [you.
Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are
Kath. No such jade as bear you, if me you
mean.
Pet. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee !
For, knowing thee to be but young and light,
Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to
catch;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
Pet. Should be ! should buzz.
Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.
Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle I shall a buzzard
take thee ?
Kath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you
are too angry.
Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out.
Kath. Ay, if the fool could fu.d it where it
lies. [wear his sting?
Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth
In his tail.
Kath. In his tongue.
Pet. Whose tongue?
Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so
farewell. [come again,
Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail ? nay,
Good Kate ; I am a gentleman.
Kath. That I '11 try.
[Striking him.
Pet. I swear I '11 cuff you, if you strike again.
Kath. So may you lose your arms:
If you strike me, you are no gentleman ;
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.
Pet. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy
books!
Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb?
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be :uy hen.
Kath. No cock of mine; you crow too like
a craven. [look so sour.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not
Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab.
Pet. Why, here's no crab; and therefore
look not sour.
Kath. There is, there is.
Pet. Then show it me.
Kath. Had I a glass I would.
3*6
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT II.
Pet. What, you mean my face?
Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one.
Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young
for you.
Kath. Yet you are wither'd.
Pet. 'Tis with cares.
Kath. I care not.
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you
'scape not so.
Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry ; let me go.
Pet. 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; [teous;
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing cour-
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time
flowers :
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look as-
kance,
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 ?
slanderous 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 c\ost not halt.
Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st com-
mand.
Pet. 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 !
Kath. Where did you study all this goodly
speech ?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son.
Pet. Am I not wise ?
Kath. Yes ; keep you warm.
Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in
thy bed:
And therefore, setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms: Your father hath con-
sented [on ;
That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed
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.
Here comes your father ; never make denial ;
1 must and will have Katharine to my wife.
Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO.
Bap. Now, ig..Jor Petruchio, how speed
you with my daughter?
Pet. How but well, sir? how but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine !
in your dumps? [yu
Kath. Call you me daughter ? now, I promise
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.
Pet. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the
world,
That talked of her, hath talk'd amiss of her ;
If she D^ 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 to-
gether,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
Kath. I '11 see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
Gre. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see
thee hang'd first.
Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good-
night our part ! [for myself;
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her
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 Katharine shall be fine.
Bap. I know not what to say : but give me
your hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match.
Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be wit-
Pet. 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 o'
Sunday.
[Exeunt PET. am/ KATH., severally.
SCENE I.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
3*7
Ore. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?
Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a mer-
chant's part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.
Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you ;
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
Bap. The gain I seek is quiet in the match.
Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter;
Now is the day we long have looked for;
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.
Tra. And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can witness or your thoughts can
guess. [as I.
Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear
Tra. Graybeard 1 thy love doth freeze.
Gre. But thire doth fry.
Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age that nourisheth.
Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that flour -
isheth. [this strife :
Bap. Content you, gentlemen; I '11 compound
'Tis deeds must win the piize ; and he, of both,
That can assure my daughter greatest dower
Shall have Bianca's love.
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?
Gre. First, as you know, my house wiihin
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 belong
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, [me :
Tra. That only came well in. Sir, list to
I am my father's heir and only son :
If I may have your daughter to my wife,
I '11 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 join-
ture.
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio?
Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year of
land!
My land amounts not to so much in alls' ' Tloi
That she shall have \ besides an argosy,
That now is lying in Marseilles' road I-
What, have I chok'd you with an argosy?
Tra. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no
less
Than three great argosies ; besides twogalliasses,
And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure
her,
And twice as much, what e'er thou offer'st next.
Gre. Nay, I have offer'd 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.
Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all
the world.
By your firm promise : Gremio is out -vied.
Bap. I must confess your offer is the best ;
And, let your father make her the assurance,
She is your own ; else, you must pardon me :
If you should die before him, where 's her dower?
Tra. That 's but a cavil ; he is old, I young.
Gre. And may not young men die as well
as old?
Bap. Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolv'd : On Sunday next you know
My daughter Katharine is to be married :
Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ;
If not, to Signior Gremio :
And so I take my leave, and thank you both.
Gre. 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.
Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd
hide!
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.
'Tis in my head to do my master good y^-t.;
I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio
Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio ;
And that 's a wonder : fathers commdnly
Do get their children; but in this case of
wooing,
A child shall get a sire, if I foil not of my
cunning. [Exit.
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APT Tit*
-jiq ,ay>v ,-iori AUT 111* j^rf $& ,n\\
SCENE I. PADUA. A Room in BAPTISTA'S
House.
Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA.
Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too for-
ward, sir :
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
LACT in.
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal?
Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony:
Then give me leave to have prerogative; ntrfT
And when in music we have spent an hour,
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.
Luc. Preposterous assl 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.
Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of
thine.
Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double
wrong,
To strive for that which resteth in my choice :
I am no breeching scholar in the schools :
I '11 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.
Hor. You '11 leave his lecture when I am in
tune?
[ To BIANCA. HORTENSIO retires.
Luc. That will be never : tune your instru-
ment.
Bian. Where left we last?
Luc. Here, madam :
Hoc ibat Sinioi* ; hie est Sigeia tell us ;
Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis.
Bian. Construe them.
Luc. Hoc ibat, as I told you before, Simois,
I am Lucentio, hie est, son unto Vincentio of
Pisa, Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your
love; Hie 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.
Hor. [Coming forward.] Madam, my instru-
ment 's in tune.
Bian. Let 'shear. [HORTENSIO plays.
O fie ! the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it :
Hac ibat Simois, I know you not, hie est
Sigeia tellus, I trust you not; Hie steterat
Priami, take heed he hear us not, regia, pre-
sume not, celsa senis, despair not.
Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
Luc. All but the base.
Hor. The base is right ; 'tis the base knave
that jars.
How fiery and forward our pedant is I
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
Pedascule, I '11 watch you better yet. [Aside.
Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
Luc. Mistrust it not ; for, sure, ^Eacides
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
Bian. 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 masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you
both.
Hor. You may go walk [to LUCENTIO], and
give me leave awhile ;
My lessons make no music in three parts.
Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must
wait,
And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd,
Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside.
Hor. Madam, before you touch the instru-
ment,
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.
Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
Bian. [Reads.'} Gamut / am, the ground of
all accord,
A re, to plead Hortensio 1 s passion ;
B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,
C fa ut, that loves with all affection :
D sol re, one cliff, two notes have /;
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.
Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave
your books,
And help to dress your sister's chamber up:
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.
Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must
be gone !
[Exeunt BIANCA and Servant.
Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause
to stay. [Exit.
Hor. 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'rin^ 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.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
329
SCENE II. The same, .titfore BAPTISTA'S
House .
Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KATHAR-
INA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO, and Attendants.
Bap. Signior Lucentio \to TRANIO], this is
the 'pointed day [married,
That Katharine and Petruchio should be
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law :
What will be said? what mockery will it be,
To want the bridegroom when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?
Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth,
be forc'd
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a 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, invite them, and proclaim the
banns;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Katharine,
And say, Lo, there is mad Petruckio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her!
Tra. Patience, good Katharine, 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.
Katk. Would Katharine had never seen him
though !
[Exit, weeping .followed by BIANCA and others.
Bap. 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.
Bion. Master, master! old news, and such
news as you never heard of! [be?
Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that
Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petru-
chio's coming?
Bap. Is he come?
Bion. Why, no, sir.
Bap. What then?
Bion. He is coming.
Bap. When will he be here?
Bion. When he stands where I am, and
sees you there.
Tra. But, say, what to thine old news?
Bion. Why, 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 laced; an
old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury,
with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two
broken points : his horse hipped with an old
mothy saddle, and stirrups of no kindred;
besides, possessed with the glanders, and like
to mose in the chine ; troubled with the lampass,
infected with the fashions, full of wind-galls,
sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past
cure of the fires, stark spoiled with the staggers,
begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back, and
shoulder-shotten ; ne'er legged before, and with
a half-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's
leather, which, being restrained to keep him
from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now
repaired with knots ; one girth six times pieced,
and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath
two letters for her name, fairly set down in
studs, and here and there pieced with pack-
thread.
Bap. Who comes with him?
Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world
caparisoned like the horse ; with a linen stock
on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other,
gartered with a red and blue list ; an old hat,
and The humour of forty fancies pricked in 't
for a feather : a monster, a very monster in ap-
parel ; and not like a Christian footboy or a
gentleman's lackey.
Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to
this fashion ;
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.
Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he
comes.
Bion. Why, sir, he comes not.
Bap. Didst thou not say he comes?
Bion. Who? that Petruchio came?
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.
Bion. No, sir ; I say his horse comes with
him on his back.
Bap. Why, that 's all one.
Bion. Nay, by saint Jamy,
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.
Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.
Pet. Come, where be these gallants ? who 's
at home?
Bap. You are welcome, sir.
Pet. And yet I come not well.
Bap. And yet you halt not.
33P
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT in.
Tra. Not so well apparell'd
As I wish you were.
Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride?
How does my father? Gentles, methinks you
frown :
And wherefore gaze this goodly company,
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet or unusual prodigy?
Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wed-
ding-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 !
Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
Pet. 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.
Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent
robes:
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
Pet. Not I, believe me : thus I '11 visit her.
Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
Pet. 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 GRUMIO.
Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire.
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.
Bap. I '11 after him, and see the event ot this.
[Exeunt BAP., GREM., andBlox.
Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to
add
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 '11 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, A?fl
And marry swet Bianca with consent
Luc. 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 '11 keep mine own, despite of all the world.
Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vantage in this business :
We '11 over-reach the graybeard,Gremio,
The narrow-prying father, Minola;
The quaint musician, amorous Licio ;
All for my master's sake, Lucentio.
Re-enter GT&M.V*.
k rV. ' yfi? j.firfW
Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
Gre. As willingly as e er I came from school.
Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom com-
ing home?
Gre. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom in-
deed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.
Gre. Why, he 's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
Tra. Why, she 's a devil, a devil, the devil's
dam.
Gre. Tut, she 's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him!
I '11 tell you, Sir Lucentio : when the priest
Should ask, if Katharine 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,
The 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.
Tra. What said the wench, when he arose
again?
Gre. Trembled and shook; for why, he
stamp'd and swore,
As if the vicar meant to cozen him. * {0 i /
But after many ceremonies done,
He calls for wine : A health ' quoth he ; as if
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates
After a storm : quaff'd off the muscadel,
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ;
Having no other reason
But that his beard 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.
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.
SCENE il.j
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
331
Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, BIANCA,
BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, GRUMIO, and Train.
Pet. 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.
Bap. Is 't possible you will away to-night?
Pet. I must away to- day, before night come :
Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business,
V^ou would entreat me rather go than stay.
\nd, 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.
Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
Pet. It may not be.
Gre. Let me entreat you.
Pet. It cannot be.
Kath. Let me entreat you.
Pet. I am content.
Kath. Are you content to stay?
Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay ;
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
Kath. Now, if you love me, stay.
Pet. Grumio, my horse.
Grtt. Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have
eaten the horses.
Kath. Nay, then,
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
No, nor to-morrow, nor 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 '11 not ue gone till I please myself:
'Tis like you '11 prove a jolly surly groom,
That take it on you at the first so roundly.
Pet. O Kate, content thee; pr'ythee, be not
angry.
Kath. I will be angry; what hast thou to do?
Father, be quiet : he shall stay my leisure.
Gre. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal
dinner :
I see a woman may be made a fool
If she had not a spirit to resist.
Pet. 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 anything;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ;
I '11 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 '11 buckler thee against a million.
[Exeunt PET., KATH., and GRU.
Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die
with laughing.
Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like !
Luc. Mistress, what 's your opinion of your
sister? [mated.
Bian. That, being mad herself, she 's madly
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride
and bridegroom wants,
For to supply the places at the table,
You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's
place ;
And let Bianca take her sister's room. [it?
Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride
Bap. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentle-
men, let 's go. [Exeunt.
;vj;.'V; fvjv: f'n>; ?j*m;-'. : v;K' v TtDrij .ruBc!'.'.' 1
A/^r J\T
? ;:ii;I frjltfpfio } ^ .M xliir arfj Differ
SCENE I. A Hall in PETRUCHIO'S Country
house.
Enter GRUMIO.
Gru. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad
masters, and all foul ways ! Was ever man so
beaten? was ever man so rayed? 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, con-
sidering the weather, a taller man than I will
take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!
Enter CURTIS.
Curt. Who is that calls so coldly?
Gru. 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 ana my neck.
A fire, good Curtis.
332
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
TACT iv.
Curt. Is my master and his wife coming,
Grumio?
Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire,
fire ; cast on no water.
Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she 's reported?
Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost;
but, thou knowest, winter tames man, woman,
and beast ; for it hath tamed my old master,
and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.
Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no
beast.
Gru. Arii 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?
Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, how
goes the world?
Gru. 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.
Curt. There's fire ready; and, therefore,
good Grumio, the news?
Gru. Why, Jack boy! ho, boy! and as much
news as thou wilt. [ing !
Curt. Come : you are so full of coney-catch-
Gru. Why, therefore, fire ; for I have caught
extreme cold. Where's the cook? is supper
ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cob-
webs 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? [news?
Curt. All ready ; and, therefore, I pray thee,
Gru. First, know, my horse is tired; my
master and mistress fallen out.
Curt. How?
Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; and
thereby hangs a tale.
Curt. Let 's ha 't, good Grumio.
Gru. Lend thine ear.
Curt. Here.
Gru. There. [Striking him.
Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible
tale : and this cuff was but to knock at your
ear, and beseech listening. Now I begin : Im-
primis, we came down a foul hill, my master
riding behind my mistress :
Curt. Both of one horse?
Gru. What's that to thee?
Curt. Why, a horse.
Gru. Tell thou the tale : but hadst thou not
crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her
horse fell, and she under her horse ; thou
shouldst have heard, in how miry a place ; how
she was bemoiled ; 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 prayed 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 unexperienced to
thy grave.
Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew
than she.
Gru. Ay ; and that thou and the proudest of
you all shall 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 combed,
their blue coats brushed, and their garters of an
indifferent knit : let them curtsy with their left
legs; and not presume to touch a hair of my
master's horse-tail till they kiss their hands.
Are they all ready?
Curt. They are.
Gru. Call them forth.
Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my
master, to countenance my mistress.
Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own.
Curt. Who knows not that?
Gru. Thou, it seems, that callest for com-
pany to countenance her.
Curt. I call them forth to credit her.
Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of
them.
Enter several Servants.
Nath. Welcome home, Grumio !
Phil. How now, Grumio !
[os. What, Grumio!
Nick. Fellow Grumio!
Nath. How now, old lad?
Gru. Welcome, you ; how now, you ;
what, you ; fellow, you ; and thus much fdi
greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all
ready, and all things neat?
Nath. All things is ready. How near is our
master?
Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and
therefore be not, Cock's passion, silence!
I hear my master.
Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA.
Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man
at door
To held my stirrup nor to take my horse !
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?
SCENE I.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
333
All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir.
Pet. 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?
Gni. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before.
Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt-
horse drudge !
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?
Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully
made, [the heel ;
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i'
There was no link to colour Peter's hat,
And Walter's dagger was not come from
sheathing: [Gregory;
There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. '
[Exeunt some of the Servants.
Where is the, afe that late I led [Sings.
Where are those Sit down, Kate, and wel-
come.
Soud, soud, soud, soud !
Re-enter Servants with supper.
Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate,
be merry. [when?
Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains,
It was the friar of orders gray ;
As he forth walked on his way :
Out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry :
Take that, and mend the plucking oft" the
other. [Strikes him.
Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what,
ho ! [hence,
Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither :
[Exit Servant.
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be ac-
quainted with. [water?
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some
[A bason is presented to him.
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
cjjf*-? [Servant lets the ewer fall.
You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?
[Strikes him.
Kath. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault
unwilling. [knave !
Pet. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a
stomach. [shall I?
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; cr else
What's this? mutton? .
I Serv.
Pet.
Ay,
Who brought it ?
Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat.
What dogs are these? Where is the rascal
cook ? [dresser,
How durst you, villains, bring it from the
And serve it thus to me that love it not?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all :
[Throws the meat, SrY., about the stage.
You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves!
What, do you grumble? I'll be with you
straight.
Kath. I pray you , husband, be not so disquiet ;
The meat was well, if you were so contented.
Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried
away;
And I expressly am foiLid 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 '11 fast for company :
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber
[Exeunt PET.,. KATH., aWCuRT.
Nath. Peter, didst ever see the like?
Peter. He kills her in her own humour.
Re-enter CURTIS.
Gru. Where is he?
Curt. In her chamber,
Making a sermon of continency to her, [soul,
And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor
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.
Ptt. 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 kncv her keepers 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 '11 find about the making of the bed ;
And here I s il fling the pillow, there the bolster,
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets :
Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend
334
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT iv.
That all is done in reverend care of her j
And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night :
And, if she chance to nod, I "li 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.
\ ;-. : : rio/.v i
i y i{l .nter TRANIO and HORTENSIO. n: r L
Tra. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
Hor. 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.
Lttf. Now, mistress, profit you in what you
read?
Bian. What, master, read you ? first resolve
me that.
Luc. I read that I profess, the Art to Love.
Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of
your art !
Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress
of my heart. [ They retire.
Hor. Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell
me, I pray,
You that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca
Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio.
Tra. O despiteful love ! unconstant woman-
kind !
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio,
Nor a musician, as I seem to be ;
But one that scorn to live in this disguise,
For such a one as leaves a gentleman,
And makes a god of such a cullion :
Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.
Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
Of your entire afiLction 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.
Hor. See, how they kiss and court! Sig-
nior 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.
Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,
Never to marry with her though she would en-
treat : [him !
Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court
Hor. Would all the world but he had quite
forsworn !
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealthy widow
Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd 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 HOR. Luc. tf/BlAN. advance.
Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such
grace
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case I
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love ;
And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
Bian. Tranio, you jest ; but have you both
forsvorn me ?
Tra. Mistress, we have.
Luc. Th^n we are rid of Licio.
Tra. I' faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now,
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day.
Bian. God give him joy !
Tra. Ay, and he '11 tame her.
Bian. He says so, Tranio.
Tra. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.
Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such
a place ?
Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the
master ;
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering
tongue.
..'uiV _ .^arfjo
Enter BIONDELLO.
Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so
long
That I *m dog-weary ; but at last I spied : bnA
An ancient angel coming down the hill,
Will serve the turn.
Tra. What is he, Biondello?
Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant,
I know not what; but formal in apparel,
In gait and countenance surely like a father.
Luc. And what of him, Tranio?
Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale,
I '11 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.
Fed. God save you, sir !
SCENE III.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
335
Tra. And you, sir ! you are welcome.
Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest ?
Ped. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two :
But then up further, and as far as Rome ;
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.
Tra. What countryman, I pray ?
Ped. Of Mantua.
Tra. Of Mantua, sir ? marry, God forbid !
And come to Padua, careless of your life? [hard.
Ped. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes
Tra. '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.
Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me tnan so !
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence, and must here deliver them.
Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
This will t do, and this I will advise you :
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?
Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been :
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens.
Tra. Among them know you one Vincentio ?
Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him ;
A merchant of incomparable wealth.
Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say,
In countenance somewhat doth reseiuble you.
Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster,
and all one. [Aside.
Tra. To save your life in this extremity,
This favour will I do you for his sake ;
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes
That you are 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 courtesy, sir, accept of it.
Ped. O, sir, I do ; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty. [good.
Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter
This, by the way, I let you understand ;
My father is here look'd for every day,
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here :
In all these circumstances I '11 instruct you :
Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Room in PETRUCHIO'S House.
Enter KATHARINA and GRUMIO.
Gru. No, no, forsooth ; I dare not, for my life.
Kath. The more my wrong, the more his
am t- spite appears :
What, did he marry me to famish me ?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door r >
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 starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ;
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed :
And that which spites me more than ail these
wants,
He does it under name of perfect love ;
As who would say, if I should sleep or eat,
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast ;
I care ^ot what, so it be wholesome food.
Gru. What ?ay you to a neat's foot ? [it.
Kath. Tis passing good; I pr'ythee let me have
Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat :
How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd ?
Kath. I like it well : good Grumio, fetch it me.
Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear 'tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard ?
Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon.
Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mus-
tard rest. [the mustaid,
Gru. Nay, tiien I will not ; you shall have
Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
Kath. Then both, or one, or anything thou
wilt.
Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beef.
Kath. 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 I
Go, get thee gone, I say.
Enter PETRUCHIO with a disk of meat ; and
HORTENSIO.
Pet. How fares my Kate ? What, sweeting,
all amort ?
Hor. Mistress, what cheer?
Kath. Faith, as cold as can be.
Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully
upon me.
Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee :
\Sets the dish on a table.
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits
thanks. [not ;
What ! not a word ? Nay, then thou lov'st k
And all my pains is sorted to no proo-^\
Here, take away this dish.
Kath. I pray you, let it stand.
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT iv.
Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks ;
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
Kath. I thank you, sir.
Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie ! you are to blame !
Come, Mistress Kate, I '11 bear you company.
Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st
me. [Aside.
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 f .he 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
bravery,
Withamber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.
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?
Hob. Here is the cap your worship did be-
speak.
Pet. 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.
Kath. I '11 have no bigger ; this doth fit the
time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have
one too,
And not till then.
Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside.
Katk. 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 uiy heart, concealing it, will break :
And rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
Pet. Why, thou say ? st true ; it is a paltry cap,
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie :
I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not.
Kath. Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
And it I will have, or I will have none.
Pet. Thy gown? 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 apple-tart?
Here 's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and
slash,
Like to a censer in a barber's shop : [this?
Why, what, o' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou
Hor, I see she 's like to have neither cap
nor gown. {Aside.
Tat. You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time, [ber'd,
Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remem-
I did not bid you mar it to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home,
For you snail hop without my custom, sir:
I '11 none of it : hence ! make your best of it.
Kath. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more com-
mendable :
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.
Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a puppet
of thee. [a puppet of her.
Tat. She says your worship means to make
Pet. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest,
thou thread,
Thou thimble, [nail,
j Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter,
Thou flea, thou nit, thou-winter-cricket thou!
Brav'd in mine own house with a skien of thread?
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant ;
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard,
As thou shall think on prating whilst thou
liv'st !
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown.
Tat. Your worship is deceiv'd ; the gown is
made
Just as my master had direction :
Grumio gave order how it should be done.
Gru. I gave him no order; I gave him the
stuff. [made ?
Tat. But how did you desire it should be
Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
Tat. But did you not request to have it cut ?
Gru. Thou hast faced many things.
Tat. I have.
Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many
men ; brave not me ; I will neither be faced nor
braved. 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. [testify.
Tat. Why, here is the note of the fashion to
Pet. Read it [said so.
Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say I
Tat. Imprimis* a loose-bodied goivn :
Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied
gown, sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me
to death with a bottom of brown thread : I said
a gown.
SCENE III.]
THE TAMING OF THE SilKEW.
337
Pet. Proceed.
Tat. With a small compassed cape:
Gru. I confess the cape.
Tai. With a trunk sleeve:
Gru. I confess two sleeves.
Tai. The sleeves ctiriously cut.
Pet. Ay, there 's the villany.
Gru. Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill.
I commanded the sleeves should be cut out,
and sewed up again ; and that I '11 prove upon
thee, though thy little finger be armed in a
thimble.
Tai. This is true that I say : an I had thee
in place where, thou shouldst know it.
Gru. I am for thee straight : take thou the
bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.
Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! then he shall
have no odds.
Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.
Gru. You are i' the right, sir; 'tis for my
mistress.
Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use.
Gru. Villain, not for thy life ! Take up my
mistress' gown for thy master's use !
Pet. Why, sir, what 's your conceit in that?
Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you
think for :
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use !
O fie, fie, fie !
Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor
paid. [Aside.
Go take it hence ; be gone, and say no more.
Hor. Tailor, I '11 pay thee for thy gown to-
morrow.
Take no unkindness of his hasty words :
Away, I say ! commend me to thy master.
[Exeunt Tailor and Haberdasher.
Pet. Well, come, my Kate ; we will unto your
father's
Even in these honest mean habiliments :
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor ;
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest 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 Iience 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,
Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two;
And 'twill be supper-time ere yon come there.
Pet. 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.
Hor. Why, so, this gallant will command the
sun. {Exeunt.
SCENE IV. PADUA. Before BAPTISTA'S
House.
Enter TRANIO, and the Pedant dressed like
VINCENTIO.
Tra. Sir, this is the house : please it you that
I call?
Ped. 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. [case,
Tra. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any
With such austerity as 'longeth to a father.
Ped. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes
your boy ;
'Twere good he were school'd.
Enter BIONDELLO.
Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you :
Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.
Bion. Tut ! fear not me. [tista?
Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Bap-
Bion. I tolrf him that your father was at
Venice ;
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.
Tra. Thou 'rt a tall fellow : hold thee that
to drink. [sir.
Here comes Baptista: set your countenance,
Enter BAPTISTA and LucENTio.
:3: % n3 .* T ,fc>A
Signior Baptista, you are happily met.
Sir [to the Pedant], this is the gentleman I told
you of:
I pray you, stand good father to me now,
Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
Ped. 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,
338
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT iv.
To have him raatch'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.
Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say :
Your plainness and your shortness please me
well.
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here
Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him,
Or both dissemble deeply their affections :
And therefore, if you say no more than this,
That like a father you will deal with him,
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,
The match is made, and all is done :
Your son shall have my daughter with consent.
Tra. 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?
Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio ; for, you
know,
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants :
Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ;
And, haply, we might be interrupted.
Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you :
There doth my father lie; and there, this night,
We '11 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.
Bap. 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.
Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my
heart. [gone.
Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?
Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer :
Come, sir ; we '11 better it in Pisa.
Bap. I follow you.
[Exeunt TRA., Fed., and BAP.
Bion. Cambio.
Luc. What sayest thou, Biondello?
Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh
upon you?
Luc. Biondello, what of that?
Bion. Faith, nothing ; but has left me here
behind, to expound the meaning or moral of
his signs and tokens.
Luc, I pray thee, moralize them.
Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking
with the deceiving father of a deceitful son.
Luc. And what of him?
Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you
to the supper.
Luc. And then?
Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church
is at your command at all hours.
Luc. And what of all this?
Bion. I cannot tell ; expect they are busied
about a counterfeit assurance. Take you assur-
ance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendttm
solum: to the church; take the priest, clerk,
and some sufficient honest witnesses :
If this be not that you look for, I have no more
to say,
But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.
[Going.
Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello?
Bion. 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.
Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented :
She will be pleas'd ; then wherefore should I
doubt?
Hap what hap may, I '11 roundly go about her ;
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.
[Exit.
SCENE V. A public Road.
Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, and
HORTENSIO.
Pet. Come on, o' God's name; once more
toward our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the
moon ! [tight now.
Kath. The moon ! the sun : it is not moon-
Pet. I say it is the moon that shines so bright.
Kath. I know it is the sun that shines so bright.
Pet. 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 one, and fetch our horses back again.
Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but
cross'c. 1
Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go.
Katk. 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.
SCENE V.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
339
Pet. I say it is the moon.
Kath. I know it is the moon.
Pet. Nay, then you lie : it is the blessed sun.
Kath. Then, God be blessed, 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.
Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won.
Pet. Well, forward, forward ! thus the bowl
should run,
And not unluckily against the bias.
But, soft 1 company is coming hert.
Enter VINCENTIO, in a travelling dress.
Good-morrow, gentle mistress: where away?
[ To VINCENTIO.
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.
Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a
woman of him.
Kath. 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
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow !
Pet. Why, how now, Kate ! I hope thou art
not mad :
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd ;
And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.
Kath. 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.
Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and withal
make known
Which way thou travel i'st : if along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.
Vin. 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 ;
A.nd bound I am to Padua ; there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.
Pet. What is his name?
Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir.
Pet. 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 griev'd : she is of good esteem,
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth j
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. [sure,
Vin. But is this true? or is it else your plea-
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?
Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is.
Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hahi made thee jealous.
[Exeunt PET., KATH., and VIN.
Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in
heart.
Have to my widow ; and if she be forward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be un-
toward. [Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I. PADUA. Before LUCBNTIO'S
House,
Enter on one side BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and
BIANCA ; GREMIO walking- on the other side.
Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest
is ready.
Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance
to need thee at home, therefore leave us.
Bion. Nay, faith, I '11 see the church o' your
back; and then come back to my master as
soon as I can.
[Exeunt Luc., BIAN., and BION.
Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this
while.
Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, VINCBNTIO,
GRUMIO, and Attendants.
Pet. Sir, here 's the door ; this is Lucentio's
house : [place ;
My father's bears more toward the market-
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
Vin. 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.
Gre. They're busy within; you were best
knock louder.
Enter Pedant above, at a window.
Ped. What's he that knocks as he would
beat down the gate?
Vin. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
340
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Fed. He 's within, sir, but not to be spoken
withal.
Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred
pound or two, to make merry withal?
Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself:
he shall need none so long as I live.
Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well be-
loved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? to leave
frivolous circumstances, I pray you, tell Sig-
nior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa,
and is here at the door to speak with him.
Ped. Thou liest : his father is come from
Pisa, and here looking out at the window.
Vin. Art thou his father?
Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may
believe her.
Pet. Why, hownovv, gentleman! OViNCEN.]
why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you |
another man's name.
Ped. Lay hands on the villain : I believe 'a
means to cozen somebody in this city under my
countenance.
Re-enter BlONDELLO.
Bion. I have seen them in the church to-
gether: God send 'em good shipping ! But who
is here? mine old master, Vincentio! now we
are undone, and brought to nothing.
Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp.
[Seeing BlONDELLO.
Bion. I hope I may choose, sir.
Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What ! have
you forgot me?
Bion. Forgot you ! no, sir : I could not for-
get you, for I never saw you before in all my
life.
Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou
never see thy master's father, Vincentio?
Bion. What, my old worshipful old master?
yes, marry, sir: see where he looks out of the
window.
Vin. Is 't so, indeed? [Seals BIONDELLO.
Bion. Help, help, help ! here 's a madman
will murder me. [Exit.
Ped. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!
[Exit from the window.
Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let 's stand aside, and see
the end of this controversy. [ They retire.
Re-enter Pedant below; and BAPTISTA,
TRANIO, and Servants.
Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my
servant?
Vin. 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 1 -O, I am undone 1 I am undone!
while I play the good husband at home, my son
and my servant spend all at the university.
Tra. How now! what 's the matter?
Bap. What, is the man lunatic?
Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman
by your habit, but your words show you a mad-
man. Why, sir, what concerns it you if I wear
pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am
able to maintain it.
Vin. Thy father ! O villain ! he is a sail-
maker in Bergamo.
Bap. You mistake, sir ; you mistake, sir.
Pray, what do you think is his name?
Vin. 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.
Ped. Away, away, madass! his name is Lucen-
tio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the
lands of me, Signior Vincentio.
Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his
master ! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the
duke's name. O, my son, my son! tell me,
thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio?
Tra. Call forth an officer.
Enter one with an Officer.
Carry this mad knave to the gaoi. Father
Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming.
Vin. Carry me to the gaol !
Gre. Stay, officer ; he shall not go to prison.
Bap. Talk not, Signior Gremio ; I say he
shall go to prison.
Gre. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you
be coney-catched in this business : I dare swear
this is the right Vincentio.
Ped. Swear, if thou darest.
Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. [Lucentio.
Tra. Then thou wert best say that I am not
Gre. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
Bap. Away with the dotard ! to the gaol with
him !
Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and
abus'd. O monstrous villain !
Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and
BIANCA.
Bion. O, we are spoiled ! and yonder he is :
deny him, forswear him, or else we are all un-
done.
Luc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling.
Vin. Lives my sweet son ?
[BiON., TRA., and PED. run out.
Bian. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling.
Bap. How hast thou offended?
Where is Lucentio? .-._..
Luc. Here 's Lucentio,
Right son to the right Vincentio ;
SCENE II.j
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
341
That hath by marriage made thy daughter mine,
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne.
Gre. Here 's packing, with a witness, to de-
ceive us all !
Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio,
That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so?
Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?
Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio.
Luc. 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-for haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforced him to ;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
Vin. I '11 slit the villain's nose, that would
have sent me to the gaol.
Bap. But do you hear, sir? [to LUCENTIO]
Have you married my daughter without asking
my good-will? [go to:
Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you,
But I will in, to be revenged for this villany !
[Exit.
Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.
[Exit.
Luc. Look not pale, Bianca : thy father will
not frown. [Exeunt Luc. and BIAN.
Gre. My cake is dough : but I '11 in among
the rest ;
Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
[Exit.
9"HtjU/->'~; !" " ; ' ' ''"! TSflJMaViO'^ ij y^f {' i ,rv^\
PETKUCHIO and KATHARINA advance.
Kath. Husband, let 's follow, to see the end
of this ado.
Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
Kath. What, in the midst of the street?
Pet. W T hat, art thou ashamed of me? [kiss.
Kath. No, sir ; God forbid ; but ashamed to
Pet. Why, then, let's home again. Come,
sirrah, let 's away.
Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss : now, pray
thee, love, stay.
Pet. Is not this well ? Come, my sweet Kate;
Better once than never, for never too late.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. A Room in LUCENTIO'S House.
.7 Banquet set out. Enter BAPTISTA, VlN-
CENTIO, GREMIO, the Pedant, LUCENTIO,
BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, HOR-
TENSIO, and Widow. TRANIO, BION-
DELLO, GRUMIO, and others > attending.
Luc. 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 Katharina,
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 at table.
Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat !
Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Pet-
ruchio.
Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind.
Hor. For both our sakcs I would that word
wervi true.
Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his
widow.
IVid. Then never trust me if I be afeard.
Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss
my sense :
I mean Hortensio is afeard of you. [round.
IVid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns
Pet. Roundly replied.
Kath. Mistress, how mean you that?
IVid. Thus I conceive by him. [that?
Pet. Conceives by me ! How likes Hortensio
Hor. My widow says thus she conceives her
tale.
Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that,
good widow.
Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world
turns round :
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.
Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a
shrew,
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe :
And now you know my meaning.
Kath. A very mean meaning.
Wid. Right, I mean you.
Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.
Pet. To her, Kate !
Hor. To her, widow ! [down.
Pet. A hundred marks, my Kale does put her
Hor. That 's my office.
Pet. Spoke like an officer : ha' to thee, lad.
[Drinks to HORTENSIO.
Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted
folks?
Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well.
Bian. Head and butt ! an hasty-witted body
Would say your head and butt were head ami
horn. [you ?
Vin. Ay, mistress bride, !>ath that awaken'd
Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore
I '11 sleep again.
342
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[ACT V.
Pet, Nay, that you shall not : since you have
begun,
Have at you for a bitter jest or two. [bush,
Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
. You are welcome all.
[Exeunt BIAN., KATH., and WID.
Pet. 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.
Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his
greyhound,
Which runs himself, and catches for his master.
Pet. A good swift simile, but something
currish. [self;
Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for your-
'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.
Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.
IMC. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.
Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you
here?
Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess;
And, as the jest did glance away from me,
; Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.
Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.
Pet. Well, I say no : and therefore, for assur-
ance,
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.
Hor. Content. What is the wager?
Luc. ,f jnse Twenty crowns.
Pet. Twenty crowns !
I '11 venture so much on my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.
Luc. A hundred then.
Hor. Content.
Pet. A match ! 'tis done.
Hor. Who shall begin?
Luc. That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
Bion. I go. [Exit.
Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes.
Luc. I '11 have no halves ; I '11 bear it all my-
self.
Re-enter BIONDELLO.
How now ! what news?
Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word
That she is busy, and she cannot come.
Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come !
Is that an answer?
Gre. Ay, and a kind one too :
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
Pet. I hope better.
Hor. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my
wife
To come to me forthwith. [Exit BIONDELLO.
Pet. Oh, ho ! entreat her !
Nay, then she must needs come.
Hor. I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Re-enter BIONDELLO.
Now, where '2 my wife?
Bion. She says you have some goodly jest in
hand :
She will not come; she bids you come to her.
Pet. 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.
Hor. I know her answer.
Pet. What?-
Hor. She will not come.
Pet, The fouler fortune mine, and there an
end.
Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes
Katharina !
Enter KATHARINA.
Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for
me? [wife?
Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's
Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire.
Pet. Go, fetch them hither: if they deny to
come,
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their hus-
bands :
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
[Exit KATHARINA.
Lttc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a
wonder.
Hor. And so it is : I wonder what it bodes.
Pet. Marry 3 peace it bodes, and love, and
quiet life,
An awful rule, and right supremacy ; [happy.
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and
Bap. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio !
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is chang'd, as she had never been.
Pet. Nay, i will win my wager better yet j
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.
See where she comes, and brings your froward
wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
SCENE II.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW,
343
Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and
Widow.
Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not :
Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot.
[KATH. pulls off her cap and throws it down.
Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh,
Till I be brought to such a silly pass !
Bian. Fit ! what a foolish duty call you this?
Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too :
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, [time.
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my
duty.
Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these
headstrong women
What duty they do owt their lords and husbands.
Wid. Come, come, you 're mocking : we will
have no telling. [her.
Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with
Wid. She shall not. [her.
Pet. I say she shall; and first begin with
Kath. Fie, fie ! unknit that threat'ning un-
kind 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 cr 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 I
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a womai cweth 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 Icving lord?
I am asham'd that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak, and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms !
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown :
But now I see our lances are but straws ;
Our strength as weak, our weakness past com-
pare, [are.
That seeming to be most, which we indeed least
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.
Pet. Why, there 's a wench ! Come on, and
kiss me, Kate. [shall ha 't
Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou
Vin. 'Tis a good hearing when children are
toward. [froward.
Luc* Bui a harsh hearing when women are
Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed.
We three are married, but you two are sped.
'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the
white ; [ To LUCENTIO.
And, being a winner, God give you good-night!
\Exeunt PET. and KATH.
Hor. Now go thy ways ; thou hast tam'd a
curst shrew.
Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will
be tam'd so.
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ar 31
THE WINTER'S TALE.
LEONTES, KingofSicilia.
M \MILLI us, his Soft.
CAMILLO, \
DION,
Other Sicilian Lords.
Sicilian Gentlemen.
Officers of a Court of Jud^cat^tre.
POLIXENES, King of Bohemia.
FLORIZEL, his Son.
ARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord.
A Mariner.
Gaoler.
An Old Shepherd, reputed father of TERDITA.
Clown, his Son.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Servant to the Old Sliepherd.
Time, as
\&L .*&
I .^*^.
mobeiw sriT
: om *8frjl4ii0f
HERMIONE, Queen to LEONTES
PERDITA, Daughter to LEONTES and HER-
MIONE.
PAULINA, Wife to ANTIGONUS.
EMILIA, a Lady, \ aUenditlg the QuEEN .
Other Ladies, /
MOPSA, \shetherdesses.
DORCAS, /
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs /?/ a
Dance; Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards,
&c.
SCENE, Sometimes in SICILIA; sometimes in BOHEMIA.
ACT I.
SCENE I. SICILIA. An Antechamber in
LEONTES' Palace.
Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS.
Arch. 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.
Cam. I think this coming summer the King
of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation
which he justly owes him.
Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame
us we will be justified in our loves; for, in-
deed,
Cam. Beseech you,
Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of
my knowledge : we cannot with such magnifi-
cence 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.
Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for
what 's given freely.
Arch. Believe me, I speak as my under-
standing instructs me, and as mine honesty
puts it to utterance.
aiold jl
;;/
Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind
to Bohemia. They were trained 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 attorney ed, with interchange
of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they
have seemed to be together, though absent;
shook hands, as over a vast ; and embraced, as
it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The
heavens continue their loves !
Arch. I think there is not in the world either
malice or matter to alter it. You have an
unspeakable comfort of your young Prince
Mamillius: it is a gentleman of the greatest
promise that ever came into my note.
Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes
of him. It is a gallant child ; one that, indeed,
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.
Arch. Would they else be content to die?
Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse
why they should desire to live.
Arch. If the king had no son they would
desire to live on crutches till he had one.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
THE WINTER'S TALE.
345
SCENE II. 7^he same, A Room of State in
the Palace.
Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE,
MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and Attendants.
Pol. Nine changes of the watery star have
been [throne
The shepherd's note since we have left our
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 more
That go before it.
Leon. Stay your thanks awhile,
And pay them when you part.
Pol. Sir, that 's to-morrow.
I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance
Or breed upon our absence ; that may blow
No sneaping winds at nome, to make us say,
This is put forth too trtily. Besides, I have
stayed
To tire your royalty.
Leon. We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to 3 t.
Pol. No longer stay.
Leon. One seven-night longer.
Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow.
Leon. We '11 part the time between 's then :
and in that
I '11 no gainsaying.
Pol. Press me not, beseech you, so.
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'
the world [now,
So soon as yours, could win me : so it should
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.
Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.
Her. 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 proclaimed : say this to him,
He 's beat from his best ward.
Leon. Well said, Hermione.
Her. 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 '11 thwack him hence with distaffs.
Yet of your royal presence \to POLIXENES] I '11
adventure
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I '11 give him my commission
To let him there a month behind the gest
Prefix'd for his parting: yet,good deed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar of the clock behind
What lady she her lord. You'll stay?
Pol. No, madam.
Her. Nay, but you will?
Pol. I may not, verily.
Her. Verily!
You put me off with limber vows; but I,
Though you would seek to 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 you go yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest : so you shall pay your fees
When you depart, and save your thanks. How
say you?
My prisoner or my guest ? by your dread verily,
One of them you shall be.
Pol. Your guest, then, madam:
To be your prisoner should import offending ;
Which is for me less easy to commit
Than you to punish.
Her. Not your gaoler, then,
But your kind hostess. Come, I '11 questicn
you [boys:
Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were
You were pretty lordlings then.
Pol. We were, fair queen,
Two lads that thought there were no more behind
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal. [two?
Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the
Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did
frisk i' the sun
And bleat the one at the 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.
Her. By this we gather
You have tripp'd since.
Pol. O my most sacred lady,
Temptations have since then been born to 'sJ
for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ;
346
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT i.
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eye s
Of my young play-fellow.
Her. Grace to boot !
Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
Your queen and I are devils : yet, go on ;
The offences we have made you do we '11 answer ;
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any but with us.
Leon. Is he won yet ?
Her. He '11 stay, my lord.
Leon. At my request he would not.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.
Her. Never?
Leon. Never but once.
Her. What ! have I twice said well ? when
was 't before? [make's
I pr'ythee, tell me : cram 's with praise, and
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 the 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 the purpose : when?
Nay, let me have 't ; I long.
Leon. 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
/ am yours for ever.
Her. It is Grace indeed.
Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose
twice ;
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ;
The other for some while a friend.
[Giving her hand to PoLIkisNES.
Leon. Too hot, too hot ! [Aside.
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* the deer ; O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows,- Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?
n/r
Mam.
Ay, my good lord
Leon. I' fecks !
Why, that 's my bawcock. What ! hast smutch'd
thy nose ?
They say it's a copy out of mine. Come,
captain,
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly,
captain :
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
Are all call'd neat. Still virginalling
[Observing POL. and HER.
Upon his palm ? How now, you wanton calf !
Art thou my calf?
Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord.
Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the
shoots that 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'erdyed 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 J
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 co-active 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 hardening of my brows.
Pol. What means Sicilia ?
Her. He something seems unsettled.
Pol. How ! my lord !
What cheer ! how is 't with you, best brother ?
Her. You look
As if you held a brow of much distraction :
Are you mov'd, my lord ?
Leon. 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 muzzled,
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This quash, this gentleman. Mine honest
friend,
Will you take eggs for money ?
Mam. No, my lord, I '11 fight.
SCENE II, J
THE WINTER'S TALE.
347
Leon. 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 ?
Pol. 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.
Leon. 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 as show in our brother's wel-
come ;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:
Next to thyself and my young rover, he 's
Apparent to my heart.
Her. If you would seek us,
We are your's i' the garden : shall 's attend you
there? [be found,
Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you '11
Be you beneath the sky. [Aside.] I am
angling now.
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to ! [Observing POL. and HER.
How she holds uo the neb, the bill to him !
And arms her wi n the boldness of a wife
To her allowing husband ! Gone already !
[Exeunt POL., HER., and Attendants.
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 [have been,
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There
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 wi r e by the
arm, [absence,
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour : nay, there 's comfort
in 't, [open'd,
Whiles other men have gates, and those gates
As mine, against their will : should all despair
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for 't there is
none ;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike [it,
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think
from east, west, north, and south : be it con-
cluded,
No barricado for a belly ; know't 2 ;' ' J
It will let in and out the enemy
With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us
Have the disease, and feel 't not. How now,
boy!
Mam. I am like you, they say.
Leon. Why, that's some comfort.
What ! Camillo there ?
Cam. Ay, my good lord.
Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rt an honest
man. [Exit MAMILLIUS.
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor
hold:
When you cast out, it still came home.
Leon. Didst note it ?
Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ;
made
His business more material.
Leon. Didst perceive it?
They 3 re here with me already ; whispering,
rounding,
Sicilia is a so-forth : 'tis far gone
When I shall gust it last. How came 't, Camillo,
That he did stay ?
Cam. At the good queen's entreaty.
Leon. At the queen's be 't : good should be
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.
Cam. Business, my lord ! I think most under-
stand
Bohemia stays here longer.
Leon. Ha !
Cam. Stays here longer.
Leon. Ay, but why? [treaties
Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the en-
Of our most gracious mistress.
Leon. Satisfy
The 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.
Cam. Be it forbid, my lord !
Leon. 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 requird ; or else thou must be
counted
348
THE WINTER'S TALE,
[ACT i.
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.
Cam. 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,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth : in your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful -negligent,
It was my folly ; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Wher ;iof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft affects the wisest : these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass
By its own visage : if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.
Leon. Have you not seen, Camillo,
But that 's past doubt : you have, or your eye-
glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn, or heard,
For, to a vision so apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute, or thought, for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think
it,
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say
My wife 's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her troth-plight : say 't and justify 't.
Cam. 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.
Leon. 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, tnen the world and all that 's in 't is no-
thing ;
The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these no-
things,
If this be nothing.
Cam. Good my lord, 6e cur'd
Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ;
For 'tis most dangerous.
Leon. Say it be, 'tis true.
Cam. No, no, my lord !
Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie i
I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee ;
Pronounce thee a gross lou , 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 wouid not live
The running of one glass.
Cam. Who does infect her ?
Leon. Why, he that wears her like her medal,
hanging
About his neck, Bohemia: who if I
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do
that
Which should undo more doing : ay, and thou,
His cupbearer, whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who
mayst see [heaven,
Plainly, as heaven sees eartl , and earth sees
How I am galled, mightst bespice a cup,
To ^ive mine enemy a lasting wink ;
Which draught to me were cordial.
Cam. Sir, my lord,
I could do this ; and that with no rash potion,
But with a 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. ; ..f mv/
I have lov'd thee,
Leon. 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' the 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 ?
Cam. I must believe you, sir:
I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for t ; [ness
Provided that, when he 's remov'd, your high-
Will take again your queen as yours at first,
Even for your son's sake ; and thereby for seal-
ing
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
SCENE II.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
349
Leon. Thou dost advise me
Even so as I mine own course have set down :
1 '11 give no blemish to her honour, none.
Cam. 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.
Leon. This is all :
Do 't and thou hast the one-half of my heart ;
Do 't not, thou splitt'st thine own.
Cam. I '11 do : t, my lord.
Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast
advis'd me. [Exit.
Cam. 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 villany 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.
Pol. This is strange ! methinks
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good-day, Camillo.
Cam. Hail, most royal sir !
Pol. What is the news i' the court?
Cam. None rare, my lord.
Pol, The king hath on him such a counten-
ance
As he had lost some province, and a region
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met
him
With customary compliment ; when he,
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me ; and
So leaves me, to consider what is breeding
That changes thus his manners.
Cam. I dare not know, my lord.
Pol. Hew ! 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 changM 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 it.
Cam. There is a sicknaes
Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease ; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
Pol. How ! caught of me !
Make me not sighted like the 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.
Cam. I may not answer.
Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!
I must beanswer'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.
Cam. 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 even as swiftly follow'd as
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so good-night !
Pol. On, good Camillo.
Cam. I am appointed him to murder you.
Pol. By whom, Camillo?
Cam. By the king.
Pol. For what?
Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he
swears,
As he had seen 't or been an instrument
To vice you to J t, that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddingly.
Pol. 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 !
Cam. Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven and
350
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT II.
By all their influences, you may as well m;
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.
Pol. How should this grow?
Cam. 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 fo"owers I will whisper to the business;
And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o' the city: for myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ;
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utter'd 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.
Pol. I do believe thee;
I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still 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 his theme, but no-
thing
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.
Cam. It is in mine authority to command
The keys of all the posterns : please your high-
ness
To take the urgent hour : come, sir, away.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. SICILIA. A Room in the Palace.
Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and Ladies.
Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.
I Lady. Come, my gracious lord,
Shall I be your playfellow?
Mam. No, I *H none of you.
1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord ?
Mam. You '11 kiss me hard, and speak to me
as if
I were a baby still. I love you better.
2 Lady. And why so, my lord?
Mam. Not for because
Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they
say,
Become some women best ; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle,
Or a half-moon made with a pen.
2 Lady. Who taught you this ?
Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces.
Pray now,
What colour are your eyebrows?
i Lady. Blue, my lord.
Mam. Nay, that 's a mock : I have seen a
lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
1 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.
2 Lady. She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!
Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you ?
Come, sir, now
I am for you again : pray you, sit by us, tftaH
And tell 's a tale.
Mam. Merry or sad shall 't be?
Her. As merry as you will.
Mam. A sad tale 's best for winter :
I have one of sprites and goblins.
Her. Let 's have that, good sir.
Come on, sit down : come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites : you 're power-
ful at it.
Mam. There was a man,
Her. Nay, come, sit down : then on.
Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard : I will tell
it softly ;
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
Her. Come on, then,
And give 't me in mine ear.
Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords and
Guards.
Leon. Was he met there? his train? Camillo
with him? [never
I Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them;
Saw I men scour so on their way : I ey'd them
Even to their ships.
Leon. How bless'd am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion I
Alack, for lesser knowledge ! how accurs'd,
SCENE I.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
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
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his
sides [the spider.
With violent hefts: I have drunk, and seen
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?
I Lord. By his great authority ;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so,
On your command.
Leon. 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.
Her. What is this? sport?
Leon. Bear the boy hence; he shall not
come about her ;
Away with him ! and let her sport herself
[Exit MAMILLIUS, with some of the Guards.
With that she 's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes
Hath made thee swell thus.
Her. But I 'd say he had not,
And I '11 be sworn you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you learn the nay ward.
Leon. 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 add,
*Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:
Praise her but for this her without -door form,
Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,
and straight
The shrug, the hum, or ha, these petty brands,
That calumny doth use : O, I am out,
That mercy does ; for calumny will sear
Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums, and
ha's,
When you have said she 's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she*s honest: but be it known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it
should be,
She 's an adultress !
Her. Should a villain say so,
The most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as much more villain : you, my lord,
Do but mistake.
Leon. You have mistook, my lady,
Polixenes for Leontes : O thou thing,
Which 1 3 11 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 ner ; 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 boldest titles ; ay, and privy
To this their late escape.
Her. No, by my life,
Privy to none of this. How wil 1 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.
Leon. 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.
Her. 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 lodged 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 !
Leon. Shall I be heard?
[To the Guards.
Her. 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 [leave.
I trust I shall. My women, come ; you have
Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence 1
[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies, with Guards.
I Lord. Beseech your highness, call the
queen again.
352
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT ii.
Ant. Be certain what you do. sir, lest your
justice
Prove violence : in the which three great ones
suffer,
Yourself, your queen, your son.
I Lord. For her, my lord,
I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir,
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless
F the eyes of heaven and to you ; I mean
In this which you accuse her.
Ant. If it prove
She 's otherwise, I '11 keep my stables where
I lodge my wife ; I '11 go in couples with her ;
Than when I feel and see her no further trust
her;
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false,
If she be.
Leon. Hold your peaces.
I Lord. Good my lord,
Ant. 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, [flaw'd,
I would land -damn him. Be she honour-
I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ;
The second and the third, nine and some five ;
If this prove true, they '11 pay for 't : by mine
honour,
I '11 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.
Leon. 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.
Ant. If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty ;
There 's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.
Leon. What ! lack I credit?
I Lord. I had rather you did lack than I,
my lord, [me
Upon this ground : and more it would content
To have her honour true than your suspicion ;
Be blam'd for 't how you might.
Leon. Why, what need we
Commune with you of this, but rather follow
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
Callsnot your counsels ; butournatural 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 ordering on 't, is all
Properly ours.
Ant. And I wish, my liege,
You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Without more overture.
Leon. How could that be?
Either thou art most 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, naught for approbation,
But only seeing, all other circumstances [ing.
Made up tothedeed, doth push on this proceed-
Yet, for a greater confirmation,
For, in an act of this importance, 'twere j -jol
Most piteous to be wild, I have despatch'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?
I Lord. Well done, my lord.
Leon. Though I am satisfied , and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to the minds of others such as he
Whose ignorant credulity will not [good
Come up to the truth : so have we thought it
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.
Ant. [Aside.} To laughter, as I take it,
If the good truth were known. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a
Prison.
Enter PAULINA and Attendants.
Paul. The keeper of the prison, call to him;
Let him have knowledge who I am.
[Exit an Attendant.
Good lady !
No court in Europe is too good for thee ;
What dost thou, then, in prison?
Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper.
Now, good sir.
You know me, do you not?
Keep. For a worthy lady,
And one who much I honour.
Paul. Pray you, then,
Conduct me to the queen.
Keep. I may not, madam : to the contrary
I have express commandment.
Paul. Here 's ado,
SCENE II.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
353
To lock up honesty and honour from
The access of gentle visitors 1 Is 't lawful,
Pray you, to see her women ? any of them ?
Emilia?
Keep. So please you, madam, to put
Apart these your attendants, I shall bring
Emilia forth.
Paul. I pray now, call her.
Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend.
Keep. And, madam,
I must be present at your conference.
Paul. Well , be 't so, pr*ythee. [Exit Keeper.
Here 's such ado to make no stain a stain,
As passes colouring.
Re-enter Keeper, with EMILIA.
Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady ?
Emit. 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.
Paul. A boy?
Emil. A daughter ; and a goodly babe,
Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives
Much comfort in't; says, My poor prisoner,
I am innocent as you.
Paul. I dare be sworn ;
These dangerous unsafe lunes i* the king, be-
shrew them !
He must be told on 't, and he shall : the office
Becomes a woman best : I Ml 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 the loud'st. We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o' the child :
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades, when speaking fails.
Emt'L 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.
Paul. Tell her, Emilia,
I '11 use that tongue I have : if wit flow from it,
As boldness from my bosom, let it not be
I
Emil. Now be you bless'd for it I
I '11 to the queen : please you come something
nearer.
Keep. Madam, if 't please the queen to send
the babe,
I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
Having no warrant*
Paul. You need not fear it, sir:
The 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.
Keep. I do believe it.
Paul. Do not you fear : upon mine honour, I
Will stand 'twixt you and danger. [Exeunt.
. '''.[ -ft'^fr-ni.} 'rflT
SCENE III. The same. A Room in the
Palace.
Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and
ether Attendants.
Leon. Nor night nor day no rest : it is but
weakness
To bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If
The cause were not in being, part o' the cause,
She the 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?
I At ten. [Advancing.] My lord?
Leon. How does the boy?
I Atten. He took good rest to-night ;
Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd.
Leon. To see his nobleness !
Conceiving the dishonour of his 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 I Attend.] Fie, fie I
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 power.
Enter PAULINA, *itk a child.
, t*>A.) r
I Lord. You must not emer.
M
354
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT II.
Paul. 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.
Ant. That 's enough.
2 Attend. Madam, he hath not slept to-
night; commanded
None should come at him.
Paul. 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 med'cinal as true,
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
That presses him from sleep.
Leon. What noise there, ho?
Paul. No noise, my lord? but needful eon-
ference
About some gossips for your highness,
Leon. How !
Away with that audacious lady \ Antigonus,
I charg'd thee that she should not come about
me:
I knew she would.
Ant. I told her so, my lord,
On your displeasure's peril, and on mine.
She should not visit you.
Lton. What, canst not rule her?
Paul. From all dishonesty, he can: in this,
Unless he take the course that you have done,
Commit me for committing honour, trust it,
lie shall not rule me.
Ant. La you now, you hear \
When she will take the rein, I let her mn ;
But she'll not stumble.
Paul. 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.
Leon. Good queen?
Pate/. 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.
Leon. Force her hence i
Paul. Let him that makes buttriflesof his eyes
First hand me : on mine own accord I '11 off ;
But first I '11 do my erranu. The good queen,
For she is good, hath brought you forth a
daughter ;
Here 'tis j commends it to your blessing.
{Laying drum tie child.
Leon. Outl
A mankind -witch ! Hence with her, out o' door.
A most intelligencing bawd 1
PauL Not so :
I am as ignorant in that as you
In so entitling me ; and no less honest [rant,
Than you are mad ; which is enough, I '11 war-
As this world goes, to pass for honest.
Leon. Traitors !
Will you not push her out? Give her the
bastard :
Thou dotard [to ANTIGONUS], 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.
Paul. For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness
Which he has put upon 't !
Leon. He dreads his wife.
Paul. So I would you did ; then 'twere past
all doubt,
You 'd call your children yours.
Leon. A nest of traitors !
Ant v I am none, by this good light.
Paul. Nor I ; nor any,
But one, that J 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 ro.Tt of his opinion, which is rotten
As ever oak or stone was sound.
Leon. A cailat
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.
Paul. It is yours ! [charge,
And, might we lay the old proverb to your
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 his frown, his forehead ; nay, the
valley, [smiles;
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his
The very mould and frame of hand, nail,
finger: [made it
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast
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 I
SCENE III.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
355
Leon, A gross hag !
And, losel, thou art not worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not stay her tongue.
Ant. Hang all the husbands
That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
Leon. Once more, take her hence.
Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
Leon. I '11 have thee burn'd.
PatiL I care not.
It is an heretic that makes the fire, [tyrant ;
Not she which burns in 't. I '11 not call you
But this most cruel usage of your queen,
Not able to produce more accusation [savours
Than your own weak-hing ? d fancy, something
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.
Leon. 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 !
Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I '11 be
gone. [send her
Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove
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.
Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to
this.-*flt*
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 '11 seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou
refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ;
The bastard-brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ;
For thou sett'st on thy wife.
Ant. I did not, sir :
These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in 't.
i Lord. We can : my royal liege,
He is not guilty of her coming hither.
Leon. You are liars all. [credit :
I Lord. Beseech your highness, give us better
We have always truly servM you ; and beseech
So to esteem of us : aid 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.
Leon. I am a feather for each wind that
blows :
Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel
And call me father ? better burn it now,
Than curse it then. But, be it ; let it live :
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither:
[ To ANTIGONUS.
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 thy beard 's gray, what will you
adventure
To save this brat's life?
Ant. Anything, my lord,
That my ability may undergo,
And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ;
I '11 pawn the little blood which I have left,
To save the innocent : anything possible.
Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this
sword
Thou wilt perform my bidding.
Ant. I will, my lord.
Leon. 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'cl wife,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou cany
This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place, quite out
Of oui dominions; and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to its own protection
And favour of the climate. As by strange for-
tune
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.
Ant. 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 savagehess aside, have dene
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous [ing,
In more than this deed does require ! and bless-
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side,
Poor thing, condemned to loss !
{Exit with the chihl.
Leon. No, I '11 not rear
Another's issue.
2 Attend. Please your highness, posts,
From those you sent to the oracle, are come
An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to the court.
356
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT III.
I Lord. So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.
Leon. Twenty-three days
They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady ; for, as she hath
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives,
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me ;
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. SICILIA. A Street in some Town,
hnter CLEOMENES and DION.
Cleo. The climate's delicate; the air most
sweet ;
Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears. bin
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 ! /, ; . v.
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly
It was i* the offering !
Cleo. yorf J J But > of all the burst
And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense
That I was nothing.
Dion. If the event o' the journey
Prove as successful to the queen, O, be \ so!
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the use on't. :J O j smso Jl
Cleo. Great Apollo
Turn all to the 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. The same. A Court of Justice.
LEONTES, Lords, and Officers appear^ properly
seated.
Leon. This sessions, to our great grief, we
pronounce,
Even pushes 'gainst our heart ;*r-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.
Offi. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen
Appear in person here in court.
Crier. Silence !
HERMIONE is brought in guarded; PAULINA
and Ladies attending
Leon. Read the indictment.
Offi. [Reads.] Hermione, queen to the worthy
Leontes, /foVz^^Sicilia, thou art here accused and
arraigned of high treason^ in committing adultery
with Polixenes, king of Bohemia ; and conspir-
ing with Camillo to take away the life of our
sovereigJt lord the king y thy royal husband : the
pretence whereof being by circtimstances partly
laid open , tkou y Hermione, contrary to the faith
and allegiance of a true subject \ didst counsel and
aid them , for their better safety ', to, fly away by
night.
Her. Since what I am to say must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation, and
The testimony on my part no other [me
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot
To say, Not guilty: mine integrity
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
Be so receiv'd. But thus, if powers divine
Behold our human actions, as they do,
I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny [know,
Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best
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 [it
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize
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, to appear thus : if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry, Fie upon my grave '
SCENE II.]
THE WINTER'S TAl-E.
357
Leon. I ne'er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first.
Her. That 's true enough ;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
Leon. You will not own it.
Her. More than mistress of
Which conies 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 rcquir'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 [spoke,
To you and toward your friend ; whose love had
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd
For me to try how: all I know of it; . \ 3m o(
Is, that Camillo was an honest man ;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in 's absence.
Her. Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not :
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I '11 lay down.
Leon. Your actions are my dreams ;
You had a bastard by Polixenes, [shame,
And I but dream'd it : as you were past all
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.
Her. Sir, spare your threats :
The bug which you would fright me with, I seek.
To me can life be no commodity :
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went : my second joy,
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barr'd, like one infectious : my third com-
fort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,
The innocent milk in its 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* the 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 price 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 !
i Lord. This your request
Is altogether just : therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle :
{Exeunt certain Officers.
Her. The Emperor of Russia was my father ;
O that he were aliv, 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.
Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword
ofjustice,
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.
Cleo. Dion. All this we swear.
Leon. Break up the seals and read.
Offi. [tfeads.'] 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 !
Her. Praised!
Leon. Hast thou read truth?
Oft. Ay, my lord; even so
As it is here set down.
Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle :
The sessions shall proceed : thisis mere falsehood !
Enter a Servant hastily.
Serv. My lord the king, the king !
Leon. What is the business?
Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it :
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen's speed, is gone.
Leon. Howl gone?
Serv. ? ;yni Is dead.
Leon. Apollo 's angry ; and the heavens them,
selves
358
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT in.
Do strike at my injustice. [HERMlONE/am/j. ]
How now there 1
Pa^t!. This news is mortal to the queen :
Look down
And see what death is doing.
Leon. Take her hence :
Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover.
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion :
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon
[Exeunt PAUL, and Ladies, with HER.
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle !
I '11 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.
A*t Wo e the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too !
i Lord. What fit is this, good lady?
Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, nast
for me? [boiling
What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying?
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 theyhavedone,
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 kid to thee, the death
Of the young prince, whose honourable
thoughts, [heart
Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not no,
Laid to thy answer : but the last, O lords,
When I have said, cry, Woe ! the queen, the
queen,
The sweetest, dearest creature's dead; and
vengeance for 't
Nor dropp'd down yet.
I Lord. The higher powers forbid !
Paul. I say she's dead: I'll swear 't. If
word nor oath
Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,
Heat outwardly or breath within, I '11 serve you
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!
Do not repent these things ; for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir ; therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert.
Leon. Go on, go on :
Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitterest !
I Lord. Say no more ;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I' the boldness of your speech.
Paul. I am sorry for 't :
All faults I make, when I shall come to know
them,
I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd
To the 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 '11 speak of her no more, nor of your children j
I '11 not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too : take your patience to you,
And I '11 say nothing.
Leon. Thou didst speak but well,
When most the truth; which I receive much
better
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen and son :
One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall
bCENE III.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
359
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I '11 visit
The chapel where they lie ; and tears shed there
Shall be ray 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. A desert Country
near the Sea.
Enter ANTIGONUS with the Child, and a
Mariner.
Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath
touch'd upon
The deserts of Bohemia?
Mar. Ay, my lord ; and fear
We have landed in ill time: the skies look
grimly, [science,
And threaten present blusters. In my con-
The heavens with that we have in hand are
angry,
And frown upon 's.
Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! Go, get
aboard ;
Look to thy bark : I '11 not be long before
I call upon thee.
Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not
Too far i' the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon 't.
Ant. Gothouaway:
I '11 follow instantly.
Mar. I am glad at heart
To be so rid o' the business. [Exit.
Ant. Come, poor babe:
I have heard (but not believ'd), the spirits of
the dead
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 bo\v ? 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-cut
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia, [babe
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the
/r counted lost for ever, Perdita,
f pr'ythee, call V. For this ungentle busintsa,
Fui on thee l>y my lord t thou ne'er shalt :cc
Thy wife Paulina mo-re? and so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself; and thought
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys ;
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffer' d death ; and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well !
[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. A savage clamour !
Well may I get aboard ! This is the chace :
I am gone for ever ! [Exit> pursued by a bear.
Enter an old Shepherd.
i.'.txi :,;.._
Shep. 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, wrong-
ing the ancientry, stealing, righting. Hark
you now ! Would any but these boiled brains
of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this
weather? They have scared away two of my
best sh^ep, 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
bairn ; a very pretty bairn ! 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 bchind-door-work : they
were wanner that got this than the poor thing
is here. I '11 take it up for pity : yet I '11
tarry till my son comes ; he hollaed but even
now. Whoa, ho hoa!
Ch. [Within.} Hilloa, loa!
Shep. What, art so near? If thou 'It see a
thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten,
conic hi'.h*!.
360
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT iv.
Enter Clown.
What ailest thou, man?
Clo. 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.
Shep. Why, boy, how is it?
Clo. I would you did but see now 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 yest and froth, as you 'd thrust a cork in
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-dragoned it : but, first, how the poor souls
roared, and the sea mocked them ; and how
the poor gentleman roared, and the bear
mocked him, both roaring louder than the
sea or weather.
Shep. Name of mercy! when was this,
* boy?
Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I
saw these sights: the men are not yet cold
under water, nor the bear half dined on the
gentleman ; he 's at it now.
Shep. Would I had been by to have helped
the old man !
Clo. I would you had been by the ship-side,
to have helped her : there your charity would
have lacked footing. [Aside.
Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but
look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou
mettest 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?
Clo. You 're a made old man ; if the sins of
your youth are forgiven you, you 're well to
live. Gold! all gold!
Shep. This is fairy-gold, boy, and 'twill
prove so : up with it, keep it close : home,
home, the next way ! We are lucky, boy; and
to be so still requires nothing but secrecy
Let my sheep go : come, good boy, the next
way home.
Clo. Go you the next way with your findings.
I '11 go see if the bear be gone from the gentle-
man, and how much he hath eaten : they arc
never curst but when they are hungry : if there
be any of him left, I '11 bury it.
Shep. That 's a good deed. If thou mayest
discern by that which is left of him what he is,
fetch me to the sight of him.
Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to
put him i' the ground.
Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do
good deeds on 't. {Exeunt.
sV. ACT IV. , >j_,j' rWj k ^ta"^
Enter TIME, as Chorus.
Time. I, that please some, try all; both
joy and terror
Of good and bad ; that make and unfold 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 power
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 received I witness to
The times that brought them in ; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning, and make
nr 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
The 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 mendon'd a son o' the king's, which Florize.
I now name to you ; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondering : what of her ensues,
I list not prophesy ; but let Time's news
Be known when 'tis brought forth: a shep-
herd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now ;
If never, yet that Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may. [Exit.
SCENE I. BOHEMIA. A Room in the Palace
of POLIXENES.
J
Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO.
Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more
importunate : 'tis a sickness denying thee any-
thing ; a death to grant this.
Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my
SCENE I.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
361
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.
Pol. As thou lovest 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 busi-
nesses which none without thee can sufficiently
manage, must either stay to execute them thy-
self, 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, pr'ythee, speak no more ;
whose very naming punishes me with the re-
membrance 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
sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings
aie no less unhappy, their issue not being
gracious, than they are in losing them, when
they have approved their virtues.
Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the
prince. What his happier affairs may be, are
to me 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.
Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo,
and with some care ; so far, that I have eyes
under my service which look upon his removed-
ness ; 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.
Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who
hath a daughter of most rare note : the report
of her is extended more than can be thought to
begin from such a cottage.
Pol. That 's likewise part of my intelligence:
but I fear the angle that plucks our son thither.
Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where
we will, not appearing what we are, have some
question with the shepherd ; from whose sim-
plicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause
of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my
present partner in this business, and lay aside
the thoughts of Sicilia.
Cam, I willingly obey your command*
PoL My best CarailloJ We must disguise
ourselves. \_Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same. A Road near the
Shepherd's Cottage.
Enter AuTOLYCUS, singing.
When daffodils begin to peer,
With, hey ! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ;
For the red biood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With, hey ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing 5
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge ;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-Hrra chants,
With, hey ! with, hey ! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
I have served Prince Florizel, and, in 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.
ti : -9ni ruiw Jfol $! tMJ feJa^iai^
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 named me Autolycus;
who being, as I am, littered under Mercury,
was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered
trifles. With die and drab I purchased 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 co come, I sleep out the thought
of it. A prize ! a prize 1
Enter Clown.
,.
Clo. Let me s?e : every 'leven wether tods ;
every tod yields i>ound and odd shilling ; fifteen
hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?
Aut. If the springe hold, the cock 's mine.
[Aside.
Clo. I cannot do 't without counters. Let
me see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-shear-
ing feast? Three pound of sugar ; Jive 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
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT iv.
saffron, to colour the warden pies; mace dates >
none ; that } s out of my note ; nutmegs, seven;
a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg ;
four pound of prunes > and as many of raisins
0' the sun.
Aut. O that ever I was born !
[ Grovelling on the ground.
Clo. F the name of me,
Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off
these rags ; and then, death, death !
Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of
more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these
off.
Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness ot them
offends me more than the stripes I have re-
ceived, which are mighty ones and millions.
Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating
may come to a great matter.
Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my
money and apparel ta'en from me, and these
detestable things put upon me.
Clo. What, by a horseman or a footman?
Aut. A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
Clo. 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 '11 help thee : come, lend
me thy hand. [Helping him up.
Aut. O, good sir, tenderly, O !
Clo. Alas, poor soul !
Aut. Oh, good sir, softly, good sir : I fear,
sir, my shoulder blade is out.
Clo. How now! canst stand?
Aut. Softly, dear sir ! [picks his pocket} good
sir, softly ; you ha* done me a charitable office.
Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little
money for thee.
Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you,
sir: I have a 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. . [robbed you?
Clo. What manner of fellow was he that
Aut. 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 whipped out of the court.
Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no
virtue whipped out of the court : they cherish
it, to make it stay there ; and yet it will no
more but abide.
Aut. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this
man well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ;
then a process-server, a bailiff ; then he com-
passed a motion gf 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.
Clo. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig:
he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.
Aut. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he ; that 's the
rogue that put me into this apparel.
Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all
Bohemia ; if you had but looked big and spit
at him, he 'd have run.
Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no
fighter : I am false of heart that way ; and that
he knew, I warrant him.
Clo. How do you now?
Auf. 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.
Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir.
Clo. Then fare thee well: I must go buy
spices for our sheep-shearing.
Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir ! \Exit Clown.]
Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your
spice. I '11 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 en-
rolled, and my name put in the book of virtue !
{Sings.
Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
And merrily bent the stile-a :
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a raile-a.
SCENE III. The same. A Shepherd's
Cottage.
Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA.
Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part
of you
Do give a life : no shepherdess, but Flora [ing
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shear-
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on 't
Per. 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' the land, you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; andme, 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.
Flo. I bless the time
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy fathers ground.
SCENE III.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
363
Per. 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 borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Flo. 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.
Per. O, but, sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the king :
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak, that you must change
this purpose,
Or I my life.
Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, [not
With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken
The mirth o' the feast : or I '11 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 anything
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.
Per. O lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious !
Flo. See, your guests approach :
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let 's be red with mirth.
Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAM-
ILLO disguised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS,
with others.
'-. - > Tjytic. .
Shep. 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; [here
Would sing her song and dance her turn ; now
At upper end o' the table, now i' the 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 us welcome ; for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes, and present your-
self
That which you are, mistress of the feast : come
on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per. Sir, welcome! [To POL.
It is my father's will I should take on me
The hostess-ship o' the day : You 're welcome,
sir! [70CAMILLO.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Rev-
erend 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 !
Pol. Shepherdess-*--
A fair one are you ! well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Per* Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the
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.
Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
Per. For I have heard it said
There is an art which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature.
Pol. Say there be*
Yet nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean ; so, o'er that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we
marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock, "/arf f
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race. This is an art
Which does mend nature, change it rather; but
The art itself is nature.
Per. So it is.
Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
And do not call them bastards.
Per. I '11 not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ;
j No more than, were I painted, I would wish
364
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT iv.
This youth would say, 'twere well, and only
therefore; nlrfj
Desire to breed by me. Here 's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and I think they are given
To men of middle age. You 're very welcome !
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your
flock,
And only live by gazing.
Per. Out, alas !
You 'd be so lean that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through. Now,
my fairest friend, [might
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that
Becomeyour time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st
falUm
From Dis's waggon ! daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; viokts 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 flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack,
\> make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er !
Flo. What, like a corse?
Per. No ; like a bank for love to lie and play
on;
Not like a corse ; or if, not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your
flowers ;
Methinks I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun pastorals : sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.
Flo. What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak,
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 ordering your affairs,
To sing them too : when you dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that 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.
Per. ' O Doricles,
Your praises are too large : but that your youth,
And the true blood which peeps fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.
Flo. 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.
Per. I '11 swear for 'em.
Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that
ever [seems
Ran on the green sward : nothing she does or
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.
Cam. He tells her something [is
That makes her blood look out : good sooth, she
The queen of curds and cream.
Clo. Come on, strike up.
Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry,
garlic,
To mend her kissing with.
Mop. Now, in good time'.
Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our
manners.
Come, strike up. [Music.
Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses,
Pol* Pray, good shepherd, what
Fair swain is this which dances with your
daughter? [himself
Shep. They call him Doricles; and boast?
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.
Pol. She dances featly. [it,
Shep. So she does anything ; though I report
That should be silent : if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
x*V&
Enter a Servant.
Serv. 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 '11 tell
money : he utters them as he had eaten ballads,
and all men's ears grew to his tunes.
Clo. He could never come better: he shall
come in: I love a ballad but even too well; if
SCENE III.J
THE WINTER'S TALE.
365
it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very
pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
Serv. 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 oidildos a.u& 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.
Pol. This is a brave fellow.
Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admir-
able conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided
wares?
Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i'
the rainbow ; points more than all the lawyers
in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they
come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses,
cambrics, lawns : why he sings 'em over as
they were gods or goddesses ; you would think
a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the
sleeve-hand, and the work about the square
on't.
Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him
approach singing.
Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous
words in his tunes. [Exit Servant.
Clo. You have of these pedlars that have
more in 'em than you 'd think, sister.
Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter AuxoLYCUS, singing.
Lawn as white as driven snow ;
Cyprus black as e'er was crow ;
Gl-.ves as sweet as damask-roses ;
Masks for faces and for no>es;
Bugle-bracelet, necklace a'l.ber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
Wh.t maids lack from head to heeli -.{ oisrfT
Come, buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy ;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry :
Come, buy.
fj,0-( \ :-?! I 5-jyw ; , iiioW.Jiiuai-'kttJHiT
Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou
shouldst take no money of me ; but being en-
thralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of
certain ribands and gloves.
Mop. I was promised them against the feast ;
but they come not too late now.
Dor. He hath promised you more than that,
or there be liars.
Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you :
may be he has paid you more, which will
shame you to give him again.
Clo. 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 whispering. Clamour your tongues,
and not a word more.
Mop. I have done. Come, you promised
me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves.
Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened
by the way, and lost all my money?
Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners
abroad ; therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose
nothing here.
Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me
many parcels of charge.
Clo. What hast here? ballads?
Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in
print a-life ; for then we are sure they are true.
Aut. 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
longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbona-
doed.
Mop. Is it true, think you?
Aut. Very true ; and but a month old.
Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer !
Aut. 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 ?
Mop. Pray you now, buy it.
Clo. Come on, lay it by ; and let 's first see
more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
Aut. Here 's another ballad, of a f.sh 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 turned into a cold fish for she
would not exchange flesh with one that loved
her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.
Dor. Is it true too, think you ?
Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and wit-
nesses more than my pack will hold.
Clo. Lay it by too : another.
Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very
pretty one.
Mop. Let 's have some merry ones.
Aut. 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.
Mop. We can both sing it : if thou 'It bear a
pan thou shalt hear ; 'tis in three parts.
366
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT iv.
Dor. We had the tune on 't a month ago.
Aut. I can bear my part ; you must know
'tis my occupation : have at it with you.
Ef '.-ix-T ;.rt gnio'gr 1 :,:
SONG.
A. Get you hence, for I must go ;
Where, it fits not you to know.
D. Whither? M. O, whither ? D. Whither?
M. It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell :
i85>v D, Me too, let me go thither.
M. Or thou go'st to the grange or mill :
D. If to either, thou dost ill.
A. Neither. D, What, neither? A. Neither.
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be ;
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me ;
Then, whither go'st ? say, whither ?
Clo. We '11 have this song out anon by our-
selves ; my father and the gentlemen are in sad j
talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring I
away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy
for you both: Pedlar, let's have the first
choice. Follow me, girls.
Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em.
[Aside.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear a?
Come to the pedlar ;
Money 's a meddler,
That doth utter all men's ware-a.
[Exeunt Clown, AUT., Dor., a/Moi>.
Re-enter Servant.
Serv. Master, there is three carters, three
shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds,
that have made themselves all men of hair;
they call themselves saltiers : and they have a
dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry
of gambols, because they are not in 't; but they
themselves are o' the mind (if it. be not too
rough for some, that know little but bowling)
it will please plentifully.
Shep. Away ! we '11 none on 't : here has
been too much homely foolery already. I
know, sir, we weary you.
Pol. You weary those that refresh us : pray,
let 's see these four threes of herdsmen.
Serv. One three of them, by their own re-
port, sir, hath danced before the king ; and
not the worst of the three but jumps twelve
foot and a half by the squire.
Shep. Leave your prating : since these good
men are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly
now.
Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit.
Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs.
They dance, and then exeunt.
Pol. O father, you '11 know more of that
hereafter.
Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.
He's simple and tells much. [Aside.'] 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.
Flo. Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are :
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and
lock'd
Up in my heart ; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath 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 the northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. 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.
Flo. Do, and be witness to 't.
Pol. And this my neighbour, too?
Flo. And he, and more
Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens,
and all : [monarch,
That, were I crown'd the most imperial
Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve; had force and
knowledge [them
More than was ever man's, I would not prize
Without her love : for her employ them all ;
Commend them, and condemn them, to her
service,
Or to their own perdition.
Pol. Fairly offer'd.
Cam. This show's a sound affection.
Shep. But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him ?
SCENE III.
THE WINTER'S TALE.
367
Per. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better :
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
Shep. Take hands, a bargain !
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness
to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
Flo. O, that must be
I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet ;
Enough then for your wonder: but come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Shep. Come, your hand ;
And, daughter, yours.
Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you ;
Have you a father?
Flo. I have ; but what of him?
Pol. Knows he of this?
Flo. He neither does nor shall.
Pol. Metbinks a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest [more ;
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age and altering 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?
Flo. No, good sir ;
He has his health, and ampler strength indeed
Than most have of his age.
Pol. 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.
Flo. 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.
Pol. Let him know 't
Flo. He shall not.
Pol. Pr'ythee, let him.
Flo. No, he must not
Skep. Let him, my son : he shall not need to
grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Flo. Come, come, he must not.
Mark our contract.
Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir,
[Discovering himself.
Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base
To be acknowledged : thou a sceptre'a heir,
That thus affect'st 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 [know
Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must
The royal fool then cop'st with,
Shep. O, my heart !
Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratched with
briers, and made [boy>
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt see this knack, as
never [cession ;
I mean thou shalt, we ; 11 bar thee from sue-
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Far 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, enchant-
ment,
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
Per. 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. Will 't please you, sir, be
gone? [To FLORIZEI..
I told you what would come of this ! Beseech
you,
Of your own state take care : this dream of mine,
Being now awake, I '11 queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
Cam. Why, how now, father!
Speak ere thou diest
Shep. I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know that which I know. O, sir,
[70FLORIZEL.
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 O cursed
wretch, [To PERDITA.
That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst
adventure
368
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT IV.
To mingle faith with him ! Undone ! undone !
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire. [Exit.
Flo. Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afeard ; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd : what I was, I am :
More straining on for plucking back; not
following
My leash unwillingly.
Cam. Gracious, my lord,
You know your father's temper : at this time
He will allow no speech, which I do guess
You do not purpose to him ; and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear :
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.
Flo. I not purpose it.
I think Camillo?
Cam. Even he, my lord.
Per. How often have I told you 'twould be
thus!
How often said my dignity would last
But till 'twere known !
Flo. . iu \ii t It cannot fail but by
The violation of my faith; and then
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together.
And mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks.
From my succession wipe me, father ; I
Am heir to my affection.
Cant. Be advis'd.
Flo. I am, and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
Cam. .9xj6jj ( This is desperate, sir.
Flo. 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
hide
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 [not
When he shall miss me, as, in faith, I mean
To see him any more, cast your good counsels
Upon his passion : let myself and fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver, I am put to sea
With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore ;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vess A rides fast by, but not prepared
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
Cam. O, my lord.
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
Flo. Hark, Perdita. - [ Takes her aside.
I '11 hear you by and by. [To CAMILLO.
Cam. 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.
Flo. Now, good Camillo,
I am so fraught with curious business that
I leave out ceremony. [Going:
Cam. Sir, I think
You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
That I have borne your father?
Flo. Very nobly
Have you deserv'd : it is rny father's music
To speak your deeds ; not little of his care
To have them recompens'd as thought on.
Cam. Well, my lord,
If you may please to think I love the king.
And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction,
If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration, on mine honour [ing
I '11 point you where you shall have such receiv-
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 ab-
sence,
Your discontenting father strive to qualify,
And bring him up to liking.
Flo How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done?
That I may call thee something more than man,
And, after that, trust to thee.
Cam. Have you thought on
A place whereto you '11 go?
Flo. Not any yet :
But as the 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, on HJ
Cam. Then list to me :
This follows, if you will not change your pur-
pose,
But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia;
And there present yourself and your fair prin-
cess,
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 weeninp
SCENE III.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
369
His welcomes forth; asks tbee, the son, forgive-
ness,
As 'twere i' the father's person ; kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess ; o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness, the
one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow
Faster than thought or time.
Flo. Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him?
Cant. 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 '11 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.
Flo. I am bound to you :
There is some sap in this.
Cam. A course more promising
Than a wild dedication of yourselves [certain
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most
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 '11 be loath to be : besides, you know
Prosperity 's the very bond of love, [gether
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart to-
Affliction alters.
Per. One of these is true :
I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
But not take in the mind.
Cam. Yea, say you so?
There shall not, at your father's house, these
seven years
Be bom another such.
Flo. My good Camillo,
She is as forward of her breeding as
She is i' the rear our birth.
Cam. I cannot say 'tis pity
She lacks instruction; for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.
Per. Your pardon, sir, for this:
I '11 blush you thanks.
Flo. 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.
Cam. My lord, [tunes
Fear none of this: I think you know my for-
Do all lie there : it shall be so my care : :
To have you royally appointed as if [sir,
The scene you play were mine. For instance,
That you may know you shall not want, one
word. \Thcy talk aside.
Re-enter AUTOLYCUS.
duaas '--- "^
Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool Honesty is ! and
Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentle-
man! I have sold all my trumpery; not a
counterfeit stone, not a riband, 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 remembered.
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 petti-
toes 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
pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas
nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse ; I would
have filed keys off that hung in chains : no hear-
ing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admir-
ing the nothing of it. So that, in this time of
lethargy, I picked and cut most of their
festival purses ; and had not the old man come
in with a whoobub against his daughter and the
king's son, and scared my choughs from the
chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole
army. [CAM., FLO., andPzu. come forward.
Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means
being there
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
Flo. And those that you'll procure from
king Leontes,
Cam. Shall satisfy your father.
Per. Happy be you !
All that you speak shows fair.
Cam. Who have we here?
[Seeing AUTOLYCUS.
We '11 make an instrument of this ; omit
Nothing may give us aid.
Aut. If they have overheard me now, why,
hanging. : [Aside.
Cam. How now, good fellow I why shakest
thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm in-
tended to thee.
Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir.
Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will
steal that from thee : yet, for the outside of thy
poverty, we must make an exchange ; therefore,
disease thee instantly, thou must think there '*
370
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT iv.
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 1 money.
Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir: I know ye
well enough. [Aside.
Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch: the gentle-
man is half- flayed already.
Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? I smell the
trick on 't. [Aside.
Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee.
Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest ; but I can-
not with conscience take it.
Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle.
[FLO. and AUTOL. exchange garments.
Fortunate mistress, let my prophecy
Come home to you ! 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, dislikeu
The truth of your own seeming ; that you may,
For I do fear eyes over, to shipboard
Get undescried.
Per. I see the play so lies
That I must bear a part.
Cam. No remedy.
Have you done there?
Flo. Should I now meet my father,
He would not call me son.
Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat
[Giving it to PERDITA.
Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.
Aut. Adieu, sir.
Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot?
Pray you, a word. [ They converse apart.
Cam. What I do next, shall be to tell the
king [Aside.
Of this escape, and whither they are bound ;
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail
To force him after : in whose company
I shall review Sicilia ; for whose sight
I have a woman's longing.
Flo. Fortune speed us !
Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
Cam. The swifter speed the better.
[Exeunt FLOR. , PER. , and CAM.
Aut. 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 the 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.
Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now !
There is no other way but to tell the king she 's
a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood.
Shep. Nay, but hear me.
Clo. Nay, but hear me.
Shep. Go to, then.
Clo. 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 punished
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.
Shep. 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.
Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest
off you could have been to him ; and then your
blood had been the dearer by I know how much
an ounce.
Aut. Very wisely, puppies ! [Aside.
Shep. Well, let us to the king: there is that
in this fardel will make him scratch his beard !
Aut. I know not what impediment this com-
plaint may be to the flight of my master. [Aside.
Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace.
Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am
so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up
my pedlar's excrement. [A side ^ and takes ojf
his false beard.} How now, rustics! whither
are you bound?
Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship.
Aut. Your affairs there, what, with whom,
the condition of that fardel, the place of your
dwelling, your names, your ages, of what hav-
ing, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be
known? discover.
Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir.
Aut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy. Let
me have no lying ; it becomes none but trades-
men, and they often give us soldiers the lie : but
we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stab-
bing steel ; therefore they do not give us the lie.
Clo. Your worship had like to have given us
one, if you had not taken yourself with the
manner.
SCENE III.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
37'
Shep. Are you a courtier, an 't like you, sir?
Aut. 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 base-
ness court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that
I insinuate, or toze 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
thee to open thy affair.
Shep. My business, sir, is to the king.
Aut. What advocate hast thou to him ?
Shep. I know not, an 3 t like you.
do. Advocate 's the court-word for a phea-
sant, say you have none.
Shep. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock
nor hen. [men !
Aut. How bless'd are we that are not simple
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I will not disdain.
Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier.
Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears
them not handsomely.
Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being
fantastical : a great man, I '11 warrant ; I know
by the picking on 's teeth.
Aut. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel?
Wherefore that box?
Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel
and box, which none must know but the king ;
and which he shall know within this hour, if I
may come to the speech of him.
Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Shep. Why, sir ?
Aut. The king is not at the palace ; he is
gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy
and air himself : for, if thou beest capable of
things serious, thou must know the king is full
of grief.
Shep. So 'tis said, sir, about his son, that
should have married a shepherd's daughter.
Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast,
let him fly : the curses he shall have, the tor-
tures he shall feel, will break the back of man,
the heart of monster.
Clo. Think you so, sir?
Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can
make heavy and vengeance bitter ; but those
that are germane to him, though removed fifty
times, shall all come under the hangman :
which, though it be great pity, yet it is neces-
sary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-
tender, to offer to have his daughter come into
grace ! Some say he shall be stoned ; but that
death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our
"*
throne into a sheep-cote 1 all deaths are too
few, the sharpest too easy.
Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you
hear, an 't like you, sir? u f>a t fc
Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed
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 recovered
again with aquavitae, 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 be-
hold him with flies blown to death. But what
talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries
are to be smiled at, their offences being so
capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest
plain men, what have you to the king : being
something gently considered, 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.
Clo. 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 cold : show the inside of your purse to the
outside of his hand, and no more ado. Re-
member, stoned and flayed alivec/1 arfJ as o
Shep. 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.
Aut. After I have done what I promised?
Shep. Ay, sir. u sbjcwi
Aut. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a
party in this business?
Clo. In some sort, sir : but though my case
be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed
out of it. ;ioe jloc
Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's
son. Hang him, he '11 be made an example !
Clo. 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 per-
formed ; and remain, as he says, your pawn till
it be brought you.
Aut. 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.
Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may
say, even blessed, .qti^
Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was
provided to do us good.
[Exeunt Shepherd and Clown.
372
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT v.
Aut. 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 con-
cerns 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.
kshsejinr 38u:
ACT V.
SCENE I. SICILIA. A Room in the Palace
of LEONTES.
Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION,
PAUIJNA, and others.
Cleo. 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.
Leon. 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.
Paul. 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.
Leon. 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 [now,
Upon thy tongue as in my thought : now, good
Say so but seldom.
Cleo. Not at all, good lady ;
You might have spoken a thousand things that
would
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd
Your kindness better.
Paul. You are one of those
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 5 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 lor future good,
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to't?
Paul. 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 tenor 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. Care not for issue ;
\T& LEONTES.
The crown will find an heir : great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor
Was like to be the best.
Leon. Good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honour, O, that ever I [now,
Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! then, even
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes;
Have taken treasure from her lips,
Paul. And left them
More rich for what they yielded.
Leon. 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-vexed,
And begin, Why to me ?
Paul. Had she such power,
She had just cause.
Leon. She had ; and would incense me
To murder her I married.
Paul. 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 [folio w'd
Should rift to hear me; and the words that
Should be, Remember mine!
Leon. Stars, stars,
And all eyes else dead coals! fear thou no
wife;
I '11 have no wife, Paulina.
Paul. Will you swear
Never to marry but by my free leave? i rfte
SCENB I.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
373
Leon. Never, Paulina; so be bless'd my
spirit ! [his oath.
Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to
Cleo. You tempt him over-much.
Paitl, Unless another,
As like Hermione as is her picture,
Affront his eye.
Cleo. Good madam,
Paul. I have done.
Yet, if my lord will marry, if you will, sir,
No remedy, but you will, give me the 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.
Leon. My true Paulina,
We shall not marry till thou bidd'st us.
Paul. That
Shall be when your first queen 's again in breath:
Never till then.
.?UV/ Vili :TJf{7/
4h9rf!& N > E nter a Gentleman.
Gent. 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.
Leon. What with him? he comes not
Like to his father's greatness : his approach,
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us
'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd
By need and accident. What train?
Gent. But few,
And those but mean.
Leon. His princess, say you, with him?
Gent. Ay ; the most peerless piece of earth,
I think,
That e'er the sun shone bright on.
Paul. O Hermione,
As every present time doth boast itself
Above a better gone, so must thy grave
Give way to what 's seen now. Sir, you your-
self
Have said and writ so, but your writing now
Is colder than that theme, She had not been,
Nor was not to be equalPd; thus your verse
Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
To say you have seen a better.
Gent. 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.
Paul. Howl not women?
Gent. Women will love her, that she is a
woman
More worth than any man ; men, that she is
The rarest of all women.
Leon. Go, Cleomenes;
Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends,
Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis
strange,
[Exeunt CLEO. , Lords, and Gent.
He thus should steal upon us.
Paul. 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. [know^st
Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; cease ; thoii
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. They are come.
Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL,
PERDITA, and Attendants.
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince;
For she did print your royal father oif,
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.
Flo. By his command
Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him
Give you all greetings that a king, at friend,
Can 3end his brother : and, but infirmity,
Which waits upon worn times, hath some-
thing seiz'd
His wish'd ability, he had himself
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
Measur'd, to look upon you ; whom he loves, -
He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres,
And those that bear them, living.
Leon. O my brother,
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,
374
TMi: WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT v.
As is the spring to the earth. And Ivath he too
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage,
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
The adventure of her person?
Flo. Good, my lord,
She came from Libya.
Leon. Where the warlike Sinalus,
That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd?
Flo. 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 I nsri
Not only my success in Libya, sir, ,d iiiW
But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety
Here, where we are.
Leon. The blessed gods
Purge all infection from our air whilst you
Do climate here ! 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
bless'd,
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.
. jVI-jHOOJ:
Lord. , :\- ff igrfjjfi 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.
Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak.
Lord. Here in your city ; I now came from
-id bfis hi m :
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.
Flo. Camillo has betray*d me ;
Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now,
Endued all weathers.
Lord. Lay 't so to his charge ;
He 's with the king your father.
Leon. mKx Who? Camillo?
Lord. Camiilo, 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 cf^en as they speak :
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
With divers deaths in death.
Per. O my poor father !
The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
Our contract celebrated.
Leon. You are married?
Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to
be;
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first:
The odds for high and low 's alike* ^n llml
Leon. My lord,
Is this the daughter of a king?
Flo. She is, Sib- 13*
When once she is my wife.
Leon. 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.
Flo. Dear, look up :
Though Fortune, visible an enemy,
Should chase us, with my father, power 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.
Leon. Would he do so, I 'd beg your precious
mistress,
Which he counts but a trifle.] jnsa
Paul. 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.
Leon. I thought of her
Even in these looks I made. But your petition
[7? FLORIZEL.
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.
SCENE U.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
375
SCENE II. The same~ Before ilie Palace*
Enter AUTOLYCUS and a Gentleman.
; I. 1 . .Tqj*. 'jvroe Dflfi
Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at
this relation?
I Gent. I was by at the opening of the far-
del, 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. [it.
Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of
1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the busi-
ness ; but the changes I perceived in the king
and Camillo were very notes of admiration :
they seemed almost, with staring on one another,
to tear the cases of their eyes ; there was speech
in their dumbness, language in their very ges-
ture ; they looked as they had heard of a world
ransomed, or one destroyed: a notable passion
of wonder appeared in them ; but the wisest be-
holder, that knew no more but seeing, could
not say if the importance were joy or sorrow ;
but in the extremity of the one, it must needs
be. Here comes a gentleman that happily
knows more.
gfefmari vfi'n> 4ti>l-b) titLon JIB aortf wonJ I Juti
Enter a Gentleman.
The news, Rogero?
2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is
fulfilled ; 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.
Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he
can deliver you more.
v^iwoia ^'^-^ .7 * r* iii^' 1 '
Enter a third Gentleman.
How goes it now, sir? this news, which is
called true, is so like an old tale that the verity
of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king found
his heir?
3 Gent. Most true, if ever truth were preg-
nant by circumstance: that which you hear
you Ml swear you see, there b such unity in the
proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione ; her
jewel about the neck of it ; the letters of Anti-
gonus, 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 breed-
ing ; and many other evidences, proclaim her
with all certainty to be the king's daughter.
Did you see the meeting of the two kings?
2 Gent. No.
3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight which
Was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There
might you have beheld one joy crown another,
so and in such manner that it seemed sorrow
wept to take leave of them ; for their joy waded
in tears. There was casting up of eyes, hold-
ing up of hands, with countenance of such dis-
traction 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.
2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Anti-
gonus, that carried hence the child?
3 Gent. 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 handker-
chief and rings of his, that Paulina knows.
I Gent. What became of his bark and his
followers?
3 Gent. Wrecked the same instant of their
master's death, and in the view of the shepherd :
so that all the instruments which aided to ex-
pose 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 declined for the loss of her husband,
another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled :
she lifted the princess from the earth, and so
locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her
to her heart, that she might no more be in
danger of losing.
i Gent. The dignity of this act was worth
the audience of kings and princes ; for by such
was it acted.
3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all,
and that which angled for mine eyes, caught
the water, though not the fish, was when, at
the relation of the queen's death, with the
manner how she came to it, bravely confessed
and lamented by the king, how attentiveness
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 it,
the woe had been universal.
i Gent. Are they returned to the court?
376
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT v.
3 Gent. No 2 the princess hearing of her
mother's statue, which is in the keeeping of
Paulina, a piece many years in doing, and
now newly performed 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.
2 Gent. I thought sne 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?
I Gent. 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.
Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former
life in me, would preferment drop on my head.
I brought the old man and his 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 un-
discovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I
been the finder-out of this secret, it would not
have relished among my other discredits.
Here come those I have done good to against
my will, and already appearing in the blossoms
of their fortune.
Enter Shepherd and Clown.
CU 9G
Shep. Come, boy ; I am past more children,
but thy sons and daughters will be all gentle-
men born.
Clo. 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 gentle-
man 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. [born.
Aut. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman
Clo, Ay, and have been so any time these
four hours.
Shep. And so have I, boy !
Clo. So you have : but I was a gentleman
born before my father ; for the Icing's son took
me by the hand and called me brother; and
then the two kings called my father brother ;
and then the prince, my brother, and the
princess, my sister, called my father father;
and so we wept : and there was the first gentle-
man-like tears that ever we shed. ' Awk
Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more.
Clo. Ay ; or else 'twere hard luck, being in
so preposterous estate as we are.
Aut. \ 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.
Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be
gentle, now we are gentlemen.
Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life?
Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship.
Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the
prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any
is in Bohemia.
Shep. You may say it, but not swear it.
Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman?
Let boors and franklins say it, I '11 swear it.
Shep. How if it be false, son?
Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman
may swear it in the behalf of his friend. And
I '11 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 J '11 swear it;
and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of
thy hands.
Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power.
Clo. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow:
if I do not wonder how thou darest 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 '11 be thy good masters.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. The same. A Room in
PAULINA'S House.
Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PER-
DITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and At-
tendants.
Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great
comfort
That I have had of thee !
Paul. What, sovereign sir,
I did not well, I meant well. All my services
You have paid home : but that you have vouch-
saf'd, [traded
With your crown'd brother, and these your con-
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace which never
My life may last to answer. .> r aa
SCENE III.J
THE WINTER'S TALE.
Leon, 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 con.
tent
In many singularities ; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
Paul. 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 [well.
Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say 'tis
[PAULINA undraws a curtain, and discovers
HERMIONE standing as 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?
Leon. 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.
Pol. O, not by much.
Paul. So much the more our carver's excel-
lence ; [her
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes
As she liv'd now.
Leon. 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 !
Per. 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.
Paul. O, patience !
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour 's
Not dry. [on,
Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid
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.
Pol. Dear my brother,
Let him that was the cause of this have power
To take off so much grief from you as he
Will piece up in himself.
Paul. 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 showM it.
Leon. Do not draw the curtain.
Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest
your fancy
May think anon it moves.
Leon. Let be, let be.
Would I weredead, 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?
Pol. Masterly done :
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion in 't,
As we are mock'd with art.
Paul. I '11 drew the curtain :
My lord 's almost so far transported that
He '11 think anon it lives.
Leon. 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.
Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd
you : but
I could afflict you further.
Leon. 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 [me,
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock
For I will kiss her !
Parti. Good my lord, forbear :
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ;
You '11 mar it if you kiss it ; stain your own
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per. So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
Paul. Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
For more amazement. If you can behold
I '11 make the statue move indeed, descend
And take you by the hand : but then you '11
think,
Which I protest against, I am assisted
By wicked powers.
Leon. What you can make her do
I am content to look on : what to speak.
378
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[ACT v.
I am content to hear ; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak as move.
Paul. 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.
Leon. Proceed :
No foot shall stir.
Paul. 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. ;/i^a>
Leon. O, she 's warm ! [Embracing her.
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating. , [{' \
Pol. She embraces him.
Cam. She hangs about his neck :
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she
has livM,
Or how stol'n from the dead.?; }> ^.
Paul. 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.
[Presenting PER., who kneels to HER.
ffer. You gods, look down,
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
.Jrre
Upon my daughter's head ! Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preservM? where livM?
how found? \no lo f
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.
Paul. 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, III:',
Lament till I am lost.
Leon. 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 '11 not seek far,
For him, I partly know his mind, to find thee
Ar 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 parton?/,
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were disseverM : hastily lead away ! -ij -\J\
[Exeunt.
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PERSONS REPRESENTED.
a -, ut> 1 1 n&biq # moii ; ; ^ ro f A
SOLINUS, Z?/^? of Ephesus. PINCH, a Schoolmaster ana a Conjurer.
S T , a Merchant of Syracuse.
ANTIPHOLUS OF ) ^...... ni--, ^ JWJ ,
BALTHAZAR, a Merchant.
ANGELO, a Goldsmith.
A Merchant, Friend to ANTIPHOLUS OF
SYRACUSE.
-
EMILIA, W#& to /EGEON, '$&$* *
ADRIANA, Wife to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.
LUCIANA, her Sister.
LUCE, for Servant.
A Courtezan.
Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants* ri
ft liK'di tcl 8V
idinfKfi Sifl3tK; ?rio-/ /j-j>g?ff^b J/. ,
SCENE, EPHESUS.
?iit tot ,)crbn^?m ?.it( jsrfT ; i luo '{tf \(J9lBa io"i Jffgooa z^niica i.dT
;;ri5ii{d ,r. ^^- Yet this my comfort, when youi
SCENE L yi Hall in the DUKE'S
DUKE, /EGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and
other Attendants.
Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.
Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, 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 gilders to redeem their lives,
Have sealed 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 Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,
If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusan marts and fairs,
Again, if any Syracusan 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.
Yet this my comfort, when your
words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the
cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home,
Ana for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
have been
A heavier task could not
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 '11 utter what my sorrow gives me leave*
In Syracusa was I born ; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too, 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 he, great care of goods at random left,
Drew me from kind embracements of my
spouse: [old,
From whom my absence was not six months
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 she had not been long but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons } [ tner
And, which was strange, the one so like the
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn^sf^'
A poor mean woman was delivered
THE COMEDY OF ERROR*.
[ACT I.
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 em-
brac'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, ignorai
fear,
ignorant what to
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 fasten'd 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,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were 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 jof his wish'd light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discover'd
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
vm 'i- off so ;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
jEge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily terrn'd them merciless to us !
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five
,an leagues,
We were encounter'd 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 helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd
guests ;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail,
And therefore homeward did they bend their
course.
Thus have you heard me sever' d from my bliss ;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sor-
rowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.
sge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest
care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother, and impdrtun'd me
That his attendant, for his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,
Might bear him company in the quest of him :
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life ;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
Duke. Hapless ^Egeon, 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 '11 limit thee this day
To seek thy help by beneficial help :
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus :
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live ; if not, then thou art doom'd to die.-
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Gaol. I will, my lord.
jEge. Hopeless and helpless doth ^Egeon
wend.
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt.
SCENE H.]
TUB COMEDY OF ERRORS.
381
SCENE II.-- A public Place.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO OF
SYRACUSE, and a Merchant.
Mer. Therefore, give out you are of Epi-
damnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day a Syracusan 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.
Ant. S\ 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 '11 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. [word,
Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your
And go indeed, having so good a mean.
[Exit DROMIO S.
Ant. S. 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?
Mer. 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 '11 meet with you upon the mart,
And afterwards consort you until bed-time :
My present business calls me from you now.
Ant S. Farewell till then : I will go lose
myself, .IK^B
And wander up and down to view the city.
Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
[Exit Merchant.
Ant. S. 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, failing 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? [too late:
Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach 'd
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. [I pray ;
Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this,
Where have you left the money that I gave you?
Dro. E. O, sixpence that I had o ? Wedres-
day last
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ;
The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not.
Ant. S. 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?
Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at
dinner: fc^
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.
Ant. S. 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?
Dro. E. To me, sir? why, you gave no gold
to me ! [foolishness,
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave ; have done your
And tell me how thou hastdispos'd thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from
the mart
Home to your house, the Phoanix, sir, to dinner:
My mistress and her sister stay for you.
Ant. S. 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?
Dro. E. 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.
Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks ! what mistress,
slave, hast thou?
Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at
the Phoenix ;
Sh that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.
38*
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT ii.
Ant, S, What, wilt thou flout me thus unto
my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.
Dro. . What mean you, sir? for God's sake,
hold your hands :
Nay, an you will not, sir, I '11 take my heels.
[Exit DROMIO E.
Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money.
They say this town is full of cozenage ;
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such-like liberties of sin :
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave :
I greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit.
Jia uo.zfi ii
....
-Mf -{jnq I ,3L .^Ci
SCENE I. A public Place.
_ _ _
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.
Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave re-
turn'd,
That in sucn haste I sent to seek his master !
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. [him,
Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited
And from the mart be 's somewhere gone to
dinner.
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret { :3"*^
A man is master of his liberty;
Time is their master ; and, when they see time,
They '11 go or come. If so, be patient, sister.
Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be
more? [door.
Luc. Because their business still lies out o'
Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it
ill.
Luc. O, know he is the bridle of your will.
Adr. There 's none but asses will be bridled
so. [woe.
Luf. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with
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' subject, and at their controls :
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world and wild wat'ry seas,
Indued 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.
Adr. This servitude makes you to keep un-
wed. [bed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of trie marriage-
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would beat
some sway.
Luc. Ere I learn love, I '11 practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other
where?
Luc. Till he come home again I would for-
bear.
Adr. 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 burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we should ourselves com-
plain : [thee,
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve
me:
But if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.
Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try:
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.
Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS. ^. c r
Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand?
Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and
that my two ears can witness.
Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know's't
thou his mind?
Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine
ear. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could under-
stand it.
Lite. Spake he so doubtfully thou couldst not
feel his meaning?
Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly I could too
well feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully
that I could scarce understand them.
Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home ?
It seems he hath great care to please his wife.
Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is
horn-mad.
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ?
Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; but, sure,
he 's stark-mad.
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold :
5 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 thousandmarks I gave thee, villain?
The pig, quoth I, is burned; My gold, quoth he :
My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hangup thy mistress;
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!
Luc. Quoth who ?
Dro. E. Quoth my master :
fknow, quoth he, no house, no wife^ no mistress:
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
SCENE II.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders ;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch
him home. [home?
Dro. E. Go back again ! and be new beaten
For God's sake, send some other messenger.
Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate
across. [other beating :
Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with
Between you I shall have a holy head.
Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy
master home. [me,
Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with
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.
Lttc. Fie, how impatience low'reth in your
face!
Adr. His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it :
Are my discourses dull? barren my witfti jj;ri
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.
Ltic. Self-harming jealousy ! fie, beat it
hence. [dispense.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs
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, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed !
I see the jewel best enamelled
Will lose his beauty ; and though gold 'bides still
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold ; and so no man that hath a name
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I '11 weep what 's left away, and, weeping, die.
Luc. How many fond fools serve mad
jealousy ! [Exeunt.
v >rton o : { vofljf' 5O ;t
SCENE II. The saute.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
.-/#. 51 The gold I gave to Dromio is laid np
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave
Is wander* d forth in care to seek me out
By computation and mine host's report
I could not speak with Dromio since at first
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.
Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
How now, sir ! is your merry humour alter'd?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the Phcenix? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?
Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such
a word?
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half-an-
hour since.
Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me
hence,
Home to the Centaur with the gold you gave me.
Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's
receipt ;
And told'st me of a mistress and a dinno? &.--:;>*
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd.
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry
vein: [ bl^ci nie-
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in
the teeth?
Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that,
and that. [Beating him.
Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now
your jest is earnest :
Upon what bargain do you give it me?
Ant S. 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.
Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would
leave battering, I had rather have it a head : an
you use these blows long, I must get a sconce
for my head, and ensconce it too; or else I
shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I
pray sir, why am I beaten?
Ant. S. Dost thou not know?
Dro. S. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten.
Ant. S. Shall I tell you why?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, tlwysay,
every why hath a wherefore,
Ant. S. Why, first, for flouting me ; tuul
then, wherefore, ;K: . m
For urging it the second time to me.
3*4
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT 1L
Dro. S. 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.
Ant. S. Thank me, sir! for what?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that
you gave me for nothing.
Ant. S. I '11 make you amends next, to give
you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it
dinner-time? [that I have.
Dro. S. No, sir; I think the -meat wants
Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that?
Dro. S. Basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.
Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.
Ant. S. Your reason?
Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and pur-
chase me another dry basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time :
There 's a time for all things.
Dro. S. I durst have denied that before you
were so choleric.
Ant. S. By what rule, sir?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the
plain bald pate of Father Time himself.
Ant. S. Let 's hear it.
Dro. S. There 's no time for a man to re-
jover his hair, that grows bald by nature.
Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery?
Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and
recover the lost hair of another man.
Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair,
being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he be-
stows on beasts : and what he hath scanted
men in hair he hath given them in wit.
Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hath
more hair than wit.
Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the
wit to lose his hair.
Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men
plain dealers without wit.
Dro. S. The plainer dealer the sooner lost :
yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
Ant. S. For what reason?
Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too.
Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.
Dro. S. Sure ones, then.
Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
Dro. S. Certain ones, then.
Ant. S. Name them.
Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he
spends in tiring ; the other, that at dinner they
should not drop in his porridge.
Ant. S. You would all this time have proved
there is no rime for all things.
Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no
time to recover hair lost by nature.
Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial
why there is no time to recover.
Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is
bald, and, therefore, to the world's end will
have bald followers.
Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion :
But, soft ! who wafts us yonder?
Enter ADRIANA and LuciANA.
Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and
frown ;
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects :
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. [vow
The time was, once, when thou unurg'd wouldst
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, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to
thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how
comes it,
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 'ylov^I
That undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ;
For know, my iove, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf, mirf
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
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious,
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate !
Wo- Idst 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. [bed ;
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I
know you not :
In Ephesus I am but two hours old,
As strange unto your town as to your talk ;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann ? d,
Want wit in all one word to understand,
SCENE II.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
385
Luc. 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.
Ant. S. By Dromio?
Dro. S. By me?
Adr. 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.
Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this
gentlewoman ?
What is the course and drift of your compact?
Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time.
Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her
very words
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.
Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life.
Ant. S. How can she thus, then, call us by
our names,
Unless it be by inspiration?
Adr. 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.
Ant. S. 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 '11 entertain the offer'd fallacy.
Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for
dinner. [sinner.
Dro. S. O for my beads ! I cross me for a
This is the fairy land ; O spite of spites !
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites ;
If we obey them not, this will ensue, [blue.
They '11 suck our breath, or pinch us black and
Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and an-
swer' st not? [sot!
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou
Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I ?
Ant. S. I think thou art, in mind, and so am I.
Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in
my shape.
Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form.
Dro. S. No, I am an ape.
Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an
ass. [for grass.
Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I long
'Tis so, I am an ass ; else it could never be
But I should know her as well as she knows me.
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man and master laugh my woes to
scorn. [gate:
Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the
Husband, I '11 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.
Ant. S. 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 '11 say as they say, and perseVer so,
And in this mist at all adventures go.
Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break
your pate.
Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too
late. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. The same.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, DROMIO OP
EPHESUS, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR.
Ant. E. 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 ?
Dro. E. 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, [think.
Your own handwriting would tell you what I
Ant. E. I think thou art an ass.
Dro. E. 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, [an ass.
You would keep from my heels, and beware of
N
386
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT lit.
Ant. E. You are sad, Signior Balthazar;
pray God, our cheer [come here.
May answer my good- will and your good wel-
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and
your welcome dear.
Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at
flesh or fish,
A table full of welcome makes scarce one
dainty dish.
BaL Good meat, sir, is common ; that every
churl affords.
Ant. E. And welcome more common; for
that 's nothing but words.
Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes
a merry feast. [sparing guest.
Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host and more
But though my cates be mean, take them in
good part ; [heart.
Better cheer may you have, but not with better
But, soft ; my door is lock'd : go bid them let
us in. [Gillian, Jen !
Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely,
Dro. S. {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, [the door.
When one is one too many? Go, get thee from
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter?
My master stays in the street.
Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came,
lest he catch cold on 's feet.
Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open
the door.
Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when an
you '11 tell me wherefore.
Ant. E. Wherefore ! for my dinner : I have
not dined to-day.
Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not;
come again when you may.
Ant. E. What art thou that keep'st me out
from the house I owe?
Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and
my name is Dromio.
Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both
mine office and my name ; [blame.
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle
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.
Luce. {Within.} What a coil is there!
Dromio, who are those at the gate ?
Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce.
Luce. Faith, no ; he comes too late ;
And so tell your master.
E. O Lord, I must laugh ;
Have at you with a proverb. Shall I set in
my staff?
Luce. Have at you with another: that's,
When? can you tell?
Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce,-r-Luce,
thou hast answer'd him well.
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you '11
let us in, I hope?
Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.
Dro. S. And you said no.
Dro. E. So, come, help: well struck; there
was blow for blow.
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. Can you tell for whose sake ?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce. Let him knock till it ache.
Ant. E. You '11 cry for this, minion, if I beat
the door down.
Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of
stocks in the town?
Adr. [ Within.} Who is that at the door, that
keeps all this noise?
Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled
with unruly boys.
Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might
have come before. [the door.
Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from
Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this
knave would go sore.
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome:
we would fain have either.
Bal. In debating which was best, we shall
part with neither.
Dro. E. They stand at the door, master ; bid
them welcome hither.
Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that
we cannot get in.
Dro. E. 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.
Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I '11 break
ope the gate.
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I '11
break your knave's pate.
Dro. E. A man may break a word with yon,
sir ; and words are but wind ;
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it
not behind.
Dro. S. It seems thou wantest breaking ; out
upon thee, hind !
Dro. E. Here 's too much out upon thee : I
pray thee, let me in.
Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers
and fish have no fin.
SCENE II.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
387
Ant. E. Well, I '11 break in ; go borrow me
a crow.
Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master,
mean you so? [a feather:
For a fish without a fin there 's a fowl without
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we : 11 pluck a crow
together. [crow.
Ant. E. Go, get thee gone ; fetch me an iron
Bal. Have patience, sir : O, let it not be so :
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this, your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ;
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made against you.
Be 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 once gets possession.
Ant. E. 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. Get you home
And fetch the chain : by this, I know, 'tis made :
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ;
For there's the house; thatchainwill 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 '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me.
Ang. I '11 meet you at that place some hour
hence.
Ant. E. Do so ; this jest shall cost me some
expense. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same.
Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS OF
SYRACUSE.
Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband's office ? Shall, Antipholus, hate,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ?
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate?
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 ;
111 deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor women ! make us but believe,
Being compact of credit, that you love us :
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ;
We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
Then, gentle brother, get you in again ;
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife :
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain [strife.
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers
Ant. S. Sweet mistress, what your name is
else, I know not,
Nor by what wonder do you hit on mine,
Less, in your knowledge and your grace, you
show not [divine.
Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ;
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you
To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a god? would you create me new?
Transform me, then, and to your power I'll
yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe:
Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears:
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote :
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I '11 take thee, and there lie ;
And, in that glorious supposition, think
He gains by death that hath such means to die:
Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink 1
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason
so?
388
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT in.
Ant. S. Not mad, but mated ; how, I do not
know.
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun,
being by.
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will
clear your sight. [on night.
Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look
Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sister so.
Ant. S. Thy sister's sister.
Luc. That 's my sister.
Ant. S. No ;
It is thyself, mine own self's better part ;
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart;
Tvly food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim,
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim
thee i'v'f ,' :
Thee will I love, an d with thee lead my life :
Thou hast no hu band yet, nor I no wife ;
Give me thy hand.
Luc. O soft, sir, hold you still ;
I '11 fetch my sister, to get her good -will.
[Exit LUCIANA.
Enter from the House ^ANTIPHOLUS OF
EPHESUS, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where
runn'st thou so fast ?
Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio?
am I your man ? am I myself?
Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man,
thou art thyself.
Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man,
and beside myself.
Ant. S. What woman's man? and how beside
thyself?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, beside myself, I am due
to a woman; one that claims me, one that
haunts me, one that will have me.
Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee?
Dro. S. 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.
Ant. S. What is she?
Dro. S. 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 she is a wondrous fat marriage.
Ant. S. How dost thou mean? a fat
marriage?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, she 's the kitchen- wench,
and all grease ; and I know not what use to put
her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run
from her by her own light. I warrant, her
rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a
Poland winter : if she lives till doomsday, she '11
burn a week longer than the whole world.
Ant. S. What complexion is she of?
Dro. S. 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.
Ant. S. That 's a fault that water will mend.
Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood
could not do it.
Ant. S. What's her name?
Dro. S. Nell, sir ; but her name and three-
quarters, that is an ell and three-quarters, will
not measure her from hip to hip.
Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth?
Dro. S. No longer from head to foot than
from hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe :
I could find out countries in her. [land?
Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ire-
Dro. S. Marry, sir, in hei buttocks : I found
it out by the bogs.
Ant. S. Where Scotland?
Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard
in the palm of the hand.
Ant. S. Where France?
Dro. S. In her forehead; armed and re-
verted, making war against her hair.
Ant. S. Where England?
Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I
could find no whiteness in them : but I guess it
stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran
between France and it.
Ant. S. Where Spain?
Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot
in her breath.
Ant. S. Where America. the Indies?
Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er em-
bellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires,
declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of
Spain ; who sent whole armadas of carracks to
be ballast at her nose.
Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Nether-
lands?
Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To
conclude, this drudge or diviner laid claim to
me ; called me Dromio ; swore I was assured
to her ; told me what privy marks I had about
me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in
my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that
I, amazed, ran from her as a witch : and, I
think, if my breast had not been made of faith
and my heart of steel, she had transformed me
to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i' the
wheel. [road ;
Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently post to the
And if the wind blow any way from shore,
SCENE II.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
389
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,
J Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.
Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for
life,
So fly I from her that would be my wife.
{Exit.
Ant. S. 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 '11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.
Enter ANGELO.
Ang. Master Antipholus?
Ant. S. Ay, that 's my name. [chain ;
Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine :
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.
Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with
this?
Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have made
it for you.
Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not.
Ang. Not once nor twice, but twenty times
you have :
Go home with it, and please your wife withal ;
And soon at supper-time I '11 visit you,
And then receive my money for the chain.
Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.
Ang. You are a merry man, sir ; fare you well.
{Exit.
Ant. S. What I should think of this I cannot
tell:
But this I think, there 's no man is so vain
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
I see a man here needs not live by shifts,
When in the street he meets such golden gifts.
I '11 to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ;
If any ship put out, then straight away. {Exit.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. The same.
Enter a Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer.
Mer. 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 gilders for my voyage ;
Therefore make present satisfaction,
Or I '11 attach you by this officer.
Ang. 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.
Off. That labour may you save : see where
he comes. [go thou
Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house,
And buy a rupe's end ; that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates,
For locking me out of doors by day.
But, soft ; I see the goldsmith : get thee gone ;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.
Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I
buy a rope ! {Exit DROMIO.
Ant. E. 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 chained together ; and therefore came
not. [note,
Ang. Saving your merry humour, here 's the
How much your chain weighs to the utmost
carat;
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion ;
Which does 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.
Ant. E. I am not furnished 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 thereo';
Perchance I will be there as soon as you.
Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her
yourself?
Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come
not time enough. [about you?
Ang. Well sir, I will : have you the chain
Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have,
Or else you may return without your money.
Ang. 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.
390
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT iv.
Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance to
excuse
Your breach of promise to the Porcupine :
I should have chid you for not bringing it,
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir,
despatch.
Ang. You hear how he importunes me : the
chain,
Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch
your money. [now :
Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even
Either send the chain or send me by some token.
Ant. E. Fie ! now you run this humour out
of breath : [it.
Come, where 's the chain? I pray you, let me see
Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance :
Good sir, say whe'r you '11 answer me or no ;
If not, I '11 leave him to the officer. [you?
Ant. E. I answer you ! What should I answer
Ang. The money that you owe me for the
chain. [chain.
Ant. E. I owe you none till I receive the
Ang. You know I gave it you half-an-hour
since.
Ant. E. You gave me none: you wrong me
much to say so.
Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
Consider how it stands upon my credit.
Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
Off. I do, and charge you in the duke's name
to obey me.
Ang. This touches me in reputation :
Either consent to pay this sum for me,
Or I attach you by this officer.
Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had!
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st.
Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer :
I would not spare my brother in this case,
If he should scorn me so apparently.
Off. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit.
Ant. E. 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.
Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.
Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidam-
num
That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage, sir,
I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae.
The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind
Blows fair from land : they stay for naught at all
But for their owner, master, and yourself.
Ant. E. How now! a madman? Why, thou
peevish sheep,
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?
Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.
Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for
a rope ;
And told thee to what purpose and what end.
Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's end as
soon:
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more
leisure,
And teach your ears to listen 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 MER., ANG., Off., and ANT. E.
Dro. S. 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 II. The same.
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.
Adr. 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?
Luc. First, he denied you had him in no
right. [my spite.
Adr. He meant he did me none ; the more
Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger
here. [he were.
Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn
Luc. Then pleaded I for you.
Adr. And what said he?
Luc. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd
of me. [love?
Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy
Luc. With words that in an honest suit
might move.
First, he did praise my beauty, then my speech.
Adr. Didst speak him fair?
Luc. Have patience, I beseech.
Adr. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still :
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have*
his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
SCENE II.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere ;
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. [one?
Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a
Np evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.
Adr. 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.
Dro, S. Here, go: the desk, the purse:
sweet now, make haste.
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath?
Dro. S. By running fast.
Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he
well? [hell.
Dro. S. No, he 's in Tartar limbo, worse than
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 [lands ;
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry
foot well ; [to hell.
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls
Adr. Why, man, what is the matter?
Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is
'rested on the case. [suit.
Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me at whose
Dro. S. 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 the desk ?
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. This I wonder at,
[Exit LUCIANA.
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.
Tell me, was he arrested on a band?
Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger
thing ;
A chain, a chain : do you not hear it ring?
Adr. What, the chain? [gone.
Dro. S. No, no, the bell : 'tis time that I were
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock
strikes one.
Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never
hear.
D*-o. S. Oyes. If any hour meet a sergeant,
'a turns back for very fear.
Adr. As if time were in debt ! how fondly
dost thou reason !
Dro. S. 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 he be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the
way, [day?
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a
Enter LUCIANA.
Adr. 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 III. The same.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
Ant. S. 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.
Dro. S. Master, here 's the gold you sent me
for.
What, have you got the picture of Old Adam
new apparelled?
Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam
dost thou mean?
Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the para-
dise, but that Adam that keeps the prison : he
that goes in the calf 's-skin that was killed for
the Prodigal ; he that came behind you, sir, like
an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.
Ant. S. I understand thee not.
Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that
went like a base -viol in a case of leather; the
man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives
them a fob, and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes
pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of
durance; he that sets up his rest to do more
exploits with his mace than a morris- pike.
Ant. S. What! thou mean'st an officer?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band :
he that brings any man to answer it that breaks
his band ; one that thinks a man always going
to bed, and says, God give you good rest!
393
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT iv.
Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery.
Is there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we
be gone?
Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour
since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-
night ; and then were you hindered by the
sergeant, to tarry for the hoy, Delay : here are
the angels that you sent for to deliver you.
Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ;
And here we wander in illusions :
Some blessed power deliver us from hence !
Enter a Courtezan.
Cour. 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 ?
Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt
me not !
Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan?
Ant. S. It is the devil.
Dro. S. 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 as 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.
Cour. Your man and you are marvellous
merry, sir. [here.
Will you go with me ? We '11 mend our dinner
Dro. S. Master, if you do; expect spoon-meat,
or bespeak a long spoon.
Ant. S. Why, Dromio?
Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon
that must eat with the devil.
Ant. S. 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.
Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at
dinner,
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd,
And I '11 be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring 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.
Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the
chain :
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.
Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio,
let us go.
Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress,
that you know.
\_Exeunt ANT. S. and DRO. S.
Cour. 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 IV. The same.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS and an
Officer.
Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break
away:
I '11 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 e
Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS, -with a ropJs end.
Here comes my man: I think he brings the
money.
How now, sir ! have you that I sent you for?
Dro. E. Here 's that, I warrant you, will
pay them all.
Ant. E. But where 's the money? [rope.
Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the
Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a
rope ? [the rate.
Dro. E. I '11 serve you, sir, five hundred at
Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee
home?
Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that
end am I return'd.
Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome
you. [Beating him.
Off. Good sir, be patient.
Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am
in adversity.
Off. Good now, hold thy tongue.
Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold
his hands.
Ant. E. Thou whoreson senseless villain 1
ears.
SCENE IV.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
393
Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that
I might not feel your blows.
Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but
blows, and so is an ass.
Dro. E. I am an ass indeed : you may prove
it by my long ears. I have served him from the
hour of my nativity to this instant, and have
nothing at his hands for my service but blows :
when I am cold he heats me with beating ; when
I am warm he cools me with beating. I am
waked with it when I sleep ; raised with it when
I sit; driven out of doors with it when I go
from home ; welcomed home with it when I re-
turn : nay, I bear it on my shoulders as a beggar
wont her brat ; and I think, when he hath lamed
me, I shall beg with it from door to door.
Ant. E. Come, go along ; my wife is coming
yonder.
Enter ADRIAN A, LUCIANA, and the Courtezan,
with PINCH and others.
Dro. E. Mistress, respicefinem, respect your
end; or rather the prophecy, like the parrot,
Beware the ropfs end.
Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Seats htm.
Cour. How say you now? is not your husband
mad?
Adr. 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.
Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks !
Cour. Mark how he trembles in his ecstacy !
Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel
your pulse. [your ear.
Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel
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.
Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ; I am
not mad.
Adr. O that thou wert not, poor distressed
soul! [customers?
Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your
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? [home,
Adr. O husband, God doth know you din'd at
Where would you had remained until this time,
Free from these slanders and this open shame !
Ant. E. I din'd at home! Thou villain,
what say'st thou?
Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at
home.
Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up and I
shut out?
Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were lock'd and
you shut out.
Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me
there? [there.
Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you
Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail,
taunt, and scorn me?
Dro. E. Certes, she did : the kitchen-vestal
scorn'd you.
Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from
thence? [witness,
Dro. E. In verity, you did ; my bones bear
That since have felt the vigour of his rage.
Adr. Is 't good to soothe him in these con-
traries? [vein,
Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds his
And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.
Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith
to arrest me.
Adr. Alas ! I sent you money to redeem you,
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.
Dro. E. Money by me ! heart and good-will
you might,
But surely, master, not a rag of money.
Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse
of ducats?
Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it.
Lttc. And I am witness with her that she did.
Dro. E. 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.
Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me
forth to-day?
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?
Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee
forth.
Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no
gold;
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.
Adr, Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false
in both. [all ;
Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in
And art confederate with a damned pack,
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:
But with these nails I '11 pluck out these false
eyes,
That would behold me in this shameful sport.
[PlNCH and Assistants bind ANT. E. and
DRO. E.
Adr. O, bind him, bind him; let him not
come near me.
394
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT v.
Pinch. More company ; the fiend is strong
within him. [looks !
Luc. Ah me, poor man ! how pale and wan he
Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou
gaoler, thou,
I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them
To make a rescue?
Off. Masters, let him go :
He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.
Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too.
Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
Do outrage and displeasure to himself?
Off. He is my prisoner : if I let him go,
The debt he owes will be requir'd of me.
Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee :
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, [it.
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd
Home to my house. O most unhappy day !
Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet !
Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond
for you.
Ant. E. Out on thee, villain! wherefore
dost thou mad me? [mad,
Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be
Good master; cry, the devil. [talk!
Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they
Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you
with me.
[Exeunt PINCH and Assistants, with
ANT. E. and DRO. E.
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at?
Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you
know him? [owes?
Adr. I know the man : what is the sum he
Off. Two hundred ducats.
Adr. Say, how grows it due?
Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him.
Adr. He did bespeak ; chain for me, but had
it not.
Cour. 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.
Adr. 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.
Luc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose
Adr. And come with naked swords: let's
call more help,
To have them bound again.
Off. Away, they '11 kill us.
[Exeunt Off., ADR., and'Lvc.
Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of swords.
Dro. S. She that would be your wife now
ran from you.
Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our
stuff from thence :
I long that we were safe and sound aboard.
Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night; they
will surely do us no harm : you saw they speak
us fair, give us gold : methinks, they are such
a gentle nation, that but for the mountain of
mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could
find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the
town:
Therefore away to get our stuff aboard.
[Exeunt.
-KiA *fc\3k
ACT V.
SCENE I. The same.
Enter Merchant and ANGELO.
Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder d
you;
But I protest he had the chain of me,
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.
Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the
city?
Ang. 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.
Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he
walks.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO OF
SYRACUSE.
Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his
neck
Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
Good sir, draw near to me, I '11 speak to him.
Signior Antipholus, I wonder much [trouble ;
That you would put me to this shame and
And not without some scandal to yourself,
With circumstance and oaths so to deny
This chain, which now you wear so openly :
Besides 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?
Ant. S. I think I had : I never did deny it.
Mer. Yes, that you did, sir ; and forswore it
too. [swear it?
Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or for*
SCENE I.j
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
395
Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did
hear thee.
Fie on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity that thou liv'st
To walk where any honest men resort, [thus :
Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me
I '11 prove mine honour and mine honesty
Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand.
Mer. I dare and do defy thee for a villain.
[They draw.
Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, Courtezan, and
others.
Adr. 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.
Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake,
take a house.
This is some priory ; in, or we are spoil'd.
[Exeunt ANT. S. and DRO. S. to the Priory.
Enter the Abbess.
Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng
you hither ? [hence :
Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast,
And bear him home for his recovery.
Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits.
Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw on him.
Abb. How long hath this possession held the
man ? [sad,
Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour,
And much, much different from the man he was:
But till this afternoon his passion
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. [at sea?
Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck
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?
Adr. To none of these, except it be the last;
Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.
Abb. You should for that have reprehended
him.
Adr. Why, so I did.
Abb. Ay, but not rough enough.
Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me.
Abb. Haply in private.
Adr. And in assemblies too.
Abb. Ay, but not enough.
Adr. 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.
Abb. And thereof came it that the man was
mad :
The venom clamours of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing :
And therefore 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 hinder'd by thy
brawls :
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,
And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life ?
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturb' d would mad or man or beast :
The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits
Have scar'd thy husband from the use of 's wits.
Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly,
When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and
wildly.
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not ?
Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof.
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him.
Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house.
Adr. Then let your servants bring my
husband forth.
Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanctu-
ary,
And it shall privilege him from your hands
Till I have brought him to his wits again,
Or lose my labour in assaying it.
Adr. 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.
Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir
Till I have used the approved means I have,
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy
prayers,
To make of him a formal man again :
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
A charitable duty of my order ;
Therefore depart, and leave him here with me
Adr. I will not hence and leave my husband
here ;
And ill it doth beseem your holiness
To separate the husband and the wife.
Abb. Be quiet, and depart : thou shalt not
have him. \Exil Abbess.
Luc. Complain unto theduke of this indignity.
Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feet,
And never rise until my tears and prayers
396
THE COMEDY OF ERROR?.
[ACT v.
Have won his grace to come in person hither,
And take perforce my husband from the abbess.
Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five :
Anon, I am 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.
Ang. Upon what cause 1
Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant,
Who put unluckily into this bay,
Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publicly for his offence, [his death.
Ang. See where they come : we will behold
Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the
abbey. $
Enter DUKE, attended ; RECKON, bare-headed;
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.
Adr. 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.
Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus,
my husband,
Whom I made lord of me and all I had,
At your important letters, this ill day
A most outrageous fit of madness took him ;
That desperately he hurried through the street,
With him his bondman, all as mad as he,
Doing displeasure to the citizens
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Rings, jewels, 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,
Chased us away ; till, raising of more aid,
We came again to bind them : then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them :
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us,
And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence.
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy com-
mand, [help.
Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for
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 Servant.
Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save
yourself.
My master and his man are both broke loose,
Beaten the maids a- row, and bound the doctor,
Whose beard they have singed off with brands
of fire ;
And ever as it blazed they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair :
My master preaches patience to him, 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.
Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man
are here ;
And that is false thou dost report to us.
Serv. 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.
Adr. Ah 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 and DROMIO OF
EPHESUS.
Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke ; oh,
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.
sEge. Unless the fear of death doth make
me dote,
I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.
Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that
woman there.
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ;
That hath abused and dishonour'd me,
Even in the strength and height of injury !
Beyond imagination is the wrong
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.
Dtike. Discover how, and thou shalt find me
just.
Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the
doors upon me,
While she with harlots feasted in my house.
SCENE I.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
397
Duke. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst
thou so ? [my sister,
Adr. No, my good lord ; myself, he, and
To-day did dine together. So befall my soul
As this is false he burdens me withal !
Luc. Ne'er may I look on day nor sleep on
night,
But she tells to your highness simple truth !
Ang. O perjur'd woman ! they are both
forsworn.
In this the madman justly chargeth them.
Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say ;
Neither disturb'd 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 Porcupine,
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. [down,
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me
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 the way we met
My wife, her sister, and a rabble more
Of vile confederates : along with them
They brought one Pinch ; a hungry lean-faced
villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
A thread-bare 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 altogether
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 beseeech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities.
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness
with him,
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.
Ditke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ?
Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in
here
These people saw the chain about his neck.
Mer. 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.
Ant. E. 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. What an intricate impeach is this !
I think you all have drank 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 dined at home ; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying : Sirrah, what say you ?
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there at the
Porcupine. [that ring.
Cour. Pie did ; and from my finger snatcrrd
Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had
of her. [here ?
Dztke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey
Cour. 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 an Attendant.
ALge. 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. [wilt.
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou
sge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?
And is not that your bondman Dromio ?
Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bond-
man, sir,
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords :
Now am I Dromio and his man, unbound.
sEge. I am sure you both of you remember me.
Dro. E. 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 ?
sEge. Why look you strange on me? you
know me well.
Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now.
sEge. Oh ! 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 ?
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT v.
Ant. E. Neither.
sEge. Dromio, nor thou?
Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
j&gc. I am sure thou dost.
Dro. E. Ay, sir ; but I am sure I do not ; and
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound
to believe him. [tremity !
^ge. Not know my voice ! O, time's ex-
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.
Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.
&ge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,
Thou know'st we parted; but perhaps, my son,
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.
Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in
the city,
Can witness with me that it is not so :
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa :
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS SYRA-
CUSAN and DROMIO SYRACUSAN.
Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much
wrong'd. \_All gather to see him.
Adr. 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 ?
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio ; command him
away.
Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio ; pray let me stay.
Ant. S. ^Egeon, art thou not? or else his
ghost ?
Dro. S. O, my old master, who hath bound
him here ?
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his
bonds.
And gain a husband by his liberty.
Speak, old ^Egeon, if thou be'st the man
That hadst a wife once called ^Emilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons :
O, if thou be'st the same yEgeon, speak,
And speak unto the same ./Emilia !
/ge. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia :
If thou art she, tell me where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft ?
Abb. 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. [right :
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story
These two Antipholus's, 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 ?
Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse.
Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which
is which. [ous lord.
Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most graci-
Dro. E. And I with him.
Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most
famous warrior,
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me
to-day ?
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress.
Adr. And are not you my husband ?
Ant. E. No j I say nay to that.
Ant. S. And so do I, yet she did call me so ;
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
Did call me brother. What I told you then,
I hope I shall have leisure to make good ;
If this be not a dream I see and hear. [me.
Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of
Ant. S. I think it be, sir : I deny it not.
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested
me.
Ang. I think I did, sir : I deny it not.
Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not.
Dro. E. No, none by me. [you,
Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from
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. [here.
Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father
Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath his
life. [you.
Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from
Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks
for my good cheer. [pains
Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the
To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes :
And all that are assembled in this place,
SCENE I.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
399
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction,
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons ; nor till this present hour
My heavy burdens are delivered :
The duke, my husband, and my children both,
And you the calendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ;
After so long grief, such nativity ! [feast.
Duke. With all my heart, I '11 gossip at this
\Exeunt DUKE, Abb., J$LGE., Cour.,
Mer. , ANG. , and Attendants.
Dro. S, Master, shall I fetch your stuff from
shipboard ? [embark'd ?
Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou
Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in
the Centaur.
Ant. S. He speaks to me ; I am your master,
Dromio :
Come, go with us : we '11 look to that anon :
Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him.
[Exeunt ANT. S. andE., ADR., and Luc.
Dro. S. 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.
Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not
my brother :
I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossiping ?
Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder.
Dro. E. That 's a question : how shall we
try it?
Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior :
till then, lead thou first.
Dro. E. 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.
KING JOHN.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
-VM
srtT
KING JOHN.
PRINCE HENRY, his Son; afterwards KING
HENRY III.
ARTHUR, Duke of Bretagne, Son to GEFFREY,
late Duke of Bretagne, the Elder Brother
to KING JOHN.
WILLIAM MARESHALL, Earl of Pembroke.
GEFFREY FITZ- PETER, Earl of Essex, Chief
Justiciary of England.
WILLIAM LONGSWORD, Earl of Salisbury.
ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk.
HUBERT DE BURGH, Chamberlain to the KING.
ROBERT FALCONBRIDGE, Son to SIR ROBERT
FALCONBRIDGE.
PHILIP FALCONBRIDGE, his Half-brother,
Bastard Son to KING RICHARD I.
JAMES GURNEY, Servant to LADY FALCON-
BRIDGE.
PETER of ' Pomfret, a Prophet.
PHILIP, King of France.
Louis, the Dauphin.
ARCHDUKE OF AUSTRIA.
CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's Legate.
MELUN, a French Lord.
CHATILLON, Ambassador from France to KING
JOHN.
ELINOR, Widow of KING HENRY II., and
Mother to KING JOHN.
CONSTANCE, Mother to ARTHUR.
BLANCH, Daughter to ALPHONSO, King of Cas-
tile, and Niece to KING JOHN.
LADY FALCONBRIDGE, Mother to the BASTARD
and ROBERT FALCONBRIDGE.
Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other
Attendants.
SCENE, Sometimes in ENGLAND, and sometimes in FRANCE.
ACT I.
SCENE I. NORTHAMPTON. A Room of State
in the Palace.
Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEM-
BROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with
CHATILLON.
K.John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would
France with us? [of France,
Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King
In my behaviour, to the majesty,
The borrow'd majesty of England here.
Eli. Astrange beginning; borrow'd majesty !
K. John. Silence, good mother ; hear the
embassy. [behalf
Chat. Philip of France, in right and true
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 tXese several titles,
And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.
K.John. What follows, if we disallow of
this? '
Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody
war,
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
K.John. Here have we war for war, and
blood for blood,
Controlment for controlment: so answer France.
Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my
mouth,
The furthest limit of my embassy.
K. 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.
Eli. 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?
That 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.
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
401
K. John. Our strong possession and our right
for us. [your right,
Eli. Your strong possession much more than
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 the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who
whispers ESSEX.
Essex. My liege, here is the strangest con-
troversy,
Come from the country to be judg'd by you,
That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?
K. John. Let them approach.
[Exit Sheriff.
Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
This expedition's charge.
Re-enter Sheriff, with ROBERT FALCONBRIDGE,
and PHILIP, his bastard Brother.
What men are you?
Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,
As I suppose, to Robert Falconbridge,
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.
K. John. What art thou ?
- Rob. The son and heir to that same Falcon-
bridge, [the heir?
K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou
You came not of one mother, then, it seems.
Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty
king, [father :
That is well known; and, as I think, one
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.
Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost
shame thy mother,
And wound her honour with this diffidence.
Bast. 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 !
K. John. A good blunt fellow. Why, being
younger born,
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?
Bast. I know not why, except to get the land.
But once he slander'd me with bastardy :
But whe'r 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,
old Sir Robert, father, on my knee
1 give heaven thanks I was not like to thee !
K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven
lent us here !
Eli. He hath a trick of Cceur-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? ^ [parts,
K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his
And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
What doth move you to claim your brother's
land? [father ;
Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my
With that half-face would he have all my land :
A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a-year !
Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father
liv'd,
Your brother did employ my father much,
Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my
land:
Your tale must be, how he employed my mother.
Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy
To Germany, there with the emperor
To treat of high affairs touching that time.
The 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.
K. 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 youj 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, [father,
My brother might not claim him; nor your
Being none of his, refuse him. This con-
cludes,
My mother's son did get your father's heir ;
Your father's heir must have your father's land.
402
KING JOHN.
[ACT 1.
Rob. Shall, then, my father's will be of no
force
To dispossess that child which is not his?
Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
Than was his will to get me, as I think.
Eli. Whether hadst thou rather be a Falcon -
bridge,
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence, and no land beside?
Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape
And I had his, Sir Robert his, like him ;
And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
My arms such eel-skins stuffd, my face so thin
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
Lest men should say, Look, where three-far-
things goes!
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
Would I might never stir from off this place,
I 'd give it every foot to have this face ;
I would not be Sir Nob in any case.
Eli. 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.
Bast. Brother, take you my land, I '11 take
my chance :
Your face hath got five hundred, pound a-year ;
Yet sell your face for fivepence, and 'tis dear.
Madam, I '11 follow you unto the death.
Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me
thither. [way.
Bast. Our country manners give our betters
K. John. What is thy name?
Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun ;
Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.
K. John. From henceforth bear his name
whose form thou bear'st :
Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great,
Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.
Bast. Brother by the 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 !
Eli. The very spirit of Plantagen-t !
I am thy grandam, Richard ; call nu so.
Bast. 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.
K.John. Go, Falconbridge ; now has.! 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.
Basi. Brother, adieu : good fortune come to
thee !
For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.
\Exeunt all except 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 '11 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 ABC-book :
O sir, says answer, at your best command;
At your employment; at your service , sir:
No sir, says question, /, 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 towards 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 FALCONBRIDGE, and JAMES
GURNEY.
O me ! it is my mother. How now, good lady \
What brings you here to court so hastily?
Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother?
where is he
That holds in chase mine honour up and down?
Bast. My brother Robert? old Sir Robert's
son?
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
403
Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?
Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so?
Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou un-
reverend boy, [Robert?
Sir Robert's son : why scorn'st thou at Sir
He is Sir Robert's son ; and so art thou.
Bast, James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave
awhile?
Gur. Good leave, good Philip.
Bast. Philip? sparrow ! James,
There 's toys abroad : anon I '11 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 not 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 F. Hast thou conspired with thy
brother too, [honour?
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine
What means this scorn, thou most untoward
knave? [isco-like :
Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, Basil-
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 knowmy father,
Some proper man, I hope : who was it, mother?
Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Falcon -
bridge ?
Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil.
Lady F. King Richard Cceur-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.
Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again,
Madam, 1 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 '11 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.
ACT II.
SCENE I. FRANCE. Before the Watts of
Angiers.
Enter, on one side, the ARCHDUKE OF
AUSTRIA and Forces ; on the other,
PHILIP, King of France, Louis, CON-
STANCE, ARTHUR, and Forces.
Lou. 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. [death
Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's
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.
Lou. A noble boy! Who would not do
thee right? [kiss,
Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous
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.
Const. 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 !
Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift
their swords
In such a just and charitable war.
40 4
KING JOHN.
[ACT ii.
K. Phi. 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 '11 lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in Frenchman's blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.
Const. 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.
K. Phi. A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy
wish,
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd !
Enter CHATILLON.
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord ;
We coldly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak.
Chat. 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 her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a bastard of the king deceas'd :
And all the 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 scath in Christendom.
[Drums beat within.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand,
To parley or to fight : therefore prepare.
K. Phi. How much unlook'd-for is this ex-
pedition !
Aust. 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, Lords, and Forces.
K. 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 beat his peace to
heaven. [return
K. Phi. Peace be to England, if that war
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'ermasterest ?
K. John. From whom hast thou this great
commission, France,
To draw my answer from thy articles?
K. Phi. 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.
K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
K. Phi. Excuse, it is to beat usurping down.
Eli. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?
Const. Let me make answer ; thy usurping
son.
Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king,
That thou mayst be a queen, and check the
world !
Const. 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 [like
Than thou and John in manners, being as
As rain to water, or devil to his dam.
My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
405
His father never was so true begot :
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.
Eli. There 's a good mother, boy, that blots
thy father.
Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that
would blot thee.
Aust. Peace !
Bast. Hear the crier.
Aiist. What the devil art thou?
Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with
you,
An 'a man catch your hide and you alone.
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard :
I '11 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 !
Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him
As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass :
But, ass, I '11 take that burden from your back,
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.
Aust. What cracker is this same that deafs
our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath ?
K. Phi. Louis, determine what we shall do
straight. [ference.
Lou. Women and fools, break off your con-
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?
K. John. My life as soon : I do defy thee,
France.
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ;
And out of my dear love, I '11 give thee more
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win :
Submit thee, boy.
Eli. Come to thy grandam, child.
Const. 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.
Arth. Good my mother, pence !
I would that I were low laid in my grave:
I am not worth this coil that 's made for me.
Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy,
he weeps. [ does or no !
Const. Now, shame upon you, whe'r she
His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's
shames, [poor eyes,
Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his
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.
Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven
and earth ! [and earth !
Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven
Call not me slanderer ; thou and thine usurp
The dominations, royalties, and rights [son,
Of this oppressed boy : this is thy eldest son's
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.
K. John. Bedlam, have done.
Const. 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, plagu'd 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 !
Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
A will that bars the title of thy son. [will ;
Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will ! a wicked
A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will !
K. Phi. 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.
I Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the
walls?
K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England.
K. John. England, for itself:
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects,
K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's
subjects,
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.
K. 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
Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates;
And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones,
That as a waist do girdle you about,
By the compulsion of their ordinance
By this time from their fixed beds of lime
406
KING JOHN.
[ACT ii.
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 threaten'd
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 ears :
Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
And let us in, your king; whose labour'd spirits,
Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
Crave harbourage within your city-walls.
K. Phi. 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 war-like 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, have all offence seal'd up ;
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven ;
And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
With unhack'd swords and helmets all nnbruis'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 rondure 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
Jn that behalf which we have challeng'd it ?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage,
And stalk in blood to our possession ?
I Cit. In brief, we are the King of England's
subjects :
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
X.John. Acknowledge then the king, and
let me in.
i Cit. 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.
K.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,
Bast. Bastards, and else.
K. John. To verify our title with their lives.
K. Phi. As many and as well-born bloods
as those,
Bast. Some bastards too.
K. Phi. Stand in his face, to contradict his
claim,
i Cit. Till you compound whose right is
worthiest,
We for the worthiest hold the right from both.
K.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 !
K. Phi. Amen, Amen ! Mount, chevaliers !
to arms !
Bast. St. George, that swinged the dragon,
and e'er since
Sits on his horse' back at mine hostess' door,
Teach us some fence ! Sirrah \to AUSTRIA],
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.
Attst. Peace ! no more.
Bast. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar.
K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where
we '11 set forth
In best appointment all our regiments.
Bast. Speed, then, to take advantage of the
field.
K. Phi. It shall be so ; [to Louis] and at
the other hill
Command the rest to stand. God and our
right ! [Exeunt sevemlly.
After Excursions y enter a French Herald, with
trumpets y to the gates.
F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide
your gates,
And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in,
Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground :
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ;
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French,
Who are at hand, triumphantly displayM.
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
407
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours.
Enter an English Herald, with trumpets.
E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring
your bells; [proach,
King John, your king and England's, doth ap-
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.
I Cit. Heralds, from off our towers, 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 an-
swer'd blows;
Strength match'd with strength, and power con-
fronted 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.
Re-enter, on one side, KING JOHN, ELINOR,
BLANCH, the BASTARD, and Forces ; at the
other, KING PHILIP, Louis, AUSTRIA, and
Forces.
K.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.
K. Phi. 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 '11 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.
Bast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory
towers
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 potentates, fiery-kindled spirits !
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and
death ! [admit ?
K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet
K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England ; who 's
your king ? [the king.
I Cit. The King of England, when we know
K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up
his right.
K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy,
And bear possession of our person here ;
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.
I Cit. A greater power 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 fear, until our fears, resolv'd,
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.
Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers
flout you, kings,
And stand securely on their battlements
As in a theatre, whence they gapa 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 o/ 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?
K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above
our heads,
4 o8
KING* JOHN.
CACT n.
I like it well. France, shall we knit our
powers,
And lay this Angiers even with the ground ;
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?
Bast. 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 !
K. Phi. Let it be so. Say, where will you
assault ? [struction
K.John. We from the west will send de-
Into this city's bosom.
Aust. I from the north.
K. Phi. Our thunder from the south
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.
Bast. O prudent discipline ! From north to
south,
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth:
I '11 stir them to it. [Aside. ] Come, away,
away!
i Cit. 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.
K. John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent
to hear. [Blanch,
I Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady
Is niece to England: look upon the years
Of Louis 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 a 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,
To su ch 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 peremptoiy,
As we to keep this city.
Bast. Here 's a stay,
That shakes the rotten carcase 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 called my brother's father dad.
Eli. 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
K1 Ulj V.V K&
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.
I Cit. Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?
K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been
forward first
To speak unto this city : what say you ?
K.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.
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
409
K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the
lady's face.
Lou. 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 nattering table of her eye.
[ Whispers with BLANCH.
Bast. [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 easily 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.
K. John. What say these young ones? What
say you, my niece? [do
Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.
K.John. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can
you love this lady?
Lou. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ;
For I do love her most unfeignedty.
K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Tou-
raine, 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.
K. Phi. It likes us well. Young princes,
close your hands.
Aust. And your lips too ; for I am well assur'd
That I did so when I was first assur'd.
K. Phi. 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.
Lou. She is sad and passionate at your high-
ness' tent.
K. Phi. 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.
K. John. We will heal up all ;
For we '11 create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne
And Earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of. Call the Lady Con-
stance :
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. The Citizens
retire from the Walls.
Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composi-
tion !
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part ; [on,
And France, whose armour conscience buckled
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 com-
modity,
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
4 io
KING JOHN.
[ACT in.
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.
ACT III.
SCENE I. FRANCE. The French King's Tent.
Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY.
Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a
peace !
False blood to false blood join'd! gone to
be friends !
Shall Louis 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 its 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.
Sal. As true as I believe you think them false
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
Const. 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 !
Louis marry Blanch ! O boy, then where art
thou? [me?
France friend with England ! what becomes of
Fellow, be gone : I cannot brook thy sight ;
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?
Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.
Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content.
Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert
grim,
Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul molesand 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 ;
She 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.
Sal. Pardon me, madam,
I may not go without you to the kings.
Const. 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 honour stout.
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: here I and sorrows sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
{Scats herself on the ground.
Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, Louis,
BLANCH, ELINOR, BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and
Attendants.
K. Phi. '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.
Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day !
[Rising,
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
411
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 !
K. Phi. 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 ?
Const. 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 !
Aust. Lady Constance, peace.
Const. 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 villany !
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 afool art thou,
A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and swear
Upon thy 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 !
Aust. O, that a man should speak those words
to me ! [limbs.
Bast. And hang a calf s-skin on those recreant
Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy
life.
Bast. And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant
limbs.
K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget
thyself. [pope.
K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the
Enter PANDULPH.
Pand. 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.
K.John. What earthly name to interroga-
tories
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 the assistance of a mortal hand :
So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart
To him and his usurp'd authority.
K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme
in this. [Christendom,
K. John. Though you, and all the kings of
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.
Pand. 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.
Const. O, lawful let it be
That I have room with Rome to curse awhile I
412
KING JOHN.
[ACT in.
Good father cardinal, cry thou amen
To my keen curses : for without my wrong
There is no tongue hath power to curse him
right. [curse.
Pand. There 's law and warrant, lady, for my
Const. 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?
Pand. 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.
Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ; do not let
go thy hand. [repent
Consf. Look to that, devil ; lest that France
And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.
Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant
limbs. [wrongs,
Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up tbe?e
Because
Bast. Your breeches best may carry them.
K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the
cardinal ? [cardinal ?
Const. What should he say, but as the
Lou. Bethink you, father; for the difference
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
Or the light loss of England for a friend :
Forego the easier.
Blanch. That 's the curse of Rome.
Const. O Louis, stand fast ! the devil tempts
thee here
In likeness of a new uptrimmed bride.
Blanch. The Lady Constance speaks not
from her faith,
But from her need.
Const. 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 !
K.John. The king is mov'd, and answers
not to this. [well !
Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer
Aust. Do so, King Philip ; hang no more in
doubt. [sweet lout.
Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most
K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what
to say. [thee more,
Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex
It thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?
K. Phi. 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 over-
stain'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 joined 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 1
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.
Pand. 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, [hold.
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost
K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my
faith. [faith ;
Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to
And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath,
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven per-
form'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
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
413
Is to mistake again ; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
And falsehood 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 latter 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 prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them ; but if not, then know
The peril of our curses light on thee,
So heavy as thou shalt not shake them oft,
But in despair die under their black weight.
Ausl. Rebellion, flat rebellion !
Bast. Will 't not be ?
Will not a calf s-skin stop 'ihat mouth of thine ?
Lou. Father, to arms !
Blanch. Upon thy wedding-day ?
Against the blood that thou hast married ?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd
men?
Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish
drums,
Clamours of hell, be m^acures 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 pro-
nounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.
Const. 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 ?
Const. That which upholdeth him that thee
upholds,
His honour : O, thine honour, Louis, thine
honour !
Lou. I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,
When such profound respects do pull you on.
Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head.
K. Phi. Thou shalt not need. England, I
will fall from thee.
Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty !
Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy !
K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour
within this hour.
Bast. 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.
Lou. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies.
Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there
my life dies.
K. John. Cou?in, go draw our puissance to-
gether. [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.
K. Phi. 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.
K. John. No more than he that threats. To
arms let 's hie ! [Exeunt severally.
SCENE II. The same. Plains near Angiers.
Alarums. Excursions. Enter the BASTARD,
with AUSTRIA'S head.
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows won-
drous hot ;
Some airy devil hovers in the sky, [there,
And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie
While Philip breathes.
Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT.
K.John. Hubert, keep p this boy. Philip,
make up :
My mother is assailed in our tent,
And ta'en, I fear.
Bast. My lord, I rescu'd 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.
414
KING JOHN.
[ACT in.
SCENE III. The same.
Alarums t Excursions, Retreat. Enter KING
JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the BASTARD,
HUBERT, and Lords.
K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay
behind, [To ELINOR.
So strongly guarded. Cousin, look not sad :
[To ARTHUR.
Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was. [grief!
Arth. O, this will make my mother die with
K. John. Cousin [to the BASTARD], away for
England ; haste before :
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots ; imprison'd angels
Set at liberty : the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon :
Use our commission in his utmost force.
Bast. 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.
Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin.
K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit BASTARD.
Eli. Gome hither, little kinsman; hark a
word. [She takes ARTHUR aside.
K. 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.
Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to
say so yet : [slow,
But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so
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 one unto the drowsy ear of night ;
If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, [thick,
Had bak'd, thy blood, and made it heavy,
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 ears, 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.
Hub. So well that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I would do it.
K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine
eye [friend,
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my
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.
Hub. And I '11 keep him so
That he shall not offend your majesty.
K.John. Death.
Hub. My lord?
K. John. A grave.
Hub. He shall not live.
K.John. Enough.
I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee :
Well, I '11 not say what I intend for thee :
Remember. Madam, fare you well:
I '11 send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee !
K. John. For England, cousin, go :
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho !
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. The same. The French King's
Tent.
Enter KING PHILIP, Louis, PANDULPH, and
Attendants.
K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the
flood,
A whole armado of convicted sail
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.
Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet
go well. [run so ill?
K. Phi. What can go well, when we have
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?
SCENE IV.]
KING JOHN.
415
Lou. What he hath won, that hath he forti-
fied:
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?
K. Phi. Well could I bear that England
had this praise,
So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath.
Enter CONSTANCE.
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. [peace !
Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your
K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort,
gentle Constance !
Const. 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 !
K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace !
Const. 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.
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not
sorrow.
Const. 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 ofgrief,
My reasonable part produces reason r^v: 1
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.
K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. O, what
love I note
In the fair multitude of those her hairs !
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glue themselves in sociable grief;
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.
Const. To England, if you will.
K. Phi. Bind up your hairs.
Const. Yes, that I will ; and wherefore will
I do it?
I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud,
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
1 shall not know him : therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more !
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Const. He talks to me that never had a son.
K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your
child. [child,
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent
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 off her head-dress.
When there is such disorder in my wit.
O Lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son !
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world !
My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure !
[Exit.
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I '11 follow
her. [Exit.
4 i6
KING JOHN.
[ACT IV.
Lou. 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 ; [taste,
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's
That it yields naught but shame and bitterness.
Pand. 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 ?
Lou. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had.
No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening 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?
Lou. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. 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 as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd ;
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hole to stay him up:
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must
fall ;
So be it, for it cannot be but so. [fall ?
Lou. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's
Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blanch
your wife,
May then make all the ckim that Arthur did.
Lou. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this
old world ! [you ;
John lays you plots ; the times conspire with
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 scape 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.
Lou. May be he will not touch young Ar-
thur's life,
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your ap-
proach,
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 Falconbridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity : if but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
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.
Lou. Strong reasons make strong actions : let
us go :
If you say ay, the king will not say no.
{Exeunt.
') V '
ACT IV.
SCENE I. NORTHAMPTON. A Room in the
Castk.
Enter HUBERT and two Attendants.
Htib. 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.
I Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out
the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you :
look to 't. {Exeunt Attendants.
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you.
Enter ARTHUR.
Arth. Good-morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good-morrow- little prince.
Arth. As little prince, having so great a title
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
SCENE I.]
KING JOHN.
417
Arth. 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 practices 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, is 't not ; and I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. [Aside.] If I talk to him, with his in-
nocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead :
Therefore I will be sudden and despatch.
Arth. 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 :
1 warrant I love you more than you do me.
Hub. [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 briei, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
Can you rot read it? is it not fair writ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Must you with hot irono burn out both mine
eyes ?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you?
I Hub. And I will.
Arth. H v 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 y-u 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 .1 perform for you ?
Many a poor man's son would have lien still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ;
But you at your sick service had a ince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning : do, an if you wil :
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?
I
Hub. I have sworn to do it !
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would
doit!
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.
Hub. Come forth. [Stamps.
Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, &c.
Do as I bid you.
Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes
are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him
here. [rough?
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous-
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven's 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 angerly :
Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to. [him.
Hub Go, stand within ; let me alone with
I Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such
a deed. [Exeunt Attendants.
Arth. 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.
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy ?
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth. 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.
Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your
tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of
tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
O
KING JOHN.
[ACT iv.
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.
Hub. I can heat it, boy.
Arlh. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with
grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us'd
In undeserv'd 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.
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it
blush, [Hubert :
And glow with shame of your proceedings,
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.
Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine
eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.
Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this
while
You were disguised.
Hub. Peace ; no more. Adieu !
Your uncle must not know but you are dead ;
I '11 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.
Arth. O heaven ! I thank you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence ; no more : go closely in with me :
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in
the Palace.
Enter KING JOHN, crowned; PEMBROKE,
SALISBURY, and other Lords. The KING
takes his State.
K* John. Here once again we sit, once again
crown'd,
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
Pern. 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.
Sal. 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. [done,
Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be
This act is as an ancient tale new told ;
And in the last repeating troublesome,
Being urged at a time unseasonable.
Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured j
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.
Pem. 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 the 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.
Sal. To this effect, before you were new-
crown'd, [highness
We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your
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.
K. John. Some reasons of this double corona-
tion [strong ;
I have possess'd you with, and think them
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.
Pem. 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
The 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
SCENE II.]
KING JOHN.
419
The steps of wrong, should move you to mew
up
Vour tender kinsman, and to choke his days
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth
The rich aa vantage 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.
K. John. Let ?t be so : I do commit his youth
To your direction.
Enter HUBERT.
Hubert, what news with you ? [deed ;
Pern. This is the man should do the bloody
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 >. charge to do. [go
Sal. The colour of the king doth come and
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set:
His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
Pern. And when it breaks, I fear will issue
thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
1C. 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.
Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past
cure. [he was,
Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death
Before the child himself felt he was sick :
This must be answer'd either here or hence.
K. 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?
Sal. It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame
That greatness should so grossly offer it :
So thrive it in your game ! and so, farewell.
Pent. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury ; I '11 go with
thee.
And find the inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave. [isle,
That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this
Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the
while ! [out
This must not be thus borne : this will break
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt
\Exeunt Lords.
K. John. They bum in indignation. I re-
pent:
There is no sure foundation set on blood;
No certain life achiev'd by other's 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? [a power
Mess. From France to England. Never such
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 come that they are all arriv'd.
K.John. O, where hath our intelligence
been drunk? [care,
Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's
That such an army could be drawn in France,
And she not hear of it?
Mess. 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 [tongue
Three days before; but this from rumour's
I idly heard, if true or false I know not
K. 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 powers of
France
That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here?
Mess. Under the Dauphin.
K. John. Thou hast made me giddy
With these ill 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 fulL
Bast. But if you be afeared to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
K.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.
Bast. 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 fears I
420
KING JOHN.
[ACT IV.
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.
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore
didst thou so? [out so.
Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall
K. 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?
Bast. 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.
K. John. Gentle kinsman, go
And thrust thyself into their companies :
I have a way to win their loves again:
Bring them before me.
Bast. I will seek them out.
K.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.
Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me
speed.
4 K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentle-
man. [Exit BASTARD.
Go after him ; for he perhaps shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ;
And be thou he.
Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit.
K. John. My mother dead !
Re-enter HUBERT.
Hub. My lord, they say five moons were
seen to-night ;
Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wondrous motion.
K. John. Five moons !
Hub. Old men and beldams in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously : [mouths :
Young Arthur's death is common in their
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?
K.John. Why seek'st thou to possess me
with these fears?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had a mighty
cause [kill him.
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to
Hub. No hand, my lord ! why, did you not
provoke me? [tended
K. John. It is the curse of kings to be at-
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.
Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I
did.
. K. 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 ill deeds 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 villany,
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.
Hub. My lord,
K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head,
or made a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purpos'd,
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,
SCENE III.]
KING JOHN.
421
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 bravM,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers :
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience and my cousin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,
I '11 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 enter'd 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.
K.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 III. The same. Before the Castle.
Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.
Arth. 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 '11 venture it
If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
I '11 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 I [Dies.
Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint
Edmund's-Bury :
It is our safety, and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.
Pern. Who brought that letter from the
cardinal?
Sal. 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.
Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him,
then.
Sal. Or rather then set forward ; for 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.
Enter the BASTARD.
Bast. Once more to-day well met, distem-
per'd lords !
The king by me requests your presence straight.
Sal. The king hath disposse^'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.
Bast. Whate'er you think, good worcb, I
think, were best. [now.
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason
Bast. But there is little reason in your grief;
Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.
Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.
Bast^ 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man
else.
SaL This is the prison : what is he lies here?
[Seeing ARTHUR.
Pern. O death, made proud with pure and
princely beauty !
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath
done,
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. [grave,
Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
SaL 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 aims: 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. [this :
Pern. All murders past do stand excus'd in
And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
422
KING JOHN.
[ACT iv.
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet un begotten sin of times;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.
Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.
Sal. 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. [words.
Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy
Enter HUBERT.
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking
you :
Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you.
Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death :
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone !
Hub. I am no villain.
Sal. Must I rob the law?
[Drawing his sword.
Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up
again.
Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.
Httb. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand
back, I say; [yours:
By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as
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.
Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a
nobleman ?
Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.
Sal. Thou art a murderer.
Hub. Do not prove me so ;
Yet I am none : whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies.
Pern. Cut him to pieces.
Bast. Keep the peace, I say.
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Falcon-
bridge, [bury :
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salis-
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime :
Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron
That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Falcon-
bridge?
Second a villain and a murderer?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big. Who kill'd tfiis prince?
Hub. '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.
SaL Trust not those cunning waters of his
eyes,
For villany 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
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ;
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.
Big. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin
there ! [out.
Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us
[Exeunt Lords.
Bast. 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.
Hub. Do but hear me, sir.
Bast. Ha ! I '11 tell thee what ; [black ;
Thou'rt damn'd as black nay, nothing is so
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.
Htib. Upon my soul,
Bast. 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.
Hub. 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.
Bast. 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
SCENE III.]
KING JOHN.
423
Is fled to heaven ; and England now is left
To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth
The unow'd interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-picVd 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-fallen 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 '11 to the king :
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. NORTHAMPTON. A Room in the
Palace.
Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH -with the crown,
and Attendants.
K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your
hand
The circle of my glory.
Pand. Take again
[Giving KING JOHN the crown.
From this my hand, as holding of the pope,
Your sovereign greatness and authority.
K.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 mistemper'd humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.
Then pause not ; for the present time 's so sick
That present medicine must be minister'd,
Or overthrow incurable ensues.
Pand. 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 blustering 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.
K. 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.
Bast. 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.
K. John. Would not my lords return to me
again,
After they heard young Arthur was alive?
Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the
streets ;
An empty casket, where the jewel of life
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en
away. [live.
K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did
Bast. 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 threatener, 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 further from the doors,
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.
K. 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.
Bast. 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 cocker'd 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:
424
KING JOHN.
[ACT v.
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.
K.John. Have thou the ordering of this
present time. [I know,
Bast. Away, then, with good courage ! yet,
Our party may well meet a prouder foe.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. Near ST. EDMUND'S-BURY.
The French Camp.
Enter, in arms, Louis, SALISBURY, MELUN,
PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and Soldiers.
Lou. 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.
Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal and 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, aad there
Where honourable rescue and defence
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury i
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 enforc'd cause
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here?
What, here? O nation, that thou couldst re-
move!
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore, [bine
Where these two Christian armies might com-
The blood of malice in a vein of league,
And not to spend it so unneighbourly !
Lou. A noble temper dost thou show in this;
And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
Do make an earthquake of nobility.
0, 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 shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than had I seen the vanity 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 warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as
deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity
As Louis himself: so, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
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.
. Enter PANDULPH, attended.
Pand. 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 threatening colours now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand,
It may lie gently at the foot of peace f
And be no further harmful than in show.
Lou. 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?
1, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
SCENE II.]
KING JOHN.
425
After
And
r young Arthur, claim this land for mine ;
, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
Because that John hath made his peace with
Rome? [borne,
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome
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 win 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.
Pand. You look but on the outside of this
work.
Lou. 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 win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
[ Trumpet sounds.
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?
Enter the BASTARD, attended.
Bast. 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.
Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says he '11 not lay down his arms.
Bast. 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. [door,
That hand which had the strength, even at your
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 his 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 li' e an eagle o'er his aery towers,
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 chang'd,
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination. [in peace ;
Loti. There end thy brave, and turn thy face
We grant thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.
Pand. Give me leave to speak.
Bast. No, I will speak.
Lou. We will attend to neither.
Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest and our being here.
Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will
cry out ;
And so shall you, being beaten : do but start
An 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,
W T hom 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.
Lou. Strike up our drums, to find this danger
out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not
doubt. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. The same. A Field of Battle.
Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT.
K.John. How goes the day with us? O,
tell me, Hubert.
Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?
K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me
so long,
Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick '
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Falcon-
bridge,
426
KING JOHN.
[ACT v.
Desires your majesty to leave the field,
And send him word by me which way you go.
K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the
abbey there. [supply
Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great
That was expected by the Dauphin here
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Good win Sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now :
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
K. 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 IV. The same. Another part of the
same.
Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and others.
Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with
friends.
Psm. Up once again ; put spirit in the French :
If they miscarry we miscarry too.
Sal. That misbegotten devil, Falconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
Pern. They say King John, sore sick, hath
left the field.
Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers.
Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here.
Sal. When we were happy we had other
names.
Pern. It is the Count Melun.
Sal. Wounded to death.
Mel. 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 more with me,
Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury ;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.
Sal. May this be possible? may this be true?
Mel. Have I not hideous death within my
view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,
Which bleeds away even as a form ot 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 Louis do win 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 Louis 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, [soul
Sal. We do believe thee: and beshrew my
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will entread 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'er-
look'd,
And calmly run on in obedience,
Even to our ocean, to our 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 V.The same. The French Camp.
Enter Louis and his train.
Lou. The sun of heaven methought was loth
to set,
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush,
When the English measur'd 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 tattering colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it !
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Lou. Here: what news?
Mess. The Count Melun is slain ; the English
lords,
By his persuasion are again fallen off j
SCENE VI.]
KING JOHN.
427
And your supply, which you havewish'd so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
Lou. 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 powers?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lou. Well ; 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 VI. An open Place in the neighbour-
hood of Sivinstead Abbey.
Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, meeting.
Hub. Who 's there? speak, ho! speak quickly,
or I shoot.
Bast. A friend. What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Bast. Whither dost thou go?
Hub. What 's that to thee? Why may I not
demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
Bast. Hubert, I think.
Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought :
I will, upon all hazards, well believe [well.
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so
Who art thou?
Bast. Who thou wilt : an if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou and eye-
less night [me,
Have done me shame : brave soldier, pardon
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should 'scrpe the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what
news abroad? [night,
Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of
To find you out.
Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news?
Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news;
I am no woman, I '11 not swoon at it.
Httb. 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.
Bast. How did he take it ; who did taste to
him?
Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king
Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his
majesty? [come back,
Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all
And brought Prince Henry in their company ;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty. [heaven,
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty
And tempt us not to bear above our power !
I '11 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 VII. The Orchardof Sivinstead Abbey.
Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and
BIGOT.
P. Hen. 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.
Pern. 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.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard
here.
Doth he still rage? [Exit BIGOT.
Pern. He is more patient
Than when you left him ; even now he sung.
P. Hen. 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, [should sing.
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death
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, [born
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
428
KING JOHN.
[ACT v.
Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in
KING JOHN in a chair.
K. 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.
P. Hen. How fares your majesty?
K.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.
P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my
tears,
That might relieve you !
K.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.
Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to see your majesty !
K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine
eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ;
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 model of confounded royalty.
Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where heaven he knows how we shall answer
him;
For in a night the best part of my power,
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the washes all unwarily
Devoured by the unexpected flood.
\The KING dies.
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead
an ear. [thus.
My liege ! my lord ! But now a king, now
P. Hen. 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 !
Bast. 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, [faiths ;
Where be your powers ? Show now your mended
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 besought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. 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.
Bast. He will the rather do it when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ;
For many carriages he hath despatch '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.
Bast. 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.
P. Hen, At Worcester must his body be in-
tsrr'd ;
For so he will'd it.
Bast. 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.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give
you thanks,
And knows not how to do it but with tears.
Bast. 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 LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING RICHARD II.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
KING RICHARD THE SECOND.
EDMUND OF LANGLEY, Duke of\
York. [Uncles to
JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lan- 1 the King,
caster^ }
HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of
Hereford, Son to JOHN OF GAUNT, after-
wards KING HENRY IV.
DUKE OF AUMERLE, Son to the Duke of York.
THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk.
DUKE OF SURREY.
EARL OF SALISBURY.
EARL BERKLEY.
BUSHY, )
BAGOT, > Creatures to KING RICHARD.
GREEN, )
EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
HENRY PERCY, his Son.
LORD Ross.
LORD WILLOUGHBY.
LORD FITZWATER.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE.
ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER.
Lord Marshal.
SIR PIERCE OF EXTON.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP.
Captain of a Band of Welshmen.
QUEEN to KING RICHARD.
DUCHESS OF GLOSTER.
DUCHESS OF YORK.
Lady attending on the QUEEN.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Two Gar*
deners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and
other Attendants.
SCENE, Dispersediy in ENGLAND and WALES.
ACT I.
SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in the
Palace.
Enter KING RICHARD, attended; JOHN OF
GAUNT, and other Nobles.
K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd
Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow-
bray?
Gaunt. I have, my liege. [sounded him,
K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou
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.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence:
face to face.
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves wiT
hear
The accuser and the accused freely speak :
[ Exeunt some Attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and
NORFOLK.
Baling. Many years of happy days befall
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavent, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown 1
K. Rich. 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 Mow-
bray? [speech ! -
Baling. First, heaven be the record to my
In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
430
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT I.
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, [may prove.
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword
Nor. 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 naught at all to say: [me
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs
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 a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.
Meantime let this defend my loyalty,
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Baling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw
my gage,
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king ;
And lay aside my high blood's royalty, [cept.
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to ex-
If guilty dread hath 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.
Nor. I take it up; and by that sword I
swear, [shoulder,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my
I '11 answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial :
And when I mount, alive m y I not light,
If I be traitor or unjustly fight !
K. Rich. 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.
Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall
prove it true ; [nobles,
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employ-
ments,
Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides, I say, and will in battle prove,
Or here, or elsewhere to the farthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land
Fetch'd 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 Gloster'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 !
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution
soars !
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Nor. 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.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes
and ears :
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.
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy
heart, [liest !
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou
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 Gloster's
death,
I slew him not ; but, to mine own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
SCENE I.]
KING RICHARD II.
431
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.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ml'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 time to bleed.
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ;
We '11 calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become
my age : [gage.
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's
K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
Gaunt. When, Harry? when?
Obedience bids I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid;
there is no boot.
Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign at thy
foot:
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame :
The one -tiy 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 baffled 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.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood :
Give me his gage : lions make leopards tame.
Nor. 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.
K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do
you begin. [foul sin !
Doling. O, God defend my soul from such
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 mine 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 Mow-
bray's face ! [Exit GAUNT.
K. Rich. 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 II. The same. A Room in the DUKE
OF LANCASTER'S Palace.
Enter GAUNT and DUCHESS OF GLOSTER.
Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Gloster'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.
Duch. 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 Glos-
ter,
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, thatfashion'd thee,
Made him a man ; and though thou liv'st and
breath'st,
432
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT i.
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 suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stem 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 Gloster's death.
Gaunt. God's is the quarrel ; for God's sub-
stitute.
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.
Duck. Where, then, alas, may I complain my-
self?
Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and
defence. [Gaunt.
Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old
Thou go'st 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 !
Duch. 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 my 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 O, what?
With all good speed at Flashy 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 everywhere.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die :
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye !
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. Gosjord Green, near Coventry.
Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, 6-Y.,
attending. Enter the Lord Marshal, and
AUMERLE.
Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford
arm'd? [in.
Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and
bold, [pet.
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trum-
Aum. Why, then, the champions are pre-
par'd, and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach.
Flourish of trumpets. Enter KING RICHARD,
who takes his seat on his throne ; GAUNT and
several Noblemen, who take their places. A
trumpet is sounded, and answered by another
trumpet within. Then enter NORFOLK in
armour, preceded by a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder cham-
pion
The cause of his arrival here in arms :
Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Mar. In God's name and the king's, say who
thou art,
And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms;
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy
quarrel :
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath ;
And so defend thee heaven and thy valour !
Nor. 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 his succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me j
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 !
Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE in
armour, preceded by a Herald.
K. Rich. 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.
Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore
com'st thou hither,
Before King Richard in his royal lists?
SCENE III.]
KING RICHARD II
433
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy
quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven !
Baling. 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 's a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of Heaven, King Richard, and to me :
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven !
Mar. 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.
Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sove-
reign's hand,
And bow my knee before his majesty :
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weaiy pilgrimage ;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewell of our several friends.
Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your
highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
K. Rich. 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.
Boling. 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 more sweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
[To GAUNT.
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. [perous !
Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee pros-
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.
Boling. Mine innocency and Saint George to
thrive !
Nor. 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.
K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin. [Derby,
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and
Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right !
Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.
Mar. Go bear this lance \to an Officer] to
Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. [Derby,
1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow-
bray,
A traitor to his God, his king, and him ;
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbrav,
Duke of Norfolk,
On paiu 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.
Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward,
combatants. [A charge sounded.
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.
K. Rich. 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.
Draw near, [ To the combatants.
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
swords ;
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
434
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT I.
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
Which so rous'd up with boisterous 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 1 d our fields
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Beting. Your will be done: this must my
comfort be, [me ;
That sun that warms you here shall shine on
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
K. Rich. 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.
Nor. A heavy sentence, my most gracious
liege, [mouth :
And all unlook'd-for from your highness'
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 learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego :
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstring'd 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 ? [sionate :
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compas-
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's
light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
[Retiring.
K. Rich. 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 lowering 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.
Baling. I swear.
Nor. And I, to keep all this.
Baling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ;
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wander'd 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.
Nor. 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, all the world 's my way.
{Exit.
K. Rich. 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 BoLiNG.] Six frozen
winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
Baling. 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 be was ted 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.
K. Rich. 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 canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ;
SCENE III.]
KING RICHARD II.
435
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good
advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave :
Why at our justice seem'st thou, then, to lower?
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in diges-
tion 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 mine unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
K. Rich. Cousin, farewell ; and, uncle, bid
him so :
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
[Flourish. Exeunt K. RICH, and Train.
Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must
not know,
From where you do remain let paper show.
Mar. 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 return'st no greeting to thy friends ?
Baling. 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.
Baling. Joy absent, grief is present for that
time. [gone.
Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly
Baling. To men in joy; but grief makes one
hour ten. [pleasure.
Gatmt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for
Baling. My heart will sigh when I miscall
it so,
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home-return.
Baling. 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? [visits
Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven
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 borne.
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 go'st, not whence thou
com'st :
Suppose the singing-birds musicians, [strew'd,
The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence
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.
Baling. 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 it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I '11 bring thee
on thy way:
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
Baling. 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 true-born Englishman.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. The Court.
Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN ;
AUMERLE following.
R. Rich. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his
way? [him so,
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call
But to the next highway, and there I left him.
K. Rich. And say, what store of parting
tears were shed? [east wind,
Aum. Faith, none for me ; except the north-
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
K. Rich. What said our cousin when you
parted with him?
Aum. "Farewell:"
436
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT ii.
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
lengthen'd 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.
K. Rich. 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 coimtrymen, 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 yield them further means
For their advantage and your highness' loss.
K. Rich. 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 ; [rich,
Whereto, when they shall know what men are
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 post-haste
To entreat your majesty to visit him.
K. Rich. Where lies he?
Bushy. At Ely House. [mind
K. Rich. New put it, God, in his physician's
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 ! [Exettnt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in ELY
HOUSE.
GAUNT on a couch; the DUKE OF YORK and
others standing by him.
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. [men
Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying
Enforce attention like deep harmony :
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent
in vain ; [in pain.
For they breathe truth that breathe their words
He that no more must say is listen'd more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught
to glose ; [fore :
More are men's ends mark'd than their lives be-
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 : [hear,
Though Richard my life's counsel would not
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. ^
York. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering
sounds,
As, praises of his state : then there are found
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. [inspir'd,
Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new
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?
SCENE I.]
KING RICHARD II.
437
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 scepter'd 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 watery 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 RICHARD and QUEEN, AUMERLE,
BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, Ross, and WIL-
LOUGHBY.
York. The king is come : deal mildly with
his youth ; [more.
For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the
Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?
K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is 't
with aged Gaunt? [position !
Gaunt. O, how that name befits my corn-
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 all gaunt :
The pleasure that some fathers feeds 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 naught but bones.
K. Rich. 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.
K. Rich. Should Hyin^ men flatter with
those that live? [die.
Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that
K. Rich. Thou, now a-dyin^j, say'st thou
flatter'st me.
Gaunt. O, no ! thou diest, though I the
sicker be. [thee ill.
K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see
Gaunt. Now, He that made me knows I
see thee ill ;
111 in mj'self to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than ihe land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick ;
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Committ'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, encaged 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
K. Rich. And thou a lunatic lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st 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 unreverend
shoulders. [son,
Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's
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 Gloster, plain well-meaning soul
Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy
souls !
May be a precedent and witness good [blood :
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's
Join with the present sickness that I have ;
438
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT it.
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long wither'd 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.
K. Rich. 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.
K. Rich. Right, you say true : as Hereford's
love, so his ;
As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND
North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him
to your majesty.
K. Rich. What says he?
North. 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 bank-
rupt so !
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
K. Rich. 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, hath 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 movables,
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 Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment,
Not 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's 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.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what 's the matter?
York. O my liege,
Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, 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? [Time
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from
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 offer'd 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.
K. Rich. 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.
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wilt-
shire 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. Exettnt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY,
AUMERLE, GREEN, and BAGOT.
North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster
is dead. [duke.
Ross. And living tooj for now his son is
SCENE I.]
KING RICHARD II.
439
Wilio. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break
with silence,
Ere 't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.
North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him
ne'er speak more
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm !
Willo. 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.
North. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such
wrongs are borne
In him, a royal prince, and many more
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 all,
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
fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd,
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what :
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?
North. Wars hare not wasted it, for warr'd
he hath not,
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his 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.
Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a
broken man. [him.
North. Reproach and dissolution hangethover
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.
North. His noble kinsman : most degener-
ate king !
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm ;
We see the wind set 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.
North. 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.
Willo. 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.
North. Then thus: I have from Port le
Blanc, a bay
In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence [Cobham,
That Harry Duke of Hereford, Renald Lord
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, [tagne,
All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Bre-
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 Ravenspurg ;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
RJSS. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to
them that fear.
Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first
be there. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Palace.
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, [myself,
Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please
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 sho v like grief itself, but are not so ;
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
440
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT ii.
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,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is naught but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not,
more's 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, [think,
As, though, on thinking, on no thought I
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious
lady. [deriv'd
Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still
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 hop'st 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 Ravenspurg.
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !
Green. O madam, 'tis too true : and that is
worse, [Percy,
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
Bushy. Why have you not proclaimed
Northumberland ,
And all the rest of the revolted faction,
Traitors ? [Worcester
Green. We have: whereupon the Earl of
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke. [woe,
Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my
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.
Green. Here comes the Duke of York.
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck:
O, full of careful business are his looks !
Enter YORK.
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, care, 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 Servant.
Serv. 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 Gloster;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound :
Hold, take my ring. [ship,
Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lord-
To-day, as I came by, I called there ;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
York. What is 't, knave ?
Serv. 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 despatch'd for
Ireland?
How shall we do for money for these wars?
Come, sister, cousin, I would say, pray,
pardon me.
Go, fellow \to the Servant], get thee home
provide some carts,
And bring away the armour that is there.*
[Exit Servant
SCENE III.]
KING RICHARD II.
441
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I
know
How or which way to order these affairs,
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen :
The one 's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend ; the 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 '11 [men,
Dispose of you. Gentlemen , go, muster up your
And meet me presently at Berkley Castle.
I should to Flashy 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 impossible. [love
Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in
Is near the hate of those love not the king.
Bagot. And that's 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
condenm'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
Bristol Castle:
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there, [office
Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little
The hateful commons will perform for us,
Except like 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. [takes
Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he under-
Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry :
Where one on his side rights, 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 III. The Wilds in Glostershire.
Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBER-
LAND, with Forces.
Baling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley
now?
North. Believe me, noble lord,
I am a stranger here in Glostershire :
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
Draw out our miles, and make 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 Ravenspurg 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 sweeten'd 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.
Baling. Of much less value is my company
Than your good words. But who comes here?
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
Enter HARRY PERCY.
Harry, how fares your uncle ?
Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have
learned his health of you.
North. 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.
North. What was his reason?
He was not so resolv'd when last we spake to-
gether.
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed
traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg.
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford ;
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
What power the Duke of York had levied there
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.
North. Have you forgot the Duke of Here-
ford, boy? [forgot
Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not
Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.
North. Then learn to know him now ; this
is the duke. [service,
Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ;
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm
To more approved service and desert. [sure
Baling. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be
I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends ;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love*
442
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT n.
It shall be still thy true love's recompence :
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus
seals it.
North. How far is it to Berkley? and what stir
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft
of trees, [heard :
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have
And in it are the Lords of York, Berkley, and
Seymour,
None else of name and noble estimate.
North. Here come the Lords of Ross and
Willoughby,
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.
Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.
Baling. 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 recompence.
.Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most
noble lord. [attain it.
Willo. And far surmounts our labour to
Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of
the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But, who comes here?
North. It is my Lord of Berkley, as I guess.
Enter BERKLEY.
Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my message is
to you.
Baling. 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.
Berk. 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-born arms.
Baling. I shall not need transport my words
by you ;
Here comes his grace in person.
Enter YORK, attended.
My noble uncle ! [Kneels.
York. Show me tky humble heart, and not
thy knee,
Whose duty is deceivable and false,
Baling. My gracious uncle !
York. Tut, tut !
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me nc 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 the 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 thee,
And minister correction to thy fault ! [fault ;
Baling. My gracious uncle, let me know my
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.
Baling. 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 irms perforce, and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be king of England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ;
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 fether'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 challenge law : attorneys are denied me ;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent. [abus'd.
North. The noble duke hath been too much
Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him
right.
Willo. Base men by his endowments are
made great.
SCENE IV.]
KING RICHARD II.
443
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.
North. 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 ne'er 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 to 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.
Btling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept :
But we must win your grace to go with us
To Bristol 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 '11 pause ;
For I am loth 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 IV. A Camp in Wales.
Enter SALISBURY and a Captain.
Cap. 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.
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty
Welshman :
The king reposeth all his confidence
In thee. [not stay.
Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we will
The bay trees in our country all are 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 ; [leap,
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and
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.
Sal. 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.
ACT III.
SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE'S Camp at Bristol.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBER-
LAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Officers
behind, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners.
Boling. 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 disfigur'd 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 impress, 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 de-
liver'd over
To execution and the hand of death.
444
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT III.
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death
to me [well.
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, fare-
Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take
our souls,
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
Baling. My Lord Northumberland, see them
despatch'd.
[Exeunt NORTH, and others, with 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 deliver'd.
York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.
Baling. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords.
away,
To fight with Glendower and his complices :
Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. The Coast of WALES. A Castle
in view.
Flourish ; drums and trumpets. Enter KING
RICHARD, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,
Au MERLE, and Soldiers.
K. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call they this
at hand?
Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your
grace the air,
After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
K. Rich. 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 favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous 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 !
Car. 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 proffer'd means of succour and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too
remiss ;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great in substance and in
friends. [thou not
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st
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 s
Whilst we were wandering 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 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, [right
Weak man must fall ; for heaven still guards the
Enter SALISBURY.
Welcome, my lord : how far off lies your power?
Sal. Nor near nor further off, my gracious
lord, [tongue,
Than this weak arm : discomfort guides my
And bids me sp ak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my 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,
SCENE II.]
KING RICHARD II.
445
Aum. Comfort, ir**- liege: why looks your
grace so pal6? [sand men
K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thou-
Dicl 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, [are.
Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you
K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king?
Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st.
Is not the king's name forty 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.
K. Rich. 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, loss, 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 hair-
less scalps [voices,
Against thy majesty; and boys, with women's
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 old and young rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
JC. Rick. Too well, too well thou tell'st a
tale so ill.
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 Boling-
broke.
Scroop. Peace have they made with him,
indeed, my lord. [redemption!
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man !
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting
my heart ! [Judas !
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence !
Scroop. Sweet love r 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.
Awn. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of
Wiltshire dead? [heads.
Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost theff
Aum. Where is the duke my father with his
power?
K. Rich. 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 all are Bolingbroke's 9
And nothing can we call 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 cell 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,
44 6
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT III.
Were brass impregnable ; and humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle-wall, and farewell,
king ! [blood
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and
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?
Car. 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.
Aum. My father hath a power; inquire of
him;
And learn to make a body of a limb.
K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well: proud
Bolingbroke, I come [doom.
To change blows with thee for our day of
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown ;
An easy task it is to win our own. [power?
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be
sour. [sky
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the
The state and 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.
K. Rich. Thou hast said enough.
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth
\To AUMERLE.
Of that sweet way I was in to despair !
What say you now? what comfort have we now?
By heaven, I '11 hate him everlastingly
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint Castle : there I '11 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.
Aum. My liege, one word.
K. Rich. 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 III. WALES. Before Flint Castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE
and Forces; YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND,
and others.
Baling. 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.
North. The news is very fair and good, my
lord:
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
York. It would beseem the Lord Northumber-
land
To say, King Richard : alack the heavy day
When such a sacred king should hide his head.
North. 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. [should.
Baling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you
York. Take not, good cousin, further than
you should, [heads.
Lest you mistake: the heavens are o'er our
Baling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not
myself
Against their will. But who comes here?
Enter PERCY.
Well, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?
Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against thy entrance.
Baling. Royally!
Why, it contains no king?
Percy. Yes, my good lord,
It doth contain a king ; King Richard lies
Within the limits of yond 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.
North. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
Baling. Noble lord,
[To NORTHUMBERLAND.
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:-
Harry Bolingbroke
SCENE III.]
KING RICHARD II.
447
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 '11 use the advantage of my power,
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd English-
men:
The which, how far off from the mind cf
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.
[NORTH, advances to the Castle, with a
trumpet.
Let's march without the noise of threat'ning
drum,
That from the castle's tatter'd 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 '11 be the yielding water :
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters, on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
A parle sounded, and answered by another
trumpet within. Flourish. Enter on the
walls KING RICHARD, the BISHOP OF CAR-
LISLE, 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. [eye,
York. Yet looks he like a king : behold, his
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show !
K. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have
we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
[To NORTHUMBERLAND.
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 dismissed 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 yond methinks he is,
That every stride he makes upon my land
Is dangerous treason : he is come to ope
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.
North. 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.
K. Rich. 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.
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not,
[To AUMERLE.
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die?
Aum. No, good my lord; let's fight with
gentl* words
44*
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT HI.
Fill time lend friends, and friends their helpful
swords.
K. Rich. O God, O God ! that e'er this tongue
of mine,
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yond 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 !
SwelFst thou, proud heart? I '11 give thee scope
to beat,
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
Aum. Northumberland comes back from
Bolingbroke.
K. Rich. 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? o' God's name, let it go:
I '11 give my jewels for a set of beads,
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
My gay apparel for an alms-man'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 '11 be buried in the king's highway,
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 '11 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 ou- 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 mock 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.
North. My lord, in the base court he doth
attend [down?
To speak with you ; may it please you to come
K. Rich. Down, down I come ; like glister-
ing Phaeton,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
[NORTH, retires to BOLING.
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.
Baling. What says his majesty?
North, Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man :
Yet he is come.
Enter KING RICHARD, and his Attendants,
below.
Baling. Stand all apart,
And show fair duty to his majesty.
My gracious lord, [Kneeling.
K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely
knee
To make the base earth proud with kissing jt :
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,
Thus high at least \touching his own head], al-
though your knee be low. [own.
Baling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine
K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours,
and all. [lord,
Baling. So far be mine, my most redoubted
As my true service shall deserve your love.
K. Rich. Well you deserve: they well de-
serve to have
That know the strong'st and surest way to get.
Uncle, give me your hand : 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 '11 give, and willing too ;
For do we must what force will have us do.
Set on towards London : cousin, is it so?
Boling. Yea, my good lord.
ich.
K. Rich.
Then I must not say no.
[Ffairish. Exeunt.
SCENE IV. LANGLEY. 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?
I 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
SCENE 1V.J
KING RICHARD II.
449
I Lady. Madam, we '11 dance.
Queen. My legs can keep no measure in de-
light,
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport.
I Lady. Madam, we '11 tell tales.
Queen. Of sorrow or of joy?
I 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.
i Lady. Madam, I '11 sing.
Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ;
But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou
weep. [you good.
I Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do
Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do
me good,
And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay., here come the gardeners.:
Let 's step into the shadow of these trees.
My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
They '11 talk of state ; for every one doth so
Against a change : woe is forerun with woe.
[QUEEN and Ladies retire.
Enter a Gardener and two Servants.
Card. Go, bind thou up yond dangling apri-
cocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight :
Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
Go thou, and like 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, that without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
I Serv. 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 disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?
Card. Hold thy peace :
He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
The weeds that 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,
i Serv. What, are they dead?
Card. They are ; and Bolingbroke
Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. Oh! 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 richness it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have liv'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 borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown
down.
I Serv. What, think you, then, the king shall
bedepos'd?
Card. 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 !
Thou, old Adam's likeness [coming forward with
Ladies], set to dress this garden,
How dares thy harsh-rude tongue sound these
unpleasing news?
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
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 [wretch.
Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou
Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I
To breathe these 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'll 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 think'st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go
45
KING RICHARD IL
[ACT iv.
To meet at London London's king in woe.
What, was I born to this, that my sad lock
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
{Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies.
Card. Poor queen ! so that thy state might
be no worse,
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
Here did she fail a tear ; here, in this place,
I '11 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.
ACT IV.
fiv/mo ?rl: k.b -.ii brll
SCENE I. LONDON. Westminster Hall. The
Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne ;
the Lords temporal on the left ; the Comments
below.
Cf \mVt)
Enter BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, SURREY,
NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, FITZWATER,
mother Lord, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the
ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, and Attendants.
Officers behind, with BAGOT.
Baling. Call forth Bagot.--
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ;
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ;
Who wrought it with the king, and who per-
form'd
The bloody office of his timeless end.
Bagot. Then set before my face the Lord
Aumerle. [that man.
Baling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon
Bagot. My Lord Aumerle, I know your
daring tongue
Scorns to unsay what once if hath deliver'd.
In that dead time when Gloster'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 my 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.
Aum. 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?
Eithei 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, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
Baling. Bagot, forbear ; thou shalt not take
it up. [best
Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the
In all this presence that hath moved me so.
Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathy,
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine :
By that fair sun that shows me where thou
stand'st, [it,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death.
If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest ;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see
that day. [hour.
Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this
Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for
this. [true
Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as
In this appeal as thou art all 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.
Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe !
Lord. I task the earth to the like, forsworn
Aumerle ;
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.
Aum. 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. [well
Surrey. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
Fitz. '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.
Fitz. 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 lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull :
In proof whereof, there is mine honour's pawn ;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. [horse !
Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live
SCENE I.]
KING RICHARD II.
45*
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, [a gage,
Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with
That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour, [gage
Baling. These differences shall all rest under
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 's re-
turn'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
Car. That honourable day shall ne'er 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.
Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?
Car. As surely as I live, my lord.
Boling. 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
thee [soul
From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing
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, of that name the fourth !
Baling. In God's name, I '11 ascend the regal
throne.
Car. 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 nobless 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 ir 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.
Or, if you raise this house against this house,
It will the woefullest division prove
That ever fell upon this cursed earth,
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so,
Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe !
North. Well have you argu'd, sirj and, for
your pains,
Of capital treason we arrest you here.
My Loid of Westminster, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial.
May 't please you, lords, to grant the commons'
suit?
Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common
view
He may surrender ; so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
York. I will be his conduct. [Exit.
Boling. Lords, you that are here under our
arrest,
Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
Little are we beholden to your love,
[To CARLISLE.
And little look'd for at your helping hands.
Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and
Officers bearing the crown, 5rV.
K. Rich. 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 limbs :
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 I to me?
So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve,
452
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT IV.
Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thou-
sand, 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.
K. Rich. Give me the crown. Here, cousin,
seize the crown ;
On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
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 full of tears am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on
high. [resign.
Baling. I thought you had been willing to
K. Rich. 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.
Boling. Part of your cares you give me with
your crown.
K. Rich. 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. [crown?
Boling. Are you contented to resign the
K. Rich. 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 duty's rites :
All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues I forego ;
My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny :
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me !
God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee !
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing
griev'd,
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd !
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit !
God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days !
What more remains?
North. No more, but that you read
[Offering a paper.
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.
K. Rich. 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,
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.
North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these
articles. [see :
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot
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
To undeck the pompous body of a king ;
Make glory base, and sovereignty a slave,
Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.
North. My lord, [suiting man,
K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught in-
Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title,
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,
And 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.
Boling. Go some of you and fetch a looking-
glass. [Exit an Attendant.
SCENE I.]
KING RICHARD II.
453
North. Read o'er this paper while the glass
doth come. [to hell !
K. Rich. Fiend, thoutorment'stme ere I come
Baling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northum-
berland, [fied.
North. The commons will not, then, be satis-
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied I '11 read
enough,
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that 's myself.
Re-enter Attendant with a glass.
Give me the 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 flattering
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?
Was this the face that fac'd so many follies,
And 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.
Bo ling. The shadow of your sorrow hath
destroy'd
The shadow of your face.
K. Rich. Say that again.
The shadow of my sorrow? Ha ! let 's see :
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ;
And these external manners 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 '11 beg one boon,
And then be gone and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?
Baling. Name it, fair cousin.
K. Rich. Fair cousin ! Why, 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.
Baling. Yet ask.
K. Rich. And shall I have?
Baling. You shall.
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Baling. Whither?
K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from
your sights. [Tower.
Baling. Go, some of you convey him to the
K. Rich. O, good! Convey? conveyers are
you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.
[Exeunt K. RICH. , some Lords, and a Guard.
Baling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set
down
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves.
[Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER,
BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE.
Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Car. The woe 's to come ; the children yet un-
born.
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aunt. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
Abbot. 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.
ACT V.
SCENE I. LONDON. A Street leading to the
Tower.
Enter QUEEN and Ladies.
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.
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.
Enter KING RICHARD and Guards.
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?
K. Rich. 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
454
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT v.
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim Necessity ; and he and I [France,
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to
And cloister thee in some religious house :
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken
down. [and mind
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape
Transform'd and weaken'd ? 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'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion and a king of beasts?
K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught
but beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for
France :
Think I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death -bed, my 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 grief
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.
North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is
changed ;
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,
K. Rich. 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 ; [the way
And he shall think that thou, which know'st
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 friends converts to fear ;
That fear to hate ; and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.
North. My guilt be on my head, and there
an end, [with.
Take leave, and part ; for you must part forth-
K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, ye
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 ; [pomp,
My wife to France, from whence, set forth in
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?
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and
heart from heart. [me.
Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with
North. That were some love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes thither let me
r[woe.
So two, together weeping, make one
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. [moans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest
K. Rich. Twice for one step I '11 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.
[They kiss.
Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no
good part
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
[ They kiss again.
So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this
fond delay :
Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same. A Room in the DUKE
OF YORK'S Palace.
Enter YORK and his DUCHESS.
Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell
the rest,
When weeping made you break the story oft
Of our two cousins coming into London^
SCENE II.]
KING RICHARD II.
455
York. Where did I leave?
Duch. At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows'
tops [head.
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's
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,
While all tongues cried, God save thee> Boling-
broke I
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,
fesu preserve thee! welcome , Bolingbroke!
"Whilst he, from 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.
Duch. Alas, 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 ; [eyes
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's
Did scowl on 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 [melted,
The hearts of men, they must perforce have
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.
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was;
But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now :
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Enter Au MERLE.
Duch. Welcome, my son : who are the violets
now
That strew the green lap of the new-come
spring?
Aum. 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? hold those justs and
triumphs?
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.
Aum. If God prevent it not, I purpose so.
York. What seal is that that hangs without
thy bosom ?
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.
York. No mutter, then, who sees it.
I will be satisfied ; let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me :
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean
to see.
I fear, I fear,
Duch. What should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd
into
For gay apparel against 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.
Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may
not show it.
York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say.
[Snatches t't, and reads.
Treason ! foul treason ! villain ! traitor ! slave !
Duch. What's the matter, my lord?
York. Ho! who's within there?
Enter a Servant.
JJUO^TcS Jis} ishil v>j JjjC! Jo;. JxJUOP J
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here !
Duch. Why, what is't, my lord?
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my
horse.
Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant.
Duch. What's the matter?
York. Peace, foolish woman.
Duch. I will not peace. What is the matter,
son?
Aum. Good mother, be content ; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer !
York. Bring me my boots : I will unto the
king.
456
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT v.
Re-enter Servant with boots.
Duck. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy,
thou art amaz'd.
Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight.
[To the Servant.
York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duck. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ?
Have we more sons? or are we KKC 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.
Duck. He shall be none ;
We '11 keep him here : then what is that to him?
York. Away, fond woman ! were he twenty
times my son
I would appeach him.
Duch. 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, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
York. Make way, unruly woman !
{Exit.
Duch. 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 '11 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 III. WINDSOR. A Room in the
Castle.
Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and
other Lords.
Baling. Can no man tell 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, i
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes.
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour to support
So dissolute a crew. [prince,
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Baling. 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.
Baling. As dissolute as desperate: yet
through both
I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?
Enter AUMERLE hastily.
Aum. Where is the king?
Baling. What means
Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly ?
Aum. God save your grace ! I do beseech
your majesty,
To have some conference with your grace alone.
Baling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us
here alone.
{Exeunt PERCY and Lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
Aum. 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.
Baling. Intended or committed was this fault?
If but the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
Atttn. Then give me leave that I may turn
the key,
That no man enter till my tale be done.
Baling. Have thy desire.
[AUMERLE locks the door.
York. [Within.} My liege, beware; look to
thyself;
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Baling. Villain, I '11 make thee safe.
[Drawing.
Aum. 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.
[BOLING. opens the door and locks it again.
Enter YORK.
boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak;
SCENE III.]
KING RICHARD II.
457
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.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro-
mise 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.
Boiing. O heinous, strong, and bold con-
spiracy !
loyal father of a treacherous son !
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy pas-
sages
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.
Duck. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for
God's sake, let me in.
Boiing. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes
this eager cry? ['tis I.
Duck. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ;
Speak with me, pity me, open the door :
A beggar begs that never begg'd before.
Boiing. Our scene is alter'd from a serious
thing, [King.
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in :
1 know she 's come to pray ibr your foul sin.
[AUMERLE unlocks the door.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound :
This let alone will all the rest confound.
Enter DUCHESS.
Duck. 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?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me,
gentle liege. [Kneels.
Baling. Rise up, good aunt.
Duch. 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.
Aum. 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 !
Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his
face ; [jest ;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in
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 shall 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 prayers ought to have.
Boiing. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch. Nay, do not say stand up;
But 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 likepardon, for kings' mouths so meet.
York. Speak it in French, king; say/ar-
donnez-moi.
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to
destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That sett'st 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.
Boiing. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch. I do not sue to stand ;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. [me.
Boiing. I pardon him, as God shall pardon
Duch. 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.
458
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT v.
Boling. With all my heart
I pardon him.
Duck. A god on earth thon art.
Boling. 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 mine, adieu :
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you
true.
Duck. Come, my old son : I pray God make
thee new. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. Another Room in the 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?
Serv. Those were his very words.
Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he : he spake
it twice,
And urgM it twice together, did he not?
Serv. He did. [me,
Exton. And, speaking it, he wistly look'd on
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 :
3 am the king's friend, and will rid his foe.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. POMFRET. The Dungeon of the
Castle.
Enter KING RICHARD.
K. Rich. 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 '11 hammer 't out.
My brain I '11 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,
ft is as hard to come as for a c&ntfl
To thread the postern of a 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 misfortune 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 treason makes 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 am,
Nor I, nor any man that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing. Music do I hear?
[Music.
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 numbering
clock: [jar
My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs, they
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 that 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 jqy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' 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
Groom. Hail, royal prince!
K. Rick. Thanks, nobte peer ;
SCENE V.]
KING RICHARD II.
459
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how com'st thou hither,
Where no man ever 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 yearn'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 !
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me,
gentle friend,
How went he under him? [ground.
Groom. So proudly as if he disdain d the
K. Rich. 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.
Wouldhe notstumble? 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,
Spur-gall'd and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper with a dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer
stay. [ To the Groom.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert
away.
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my
heart shall say. [Exit.
Keep. My lord, wilt please you to fall to?
K. Rich. Taste of it first as thou art wont to
do. [ton,
Keep. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Ex-
Who lately came from the king, commands the
contrary.
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster
and thee !
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
[Beats the Keeper.
Keep. Help, help, help !
Enter EXTON and Servants, armed.
K. Rich. How now! what means death in
this rude assault? [strument.
Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's in-
[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 spilt ; O, would the deed were
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 '11 bear :
Take hence the'rest, and give them burial here.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI. WINDSOR. A Room in the
Castle.
Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE as King,
YORK, LORDS, and Attendants.
Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we
hear
Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ;
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.
Welcome, my lord : what is the news?
North. 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.
[Presenting a paper.
Baling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy
pains;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter FITZWATER.
Fitz. 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.
Baling. 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,
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT V.
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.
Boling. 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, bearing a
coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I pre
sent
Thy buried fear : herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemieSi
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.
Boling. 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.
Boling. 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 through the shade 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, moum with me for that I do lament.
And put on sullen black incontinent :
I '11 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. [Exatnh
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