Bot-S: The Complete Works of Shakespeare

MACBETH.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

DUNCAN, King of Scotland.
MALCOLM.

DONALBAIN,

MACDUFF,
LENNOX,

MENTEITH, No6 kitien of Scotland.

ANGUS,

CAITHNESS,

FLEANCE, Son to BAMQUO..

SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of

the English Forces.
YOUNG SIWARD, his Son.

SEYTON, an Officer attending on MACBETH.
BOY, Son to MACDUFF.

An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. A
Soldier. A Porter. An Old Man.

LADY MACBETH.

LADY MACDUFF.

Gentlewoman attending on LADY MACBETH.

HECATE, and three Witches.

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Mur-
derers, Attendants, and Messengers.

The Ghost of BANQUO, and several other
Apparitions.

SCENE, In the end of the Fourth Act, in ENGLAND ; through the rest of the Play, in
SCOTLAND ; and chiefly at MACBETH'S Castle.

ACT I.

SCENE I. An open Place. Thunder and
Lightning.

Enter three Witches.

1 Witch. When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

2 Witch. When the hurlyburly 's done,
When the battle 's lost and won.

3 Witch. That will be ere the set of sun.

1 Witch. Where the place?

2 Witch. Upon the heath.

3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth.
i Witch. I come, Graymalkin !

AIL Paddock calls: anon.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair :
Hover through the fog and filthy air.

[Witches vanish.

SCENE II. A Camp near Forres.

Alarum within. Enter KING DUNCAN, MAL-
COLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Atten-
dants, meeting a bleeding Soldier.

Dun. What bloody man is that? He can

report,

As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.

Mai. This is the sergeant,

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought

'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil,
As thou didst leave it.

Sold. Doubtfully it stood ;

As two spent swimmers that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdon-

wald,

Worthy to be a rebel for to that
The multiplying villanies of nature
Do swarm upon him, from the Western isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied ;
And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore. But all's too
weak : [name,

For brave Macbeth, well he deserves that
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smok'd with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion,

Carv'd out his passage till he fac'd the slave ;
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to
him, [chaps,

Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.
Dun. O valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman !
Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
Shipwreckingstorms and direful thunders break;
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to

come,
Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland,

mark:
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd,

SCENE II.]

MACBETH.

IIOI

Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their

heels,

But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.

Dim. Dismay'd not this

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Sold. Yes;

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks ;
So they

Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe :
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell :
But I am faint; my gashes cry for help.

Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy

wounds ;

They smack of honour both. Go, get him sur-
geons. [Exit Soldier, attended.
Who comes here ?

Mai. The worthy Thane of Ross.

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes !

So should he look
That seems to speak things strange.

Enter Ross.

Ross. God save the king !

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ?

Ross. From Fife, great king;

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
And fan our people cold.
Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst

arm,

Curbing his lavish spirit : and, to conclude,
The victory fell on us.

Dun. Great happiness !

Ross. That now

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composi-
tion;

Nor would we deign him burial of his men
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes-inch,
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall

deceive
Our bosom interest : go pronounce his present

death,
And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Ross. I '11 see it done.

Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth
hath won. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Heath.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?

2 Witch. Killing swine.

3 Witch. Sister, where thou ?

1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her

lap,
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd :

Give me, quoth I :

Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband 's to Aleppo gone, master o' the

Tiger :

But in a sieve I '11 thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I '11 do, and I'll do.

2 Witch. I '11 give thee a wind.
I Witch. Thou art kind.

3 Witch. And I another.

1 Witch. I myself have all the other ;
And the very ports they blow,

All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.
I will drain him dry as hay :
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid ;
He shall live a man forbid:
Weary seven-nights nine times nine
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-tost.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Show me, show me.

T Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

[Drum within.

3 Witch. A drum, a drum !
Macbeth doth come.

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about :
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine:
Peace ! the charm 's wound up.

Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

Ban. How far is 't call'd to Forres? What

are these,

So wither'd, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on 't? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question ? You seem to under-
stand me,

By each at once her chappy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips : you should be women,

1 102

MACBETH.

[ACT I.

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

Macb. Speak, if you can ; what are you ?

1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee,

Thane of Glamis !

2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee,

Thane of Cawdor !

3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be

king hereafter ! [to fear

Ban. Good sir, why do you start ; and seem

Things that do sound so fair ? I' the name of

truth,

Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
You greet with present grace and great pre-
diction

Of noble having and of royal hope, [not :

That he seems rapt withal : to me you speak
If you can look into the seeds of time, [not,
And say which grain will grow, and which will
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
Your favours nor your hate.

1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail !

3 Witch. Hail !

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou

be none :
So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo !

I Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail !
Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me

By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis;
But how of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman ; and to be king
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence ? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge
you. [Witches vanish.

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water
has, [ish'd?

And these are of them : whither are they van-
Macb. Into the air ; and what seem'd cor-
poral melted

As breath into the wind. Would they had
stay'd ! [about?

Ban. Were such things here as we do speak
Or have we eaten on the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner ?

Macb. Your children shall be kings.
Ban. You shall be king.

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too ; went it
not so ? [Who 's here ?

Ban. To the self-same tune and words.

Enter Ross and ANGUS.

Ross. The king hath happily receiv'd, Mac-
beth,

The news of thy success : and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend
Which should be thine or his : silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail
Came post with post ; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,
And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are sent

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ;
Only to herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.

Ross. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of

Cawdor :

In which addition, hail, most worthy thane !
For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the devil speak true ?

Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives : why do

you dress me
In borrow'd robes ?

Ang. Who was the thane lives yet j

But under heavy judgment bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was

combin'd

With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not ;
But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor :

The greatest is behind {aside}. Thanks for

your pains.

Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to

me
Promis'd no less to them ?

Ban. That, trusted home,

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange :
And oftentimes to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's
In deepest consequence.
Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Macb. Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme [aside], I thank you,

gentlemen.
This supernatural soliciting [Aside.

SCENE IV.]

MACBETH.

1103

Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : if ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of

Cawdor :

If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature ? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings : [cal,

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantasti-
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smother'd in surmise ; and nothing is
But what is not.

Ban. Look, how our partner 's rapt.

Macb. [Aside.] If chance will have me king,

why, chance may crown me,
Without my stir.

Ban. New honours come upon him,

Like our strange garments, cleave not to their

mould
But with the aid of use.

Macb. [Aside.] Come what come may,
Time and the hour runs through the roughest
day. [leisure.

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your
Macb. Give me your favour : my dull brain
was wrought [pains

With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your
Are register'd where every day I turn
The leaf to read them. Let us toward the
king. [time,

Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. FORRES. A Room in the Palace.

Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DON-
ALBAIN, LENNOX and Attendants.

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are

not
Those in commission yet return'd ?

Mai. My liege,

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die : who did report,
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons ;
Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth
A deep repentance : nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it ; he died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

Dun. There 's no art

To find the mind's construction in the face ;

He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.

Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, Ross, and ANGUS.

O worthiest cousin !
The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me : thou art so far before,
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less
deserv'd ; [ment

That the proportion both of thanks and pay-
Might have been mine ! only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay.

Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties : and our duties
Are to your throne and state children and
servants ; [everything

Which do but what they should, by doing
Safe toward your love and honour.

Dun. Welcome hither :

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so, let me infold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.

Ban. There if I grow,

The harvest is your own.

Dun. My plenteous joys,

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our estate upon
Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name here-
after

The Prince of Cumberland : which honour must
Not unaccompanied invest him only,
But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you. [for you :

Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd
I '11 be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach ;
So, humbly take my leave.

Dun. My worthy Cawdor

Macb. [Aside.] The Prince of Cumberland !

That is a step,

On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap,
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires !
Let not light see my black and deep desires :
The eye wink at th* hand ! yet let that be,
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

[Exit

Dun. True, worthy Banquo, he is full so

valiant ;

And In his commendations I am fed,
It is a banquet to me. Let us after him,

1 104

MACBETH.

[ACT I.

Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome :
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE V. INVERNESS. A Room in MAC-
BETH'S Castle.

Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter.

Lady M. They met me in the day of success ;
and I have learned by the perfectest report ', they
have more in them than mortal knowledge.
When I burned in desire to question them
further, they made themselves air, into which
they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the
wonder of it, came missives from the king, who
all-hailed me, Thane of Cawdor ; by which title,
before, these weird sisters sahitsd me, and re-
ferred me to the coming on of time, with Hail,
king that shalt be ! This have I thought good
to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness ;
that thou might st not lose the dues of rejoicing,
by being ignorant of what greatness is promised
thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be
What thou art promis'd : yet do I fear thy

nature ;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be

great ;

Art not without ambition ; but without
The illness should attend it. What thou

wouldst highly, [faise,

That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play
And yet wouldst wrongly win : thou 'dst have,

great Glamis, [have it :

That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou
And that which rather thou dost fear to do
Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee

hither,

That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ;
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal.

Enter an Attendant.

What is your tidings ?

Atten. The king comes here to-night.

Lady M. Thou 'rt mad to say it :

Is not thy master with him ? who, were 't so,
Would have inform'd for preparation.

Atten. So please you, it is true : our thane

is coming :

One of my fellows had the speed of him ;
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.

Lady M. Give him tending,

He brings great news. [Exit Attendant.

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it ! Come to my woman's
breasts, [ministers,

And take my milk for gall, you murdering
Wherever in your sightless substances [night,
You wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, Hold, hold!

Enter MACBETH.

Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor !
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter !
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future in the instant.

Macb. My dearest love,

Duncan comes here to-night.

Lady M. And when goes hence?

Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes.

Lady M. O, never

Shall sun that morrow see !
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
May read strange matters : to beguile the time,
Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue : look like the inno-
cent flower,

But be the serpent under 't. He that 's coming
Must be provided for : and you shall put
This night's great business into my despatch ;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Macb. We will speak further.

Lady M. Only look up clear ;

To alter favour ever is to fear :
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. The same. Before the Castle.
Hautboys. Servants 0/" MACBETH attending.

Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BAN-
QUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, Ross, ANGUS,
and Attendants.

Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat : the

air

Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.

SCENE VII.]

MACBETH.

1105

Ban. This guest of summer,

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve,
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress,
Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made
His pendant bed and procreant cradle :
Where they most breed and haunt, I have

observ'd
The air is delicate.

Enter LADY MACBETH.

Dun. See, see, our honour'd hostess!

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble,
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach

you

How you shall bid God ild us for your pains,
And thank us for your trouble.

Lady M. All our service

In every point twice done, and then done double,
Were poor and single business to contend
Against those honours deep and broad where-
with

Your majesty loads our house: for those of old,
And the late dignities heap'd up to them,
We rest your hermits.

Dun. Where 's the Thane of Cawdor ?

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; [him
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp
To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,
We are your guest to-night.

Lady M. Your servants ever

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in

compt,

To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,
Still to return your own.

Dun. Give me your hand ;

Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly,
And shall continue our graces towards him.
By your leave, hostess. [Exeimt.

SCENE VII. The same. A Lobby in the
Castle.

Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over,
a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and
service. Then enter MACBETH.

Macb. If it were done when 'tis done, then

'twere well

It were done quickly. If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We 'd jump the life to come. But in these cases
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return

To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He 's here in double trust :
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed: then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off :
And pity, like a n.'ked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. I have nospur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself,
And falls on the other.

Enter LADY MACBETH.

How now! what news?

Lady M. He has almost supp'd : why have
you left the chamber ?

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ?

Lady M. Know you not he has t

Macb. We will proceed no further in this

business :

He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
Not cast aside so soon.

Lady M. Was the hope drunk

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept

since ?

And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely? From this time
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valour
As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,
And live a coward in thine own esteem ;
Letting I dare not wait upon / would,
Like the poor cat i' the adage ?

Macb. Pr'ythee, peace

I dare do all that may become a man ;
Who dares do more is none.

Lady M. What beast was 't, then,

That made you break this enterprise to me ?
When you durst do it, then you were a man ;
And, to be more than what you were, you would
Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
They have made themselves, and that their fit-
ness now

Does unmake you. I have given suck , and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me :

no6

MACBETH.

[ACT ii.

I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as

you
Have done to this.

Macb. If we should fail ?

LadyM. We fail!

But screw your courage to the sticking place,
And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep,
Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
Soundly invite him, his two chamberlains
Will I with wine and wassail so convince
That memory, the warder of the brain,
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
A limbec only : when in swinish sleep
Their drenched natures lie as in a death,
What cannot you and I perform upon
The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon
His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt
Of our great quell ?

Macb. Bring forth men-children only;

For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd,
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy

two

Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers,
That they have don 't ?

Lady M. Who dares receive it other,

As we shall make our griefs and clamour

roar
Upon his death ?

Macb. I am settled, and bend up

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.
Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
False face must hide what the false heart doth

know. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. INVERNESS. Court within the
Castle.

Enter BANQUO, preceded by FLEANCE with
a torch.

Ban. How goes the night, boy?

Fie. The moon is down; I have not heard the
clock.

Ban. And she goes down at twelve.

Fie. I take 't, 'tis later, sir.

Ban. Hold, take my sword. There's hus-
bandry in heaven ;

Their candles are all out : take thee that too.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep : merciful powers,
Restrain me in the cursed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose ! Give me my sword.
Who's there*

Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch.

Macb. A friend. [a-bed :

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king 's
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and
Sent forth great largess to your officers :
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up
In measureless content.

Macb. Being unprepar'd,

Our will became the servant to defect ;
Which else should free have wrought.

Ban. All 's well.

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters :
To you they have show'd some truth.

Macb. I think not of them :

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
We would spend it in some words upon that

business,
If you would grant the time.

Ban. At your kind'st leisure.

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent,

when 'tis,
It shall make honour for you.

Ban. So I lose none

In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell'd.

Macb. Good repose the while !

Ban. Thanks, sir ; the like to you !

[Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE.

Macb. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink

is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

[Exit Servant

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me

clutch thee :

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat -oppressed brain ?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other sensesj
Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ;
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such

thing :

It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one-half

world

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates

SCENE I.]

MACBETH.

1107

Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder,

Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy

pace, [design

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set

earth, [fear

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he

lives ;

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

[A bell rings.

I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell. [Exit.

Enter LADY MACBETH.

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk

hath made me bold :
What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.

Hark ! Peace !

It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is

about it :

The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms
Do mock their charge with snores: I have

drugg'd their possets,

That death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live or die.

Macb. [Within.'} Who's there? what, ho!

Lady^M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd,

And 'tis not done : the attempt, and not the

deed, [ready;

Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers
He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done't. My

husband !

Re-enter MACBETH.

Macb. I have done the deed. Didst thou not
hear a noise ? [crickets cry.

Lady M. I heard the owl scream and the
Did not you speak ?

Macb. When?

Lady M. Now.

Macb. As I descended?

Lady M. Ay.

Macb. Hark!
Who lies i' the second chamber ?

Lady M. Donalbain.

Macb. This is a sorry sight.

[Looking on his hands.

Lady M. A foolish thought to say a sorry sight.

Macb. There 's one did laugh in 's sleep, and
one cried Murder!

That they did wake each other: I stood and
heard them : [them

But they did say their prayers, and address'd
Again to sleep.

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together.
Macb. One cried, God bless ns! and, Amen,
the other ; [hands.

As they had seen me with these hangman's
Listening their fear, I could not say, Amen,
When they did say, God bless its.

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply.

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce,

Amen?

I had most need of blessing, and Amen
Stuck in my throat.

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought
After these ways ; so, it will make us mad.
Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep

no more!

Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep;
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Lady M. What do you mean ?

Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the

house: [Cawdor

Glamis hath murder 1 d sleep: and therefore

Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no

more ! [worthy thane,

Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why,

You do unbend your noble strength to think

So brainsickly of things, Go get some water,

And wash this filthy witness from your hand.

Why did you bring these daggers from the

place ?

They must lie there : go carry them ; and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.

Macb. I '11 go no more :

I am afraid to think what I have done ;
Look on 't again I dare not.

Lady M. Infirm of purpose !

Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal,
For it must seem their guilt.

[Exit. Knocking within.

Macb. Whence is that knocking?

How is 't with me, when every noise appals me?

What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out

mine eyes !

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will

rather

The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.

iio8

MACBETH.

[ACT II.

Re-enter LADY MACBETH.

Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but

I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within. ]

I hear a knocking

At the south entry: retire we to our chamber.
A little water clears us of this deed :
How easy is it then ! Your constancy
Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.']

Hark ! more knocking :

Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us,
And show us to be watchers : be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.

Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not

know myself. [Knocking within.

Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would

thou couldst ! [Exeztnt.

Enter a Porter. Knocking within.

Porter. Here 's a knocking indeed ! If a
man were porter of hell-gate, he should have
old turning the key. [Knocking.] Knock,
knock, knock. Who's there, i' the name of
Beelzebub? Here 's a farmer that hanged him-
self on the expectation of plenty: come in
time ; have napkins enow abou t you ; here
you'll sweat for't. [Knocking.] Knock,
knock ! Who 's there, i' the other devil's name?
Faith, here 's an equivocator, that could swear
in both the scales against either scale ; who
committed treason enough for God's sake, yet
could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in,
equivocator. [Knocking.] Knock, knock,
knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an
English tailor come hither, for stealing out of
a French hose : come in, tailor, here you may
roast your goose. [Knocking.] Knock,
knock: never at quiet! What are you? But
this place is too cold for hell. I '11 devil-porter
it no further : I had thought to have let in some
of all professions, that go the primrose way to
the everlasting bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon,
anon ! I pray you, remember the porter.

[Opens the gate.

Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX.

Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went
to bed, that you do lie so late?

Port. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the
second cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker
of three things.

Macd. What three things does drink especially
provoke ?

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and
urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and it unpro-
vokes ; it provokes the desire, but it takes away

the performance : therefore, much drink may
be said to be an equivocator with lechery : it
makes him, and it mars him ; it sets him on,
and it takes him off; it persuades him, and
disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and not
stand to : in conclusion, equivocates him in a
sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

Macd. I believe drink gave thee the lie last
night.

Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat o'
me : but I requited him for his lie ; and, I
think, being too strong for him, though he
took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift
to cast him.

Macd. Is thy master stirring ?
Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes.

Enter MACBETH.

Len. Good-morrow, noble sir !

Macb. Good-morrow, both !

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ?

Macb. Not yet.

Macd. He did command me to call timely

on him :
I have almost slipp'd the hour.

Macb. I '11 bring you to him.

Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you ;
But yet 'tis one.

Macb. The labour we delight in physics pain.
This is the door.

Macd. I '11 make so bold to call.

For 'tis my limited service. [Exit MACDUFF.

Len. Goes the king hence to-day ?

Macb. He does : he did appoint so.

Len. The night has been unruly : where we

lay, [say,

Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they

Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams

of death ;

And prophesying, with accents terrible,
Of dire combustion and confus'd events,
New hatch'd to the woeful time : the obscure
bird [earth

Clamour'd the live-long night: some say the
Was feverous, and did shake.

Macb. 'Twas a rough night.

Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.

Re-enter MACDUFF.

Macd. O horror, horror, horror! Tongue

nor heart
Cannot conceive nor name thee !

Macb. , Len. What 's the matter ?

Macd. Confusion now hath made his master-
piece !
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

SCENE I.]

MACBETH.

1109

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building.

Macb. What is 't you say ? the life?

Len. Mean you his majesty? [your sight
Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy
With a new Gorgon : do not bid me speak ;
See, and then speak yourselves.

[Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX.
Awake ! awake !

Ring the alarum-bell : murder and treason !
Banquo and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake !
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
And look on death itself ! up, up, and see
The great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo !
As from your graves rise up, and walk like

sprites,
To countenance this horror !

[Alarum-bell rings.

Re-enter LADY MACPETH.

Lady M. What 's the business,

That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak !

Macd. O gentle lady,

'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak :
The repetition, in a woman's ear,
Would murder as it fell.

Re-enter BANQUO.

O Banquo, Banquo !
Our royal master 's murder'd !

Lady^ M. Woe, alas !

What, in our house?

Ban. Too cruel any where.

Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself,
And say it is not so.

Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX.

Macb. Had I but died an hour before this
chance, [slant,

I had liv'd a blessed time ; for, from this in-
There 's nothing serious in mortality :
All is but toys : renown and grace is dead ;
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.

Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN.

Don. What is amiss ?

Macb. You are, and do not know 't :

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd.

Macd. Your royal father 's murder'd.

Mai. O, by whom ?

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had

done 't : [blood ;

Their hands and faces were all badg'd with

So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found

Upon their pillows :

They star'd, and were distracted ; no man's life

Was to be trusted with them.

Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.

Macd. Wherefore did you so ?

Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate,

and furious,

Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man :
The expedition of my violent love
Out-ran the pauser reason. Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ;
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in
nature [derers,

For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the mur-
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their
daggers [frain,

Unmannerly breech'd with gore : who could re-
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make 's love known ?

Lady M. Help me hence, ho !

Macd. Look to the lady.

Mai. Why do we hold our tongues,

That most may claim this argument for ours ?

Don. What should be spoken here, where

our fate,

Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us ?
Let 's away ;
Our tears are not yet brew'd.

Mai. Nor our strong sorrow

Upon the foot of motion.

Ban. Look to the lady :

[LADY MACBETH is carried out.
And when we have our naked frailties hid,
That suffer in exposure, let us meet,
And question this most bloody piece of work,
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:
In the great hand of God I stand ; and thence,
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice.

Macd. And so do I.

All. So all.

Macb. Let 's briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i' the hall together.

All. Well contented.

[Exeunt all but MAL. and DON.

Mai. What will you do ? Let 's not consort

with them :

To show an unfelt sorrow is an office
Which the false man does easy. I '11 to England.

Don. To Ireland I ; our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are,
There 's daggers in men's smiles : the near in

blood,
The nearer bloody.

Mai. This murderous shaft that 's shot

Hath not vet lighted ; and our safest way

II IO

MACBETH.

[ACT rn.

Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse ;
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,
But shift away : there 's warrant in that theft
Which steals itself, when there 's no mercy left.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. Without the Castle.
Enter Ross and an old Man.

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember

" well:

Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange ; but this

sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.

Ross. Ah, good father,

Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's

act, [day,

Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis

And yet dark night strangles the travelling

lamp ;

Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
When living light should kiss it?

Old M. 'Tis unnatural,

Even like the deed that 's done. On Tuesday

last,

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.
Ross. And Duncan's horses, a thing most

strange and certain,

Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung
out, [make

Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would
War with mankind.

Old M. 'Tis said they eat each other.

Ross. They did so ; to the amazement of

mine eyes, [Macduff.

That look'd upon't. Here comes the good

Enter MACDUFF.

How goes the world, sir, now?

Macd. Why, see you not ?

Ross. Is't known who did this more than
bloody deed ?

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Ross. Alas, the day !

What good could they pretend ?

Macd. They were suborn'd :

Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons,
Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.

Ross. 'Gainst nature still :

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
Thine own life's means ! Then 'tis most like,
The sovereignty will fell upon Macbeth.

Macd. He is already nam'd ; and gone to

Scone
To be invested.

Ross. Where is Duncan's body ?

Macd. Carried to Colme-kill,
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.

Ross. Will you to Scone ?

Macd. No, cousin, I '11 to Fife.

Ross. Well, I will thither.

Macd. Well, may you see things well done

there, adieu !
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new !

Ross. Farewell, father. [those

Old M. God's benison go with you ; and with

That would make good of bad, and friends of

foes ! [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. FORRES. A Room in the Palace.

Enter BANQUO.
Ban. Thou hast it now, king, Cawdor,

Glamis, all

As the weird women promis'd ; and, I fear,
Thou play'dst most foully for 't ; yet it was said
It should not stand in thy posterity ;
But that myself should be the root and father
Of many kings. If there come truth from them,
As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my oracles as well,
And set me up in hope;? But, hush ; no more.

Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH as King.
LADY MACBETH as Queen; LENNOX, Ross,
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants.

Macb. Here 's our chief guest.

Lady M. If he had been forgotten,

It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all-thing unbecoming.

Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir,
And I '11 request your presence.

Ban. Let your highness

Command upon me ; to the which my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.

Macb. Ride you this afternoon ?

Ban. Ay, my good lord.

Macb. We should have else desir'd your good
advice, [ous,

Which still hath been both grave and prosper-
In this day's council ; but we '11 take to-morrow.
Is 't far you ride ?

Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time

'Twixt this and supper : go not my horse the

better,

SCENE 1.]

MACBETH.

I must become a borrower of the night,
For a dark hour or twain.

Macb. Fail not our feast.

Ban. My lord, I will not. [stow'd

Macb. We hear our bloody cousins are be-
In England and in Ireland ; not confessing
Their cruel parricide, rilling their hearers
With strange invention : but of that to-morrow ;
When therewithal we shall have cause of state
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : adieu,
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with
you? [upon's.

Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call

Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of

foot :

And so I do commend you to their backs.
Farewell. [Exit BANQUO.

Let every man be master of his time
Till seven at night ; to make society
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself
Till supper-time alone : while then, God be
with you !

[Exeunt LADY MACBETH, Lords,

Ladies, &c.

Sirrah, a word with you : attend those men
Our pleasure? [gate.

Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace

Macb. Bring them before us.

[Exit Attendant.
To be thus is nothing ;
But to be safely thus : our fears in Banquo
Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature
Reigns that which would be fear'd : 'tis much

he dares ;

And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour
To act in safety. There is none but he
Whose being I do fear : and, under him,
My genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said, [sisters
Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the
When first they put the name of king upon me,
And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet -

like,

They hail'd him father to a line of kings :
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so,
For Banquo's issue have I fil'd my mind ;
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd ;
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace
Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel
Given to the common enemy of man,
Tc make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings !
Rather than so, come, fate, into the list,
And champion me to the utterance ! Who 's
there?

Re-enter Attendant, -with two Murderers.

Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.
[Exit Attendant.

Was it not yesterday we spoke together ?
I Mur. It was, so please your highness.
Macb. Well then, now

Have you consider 5 d of my speeches ? Know
That it was he, in the times past, which held

you

So under fortune; which you thought had been
Our innocent self: this I made good to you
In our last conference, pass'd in probation with

you, [instruments,

How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the
Who wrought with them, and all things else

that might

To half a soul and to a notion craz'd
Say, Thus did Banquo.

I Mur. You made it known to us.

Macb. I did so ; and went further, which is

now

Our point of second meeting. Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature,
That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd,
To pray for this good man and for his issue,
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave,
And beggar'd yours for ever ?

1 Mur. We are men, my liege.
Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ;

As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels

curs,

Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi- wolves are clept
All by the name of dogs : the valu'd file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
The house-keeper, the hunter, every one
According to the gift which bounteous nature
Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive
Particular addition, from the bill
That writes them all alike : and so of men.
Now, if you have a station in the file,
And not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it ;
And I will put that business in your bosoms,
Whose execution takes your enemy off ;
Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
Which in his death were perfect.

2 Mur. I am one, my liege,
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Have so incens'd that I am reckless what

I do to spite the world.

i Mur. And I another,

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,
That I would set my life on any chance,
To mend it, or be rid on 't.

Macb. Both of you

Know Banquo was your enemy.

1112

MACBETH.

[ACT III.

Both Mur. True, my lord.

Macb. So is he mine ; and in such bloody

distance,

That every minute of his being thrusts
Against my near'st of life : and though I could
Withbare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight,
And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,
For certain friends that are both his and mine,
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
Who I myself struck down : and thence it is
That I to your assistance do make love ;
Masking the business from the common eye
For sundry weighty reasons.

2 Mur. We shall, my lord,

Perform what you command us.

i Mur. Though our lives

Macb. Your spirits shine through you.

Within this hour at most,
I will advise you where to plant yourselves;
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,
The moment on 't ; for 't must be done to-night,
And something from the palace ; always thought
That I require a clearness : and with him,
To leave no rubs nor botches in the work,
Fleance his son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less material to me
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart :
I '11 come to you anon.

Both Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord.

Macb. I '11 call upon you straight : abide
within. [Exeunt Murderers.

It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight,
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.

[Exit.

SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the
Palace.

Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant.

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ?

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend

his leisure
For a few words.

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit.

Lady M. Naught 's had, all 's spent,

Where our desire is got without content :
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy,
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter MACBETH.

How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest fancies your companions making ;
Using those thoughts which should indeed have
died

With them they think on ? Things without all

remedy

Should be without regard : what 's done is done.
Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not

kill'd it ; [malice

She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint,
Both the worlds suffer,
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams
That shake us nightly : better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstacy. Duncan is in his grave ;
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ;
Treason has done his worst : ncr steel, nor

poison,

Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further.

Lady M. Come on ;

Gently my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ;
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night.
Macb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be

you :

Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ;
Present him eminence, both with eye and

tongue :

Unsafe the while, that we [streams ;

Must lave our honours in these flattering
And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
Disguising what they are.

Lady M. You must leave this.

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear

wife ! [lives.

Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance,

Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not

eterne. [able ;

Macb. There 's comfort yet ; they are assail-
Then be thou jocund : ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's

summons,

The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums,
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be

done
A deed of dreadful note.

Lady M. What 's to be done ?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest

chuck, [night,

Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ;
And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
Which keeps me pale ! Light thickens; and

the crow

Makes wing to the rooky wood :
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;

SCENE III.]

MACBETH.

Whiles night's black agents to their prey do
rouse. [still ;

Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill:
So, pr'ythee, go with me. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn,
with a gate leading to the Palace.

Enter three Murderers.

1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us ?
3 Mur. Macbeth.

2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust ; since he

delivers

Our offices, and what we have to do,
To the direction just.

1 Mur. Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:
Now spurs the lated traveller apace,

To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.

3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses.
Ban. [Wiihin.~\ Give us a light there, ho!

2 Mur. Then 'tis he ; the rest
That are within the note of expectation
Already are i' the court.

1 Mur. His horses go about.

3 Mur. Almost a mile ; but he does usually,
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.

2 Mur. A light, a light !

3 Mur. 'Tis he.
I Mur. Stand to 't.

Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch.

Ban. It will be rain to-night.
I Mur. Let it come down.

[Assaults BANQUO.
Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly,

fly, fly!
Thou mayst revenge. O slave!

[Dies. FI.EANCE escapes.
3 Mur. Who did strike out the light ?

1 Mur. Was't not the way?
3 Mur. There 's but one down: the son is fled.

2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair.
I Mur. Well, let 's away, and say how much

is done. [Exeunt.

V /:-?.-.' I ^A '(VV."\

SCENE IV. The same. A Room of State in
the Palace. A Banquet prepared.

Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, Ross,
LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down:

at first
And last the hearty welcome.

Lords. Thanks to your majesty.

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society,
And play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time,
We will require her welcome. [friends ;

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our
For my heart speaks they are welcome.

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their

hearts' thanks.
Both sides are even : here I '11 sit i' the midst :

Enter first Murderer to the door.

Be large in mirth ; anon we '11 drink a measure
The table round. There 's blood upon thy face.

Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. [within.

Macb. 'Tis better thee without than he
Is he despatch'd ?

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did
for him.

Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats :

yet he 's good

That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.

Mur. Most royal sir,

Fleance is 'scap'd. [been perfect :

Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ;
As broad and general as the casing air : [in
But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo 's safe?

Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he

bides,

With twenty trenched gashes on his head ;
The least a death to nature.

Macb. Thanks for that :

There the grown serpent lies ; the worm that 's

fled

Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for the present. Get thee gone ; to-
morrow
We '11 hear, ourselves, again. [Exit Murderer,

Lady M. My royal lord,

You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,
'Tis given with welcome : to feed were best at

home ;

From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.

Macb. Sweet remembrancer!

Now, good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both !

Len. May 't please your highness sit ?

[The Ghost ?/" BANQUO rises, and sits in
MACBETH'S//^.

Macb. Here had we now our country's honour

roof'd,
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ;

III4

MACBETH.

[ACT in.

Who may I rather challenge for unkindness
Than pity for mischance !

Ross. His absence, sir,

Lays blame upon his promise. Please 't your

highness

To grace us with your royal company.
Macb. The table 's full.
Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir.
Macb. Where?
Len. Here, my lord. What is't

that moves your highness ?
Macb. Which of you have done this ?
Lords. What, my good lord ?

Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: never

shake

Thy gory locks at me. [well.

Ross. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not
Lady M. Sit, worthy friends : my lord is

often thus,
And hath been from his youth : pray you, keep

seat;

The fit is momentary ; upon a thought
He will again be well : if much you note him
You shall offend him, and extend his passion :
Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man ?
Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look

on that
Which might appal the devil.

Lady M. O proper stuff !

This is the very painting of your fear :
This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and

starts,

Impostors to true fear, would well become
A woman's story at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself !
Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there ! behold ! look !

lo ! how say you ?
Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak

too.

If charnel-houses and our graves must send
Those that we bury back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears.
Lady M. What, quite unmann'd in folly?
Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady M. Fie, for shame !

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the

olden time,

Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ;
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would

die,

And there an end ; but now they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,

And push us from our stools : this is more strange
Than such a murder is.

Lady M. My worthy lord,

Your noble friends do lack you.

Macb. I do forget :

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ;
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health
to all ; [full.

Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine, fill
I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,
And to our dear friend Banquo, wnom we miss;
Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge.

Ghost rises again.

Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the

earth hide thee !

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with !

Lady M. Think of this, good peers,

But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; ,

Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Macb. What man dare, I dare :
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger ;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble : or be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword ;
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow !
Unreal mockery, hence ! [Ghost disappears.
Why, so ; being gone,
I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke

the good meeting,
With most admir'd disorder.

Macb. Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder? You make me

strange

Even to the disposition that I owe,
When now I think you can behold such sights.
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,
When mine are blanch'd with fear.

Ross. What sights, my lord ?

Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows

worse and worse ;

Question enrages him : at once, good-night :
Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.

Len. Good-night ; and better health

Attend his majesty !

Lady M. A kind good-night to all i

[Exeunt Lords and Attendants.

SCENE V.]

MACBETH.

1115

Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will
have blood : [speak ;

Stones have been known to move, and trees to
Augurs, and understood relations, have [forth
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought
The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?

Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which
is which. [his person,

Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies
At our great bidding ?

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ?

Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send :
There 's not a one of them but in his house
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow
(And betimes I will) to the weird sisters :
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to
know, [good,

By the worst means, the worst. For mine own
All causes shall give way : I am in blood
Stept in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er : [hand ;
Strange things I have in head, that will to
Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures,
sleep. [self-abuse

Macb. Come, we '11 to sleep. My strange and
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use :
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.The Heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting
HECATE.

i Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ! you look
angerly.

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are,
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth
In riddles and affairs of death ;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art ?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful and wrathful ; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now : get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' the morning: thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your charms, and everything beside.
I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon :
Upon the corner of the moon

There hangs a vaporous drop profound ;
I "'1 catch it ere it come to ground :
And that, distill'd by magic sleights,
Shall raise such artificial sprites,
As, by the strength of their irusion,
Shall draw him on to his confusion :
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And you all know, security
Is mortal's chiefest enemy.

[Music and song within : Come away, comt

away &c.

Hark ! I am call'd ; my little spirit, see,
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays far me. [Exit,
I Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll
soon be back again. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. FORRES. A Room in the Palace.
Enter LENNOX and another Lord.

Len. My former speeches have but hit your

thoughts,

Which can interpret further : only, I say,
Things have been strangely borne. The gra-
cious Duncan

Was pitied of Macbeth : marry, he was dead:
And the right- valiant Banquo walk'd too late;
Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance

kill'd,

For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
To kill their gracious father? damned fact !
How it did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight,
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear,
That were the slaves of drink and thralls of

sleep?

Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive,
To hear the men deny 't. So that, I say,
He has borne all things well : and I do think,
That had he Duncan's sons under his key,
As, an't please heaven, he shall not, they

should find

What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance.
But, peace ! for from broad words, and 'cause

he fail'd

His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

Lord. The son of Duncan,

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,
Lives in the English court ; and is receiv'd
Of the most pious Edward with such grace
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect : thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid

in6

MACBETH,

[ACT iv.

To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward:
That, by the help of these, with Him above
To ratify the work, we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours,
All which we pine for now : and this report
Hath so exasperate the king that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.

Len. Sent he to Macduff?

Lord. He did: and with an absolute, Sir,

not 7,

The cloudy messenger turns me his back, [time
And hums, as who should say, You '// rue the
That dogs me with this answer.

Len. And that well might

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come ; that a swift blessing
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accurs'd !

Lord. I '11 send my prayers with him !

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a
Caldron Boiling.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig

whin'd.

3 Witch. Harpier cries : 'tis time, 'tis time.

1 Witch. Round about the caldron go ;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under the cold stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot !

All. Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire, burn ; and, caldron, bubble.

2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell -broth boil and bubble.

All. Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,

Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips,
Finger of birth-strangl'd babe,
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab :
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our caldron.

All. Double, double toil and trouble ;
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.

2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

Enter HECATE.

Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains;
And every one shall share i' the gains.
And now about the caldron sing,
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.

SONG.

Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray;
Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may.

[Exit HECATE.

2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes :
Open, locks, whoever knocks!

Enter MACBETH.

Macb. How now, you secret, black, and

midnight hags !
What is't you do?

All. A deed without a name.

Macb. I conjure you, by that which you pro-
fess,

Howe'er you come to know it, answer me :
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches ; though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up ; [down;
Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown
Though castles topple on their warders' heads ;
Though palaces and pyramids do slope
Their heads to their foundations; though the

treasure

Of nature's germins tumble altogether,
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.

1 Witch. Speak.

2 Witch. Demand.

3 Witch. We '11 answer,
i Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from

our mouths,
Or from our masters?

Macb. Call 'em, let me see 'em.

I Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten

Her nine farrow ; grease that 's sweaten

SCENE I.]

MACBETH.

III7

From the murderer's gibbet throw
Into the flame.

All. Come, high or low ;

Thyself and office deftly show !

Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head
rises.

Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power,
I Witch. He knows thy thought :

Hear his speech, but say thou naught.
App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! be-
ware Macduff; [enough.
Beware the Thane of Fife. Dismiss me:

[Descends.

Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good cau-
tion, thanks; [word more,
Thou hast harp'd my fear aright : but one
I Witch. He will not be commanded : here 's

another,
More potent than the first.

Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child
rises.

App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!

Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.

App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh

to scorn

The power of man, for none of woman born
Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends.

Macb. Then live, Macduff: what need I fear

of thee?

But yet I '11 make assurance double sure,
And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,
And sleep in spite of thunder. What is this,

Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned,
with a tree in his hand, rises.

That rises like the issue of a king,

And wears upon his baby brow the round

And top of sovereignty?

All. Listen, but speak not to 't.

App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no

care

Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him. [Descends.

Macb. That will never be :

Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bode-

ments ! good !

Rebellion's head, rise never, till the wood
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing : tell me, if your art

Can tell so much, shall Banquo's issue ever
Reign in this kingdom?

All. Seek to know no more.

Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this,

And an eternal curse fall on you 1 Let me

know : [this ?

Why sinks that caldron? and what noise is

[Hautboys.

1 Witch. Show!

2 Witch. Show!

3 Witch. Show!

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ;
Come like shadows, so depart !

Eight Kings appear, and pass over in order,
the last with a glass in his hand; BANQU
following.

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Ban-
quo ; down ! [hair,
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : and thy
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first :-^-
A third is like the former. Filthy hags !
Why do you show me this? A fourth? Start,

eyes !
What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of

doom?

Another yet? A seventh? I '11 see no more:
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
Which shows me many more ; and some I see
That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry:
Horrible sight ! Now, I see, 'tis true ;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What ! is this so?

i Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
And show the best of our delights;
I '11 charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antic round;
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.
[ Music. The Witches dance, and then vanish.
Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this

pernicious hour

Stand aye accursed in the calendar !
Come in, without there.

Enter LENNOX.

Len. What 's your grace's will?

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters?

Len. No, my lord.

Macb. Came they not by you?

Len. No, indeed, my lord.

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ;
And damn'd all those that trust them ! I did

hear
The galloping of horse : who was 't came by ?

iiiS

MACBETH.

[ACT iv.

Len* 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring

you word
Macduff is fled to England.

Macb. Fled to England !

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread ex-
ploits :

The flighty purpose never is o'ertook
Unless the deed go with it : from this moment
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now,
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought

and done :

The castle of Macduff I will surprise ;
Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace him in his line. No boasting like

a fool ;

This deed I '11 do before this purpose cool :
But no more sights ! Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. FIFE. A Room in MACDUFF'S
Castle.

Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and Ross.

Lady Macd. What had he done, to make

him fly the land?

Ross. You must have patience, madam.
L. Macd. He had none :

His flight was madness : when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

Ross. You know not

Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.

L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to

leave his babes,

His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly ? He loves us not :
He wants the natural touch ; for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love ;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

Ross. My dearest coz,

I pray you, school yourself: but, for your

husband,

He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much

further :

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves ; when we hold

rumour

From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,
But float upon a wild and violent sea
Each way and move. I take my leave of you :
Shall not be long but I '11 be here again :

Things at the worst will cease, or else climb

upward

To what they were before. My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you ! [less.

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he 's father-

Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay

longer,

It would be my disgrace and your discomfort :
I take my leave at once. [Exit.

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father 's dead ;
And what will you do now ? How will you live ?

Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ?

Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do
they. [net nor lime,

L. Macd. Poor bird ! thou 'dst never fear the
The pit-fall nor the gin.

Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds

they are not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead : how wilt thou do
for a father ?

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ?

L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any
market.

Son. Then you '11 buy 'em to sell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ;

and yet, i' faith,
With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother ?

L. Macd. Ay, that he was.

Son. What is a traitor ?

L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.

Son. And be all traitors that do so?

L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor,
and must be hanged. [and lie ?

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear

L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them ?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools :
for there are liars and swearers enow to beat
the honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor mon-
key ! But how wilt thou do for a father ?

Son. If he were dead, you 'd weep for him :
if you would not, it were a good sign that I
should quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor prattler ! how thou talk'st.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to

you known,

Though in your state of honour I am perfect.
I doubt some danger does approach you nearly:
If you will take a homely man's advice,
Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones.

SCENE III.]

MACBETH.

1119

To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;
To do worse to you were fell cruelty, [you !
Which is too nigh your person. 1 leaven preserve
I dare abide no longer. [Exit.

L. Macd. Whither should I fly ?

I have done no harm. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world ; where to do harm
Is often laudable ; to do good, sometime
Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,
Do I put up that womanly defence, [faces?
To say I have done no harm? What are these

Enter Murderers.

I Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified
Where such as thou mayst find him.

I Mur. He 's a traitor.

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain.

I Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him.
Young fry of treachery !

Son. He has kill'd me, mother :

Run away, I pray you ! [Dies.

[.;/ LADY MACDUFF, crying Murder,
and pursued by the Murderers.

SCENE III. ENGLAND. Before the KING'S
Palace.

Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF.

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade,

and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Macd. Let us rather

Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new
morn [sorrows

New widows howlj new orphans cry; new
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.

Mai. What I believe, I '11 wail ;

What know, believe ; and what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our
tongues, [well ;

Was once thought honest : you have lov'd him
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young;
but something [dom

You may deserve of him through me ; and wis-
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Mai. But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shaJl crave your
pardon ;

That which you are, my thoughts cannot trans-
pose;

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell :
Though all things foul would wear the brows

of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.

Macd. I have lost my hopes.

Mai. Perchance even there where I did find

my doubts.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
Those precious motives, those strong knots of

love,

Without leave-taking? I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours.
But mine own safeties : -you may be rightly

just,
Whatever I shall think.

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country 1

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee ! wear thou

thy wrongs,

Thy title is affeer'd. Fare thee well, lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think'st
For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich East to boot.

Mai Be not offended :

I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ;
It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds : I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right ;
And here, from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands : but, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before ;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macd. What should he be ?

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow ; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms.

Macd. Not in the legions

Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
In evils to top Macbeth.

Mai. I grant him bloody,

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name : but there 's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daugh-
ters, [up
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill
The cistern of my lust ; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'erbear,

1120

MACBETH.

[ACT iv.

That did oppose my will : better Macbeth
Than such a one to reign.

Macd. Boundless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours : you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-
wink, [be
We have willing dames enough ; there cannot
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclin'd.

Mai. With this there grows,

In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands ;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house :
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more ; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

Macd. This avarice

Sticks deeper ; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-'seeming lust ; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings : yet do not fear ;
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own : all these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd. [graces,

Mai. But I have none : the king-becoming
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them ; but abound
In the division of each several crime, [should
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. O Scotland ! Scotland !

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak :
I am as I have spoken.

Macd. Fit to govern !

No, not to live !O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal
father [thee,

Was a most sainted king ; the queen that bore
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare-thee-well !
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,
Thy hope ends here !

Mai. Macduff, this noble passion,

Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste : but God above
Deal between thee and me ! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ;
At no time broke my faith ; would not betray
The devil to his fellow ; and delight [ing-

No less in truth than life : my first false speak -
Was this upon myself : what I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command :
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
Already at a point, was setting forth :
Now we '11 together ; and the chance of goodness
Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you
silent? [at once

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things
'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mai. Well ; more anon. Comes the king
forth, I pray you ? [souls

Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched
That stay his cure : their malady convinces
The great assay of art ; but, at his touch,
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,
They presently amend.

Mai. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor.

Macd. What 's the disease he means ?

Mai. 'Tis called the evil :

A most miraculous work in this good king ;
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows : but strangely- visited

people,

All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this strange

virtue,

He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

Macd. See, who comes here ?

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him
not.

SCENE III.]

MACBETH.

1121

Enter Ross.

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.

Mai. I know him now. Good God, betimes

remove
The means that makes us strangers !

Ross. Sir, amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ?

Ross. Alas, poor country,

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where

nothing,

But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Wnere sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent
the air, [seems

Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow
A modern ecstacy ; the dead man's knell
Is there scarce ask'd for who ; and good men's

lives

Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying or ere they sicken.

Macd. O, relation

Too nice, and yet too true !

Mai. What 's the newest grief?

Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the

speaker ;
Each minute teems a new one.

Macd. How does my wife?

Ross. Why, well.

Macd. And all my children ?

Ross. Well too.

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their
peace?

Ross. No; they were well at peace when
I did leave 'em.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : how
goes 't ? [tidings,

Ross. When I came hither to transport the
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out ;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot :
Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Mai. Be 't their comfort

We are coming thither : gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older and a better soldier none
That Christendom gives out.

Ross. Would I could answer

This comfort with the like ! But I have words
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.

Macd. What concern they?

The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief
Due to some single breast ?

Ross. No mind that 's honest

But in it shares some woe ; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me ; quickly let me have it.

Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue
for ever, [sound

Which shall possess them with the heaviest
That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Hum ! I guess at it.

Ross. Your castle is surpris'd ; your wife and

babes

Savagely slaughter^ : to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.

Mai. Merciful heaven !

What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your
brows ; [speak

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it
break.

Macd. My children too ?

Ross. Wife, children, servants, all

That could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence !

My wife kill'd too?

Ross. I have said.

Mai. Be comforted :

Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief. [ones ?

Macd. He has no children. All my pretty
Did you say all ? O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?

Mai. Dispute it like a man.

Macd. I shall do so ;

But I must also feel it as a man :
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me. Did heaven

look on,

And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls : heaven rest them
now ! [let grief

Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword
Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine
eye, [heavens.

And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle
Cut short all intermission ; front to front
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too !

Mai. This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ;
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth

2 N

1 122

MACBETH.

[ACT v.

Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer

you may;
The night is long that never finds the day.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. DUNSINANE. A Room in the

Castle.

Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-
Gentlewoman.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you,
but can perceive no truth in your report.
When was it she last walked ?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field,
I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her
nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take
forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, after-
wards seal it, and again return to bed ; yet all
this while in a most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to
receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the
effects of watching ! In this slumbery agitation,
besides her walking and other actual perform-
ances, what, at any time, have you heard her
say?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after
her.

Doct. You may to me; and 'tis most meet
you should.

Gent. Neither to you nor any one ; having
no witness to confirm my speech. Lo you,
here she comes !

Enter LADY MACBETH, with a taper.
This is her very guise ; and, upon my life, fast
asleep. Observe her ; stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light ?

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light
by her continually ; 'tis her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how
she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to
seem thus washing her hands: I have known
her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here 's a spot.

Doct. Hark! she speaks: I will set down
what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance
the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say !
One ; two : why, then 'tis time to do 't : Hell
is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it,
when none can call our power to account?

Yet who would have thought the old man to
have had so much blood in him ?

Doct. Do you mark that ?

Lady M. The Thane of Fife had a wife ;
where is she now? What, will these hands
ne'er be clean ? No more o' that, my lord, no
more o' that : you mar all with this starting.

Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what
you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I
am sure of that : heaven knows what she has
known.

Lady M. Here 's the smell of the blood still :
all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this
little hand. Oh, oh, oh !

Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is
sorely charged.

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my
bosom for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct. Well, well, well,

Gent. Pray God it be, sir.

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice : yet
I have known those which have walked in their
sleep who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your
nightgown ; look not so pale : I tell you yet
again, Banquo 's buried ; he cannot come out
on 's grave.

Doct. Even so ?

Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there 's knocking
at the gate : come, come, come, come, give me
your hand : what 's done cannot be undone : to
bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit.

Doct. Will she go now to bed ?

Gent. Directly. [deeds

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural
Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine than the physician.
God, God forgive us all ! Look after her ;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her : so, good-night :
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight :
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good-night, good doctor.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Country near Dunsinane.

Enter, with drum and colours, MENTEITH,
CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, and Soldiers.

Ment. The English power is near, led on

by Malcolm,

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them ; for their dear causes
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm
Excite the mortified man.

SCENE III.]

MACBETH.

H23

Ang. Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them ; tha,. way are they
coming.

Caith. Who knows if Donalbain be with his
brother ?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file
Of all the gentry : there is Siward's son,
And many unrough youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.

Ment. What does the tyrant ?

Caith. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies:
Some say he 's mad ; others, that lesser hate

him,

Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain,
He cannot buckle his distemper'd course
Within the belt of rule.

Ang. Now does he feel

His secret murders sticking on his hands ;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
Those he commands move only in command,
Nothing in love : now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who, then, shall blame

His pester'd senses to recoil and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself for being there ?

Caith. Well, march we on,

To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd :
Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal ;
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.

Len. Or so much as it needs,

To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the

weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.

[Exeunt, marching.

SCENE III. DUNSINANE. A Room in the
Castle.

Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants.

Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let them

fly all :

Till Birnam wood remove to Duneinane
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy

Malcolm ?
Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that

know
A.11 mortal consequences have pronounc'd me

thus, {woman

Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of
Shall e'er have power upon thee. Then fly,

false thanes,

And mingle with the English epicures :
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.

Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream -fac'd

loon !
Where gott'st thou that goose look ?

Serv. There is ten thousand

Macb. Geese, villain ?

Serv. Soldiers, sir.

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy

fear,

Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ?
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-
face?

Serv. The English force, so please you.

Macb. Take thy face hence. {Exit Servant.
Seyton ! I am sick at heart,
When I behold Seyton, I say ! This push
Will chair me ever, or disseat me now.
I have liv'd long enough : my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf ;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead,
Curses not loud but deep, mouth-honour,
breath, [dare not.

Which the poor heart would fain deny, and
Seyton !

Enter SEYTON.

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure ?

Macb. What news more ?

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was
reported. [be hack'd.

Macb. I '11 fight till from my bones my flesh
Give me my armour.

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I '11 put it on.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine

armour.
How does your patient, doctor ?

Doct. Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Macb. Cure her of that :

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain ;
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart ?

Doct. Therein the patient

Must minister to himself. [of it.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I '11 none
Come, put mine armour on ; give me my
staff:

1124

MACBETH.

[ACT v.

Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from
me. [cast

Come, sir, despatch. If thou couldst, doctor,
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again. Pull 't off, I say.
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence? Hear'st
thou of them ? [tion

Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal prepara-
Makes us hear something.

Macb. Bring it after me.

I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

[Exeunt all except Doctor.
Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here.

[Exit.

SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane : a
Wood in view.

Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old
SiWARDa^^zVSon, MACDUFF, MENTEITH,
CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, Ross, and
Soldiers, marching.

Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at

hand
That chambers will be safe.

Ment. We doubt it nothing.

Siw. What wood is this before us?

Ment, The wood of Birnam.

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a
bough, [shadow

And bear 't before him ; thereby shall we
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.

Sold. It shall be done. [tyrant

Siw. We learn no other but the confident
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before 't.

Mai. 'Tis his main hope :

For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less have given him the revolt ;
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd. Let our just censures

Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.

Siw. The time approaches,

That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have, and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ;
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate :
Towards which advance the war.

[Exeunt^ marching.

SCENE V. DUNSINANE. Within the Castle.

Enter t with drum and colours^ MACBETH,
SEYTON, and Soldiers.

Macb. Hang out our banners on the out-
ward walls ;

The cry is still. They come: our castle's strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie
Till famine and the ague eat them up :
Were they not forc'd with those that should be
ours, [beard,

We might have met them dareful, beard to
And beat them backward home.

[A cry of women within.
What is that noise ?
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.

[Exit.

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears :
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with

horrors ;

Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.

Re-enter SEYTON.

Wherefore was that cry?

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. She should have died hereafter ;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time ;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out , out , brief candle !
Life 's but a walking shadow ; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more : it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story

quickly.

Mess. Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.

Macb. Well, say, sir.

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.

Macb. Liar, and slave !

[Striking him.

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not
so.

SCENE VI.]

MACBETH.

1125

Within this three mile may you see it coming ;
I say, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou speak'st false,

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.
I pull in resolution ; and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane ; and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and

out !

If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be a- weary of the sun, [done.

And wish the estate o' the world were now un-
Ring the alarum-bell ! Blow, wind ! come,

wrack !
At least we '11 die with harness on our back.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the
Castle.

Enter ; with drum and colour s> MALCOLM, old
SIWARD, MACDUFF, &c., and their Army,
with boughs.

Mai. Now near enough ; your leafy screens

throw down,
And show like those you are. You, worthy

uncle,

Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff and we
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Siw. Fare you well.

Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give

them all breath,

Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. The same. Another part of the
Plain.

Alarums. Enter MACBETH.

Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I can-
not fly,

But, bear-like, I must fight the course.
What 'she

That was not born of woman ? Such a one

Am I to fear, or none.

Enter young SlWARD.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name ?

Macb. Thou' It be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a

hotter name
Than any is in hell.

Macb. My name 's Macbeth.

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pro-
nounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.
Macb. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant ; with

my sword
I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st.

[They fight, and young SIWARD is slain.
Macb. Thou wast born of woman.

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that 's of a woman born.

[Exit.

Alarums. Enter MACDUFF.

Macd. That way the noise is. Tyrant,

show thy face !

If thou be 'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me

still.

I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves ; either thou,

Macbeth,

Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst

be;

By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarums.

Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD.

Siw. This way, my lord ; the castle 's gently

render'd :

The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war ;
The day almost itself professes yours,
And little is to do.

Mai. We have met with foes

That strike beside us.

Siw. Enter, sir, the castle.

[Exeunt. Alarums.

SCENE VIII. 77^ same. Another part of the
Plain.

Enter MACBETH.

Macb. Why, should I play the Roman fool,
and die [gashes

On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the
Do better upon them.

Enter MACDUFF.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn !

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee :

1 126

MACBETH.

[ACT v.

But get thee back ; my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.

Macd. I have no words,

My voice is in my sword : thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out ! [ They fight.

Macb. Thou losest labour:

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me

bleed:

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd. Despair thy charm ;

And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd. [so,

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me
For it hath cow'd my better part of man !
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense ;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope ! I '11 not fight with
thee.

Macd. Then yield thee, coward,
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time :
We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole, and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.

Macb. I will not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last. Before my body
I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, Bold,
enough! [Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and
colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, Ross,
LENNOX, ANGUS, CAITHNESS, MENTEITH,
and Soldiers.

Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe
arriv'd. [see,

Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Ross. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's

debt:
He only liv'd but till he was a man ;

The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd
In the unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he died.

Siw. Then he is dead?

Ross. Ay, and brought off the field : your

cause of sorrow

Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.

Siw. Had he his hurts before ?

Ross. Ay, on the front.

Siw. Why, then, God's soldier be he !

Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death :
And, so his knell is knoll'd.

Mai. He 's worth more sorrow,

And that I '11 spend for him.

Siw. He 's worth no more :

They say he parted well, and paid his score :
And so, God be with him ! Here comes newer
comfort.

Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH'S head.

Macd. Hail, king ! for so thou art : behold,

where stands

The usurper's cursed head : the time is free :
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl
That speak my salutation in their minds ;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,
Hail, King of Scotland !

All. Hail, King of Scotland !

[Flourish.

Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of

time

Before we reckon with your several loves,
And make us even with you. My thanes and

kinsmen,

Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What 's more to do,
Which would be planted newly with the time,
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad,
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life ; this, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place:
So, thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

gfifi&f I mA

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark.

HAMLET, Son to the former and Nephew to the

present King.

POLONIUS, Lord Chamberlain.
HORATIO, Friend to HAMLET.
LAERTES, Son to POLONIUS.
VOLTIMAND,
CORNELIUS,
ROSENCRANTZ,
GUILDENSTERN,

OSRIC,

A Gentleman,
A Priest.
MARCELLUS,
BERNARDO,

Courtiers.

*' } Officers.

FRANCISCO, a Soldier.

REYNALDO, Servant to POLONIUS.

Players.

Two Clowns, Grave-diggers.

FORTINBRAS, Prince of Norway.

A Captain.

English Ambassadors.

Ghost of HAMLET'S Father.

GERTRUDE, Queen of Denmark, and Mother

of HAMLET.
OPHELIA, Daughter to POLONIUS.

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors,
Messengers, and other Attendants.

SCENE, ELSINORE.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

-ELSINORE. A Platform before the
Castle.

FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him

BERNARDO.
Ber. Who's there?

Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold
Yourself.

Ber. Long live the king !

Fran. Bernardo ?

Ber. He.

Fran. You come most carefully upon your

hour.
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed,

Francisco.
Fran. For this relief much thanks : 'tis bitter

cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ber. Have you had quiet guard ?
Fran. Not a mouse stirring.

Ber. Well, good-night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.
Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho!
Who is there?

Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS.
Hor. Friends to this ground.
Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.

Fran. Give you good-night.

Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier:

Who hath reliev'd you ?

Fran. Bernardo has my place.

Give you good-night. {Exit.

Mar. Holla! Bernardo!

Ber. Say.

What, is Horatio there ?

Hor. A piece of him.

Ber. Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good
Marcellus. [night ?

Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to-

Ber. I have seen nothing.

Mar. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him ^
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us :
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night ;
That, if again this apparition come
He may approve our eyes and speak to it.

Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

Ber. Sit down awhile,

And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we two nights have seen.

Hor. Well, sit we down,

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber. Last night of all,
When yon same star that 's westward from the

pole

Had made his course to illume that part of
heaven

1 128

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT

Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one, [comes again !
Mar. Peace, break thee off; look where it

Enter Ghost, armed.

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that 's
dead. [Horatio.

Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it,

Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it,
Horatio. [and wonder.

Hor. Most like: it harrows me with fear

Btr. It would be spoke to.

Mar. Question it, Horatio.

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time

of night,

Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge
thee, speak!

Mar. It is offe ded.

Ber. See, it stalks away !

Hor. Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee,
speak ! [Exzt Ghost.

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer, [pale :

Ber. How now, Horatio ! you tremble and look
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on \ ?

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

Mar. Is it not like the king ?

Hor. As thou art to thyself :
Such was the very armour he had on
When he the ambitious Norway combated ;
So frown'd he once when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
'Tis strange. ' [hour,

Mar. Thus twice before, and just at this dead
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Hor. In what particular thought to work I

know not ;

But, in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he

that knows,

Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land ;
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war ; [task
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore
Does not divide the Sunday from the week ;
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
Who is 't that can inform me ?

Hor. That on I ;

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
Whose image even but now appear'd to us,

Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dar'd to the combat ; in which our valiant

Hamlet, [him,

For so this side of our known world esteem'd
Did slay this Fortinbras ; who, by a seal'd

compact,

Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands,
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety com peter
Was gaged by our king ; which had return'd
To the inheriiance of Fort in bras, [covenant,
Had he been vanquisher ; as by the same
And carriage of the article design'd, [bras,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortin-
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of landless rcsolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in 't : which is no other,
As it doth well appear unto our state,
But to recover of us by strong hand,
And terms compulsative, those foresaid lands
So by his father lost : and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch, and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
Ber. I think it be no other, but e'en so :
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch ; so like the

king
That was and is the question of these wars.

Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, [dead
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets :
As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star,
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse :
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
And prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climature and countrymen.
But, soft, behold ! lo, where it comes again !

Re-enter Ghost.

I '11 cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!

If thou hast any sound or use of voice,

Speak to me :

If there be any good thing to be done,

That may to thee do ease, and grace to me,

Speak to me :

If thou art privy to thy country's fate,

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1129

Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid,
O, speak !

Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk
in death, [Cock crows.

Speak of it : stay, and speak ! Stop it, Mar-
cellus.

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan ?

Hor. Do, if it will not stand.

Ber. Tis here !

Hor. 'Tis here !

Mar. 'Tis gone ! [Exit Ghost.

We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence ;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery, [crew.

Ber. It was about to speak when the cock

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day ; and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine : and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long :
And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad ;
The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm ;
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. [it.

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill :
Break we our watch up: and, by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him :
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

Afar. Let 's do 't, I pray ; and I this morn-

ing know
Where we shall find him most conveniently.

[Exeunt.

\ .vfrfTjtwn oot MB! i3ff jieiY
SCENE II. ELSINORE. A Room of State in
the Castle.

, QUEEN, HAMLET, POLONIUS,
LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords,
and Attendants.

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear
brother's death

The memory be green ; and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole king-
dom

To be contracted in one brow of woe ;
Yet so far hath discretion fought with jiature
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,
With one auspicious and one dropping eye,
With mirth and funeral, and with dirge in

marriage,

In equal scale weighing delight and dole,
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along : for all, our thanks.
Now follows that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,
To our most valiant brother. So much for

him.

Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting :
Thus much the business is: we have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress
His further gait herein ; in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject : and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway ;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king more than the scope
Of these dilated articles allow. [duty.

Farewell; and let your haste commend your

Cor. and Vol. In that and all things will we
show our duty.

King. We doubt it nothing : heartily farewell.
[Exeunt VOL. and COR.

And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit ; what is 't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice : what wouldst thou beg,

Laertes,

That shall not be my offer, nor thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

Laer. Dread my lord,

Your leave and favour to return to France ;

1 130

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT i.

From whence though willingly I came to Den-
mark,

To show my duty in your coronation ;
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward
France, [pardon.

And how them to your gracious leave and

King. Have you your father's leave? What
says Polonius? [slow leave

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my
By laboursome petition ; and at last
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be

thine,

And thy best graces spend it at thy will !
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,

Ham. [Aside.] A little more than kin, and
less than kind. [you ?

King . How is it that the clouds still hang on

Ham. Not so, my lord; I am too much i'
the sun. [off,

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : [die,
Thou know'st 'tis common, all that live must
Passing through nature to eternity.

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.

Queen. If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee? [seems.

Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem ;
For they are actions that a man might play :
But I have that within which passeth show ;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your

nature, Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father :
But, you must know, your father lost a father ;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor

bound,

In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow : but to persevere
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven ;
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd :
For what we know must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,

Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie ! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd ; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse till he that died to-day,
This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe ; and think of us
As of a father : for let the world take note
You are the most immediate to our throne ;
And with no less nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire :
And we beseech you bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,

Hamlet :

I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply :
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof,
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ;
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit

again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

[Exettnt all but HAMLET.
Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would

melt,

Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew !
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd [God !
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! O
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world !
Fie on 't ! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in

nature

Possess it merely. That it should come to this !
But two months dead ! nay, not so much, not

two:

So excellent a king ; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth !
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on : and yet, within a month,
Let me not think on 't, Frailty, thy name is

woman !

A little month ; or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears ; why she, even she,

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1131

God ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer, married with

mine uncle, [father

My father's brother; but no more like my
Than I to Hercules : within a month ;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married : O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets !
It is not, nor it cannot come to good ; [tongue !
But break, my heart, for I must hold my

Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and
BERNARDO.

Hor. Hail to your lordship!

Ham. I am glad to see you well :

Horatio, or I do forget myself. [vant ever.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor ser-

Harn. Sir, my good friend ; I '11 change that
name with you : [tio?

And what make you from Wittenberg, Hora-
Marcellus?

Mar. My good lord,

Ham. I am very glad to see you. Good

even, sir.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We '11 teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's
funeral. [student ;

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-

1 think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral-

bak'd meats

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Ere I had ever seen that day, Horatio !
My father, methinks I see my father.

Hor. Where, my lord ?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once ; he was a goodly king.

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

Ham. Saw who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.

Ham. The king my father !

Hor. Season your admiration for awhile
With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham. For God's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had these gentle-
men,

Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead vast and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your

father,

Arm'd at all points exactly, cap-a-pe,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they,

distill'd

Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did ;
And I with them the third night kept the watch:
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and

good,

The apparition comes: I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.

Ham. But where was this?

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we
watch'd.

Ham. Did you not speak to it?

Hor. My lord, I did ;

But answer made it none : yet once methought
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak :
But even then the morning cock crew loud,
And at the sound it shnmk in haste away,
And vanish'd from our sight.

Ham. 'Tis very strange.

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis

true;

And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it. [me.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles
Hold you the watch to-night ?

Mar. and Ber. We do, my lord.

Ham. Arm'd, say you ?

Mar. and Ber. Arm'd, my lord.

Ham. From top to toe ?

Mar. and Ber. My lord, from head to foot.

Ham. Then saw you not his face?

Hor. O yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up.

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly ?

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in
anger.

Ham. Pale or red ?

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.

Ham. Very like, very like. StayM it long?

1 132

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT I.

Hor. While one with moderate haste might
tell a hundred.

Mar. and Ber. Longer, longer.

Hor. Not when I saw \.

Ham. His beard was grizzled, no ?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.

Ham. I will watch to-night ;

Perchance 'twill walk again.

Hor. I warrant it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person
I '11 speak to it, though hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still ;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue :
I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well :
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I '11 visit you.

All. Our duty to your honour.

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : farewell.
[Exeunt HOR., MAR., and BER.
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ;
I doubt some foul play : would the night were

come!

Till then sit still, my soul : foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's

eyes. [Exit.

SCENE III. A Room in POLONIUS'S House.
Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA.

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd : farewell :
And, sister, as the winds give benefit,
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.

Oph. Do you doubt that ?

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his

favour,

Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood :
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The pe'rfume and suppliance of a minute ;
No more.

Oph. No more but so ?

Laer. Think it no more :

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk ; but as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now ;
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will : but you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own ;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalu'd persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends

The safety and the health of the whole state ;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he

loves you,

It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed ; which is no further
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain
If with too credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ;
And keep within the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmask her beauty to the moon :
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes :
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd ;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary, then ; best safety lies in fear :
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson

keep [brother,

As watchman to my heart. But, good my
Do noi, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ;
Whilst like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own read.

Laer. O, fear me not.

I stay too long: but here my father comes.

Enter POLONIUS.

A double blessing is a. double grace ;

Occasion smiles upon a second leave, [shame !
Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,

And you are stay'd for. There, my blessing
with you !
[Laying his hand on LAERTES'S head.

And these few precepts in thy memory

See thou character. Give thy thoughts nc
tongue,

Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.

The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried ;

Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ;

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Be-
ware

Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in,

Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice :

SCENE III.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

"33

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judg-
ment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy :
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ;
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be :
For loan oft loses both itself and friend ;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all, to thine ownself be true ;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell : my blessing season this in thee !

Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my
lord. [tend.

Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to you.

Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd,

And you yourself shall keep the key of it.

Laer. Farewell. [Exit.

Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?

Oph. So please you, something touching the
Lord Hamlet.

Pol. Marry, well bethought :
'Tis told me he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you ; and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and

bounteous :

If it be so, as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution, I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behoves my daughter and your honour.
What is between you ? give me up the truth.

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many

tenders
Of his affection to me. [girl,

Pol. Affection ! pooh ! you speak like a green
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should
think. [baby ;

Pol. Marry, I '11 teach you : think yourself a
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more

dearly;

Or, not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus, you '11 tender me a fool.

Oph. My lord , he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable fashion.

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to.

Oph. And hath given countenance to his

speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I
do know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both.
Even in their promise, as it is a- making,
You must not take for fire. From this time
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence ;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young;
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you : in few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows ; for they are brokers,
Not of that dye which their investments show,
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
The better to beguile. This is for all,
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment leisure
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to 't, I charge you ; come your ways.
Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The Platform.
Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS.

Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold.

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.

Ham. What hour now ?

Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.

Mar. No, it is struck.

Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not : then it draws

near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

\A flourish of 'trumpets ; and ordnance

shot off -within.
What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and
takes his rouse, [reels ;

Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.

Hor. Is it a custom ?

Ham. Ay, marry, is 't :
But to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach than the observ-
ance.

This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations :
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish

phrase

Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at

height,

The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So oft it chances in particular men

"34

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT i.

That, for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ;
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners ; that these

men,

Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature's livery or fortune's star,
Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault : the dram of eale
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt
To his own scandal.

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes !

Enter Ghost.

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend

us!

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from

hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee : I '11 call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me !
Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements ; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again ! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we
do? [Ghost beckons HAMLET.

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impar^ment did desire
To you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action

It waves you to a more removed ground :
But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

Ham. It will not speak ; then will I follow it.

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear ?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again ; I '11 follow it.

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood,
my lord,

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o'er his base into the sea,
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness ? think of it :
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham. It waves me still.

Go on ; I Ml follow thee.

Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Ham. Hold off your hands.

Hor. Be rul'd ; you shall not go.
Ham. My fate cries out,

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.

[Ghost beckons.

Still am I call'd ; unhand me, gentlemen ;
[Breaking from them.
By heaven, I '11 make a ghost of him that lets

me.
I say, away ! Go on ; I '11 follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and HAMLET.
Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar. Let 's follow ; 'tis not fit thus to obey
him. [come ?

Hor. Have after. To what issue will this
Mar. Something is rotten in the state of

Denmark.

Hor. Heaven will direct it.
Mar. Nay, let 's follow him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. A more remote part of the
Platform.

Enter Ghost and HAMLET.

Ham. Where wilt thou lead me? speak
I '11 go no farther.

Ghost. Mark me.

Ham. I will.

Ghost. My hour is almost come,

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.

Ham. Alas, poor ghost !

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious

hearing
To what I shall unfold.

Ham. Speak ; I am bound to hear.

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou
shall hear.

Ham. What?

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And, for the day, confin'd to waste in fires
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

SCENE V.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

"35

Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am

forbid

To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young
blood ; [spheres ;

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : '^S
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list !
Tf thou didst ever thy dear father love,

Ham. O God ! [murder.

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural

Ham. Murder !

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with

wings as swift

As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost. I find thee apt ;

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, [hear:
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet,
'Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard,
A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Den-
mark

Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.

Ham. O my prophetic soul ! mine uncle !

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate
beast, [gifts,

With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous
O wicked wit and gifts that have the power
So to seduce ! won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen :

Hamlet, what a falling-off was there !
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow

1 made to her in marriage ; and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine !

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,

Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;

So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,

Will sate itself in a celestial bed

And prey on garbage.

But, soft ! methinks I scent the morning air ;

Brief let me be. Sleeping within mine orchard,

My custom always in the afternoon,

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,

With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,

And in the porches of mine ears did pour

The leperous distilment ; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body ;
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine;
And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
All my smooth body.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd:
Cut oft even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, unanointed, unanel'd ;
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head :
O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible !
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glowworm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire :
Adieu, adieu ! Hamlet, remember me. [Exit.
Ham. O all you host of heaven ! O earth !
what else ? [heart ;

And shall I couple hell ? O, fie ! Hold, my
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee I
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee !
Yea, from the table of my memory
I '11 wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there ;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven.
O most pernicious woman !

villain, villain, smiling, damned villain !
My tables, meet it is I set it down,

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark :

[ Writing.

So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ;
It is, Adieu, adieu ! remember me :

1 have sworn 't.

Hor. [Within.] My lord, my lord,

Mar. [Within.} ' Lord Hamlet,

Hor. [Within.'] Heaven secure him !

Mar. [Within.} So be it !

Hor. [Within.} Illo, ho, ho, my lord !

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy 1 come, bird, come.

H36

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT II.

Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS.

Mar. How is 't, my noble lord ?

Hor. What news, my lord ?

Ham. O, wonderful !

Hor. Good my lord, tell it.

Ham. No ; you '11 reveal it.

Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar. Nor I, my lord.

Ham. How say you, then ; would heart of

man once think it ?
But you '11 be secret ?

Hor. and Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Ham. There 's ne'er a villain dwelling in all

Denmark
But he 's an arrant knave.

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come

from the grave
To tell us this.

Ham. Why, right ; you are i' the right ;

And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part :
You, as your business and desire shall point

you,

For every man has business and desire,
Such as it is ; and for mine own poor part,
Look you, I '11 go pray. [my lord.

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words,

Ham. I 'm sorry they ofiend you, heartily ;
Yes, faith, heartily.

Hor. There J s no offence, my lord.

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is,
Horatio, [here,

And much offence too. Touching this vision
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you :
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good

friends,

As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Give me one poor request.

Hor. What is't, my lord? we will.

Ham. Never make known what you nave
seen to-night.

Hor. and Mar. My lord, we will not.

Ham. Nay, but swear 't.

Hor. In faith,

My lord, not I.

Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith.

Ham. Upon my sword.

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already.

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

Ghost. \_Beneath.\ Swear.

Ham. Ha, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou
there, truepenny? [age,

Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellar-
Consent to swear.

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord.

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have

seen,
Swear by my sword.

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. [ground.

Ham. Hie et ubique? then we'll shift our
Come hither, gentlemen,
And lay your hands again upon my sword :
Never to speak of this that you have heard,
Swear by my sword.

Ghost. [Beneath.} Swear. [earth so fast?

Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' the

A worthy pioneer ! Once more remove, good

friends. [strange !

Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous

Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it
welcome. [Horatio,

There are more things in heaven and earth,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
But come;

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,
As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on,
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
As, Well, well, we know; or, We could, an
if we would; [they might;

Or, If we list to speak; or, There be, an if
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
That you know aught of me: this not to do,
So grace and mercy at your most need help you,
Swear.

Ghost. [Beneath.'] Swear.

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So,

gentlemen,

With all my love I do commend me to you :
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to you,
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in to-
gether ;

And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint : O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right !
Nay, come, let 's go together. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Room in POLONIUS'S House.
Enter POLONIUS am/ REYNALDO.

Pol. Give him this money and these notes,

Reynaldo.

Rey. I will, my lord. [Reynaldo,

Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good

Before you visit him, to make inquiry

Of his behaviour.

SCENE I.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

H37

Rey. My lord, I did intend it.

Pol. Marry, well said ; very well said. Look

you, sir,

Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ;
And how, and who, what means, and where

they keep,

What company, at what expense ; and finding,
By this encompassment and drift of question,
That they do know my son, come you more

nearer

Than your particular demands will touch it :
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge

of him ;

As thus, / know his father and his friends ,
And in part him ; do you mark this, Reynaldo ?

Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. \not well:

Pol. And in part him ; but, you may say,
But ift be he I mean, he 's very wild ;
Addicted so and so ; and there put on him
What forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank
As may dishonour him ; take heed of that ;
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips
As are companions noted and most known
To youth and liberty.

Rey. As gaming, my lord.

Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing,

quarrelling,
Drabbing : you may go so far.

Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.

Pol. Faith, no ; as you may season it in the

charge.

You must not put another scandal on him,
That he is open to incontinency ;
That 's not my meaning : but breathe his faults

so quaintly

That they may seem the taints of liberty ;
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind ;
A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
Of general assault.

Rey. But, my good lord,

Pol. Wherefore should you do this ?

Rey. Ay, my lord,

I would know that.

Pol. Marry, sir, here 's my drift ;

And I believe it is a fetch of warrant :
You laying these slight sullies on my son,
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working,
Mark you,

Your party in converse, him you would sound,
Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd
He closes with you in this consequence ;
Good sir, or so ; or friend, or gentleman,
According to the phrase or the addition
Of man and country.

Rey. Very good, my lord.

Pol. And then, sir, does he this, he does,

What was I about to say? By the mass, I was
About to say something : where did I leave?

Rey. At closes in the consequence,
At friend or so, and gentleman. [marry ;

Pol. At closes in the consequence, ay,
He closes with you thus : I know the gentleman;
I saw him yesterday, or f other day, [you say,
Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as
There was he gaming; there overtook in 's rouse ;
There falling out at tennis : or perchance,
/ saw him enter such a house of sale )
Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.
See you now j

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth:
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
With windlaces, and with assays of bias,
By indirections find directions out :
So, by my former lecture and advice, [not ?
Shall you my son. You have me, have you

Rey. My lord, I have,

Pol. God b' wi' you ; fare you well.

Rey. Good my lord !

Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself.

Rey. I shall, my lord.

Pol. And let him ply his music.

Rey. Well, my lord.

Pol. Farewell ! [Exit REYNALDO.

Enter OPHELIA.

How now, Ophelia! what's the matter?

Oph. Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted I

Pol. With what, i' the name of God ?

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber,
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd ;
No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle ;
Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ;
And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosed out of hell
To speak of horrors, he comes before me.

Pol. Mad for thy love ?

Oph. My lord, I do not know;

But truly I do fear it.

Pol What said he ?

Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me

hard;

Then goes he to the length of all his arm ;
And with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face
As he would draw it. . Long stay'd he so ;
At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound
That it did seem to shatter. all his bulk
And end his being : that done, he lets me go :
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ;

1138

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT n.

For out o' doors he went without their help,
And to the last bended their light on me.
Pol. Come, go with me : I will go seek the

king.

This is the very ecstacy of love ;
Whose violent property fordoes itself,
And leads the will to desperate undertakings,
As oft as any passion under heaven
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry,
What, have you given him any hard words of

late? [command,

Oph. No, my good lord ; but, as you did
I did repel his letters, and denied
His access to me.

Pol. That hath made him mad.

I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
I had not quoted him : I fear'd he did but trifle,
And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my

jealousy !

It seems it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king :
This must be known ; which, being kept close,

might move
More grief to hide than hate to utter love.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in the Castle.

Enter KING, QUEEN, ROSENCRANTZ,
GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants.

King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and

Guildenstern !

Moreover that we much did long to see you,
The need we have to use you did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it,
Since nor the exterior nor the inward man
Resembles that it was. What it should be,
More than his father's death, that thus hath put

him

So much from the understanding of himself,
I cannot dream of: I entreat you both,
That being of so young days brought up with

him, [humour,

And since so neighbour'd to his youth and
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time : so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,
So much as from occasion you may glean,
Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
That, open'd, lies within our remedy.

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd

of you ;

And sure I am two men there are not living
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you

To show us so much gentry and good-will
As to expend your time with us awhile,
For the supply and profit of our hope,
Your visitation shall receive surh thanks
As fits a king's remembrance.

Ros. Both your majesties

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.

Guil. We both obey,

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet,
To be commanded.

King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guil-
denstern. [Rosencrantz :

Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too-much-changed son. Go, some of you,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.

Guil. Heavens make our presence and our

practices
Pleasant and helpful to him !

Queen. Ay, amen !

[Exeunt Ros., GUIL., and some Attendants.

Enter POLONIUS.

Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my

good lord,
Are joyfully return'd.

King. Thou still hast been the father of good

news
Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good

liege,

I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
Both to my God and to my gracious king:
And I do think, or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As it hath us'd to do, that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

King. O, speak of that ; that do I long to

hear.

Pol. Give first admittance to the ambas-
sadors ;

My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring
them in. [Exit POLONIUS.

He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found
The head and source of all your son's distemper.
Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main,
His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage.
King. Well, we shall sift him.

Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and
CORNELIUS.

Welcome, my good friends !

Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?

Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires.

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

"39

Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
His nephew's levies ; which to him appear'd
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack ;
But, better look'cl into, he truly found
It was against your highness : whereat griev'd,
That so his sickness, age, and impotence
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests
On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ;
Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine,
Makes vow before his uncle never more
To give the assay of arms against your majesty.
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee ;
And his commission to employ those soldiers,
So levied as before, against the Polack :
With an entreaty, herein further shown,

[Gives a paper.

That it might please you to give quiet pass
Through your dominions for this enterprise,
On such regards of safety and allowance
As therein are set down.

King. It likes us well ;

And at our more consider'd time we '11 read,
Answer, and think upon this business.
Meantime we Lhank you for your well-took

labour :

Go to your rest ; at night we '11 feast together :
Most welcome home !

[Exeunt VOLT, and COR.

Pol. This business is well ended.

My liege, and madam, to expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is,
Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbsand outward flourishes,
I will be brief : your noble son is mad :
Mad call I it ; for to define true madness,
What is 't but to be nothing else but mad ?
But let that go.

Queen. More matter with less art.

Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true : 'tis true 'tis pity ;
And pity 'tis 'tis true : a foolish figure ;
But farewell it, for I will use no art.
Mad let us grant him, then : and now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect ;
Or rather say, the cause of this defect,
For this effect defective comes by cause :
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.
Perpend.

I have a daughter, have whilst she is mine,
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath given me this : now gather, and surmise.

[Reads.

To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most
beautified Ophelia^

That 's an ill phrase, a vile phrase, beautified
is a vile phrase : but you shall hear. Thus :

[Reads.

In her excellent white bosom , these, &c.
Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?
Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be
faithful. [Reads.

Doubt thou the stars are fire ;

Doubt that the sun doth move ;
Doubt truth to be a liar ;
But never doubt I love.

O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ;

I have not art to reckon my groans : but that I

love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.

Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this

machine is to him, HAMLET.

This, in obedience, hath my daughter show'd

me:

And more above, hath his solicitings,
As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
All given to mine ear.

King. But how hath she

Receiv'd his love ?

Pol. What do you think of me?

King. As of a man faithful and honourable.
Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might

you th?nk,

When I had seen this hot love on the wing,
As I perceiv'cl it, I must tell you that,
Before my daughter told me, what might you,
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,
If I had play'd the desk or table-book ;
Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb;
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ;
What might you think ? No, I went round to

work,

And my young mistress thus I did bespeak :
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere ;
This must not be: and then I precepts gave her,
That she should lock herself from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice ;
And he, repulsed, a short tale to make,
Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ;
Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ;
Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves
And all we wail for.

King. Do you think 'tis this?

Queen. It may be, very likely.

Pol. Hath there been such a time, I'd fain

know that,

That I have positively said, Tts St;,
When it prov'd otherwise ?

King. Not that I know.

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise:
[Pointing to his head and sliouldcr.

1 140

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT ii.

If circumstances lead me, I will find

Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed

Within the centre.

King. How may we try it further ?

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks for

hours together
Here in the lobby.

Queen. So he does, indeed.

Pol. At such a time I '11 loose my daughter

to him :

Be you and I behind an arras then ;
Mark the encounter : if he love her not,
And be not from his reason fall'n thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state,
But keep a farm and carters.

King. We will try it.

Queen. But look, where sadly the poor wretch
comes reading.

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away:
I '11 board him presently : O, give me leave.
[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and Attendants.

Enter HAMLET, reading.

How does my good Lord Hamlet ?

Ham. Well, God-a-mercy.

Pol. Do you know me, my lord ?

Ham. Excellent, excellent well; you're a
fishmonger.

Pol. Not I, my lord. [man.

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a

Pol. Honest, my lord !

Ham. Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world
goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thou-
sand.

Pol. That 's very true, my lord.

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead
dog, being a god-kissing carrion, Have you a
daughter ?

Pol. I have, my lord.

Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun: con-
ception is a blessing ; but not as your daughter
may conceive: friend, look to't.

Pol. How say you by that? [Aside.] Still
harping on my daughter : yet he knew me
not at first ; he said I was a fishmonger : he is
far gone, far gone : and truly in my youth I
suffered much extremity for love; very near
this. I '11 speak to him again. What do you
read, my lord ?

Ham. Words, words, words. ^

Pol. What is the matter, my lord ?

Ham. Between who ? [lord.

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my

Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical slave
says here that old men have gray beards ; that
their faces are wrinkled ; their eyes purging
thick amber and plum-tree gum ; and that they

have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most
weak hams : all which, sir, though I most
powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it
not honesty to have it thus set down ; for you
yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, like a
crab, you could go backward.

Pol. [Aside.] Though this be madness, yet
there is method in't. Will you walk out of
the air, my lord ?

Ham. Into my grave ?

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside.]
How pregnant sometimes his replies are ! a
happiness that often madness hits on, which
reason and sanity could not so prosperously be
delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly
contrive the means of meeting between him
and my daughter. My honourable lord, I will
most humbly take my leave of you.

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any-
thing that I will more willingly part withal,
except my life, except my life, except my life.

Pol. Fare you well, my lord.

Ham. These tedious old fools !

Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.

Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet ; there
he is.

Ros. [To POLONIUS.] God save you, sir 1

[Exit POLONIUS.

Guil. Mine honoured lord !

Ros. My most dear lord !

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost
thou, Guildenstern ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good
lads, how do ye both ?

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth.

Guil. Happy in that we are not overhappy ;
On fortune's cap we are not the very button.

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ?

Ros. Neither, my lord.

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in
the middle of her favours ?

Guil. Faith, her privates we.

Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O,
most true; she is a strumpet. What's the
news ? [grown honest.

Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's

Ham. Then is doomsday near: but your
news is not true. Let me question more in
particular : what have you, my good friends,
deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends
you to prison hither ?

Guil. Prison, my lord !

Ham. Denmark 's a prison.

Ros. Then is the world one.

Ham. A goodly one; in which there are
many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark
being one o' the worst.

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1141

Ros. We think not so, my lord.

Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you ; for there
is nothing either good or bad, but thinking
.makes it so : to me it is a prison.

Ros. Why, then, your ambition makes it
one ; 'tis too narrow for your mind.

Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nut-
shell, and count myself a king of infinite space,
were it not that I nave bad dreams.

Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ;
for the very substance of the ambitious is merely
the shadow of a dream.

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy
and light a quality that it is but a shadow's
shadow.

Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our
monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars'
shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my
fay, I cannot reason.

Ros. and Guil. We '11 wait upon you.

Ham. No such matter : I will not sort you
with the rest of my servants ; for, to speak to
you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully
attended. But, in the beaten way of friend-
ship, what make you at Elsinore ?

Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion.

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in
thanks ; but I thank you : and sure, dear
friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.
Were you not sent for ? Is it your own inclin-
ing ? Is it a free visitation ? Come, deal justly
with me : come, come ; nay, speak.

Guil. What should we say, my lord ?

Ham. Why, anything but to the purpose.
You were sent for ; and there is a kind of con-
fession in your looks, which your modesties
have not craft enough to colour : I know the
good king and queen have sent for you.

Ros. To what end, my lord ?

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me
conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship,
by the consonancy of our youth, by the obliga-
tion of our ever- preserved love, and by what
more dear a better proposer could charge you
withal, be even and direct with me, whether
you were sent for or no ?

Ros. What say you? [To GUILDENSTERN.

Ham. [Aside.] Nay, then, I have an eye of
you. If you love me, hold not off.

Guil. My lord, we were sent for.

Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my
anticipation prevent your discovery, and your
secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather.
I have of late, but wherefore I know not,
lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exer-
cises ; and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my

disposition that this goodly frame, the earth,
seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most
excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave
o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof
fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no
other thing to me than a foul and pestilent con-
gregation of vapours. What a piece of work
is man ! How noble in reason ! how infinite
in faculties ! in form and moving, how express
and admirable ! in action, how like an angel !
in apprehension, how like a god ! the beauty
of the world ! the paragon of animals ! And
yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust ?
man delights not me ; no, nor woman neither,
though by your smiling you seem to say so.

Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my
thoughts.

Ham. Why did you laugh, then, when I
said, Man delights not me ?

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not
in man, what lenten entertainment the players
shall receive from you : we coted them on the
way ; and hither are they coming, to offer you
service.

Ham. He that plays the king shall be wel-
come, his majesty shall have tribute of me ;
the adventurous knight shall use his foil and
target ; the lover shall not sigh gratis ; the
humorous man shall end his part in peace ;
the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs
are tickled o' the sere ; and the lady shall say
her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt
for't. What players are they?

Ros. Even those you were wont to take
delight in, the tragedians of the city.

Ham. How chances it they travel? their
residence, both in reputation and profit, was
better both ways.

Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the
means of the late innovation.

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they
did when I was in the city? Are they so
followed ?

Ros. No, indeed, they are not.

Ham. How comes it ? do they grow rusty ?

Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the
wonted pace : but there is, sir, an aery of
children, little eyases, that cry out on the top
of question, and are most tyrannically clapped
for 't : these are now the fashion ; and so be-
rattle the common stages, so they call them,
that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-
quills, and dare scarce come thither.

Ham. What, are they children ? who main-
tains 'em ? how are they escoted ? Will they
pursue the quality no longer than they can sing?
will they not say afterwards, if they should

1 142

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT n.

grow themselves to common players, as it is
most like, if their means are no better, their
writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim
against their own succession ?

Ros. Faith, there has been much to do on
both sides ; and the nation holds it no sin to
tarre them to controversy : there was for awhile
no money bid for argument, unless the poet
and the player went to cuffs in the question.

Ham. Is 't possible ?

Guil. O, there has been much throwing
about of brains.

Ham. Do the boys carry it away ?

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules
and his load too.

Ham. It is not strange; for mine uncle is
king of Denmark, and those that would make
mouths at him while my father lived, give
twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece
for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is some-
thing in this more than natural, if philosophy
could find it out.

[Flourish of trumpets within.

Guil. There are the players.

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsi-
nore. Your hands, come : the appurtenance
of welcome is fashion and ceremony: let me
comply with you in this garb ; lest my extent
to the players, which, I tell you, must show
fairly outward, should more appear like enter-
tainment than yours. You are welcome: but
my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.

Guil. In what, my dear lord ?

Ham. I am but mad north-north-west : when
the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a
handsaw.

Enter POLONIUS.

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen !

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern ; and you
too ; at each ear a hearer : that great baby
you see there is not yet out of his swathing-
clouts.

Ros. Happily he 's the second time come to
them ; for they say an old man is twice a child.

Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of
the players; mark it. You say right, sir: o'
Monday morning ; 'twas so indeed.

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you.

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you.
When Roscius was an actor in Rome,

Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord.

Ham. Buzz, buzz !

Pol. Upon mine honour,

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass,

Pol. The best actors in the world, either for
tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-

comical, historical -pastoral, tragical-historical,
tragical -comical -historical -pastoral, scene in-
dividable, or poem unlimited : Seneca cannot
be too heavy nor Plautus too light. For the
law of writ and the liberty, these are the only
men.

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a
treasure hadst thou !

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ?

Ham. Why-
One fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well.

Pol. \_Aside.~} Still on my daughter.
Ham. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah ?
Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I
have a daughter that I love passing well.
Ham. Nay, that follows not.
Pol. What follows, then, my lord ?
Ham. Why

As by lot, God wot,
and then, you know,

It came to pass, as most like it was,
the first row of the pious chanson will show you
more ; for look where my abridgment comes.

Enter four or five Players.

You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all : I
am glad to see thee well : welcome, good
friends. O, my old friend! Thy face is
valanced since I saw thee last ; comest thou to
beard me in Denmark ? What, my young lady
and mistress! By'r lady, your ladyship is
nearer heaven than when I saw you last, by the
altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice,
like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked
within the ring. Masters, you are all welcome.
We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at
anything we see : we '11 have a speech straight :
come, give us a taste of your quality ; come, a
passionate speech.

i Play. What speech, my lord ?

Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once,
but it was never acted ; or, if it was, not
above once ; for the play, I remember, pleased
not the million ; 'twas caviare to the general :
but it was, as I received it, and others whose
judgments in such matters cried in the top of
mine, an excellent play, well digested in the
scenes, set down with as much modesty as
cunning. I remember, one said there were no
sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury,
nor no matter in the phrase that might indite
the author of affectation ; but called it an
honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by
very much more handsome than fine. One

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

"43

speech in it I chiefly loved : 'twas /Eneas' tale
to Dido ; and thereabout of it especially where
he speaks of Priam's slaughter: if it live in
your memory, begin at this line ; let me see,
let me see :

The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,
it is not so : it begins with Pyrrhus :

The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse,
Hath now this dread and black complexion

smear'd

With heraldry more dismal ; head to foot
Now is he total gules ; horridly trick'd
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters,

sons,

Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets,
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To their vile murders : roasted in wrath and

fire,

And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandsire Priam seeks.

So proceed you.

Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with
good accent and good discretion.

I Play. Anon he finds him [sword,

Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to command : unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives ; in rage strikes wide ;
But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
The unnerved father falls. Then senseless

Ilium,

Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his base ; and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear : for, lo ! his

sword,

Which was declining on the milky head
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick :
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood ;
And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.

But as we often see, against some storm,
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region ; so, after Pyrrhus' pause,
A roused vengeance sets him new a-work ;
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding

sword

Now falls on Priam. [gods,

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune ! All you

In general synod, take away her power ;
Break all the spokes and fellies from her
wheel, [heaven,

And bowl the round knave down the hill of
As low as to the fiends !

Pol. This is too long.

Hani. It shall to the barber's, with your
beard. Pr'ythee, say on. He 's for a jig, or a
tale of bawdry, or he sleeps : say on ; come
to Hecuba.

i Play. But who, O, who had seen the
mobled queen,

Ham. The mobled queen ?

Pol. That 's good ; mobled queen is good.

i Play. Run barefoot up and down,

threatening the flames

With bisson rheum ; a clout upon that head
Where late the diadem stood ; and, for a robe,
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,
A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ;
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom

steep'd, [pronounc'd :

'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have
But if the gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband's

limbs,

The instant burst of clamour that she made,
Unless things mortal move them not at all,
Would have made milch the burning eyes of

heaven,
And passion in the gods.

Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his
colour, and has tears in 's eyes. Pray you, no
more.

Ham. 'Tis well ; I '11 have thee speak out
the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the
players well bestowed ? Do you hear, let them
be well used ; for they are the abstracts and
brief chronicles of the time ; after your death
you were better have a bad epitaph than their
ill report while you live. [their desert.

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to

Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, better : use every
man after his desert, and who should scape
whipping ? Use them after your own honour
and dignity: the less they deserve the more
merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, sirs.

Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a
play to-morrow. [Exit POLONIUS with all the
Players but the First.] Dost thou hear me, old
friend ; can you play the Murder of Gonzago ?

I Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. We 11 ha't to-morrow night. You

"44

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT in.

could, for a need, study a speech of some
dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down
and insert in 't ? could you not ?

I Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Very well. Follow that lord; and
look you mock him not. [Exit First Player.]
My good friends [to Ros. and GUIL.], I'll
leave you till night : you are welcome to
Elsinore.

Ros. Good my lord !

[Exeunt Ros. aw^GuiL.

Ham. Ay, so God b' wi' ye! Now I am

alone.

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I !
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wan'd ;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing !
For Hecuba?

What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba, [do,
That he should weep for her ? What would he
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with

tears,

And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ;
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free ;
Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing ; no, not for a king
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ?
Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face ?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the

throat,

As deep as to the lungs? who does me this, ha?
'S wounds, I should take it : for it cannot be
But I am pigeon -liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter ; or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal : bloody, bawdy villain !
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless

villain !

O, vengeance !

Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
A scullion ! [heard

Fie upon 't ! foh ! About, my brain ! I have

That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions ;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will
speak [players

With most miraculous organ. I '11 have these
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle : I '11 observe his looks ;
I '11 tent him to the quick : if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil : and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me : I '11 have grounds
More relative than this : the play 's the thing
Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king.

[Exit.

bns rfi/nv: ni '* oT

1 ,1^ ACT III.

fn ,;: :,n/-.

SCENE I.- A Room in the Castle.
Enter KING, QUEEN, POLONIUS, OPHELIA,

ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN.

King. And can you, by no drift of circum-
stance,

Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

Ros. He does confess he feels himself dis-
tracted ; [speak.
But from what cause he will by no means

Gul. Nor do we find him forward to be

sounded ;

But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.

Queen. Did he receive you well ?

Ros. Most like a gentleman.

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition.

Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands,
Most free in his reply.

Queen. Did you assay him

To any pastime ?

Ros. Madam, it so fell out that certain
players [him ;

We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it : they are about the court ;
And, as I think, they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol. 'Tis most true :

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties
To hear and see the matter. [content me

King. With all my heart ; and it doth much

SCENE I.J

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

I I4S

To hear him so inclin'd.

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,

And drive his purpose on to these delights.

Ros. We shall, my lord.

{Exeunt Ros. and GuiL.

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too ;

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia :

Her father and myself, lawful espials,
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge ;
And gather by him, as he is behav'd,
If 't be the affliction of his love or no
That thus he suffers for.

Queen. I shall obey you :

And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your

virtues

Will bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honours.

Oph. Madam, I wish it may.

{Exit QUEEN.

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so

please you,
We will bestow ourselves. [To OPHELIA.]

Read on this book ;

That show of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's

And pious action we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

King. [Aside.'} O, 'tis too true! [science!
How smart a lash that speech doth give my con-
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
Than is my deed to my most painted word :
O heavy burden ! [lord.

Pol. I hear him coming : let 's withdraw, my
[Exeunt KING and POLONIUS.

Enter HAMLET.

Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the

question :

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to

sleep,

No more ; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart -ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Pevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep ;
To sleep! perchance to dream: ay, there's

the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may

come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause : there 's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life ; [time,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con-
tumely,

The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia. Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

Oph. Good my lord,

How does your honour for this many a day?

Ham. I. humbly thank you; well, well, well.

Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours,
That I have longed long to re-deliver ;
I pray you, now receive them.

Ham. No, not I ;

I never gave you aught. [you did ;

Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well
And, with them, words of so sweet breath com-
pos'd [lost,

As made the things more rich : their perfume
Take these again ; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.

Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest?

Oph. My lord?

Ham. Are you fair?

Oph. What means your lordship?

Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your
honesty should admit no discourse to your
beauty.

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better
commerce than with honesty?

Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty
will sooner transform honesty from what it is to
a bawd than the force of honesty can translate
beauty into his likeness : this was sometime a
paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I
did love you once.

1146

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT in.

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe
so.

Ham. You should not have believed me;
for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but
we shall relish of it : I loved you not.

Oph. I was the more deceived.

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery : why wouldst
thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself in-
different honest ; but yet I could accuse me of
such things that it were better my mother had
not born me : I am very proud, revengeful, am-
bitious ; with more offences at my beck than I
have thoughts to put them in, imagination to
give them shape, or time to act them in. What
should such fellows as I do crawling between
heaven and earth? We are arrant knaves, all ;
believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.
Where's your father?

Oph. At home, my lord.

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that
he may play the fool nowhere but in's own
house. Farewell.

Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens !

Ham. If thou dost marry, I '11 give thee this
plague for thy dowry, be thou as chaste as
ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape
calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go: fare-
well. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a
fool; for wise men know well enough what
monsters you make of them. To a nunnery,
go ; and quickly too. Farewell.

Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him !

Ham. I have heard of your paintings too,
well enough ; God has given you one face and
you make yourselves another: you jig, you
amble, and you lisp, and nickname God's crea-
tures, and make your wantonness your ignor-
ance. Go to, I '11 no more on 't ; it hath made
me mad. I say, we will have no more mar-
riages : those that are married already, all but
one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are.
To a nunnery, go. [Exit.

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown !
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue,

sword :

The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observ'd of all observers, quite, quite

down !

And I, of ladies most deject and wretched
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy : O, woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I
see!

Re-enter KING and POLONIUS.
King. Love ! his affections do not that way

tend ; [little,

Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a
Was not like madness. There 's something in

his soul

O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ;
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger : which for to prevent,
I have in quick determination [land

Thus set it down : he shall with speed to Eng-
For the demand of our neglected tribute :
Haply, the seas and countries different,
With variable objects, shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart ;
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on 't ?

Pol. It shall do well : but yet do I believe
The origin and commencement of his grief
Sprung from neglected love. How now,

Ophelia !

You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said ;
We heard it all. My lord, do as you please;
But if you hold it fit, after the play,
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
To show his grief: let her be round with him ;
And I '11 be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conference. If she find him not,
To England send him ; or confine him where
Your wisdom best shall think.

King. It shall be so :

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Hall in the Castle.
Enter HAMLET and certain Players.

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I
pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue:
but if you mouth it, as many of your players
do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Nor do not saw the air too much with your
hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very
torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirl-
wind of passion, you must acquire and beget a
temperance that may give it smoothness. O,
it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters,
to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings,
who, for the most part, are capable of nothing
but inexplicable dumb shows and noise : I
could have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing
Termagant ; it out-herods Herod : pray you,
avoid it.

I Play. I warrant your honour.

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1147

own discretion be your tutor : suit the action to
the word, the word to the action; with this
special observance, that you o'erstep not the
modesty of nature : for anything so overdone is
from the purpose of playing, whose end, both
at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as
'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue
her own feature, scorn her own image, and the
very age and body of the time his form and
pressure. Now, this overdone or come tardy
off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot
but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of
the which one must, in your allowance, o'er-
weigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be
players that I have seen play, and heard
others praise, and that highly, not to speak
it profanely, that, neither having the accent of
Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor
man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have
thought some of nature's journeymen had made
men, and not made them well, they imitated
humanity so abominably.

I Play. I hope we have reformed that in-
differently with us, sir.

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let
those that play your clowns speak no more than
is set down for them : for there be of them that
will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity
of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in
the meantime, some necessary question of the
play be then to be considered : that 's villan-
ous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the
fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.

[Exeunt Players.
Enter POLONIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, ana

GUILDENSTERN.

How now, my lord! will the king hear this
piece of work?

Pol And the queen too, and that presently.
Ham. Bid the players make haste.

[Exit POLONIUS.

Will you two help to hasten them?
JRos. and Guil. We will, my lord.

[Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.
Ham. What, ho, Horatio!

Enter HORATIO.

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service.

Ham, Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.

Hor O, my dear lord,

Ham, Nay, do not think I flatter ;

For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor
be fiatter'd?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou

hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;
A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are

those

Whose blood and judgment are so well com-
mingled

That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that

man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart s core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee. Something too much of this.
There is a play to-night before the king ;
One scene of it comes near the circumstance
Which I have told thee of my father's death :
I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act a-foot,
Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen ;
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note :
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ;
And, after, we will both our judgments join
In censure of his seeming.

Hor. Well, my lord :

If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must

be idle :
Get you a place.

Danish march. A flourish. Enter KING,
QUEEN, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSEN-
CRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others.

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ?

Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's
dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed : you
cannot feed capons so.

King. I have nothing with this answer,
Hamlet ; these words are not mine.

Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, you
played once i' the university, you say? [ To POL.

Pol. That did I, my lord, and was accounted
a good actor.

Ham. And what did you enact ?

Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar : I was killed
i' the Capitol ; Brutus killed me.

Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill sc
capital a calf there. Be the players ready?

1148

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT in.

Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your
patience.

Queen. Come hither, my good Hamlet, sit
by me.

Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more
attractive.

Pol. O, ho ! do you mark that?

[To the KING.

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ?

{Lying down at OPHELIA'S feet.

Oph. No, my lord.

Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap?

Oph. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Do you think I meant country matters?

Oph. I think nothing, my lord.

Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between
maids' legs.

Oph. What is, my lord ?

Ham. Nothing.

Oph. You are merry, my lord.

Ham. Who, I ?

Oph. Ay, my lord.

Ham. O, your only jig-maker. What
should a man do but be merry? for, look you,
how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father
died within 's two hours.

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, ray lord.

Ham. So long? Nay, then, let the devil
wear black, for I '11 have a suit of sables. O
heavens ! die two months ago, and not forgot-
ten yet? Then there's hope a great man's
memory may outlive his life half a year : but,
by 'r lady, he must build churches, then ; or
else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the
hobby-horse, whose epitaph is, For, O, far, O,
the hobby-horse is forgot.

Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters.

Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly ; the
Queen embracing him and he her. She
kneels, and makes show of protestation unto
him. He takes her up, and declines his head
upon her neck: lays him down upon a bank
of flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him.
Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown,
kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears,
and exit. The Queen returns ; finds the
King dead, and makes passionate action. The
Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes,
comes in again, seeming to lament with her.
The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner
wooes the Queen with gifts : she seems loth
and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts
his love. [Exeunt.

Oph. What means this, my lord ?
Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho; it

means mischief.

r. Belike this show imports the argument
play.

Enter Prologue.

Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the
players cannot keep counsel ; they '11 tell all.

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant?

Ham. Ay, or any show that you '11 show
him : be not you ashamed to show, he '11 not
shame to tell you what it means.

Oph. You are naught, you are naught : I '11
mark the play.

Pro. For us, and for our tragedy,

Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently .

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord.
Ham. As woman's love.

Enter a King and a Queen.

P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus'

cart gone round

Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen
About the world have times twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands
Unite commutual in most sacred bands.
P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun

and moon

Make us again count o'er ere love be done J
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former state,
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must :
For women's fear and love holds quantity ;
In neither aught, or in extremity.
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you

know ;

And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so :
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows

there. [shortly too ;

P. King. Faith, I must leave thee, love, and
My operant powers their functions leave to do :
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd ; and haply one as kind
For husband shalt thou,

P. Queen. O, confound the rest !

Such love must needs be treason in my breast :
In second husband let me be accurst !
None wed the second but who kill'd the first.

Ham. [Aside.} Wormwood, wormwood.

P. Queen. The instances that second mar-
riage move
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love :

SCENE II. j

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1149

A second time I kill my husband dead
When second husband kisses me in bed.

P. King. I do believe you think what now

you speak ;

But what we do determine oft we break.
Purpose is but the slave to memory ;
Of violent birth, but poor validity : [tree ;
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the
But fall unshaken when they mellow be.
Most necessary 'tis that we torget
To pay ourselves what f o ourselves is debt :
What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of either grief or joy
Their own enactures with themselves destroy :
Where joy most revels grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye ; nor 'tis not strange
That even our loves should with our fortunes

change ;

For 'tis a question left us yet to prove
Whether love lead fortune or else fortune love.
The great man down, you mark his favourite

flies;

The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies.
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend :
For who not needs shall never lack a friend ;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.
But, orderly to end where I begun,
Our wills and fates do so contrary run
that our devices still are overthrown ; [own :
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our
So think thou wilt no second husband wed ;
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor

heaven light !

Sport and repose lock from me day and night !
To desperation turn my trust and hope !
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope !
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy !
Both here and hence, pursue me lasting strife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wife !

Ham. If she should break it now !

\To OPHELIA.

P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave

me here awhile ;

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep. {Sleeps.

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain,

And never come mischance between us twain !

{Exit.

Ham. Madam, how like you this play?

Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks.

Ham. O, but she '11 keep her word.

King. Have you heard the argument? Is
there no offence in 't ?

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in
jest ; no offence i' the world.

King. What do you call the play?

Ham. The Mouse - trap. Marry, how ?
Tropically. This play is the image of a murder
done in Vienna : Gonzago is the duke's name ;
his wife, Baptista : you shall see anon ; 'tis a
knavish piece of work : but what o' that ? your
majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches
us not : let the galled jade wince, our withers
are unwrung.

Enter LuciANUS.

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king.

Oph. You are a good chorus, my lord.

Ham. I could interpret between you and
your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take
off my edge.

Oph. Still better, and worse.

Ham. So you must take your husbands.
Begin, murderer ; pox, leave thy damnable
faces and begin. Come : The croaking raven
doth bellow for revenge.

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit,

and time agreeing ;

Confederate season, else no creature seeing ;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property
On wholesome life usurp, immediately.

{Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears.

Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for's
estate. His name 's Gonzago : the story is
extant, and writ in choice Italian : you shall
see anon how the murderer gets the love of
Gonzago's wife.

Oph. The king rises.

Ham. What, frighted with false fire !

Queen. How fares my lord ?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King. Give me some light : away !

All. Lights, lights, lights !

{Exeunt all but HAM. and HOR.
Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play;'
For some must watch, while some must

sleep :

So runs the world away.
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers,
if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,
with two Proven cial roses on my razed shoes,
get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir ?

1 150

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT in.

Hor. Half a share.
Ham. A whole one, I.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was
Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here

A very, very pajock.
Hor. You might have rhymed.
Ham. O good Horatio, I '11 take the ghost's
word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive ?
Hor. Very well, my lord.
Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning,
Hor. I did very well note him.
Ham. Ah, ha ! Come, some music ! come,
the recorders !

For if the king like not the comedy,
Why, then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.
Come, some music !

Re-enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word
with you.

Ham. Sir, a whole history.

Guil. The king, sir,

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? [tempered.

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous dis-

Ham. With drink, sir ?

Guil. No, my lord, rather with choler.

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more
richer to signify this to his doctor ; for, for me
to put him to his purgation would perhaps
plunge him into far more choler.

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse
into some frame, and start not so wildly from
my affair.

Ham. I am tame, sir: pronounce.

Guil. The queen, your mother in most great
affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not
of the right breed. If it shall please you to
make me a wholesome answer, I will do your
mother's commandment : if not, your pardon
and my return shall be the end of my business.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my lord ?

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my
wit 's diseased : but, sir, such answer as I can
make, you shall command ; or, rather, as you
say, my mother : therefore no more, but to the
matter : my mother, you say,

Ros. Then thus she says : your behaviour hath
struck her into amazement and admiration.

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish
a mother ! But is there no sequel at the heels
of this mother's admiration ?

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her
closet ere you go to bed.

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our
mother. Have you any further trade with us ?

Ros. My lord, you once did love me.

Ham. So I do still, by these pickers and
steal ers.

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of
distemper ? you do, surely, bar the door upon
your own liberty if you deny your griefs to
your friend.

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Ros. How can that be, when you have the
voice of the king himself for your succession in
Denmark ?

Ham. Ay, but While the grass grows, the
proverb is something musty.

Re-enter the Players, with Recorders.

O, the recorders: let me see one. To with-
draw with you : why do you go about to
recover the wind of me, as if you would drive
me into a toil ?

Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold,
my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will
you play upon this pipe ?

Guil. My lord, I cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.

Ham. I do beseech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord.

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these
ventages with your finger and thumb, give it
breath with your mouth, and it will discourse
most eloquent music. Look you, these are the
steps.

Guil. But these cannot I command to any
utterance of harmony ; I have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a
thing you make of me ! You would play upon
me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you
would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you
would sound me from my lowest note to the
top of my compass: and there is much music,
excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot
you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think that
I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call
me what instrument you will, though you can
fret me you cannot play upon me.

Enter POLONIUS.

^ f " ^. "4^1 .

God bless you, sir !

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with
you, and presently.

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that 's almost
in shape of a camel ?

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed.

Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel.

SCENE III.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1151

Pol. It is backed like a weasel.

Ham. Or like a whale ?

Pol. Very like a whale.

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by
and by. They fool me to the top of my bent.
I will come by and by.

Pol. I will say so.

Ham. By and by is easily said. [Exit
POLONIUS.] Leave me, friends.

[Exeunt Ros., GUIL., HOR., and Players.
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes
out [blood,

Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on. Soft ! now to my
mother.

heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom :
Let me be cruel, not unnatural :

1 will speak daggers to her, but use none ;
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites,
How in my words soever she be shent,

To give them seals never, my soul, consent !

[Exit.

SCENE III. A Room in the Castle.

Enter KING, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDEN-
STERN.

King. I like him not ; nor stands it safe with
us [you ;

To let his madness range. Therefore prepare
I your commission will forthwith despatch,
And he to England shall along with you :
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow
Out of his lunacies.

Guil. We will ourselves provide:

Most holy and religious fear it is
To keep those many many bodies safe
That live and feed upon your majesty.

Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound,
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep itself from 'noyance ; but much more
That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest
The lives of many. The cease of majesty
Dies not alone ; but like a guif doth draw
What 's near it with it : it is a massy wheel,
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd ; which, when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.

King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy
voyage ;

For we will fetters put upon this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.

Ros. and Guil. We will haste us.

[Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.

Enter POLONIUS.

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's

closet :

Behind the arras I '11 convey myself [home :
To hear the process ; I '11 warrant she '11 tax him
And, as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meet that some more audience thanamother,
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my

liege:

I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know.

King. Thanks, dear my lord.

[Exit POLONIUS.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,
A brother's murder ! Pray can I not,
Though inclination be as sharp as will :
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves

mercy

But to confront the visage of offence ?
And what 's in prayer but this twofold force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down ? Then I Ml look up;
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul

murder !

That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence ?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ;
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ;
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature ; and we ourselves compell'd,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
Try what repentance can : what can it not ?
Yet what can it when one can not repent ?
O wretched state ! O bosom black as death !
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd ! Help, angels ! make assay :
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart, with strings

of steel,

H52

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT in.

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe !

All may be well. [Retires and kneels.

Enter HAMLET.

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is

praying ;

And now I '11 do 't ; and so he goes to heaven ;
And so am I reveng'd : that v/ould be scann'd :
A villain kills my father ; and for that,
I, his sole son, do this same villain send
To heaven.

O, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
Me took my father grossly, full of bread ;
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as

May ; [heaven ?

And how his audit stands who knows save
But in our circumstance and course of thought
'Tis heavy with him: and am I, then, reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage ?
No.

Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid hent :
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage ;
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed ;
At gaming, swearing ; or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in 't ;
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at

heaven ;

And that his soul may be as damn'd and black

As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays :

This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit.

[The KING rises and advances.

King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain

below:
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

[Exit.

SCENE IV. Another Room in the Castle.
Enter QUEEN and POLONIUS.

Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay

home to him : [with,

Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear

And that your grace hath screen'd and stood

between

Much heat and him. I '11 silence me e'en here.
Pray you, be round with him.

Ham. [Within.'] Mother, mother, mother!
Queen. I '11 warrant you :

Fear me not : withdraw, I hear him coming.
[POLONIUS goes behind the arras.

Enter HAMLET.

Ham. Now, mother, what 's the matter ?
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much
offended. [offended.

Ham,. Mother, you have my father much

Queen. Come, come, you answer with an
idle tongue. [tongue.

Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet !

Ham. What's the matter now?

Queen. Have you forgot me?

Ham. No, by the rood, not so :

You are the queen, your husband's brother's

wife ; [mother.

And, would it were not so ! you are my

Queen. Nay, then, I '11 set those to you that
can speak.

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; yoi;

shall not budge ;

You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.

Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not

murder me ?
Help, help, ho !

Pol. [Behind.'} What, ho! help, help, help!

Ham. How now ! a rat ? [Draws.

Dead, for a ducat, dead !

[Makes a pass through the arras.

Pol. [Behind.'} O, I am slain!

[Falls and dies.

Queen. O me, what hast thou done ?

Ham. Nay, I know not :

Is it the king? [Draws forth POLONIUS.

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is
this ! [mother,

Ham. A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good
As kill a king and marry with his brother.

Queen. As kill a king !

Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word.

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell !

[To POLONIUS.

I took thee for thy better : take thy fortune ;
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
Leave wringing of your hands : peace ; sit you

down,

And let me wring your heart: for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff ;
If damned custom have not braz'd it so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st

wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me ?

Ham. Such an act

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ;
Calls virtue hypocrite ; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there ; makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow;
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,

SCENE IV. J

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

"53

With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.

Queen. Ah me, what act,

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
Ham. Look here upon this picture and on

this,

The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See what a grace was seated on this brow ;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ;
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ;
A combination and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man :
This was your husband. Look you now, what

follows :

Here is your husband, like a milldew'd ear
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you

eyes?

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha ! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it 's humble,
And waits upon the judgment : and what judg-
ment [have,
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you
Else could you not have motion : but sure that

sense

Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err ;
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
But it reserv'd some quantity of choice
To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.

O shame ! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
And reason panders will.

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more :

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.

Ham. Nay, but to live

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty,

Queen. O, speak to me no more ;

These words like daggers enter in mine ears ;
No more, sweet Hamlet.
Ham, A murderer and a villain ;

A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket !

Queen. No more.

Ham. A king of shreds and patches,

Enter Ghost.

Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards ! What would your gra-
cious figure?

Queen. Alas, he 's mad ! [chide,

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to
That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command?
O, say !

Ghost. Do not forget : this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look, amazement on thy mother sils :
O, step between her and her fighting soul,
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works,
Speak to her, Hamlet.

Ham. How is it with you, lady?

Queen. Alas, how is 't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy,
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts up and stands on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?

Ham. On him, on him ! Look you, how pale

he glares ! [stones,

His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to

Would make them capable. Do not look upon

me;

Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects : then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears perchance for
blood.

Queen. To whom do you s| eak this?

Ham. Do you see nothing there?

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see.

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves.

Ham. Why, look you there ! look, how it

steals away !

My father, in his habit as he liv'd !
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the
portal ! [Exit Ghost.

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.

Ham. Ecstasy I

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,

"54

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT iv.

And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test,
And I the mater will re- word ; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks :
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ;
Repent what 's past ; avoid what is to come ;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my

virtue ;

For in the fatness of these pursy times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart

in twain.

Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good-night : but go not to mine uncle's bed ;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night ;
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence : the next more easy ;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either curb the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good-
night:

And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord

[Pointing to POLONIUS.
I do repent : but Heaven hath pleas'd it so,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him. So, again, good-night.
I must be cruel only to be kind:
Thus bad begin? and worse remains behind.
One word more, good lady.

Queen. What shall I do?

Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you

do:

Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ;
Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or paddling in your neck with hisdamn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
Thai I essentially am not in madness, [know ;
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him
For who that 's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
Such dear concernings hide ? who would do so?

No, iu despite of sense and secrecy,

Unpeg the basket on the house's top,

Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,

To try conclusions, in the basket creep,

And break your own neck down. [breath

Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of
And breath of life, I have no life to breache
What thou hast said to me.

Ham. I must to England ; you know that?

Queen. Alack,

I had forgot : 'tis so concluded on.

Ham. There's letters seal'd: and my two

schoolfellows,

Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my

way,

And marshal me to knavery. Let it work ;
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard : and \. shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet,
When in one line two crafts directly meet.
This man shall set me packing:
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
Mother, good-night. Indeed, this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you : '
Good-night, mother.

[Exeunt severally; HAM. dragging out POL.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in the Castle.
Enter KING, QUEEN, ROSENCRANTZ, and

GUILDENSTERN.

King. There 's matter in these sighs, these
profound heaves : [them.

You must translate: 'tis fit we understand
Where is your son ?

Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while.

[To Ros. andGuiL., who go out.

Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night !

King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?

Queen. Mad as the sea and wind, when both

contend

Which is the mightier : in his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,
He whips his rapier out, and cries, A rat, a rat!
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills
The unseen good old man.

King. O heavy deed !

It had been so with us had we been there :
His liberty is full of threats to all ;
To you yourself, to us, to every one.
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd ?

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

"55

It will be laid to us, whose providence
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of

haunt [love,

This mad young man: but so much was our
We would not understand what was most fit ;
But, like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone ?
Queen. To draw apart the body he hath

kill'd :

O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base,
Shows itself pure ; he weeps for what is done.

King. O Gertrude, come away !
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch
But we will ship him hence : and this vile deed
We must, with all our majesty and skill,
Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guilden-

stern !

Re-enter ROSENCRANTZ and GuiLDENSTERN.

Friends both, go join you with some further

aid:

Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd

him : [body

Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this.

{Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.

Come, Gertrude, we '11 call up our wisest friends;
And let them know both what we mean to do
And what 's untimely done: so haply slander,
Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,
As level as the cannon to his blank, [name,
Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our
And hit the woundless air. O, come away !
My soul is full of discord and dismay.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the Castle.
Enter HAMLET.

Ham. Safely stowed. [Hamlet!

Ros. and Gutl. [Within.~\ Hamlet! Lord
Ham. What noise? who calls on Hamlet?
O, here they come.

Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.

Ros. What have you done, my lord, with
the dead body? [kin.

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis

Ros. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it

thence,
And bear it to the chapel.

Ham. Do not believe it

Ros. Believe what ?

Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and

not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a
sponge ! what replication should be made by
the son of a king?

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ?

Ham. Ay, sir ; that soaks up the king's
countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But
such officers do the king best service in the end :
he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his
jaw ; first mouthed, to be last swallowed :
when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but
squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry
again.

Ros. I understand you not, my lord.

Ham. I am glad of it : a knavish speech
sleeps in a foolish ear.

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the
body is, and go with us to the king.

Ham. The body is with the king, but the
king is not with the body. The king is a
thing,

Gut/. A thing, my lord !

Ham. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide
fox, and all after. {Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Room in the Castle.
Enter KING, attended.

King. I have sent to seek him, and to find

the body.

How dangerous is it that this man goes loose !
Yet must not we put the strong law on him :
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude,
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes ;
And where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is

weigh'd, [even,

But never the offence. To bear all smooth and
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause : diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance are reliev'd,
Or not at all.

Enter ROSENCRANTZ.

How now ! what hath befallen? [lord,

Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my
We cannot get from him.

King. But where is he ?

Ros. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know
your pleasure.

King. Bring him before us.

Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord.

Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN.

King. Now, Hamlet, where 's Polonius ?
Ham. At supper.
King. At supper ! where ?
Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is
eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms

1156

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

[ACT iv.

are e'en at him. Your worm is your only
emperor for diet : we fat all creatures else to
fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots : your
fat king and your lean beggar is but variable
service, two dishes, but to one table : that 's
the end.

King. Alas, alas !

Ham. A man may fish with the worm that
hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath
fed of that worm.

King. What dost thou mean by this ?

Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king
may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.

King. Where is Polonius ?

Ham. In heaven ; send thither to see : if
your messenger find him not there, seek him i'
the other place yourself. But, indeed, if you
find him not within this month, you shall nose
him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.

King. Go seek him there.

[ To some Attendants.

Ham. He will stay till ye come.

[Exeunt Attendants.

King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial

safety,

Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve
For that which thou hast done, must send

thee hence

With fiery quickness : therefore prepare thyself;
The bark is ready, and the wind at help,
The associates tend, and everything is bent
For England.

Ham. For England !

King. Ay, Hamlet.

Ham. Good.

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.

Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But,
come ; for England ! Farewell, dear mother.

King. Thy loving father, Hamlet.

Ham. My mother : father and mother is man
and wife ; man and wife is one flesh ; and so,
my mother. Come, for England ! [Exit.

King. Follow him at foot ; tempt him with

speed aboard ;

Delay it not ; I '11 have him hence to-night :
Away ! for everything is seal'd and done
That else leans on the affair: pray you, make
haste. [Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.

And, England, if my love thou hold'st at

aught,

As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us, thou mayst not coldly set
Our sovereign process; which imports at full,
By letters conjuring to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England ;

For like the hectic in my blood he rages,
And thou must cure me : till I know 'tis done,
Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin.

[Exit.

SCENE IV. A Plain in Denmark.
Enter FORTINBRAS, and Forces marching.

For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish

king:

Tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras
Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
If that his majesty would aught with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye,
And let him know so.

Cap. I will do 't, my lord.

For. Go softly on.

[Exeunt FOR. and Forces.

Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDEN-
STERN, 6-v.

Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these?

Cap. They are of Norway, sir.

Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you?

Cap. Against some part of Poland.

Ham. Who commands them, sir?

Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortin-
bras. [sir,

Ham. Goes it- against the main of Poland,
Or for some frontier ?

Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it ;
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole
A ranker rate should it be sold in fee. [fend it.

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will de-

Cap. Yes, it is already garrison'd.

Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thou-
sand ducats

Will not debate the question of this straw :
This is the imposthume of much wealth and
peace, [out

That inward breaks, and shows no cause with-
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.

Cap. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit.

Ros. Will't please you go, my lord?

Ham. I '11 be with you straight. Go a little
before. [Exeunt all but HAMLET.
How all occasions do inform against me,
And spur my dull revenge ! What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason

SCENE V.j

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1157

To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event,
A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part

wisdom

And ever three parts coward, I do not know
Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do;
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and

means

To do 't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me :
Witness this army, of such mass and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince ;
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff d,
Makes mouths at the invisible event ;
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great
Is not to stir without great argument,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw [then,
When honour 's at the stake. How stand I,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
Excitements of my reason and my blood,
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,
Go to their graves like beds ; fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth !

[Exit.

SCENE V. ELSINORE. A Room in the Castle.
Enter QUEEN and HORATIO.

Queen. I will not speak with her.
Hor. She is importunate ; indeed, distract:
Her mood will needs be pitied.

Queen. What would she have?

Hor. She speaks much of her father; says

she hears

There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and
beats her heart ; [doubt,

Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in
That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection ; they aim at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own

thoughts;

Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures
yield them, [thought,

Indeed would make one think there might be
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
'Twere good she were spoken with ; for she

may strew

Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Queen. Let her come in. [Exit HORATIO.

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss :
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Re-enter HORATIO -with OPHELIA.

Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of

Denmark?
Queen. How now, Ophelia !

Oph. How should I your true love know \Sings.

From another one ?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.

Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this

song?
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

He is dead and gone, lady, \Sings.

He is dead and gone ;
At his head a grass green turf,

At his heels a stone.

Queen. Nay, but, Ophelia,

Oph. Pray you, mark.

White his shroud as the mountain {Sings.
snow,

Enter KING.

Queen. Alas, look here, my lord.

Oph. Larded with sweet flowers;

Which Lewept to the grave did go
With true-love showers

\Sings.

King. How do you, pretty lady?
Oph. Well, God 'ild you! They say the
owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know
what we are, but know not what we may be.
God be at your table !

A ing. Conceit upon her father.
Oph. Pray you, let's have no words of this;
but when they ask you what it means, say you
this:

To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day [Sittgs.

All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes,
And dupp d the chamber-door ;

Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.

King. Pretty Ophelia !
Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I '11 make
an end on 't :
By Gis and by Saint Charity, [Sittgs.

Alack, and fie for shame !
Young men will do 't, if they come to 't ;
By cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, before you tumbled me,

You promis'd me to wed.
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun.

An thou hadst not come to my bed.

King. How long hath she been thus?

1 158

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT iv.

Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be
patient : but I cannot choose but weep, to think
they should lay him i 3 the cold ground. My
brother shall know of it: and so I thank you
for your good counsel. Come, my coach!
Good-night, ladies; good-night, sweet ladies;
good-night, good-night. [Exit.

King. Follow her close ; give her good

watch, I pray you. [Exit HORATIO.
O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. O Gertrude,

Gertrude,

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalias ! First, her father slain :
Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author
Of his own just remove : the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and

whispers
For good Polonius' death ; and we have done

but greenly

In hugger-mugger to inter him : poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures, or mere

beasts :

Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France ;
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death ;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death. [A noise within.
Queen. Alack, what noise is this ?

King. Where are my Switzers? let them

guard the door.

Enter a Gentleman.

What is the matter?

Gent. Save yourself, my lord :

The ocean, overpeering of his list,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'erbears your officers. The rabole call him

lord;

And, as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They cry, Choose we ; Laertes shall be king!
Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the

clouds,
Laertes shall be king y Laertes king!

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they

cry!

O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs !
King. The doors are broke. [Noise within.

Enter LAERTES, armed; "Danes following.

Loer. Where is this king ? Sirs, stand you
all without.

Danes. No, let 's come in.

Laer. I pray yoh, give me leave,

Danes. We will, we will.

[ They retire without the door.

Laer. I thank you : keep the door. O thou

vile king,
Give me my father !

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer. That drop of blood that 's calm pro-
claims me bastard ;

Cries cuckold to my father ; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow
Of my true mother.

King. What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ?
Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person :
There 's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,
Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go,

Gertrude :
Speak, man.

Laer. Where is my father?

King. Dead.

Queen. But not by him.

King. Let him demand his fill. [with :

Laer. How came he dead? I '11 not be juggled
To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil !
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit !
I dare damnation : to this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes ; only I '11 be reveng'd
Most throughly for my father.

King. Who shall stay you ?

Laer. My will, not all the world :
And for my means, I '11 husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.

King. Good Laertes,

If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your
revenge [and foe,

That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend
Winner and loser ?

Laer. None but his enemies.

King. Will you know them, then?

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I '11 ope

my arms ;

And, like the kind life-rendering pelican.
Repast them with my blood.

King. Why, now you speak

Like a good child and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensible in grief for it,

SCENE V.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

"59

It shall as level to your judgment pierce
As day does to your eye.

Danes. {Within.} Let her come in.

Laer. How now! what noise is that?

Re-enter OPHELIA, fantastically dressed with
straws and flowers.

O heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye !
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May !
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia !
O heavens ! is 't possible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life ?
Nature is fine in love ; and where 'tis fine
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.

Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier ; {Sings.
Hey no npnny, nonny, hey nonny ;
And on his grave rain'd many a tear,

Fare you well, my dove !

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst per-
suade revenge,
It could not move thus.

Oph. You must sing, Down a-down, an you
call him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes
it ! It is the false steward, that stole his
master's daughter.

Laer. This nothing 's more than matter.

Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remem-
brance ; pray, love, remember : and there is
pansies, that 's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness, thoughts
and remembrance fitted.

Oph. There's fennel for you, and colum-
bines : there 's rue for you ; and here 's some
for me : we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays :
O, you must wear your rue with a difference.
There's a daisy: I would give you some
violets, but they withered all when my father
died : they say, he made a good end,

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy, \Sings.
Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell

itself,
She turns to favour and to prettiness.

Oph. And will he not come again? {.Sings.

And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead,
Go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow
All flaxen was his poll :

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan :
God ha' mercy on his soul t

And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God
b' wi' ye. [Exit.

Laer. Do you see this, O God ? [.grief,

King. Laertes, I must commune with your
Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you
will, [me :

And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and
If by direct or by collateral hand
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in satisfaction ; but if not,
Be you content to lend your patience to us,
And we shall jointly labour with your soul
To give it due content.

Laer. Let this be so ;

His means of death, his obscure burial,
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite nor formal ostentation,
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
That I must call 't in question.

King. So you shall ;

And where the offence is, let the great axe fall.
I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt.

SCENE \I. Another Room in the Castle.
Enter HORATIO and a Servant.

Hor. What are they that would speak with
me?

Serv. Sailors, sir: they say they have letters
for you.

Hor. Let them come in. [Exit Servant.
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.

Enter Sailors.

i Sail. God bless you, sir.

Hor. Let him bless thee too.

I Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him.
There 's a letter for you, sir ; it comes from
the ambassador that was bound for England ;
if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know
it is.

Hor. [Reads. .] Horatio, when thou shalt
have overlooked this, give these fellows some
means to the king: they have letters for him.
Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of
very warlike appointment gave us chase.
Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a
compelled valour ; and in the grapple 2 boarded
them: on the instant they got clear of our ship;
so 1 alone became their prisoner. They have
dealt with me like thieves of mercy: but they
knew what they did ; 2 am to do a good turn
for them. Let the king have the letters 2 have
sent ; and repair thou to me with as much
haste as thou wouldst fly death. 2 have words
to speak in thme ear will make thee dumb ; yet

ii6o

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT iv.

are they much too light for the bore of the
matter. These good fellows will bring thee
where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
hold their cottrse for England: of them I have
much to tell thee. Farewell. He that thou
knowest thine, HAMLET.

Come, I will give you way for these your letters ;
And do 't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them.

{Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Another Room in the Castle.
Enter KING and LAERTES.

King. Now must your conscience my acquit-
tance seal,

And you must put me in your heart for friend,
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he which hath your noble father slain
Pursu'd my life.

Laer. It well appears : but tell me

Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So crimeful and so capital in nature,
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,
You mainly were stirr'd up.

King. O, for two special reasons ;

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much un-

sinew'd,
But yet to me they are strong. The queen his

mother

Lives almost by his looks ; and for myself,
My virtue or my plague, be it either which,
She 's so conjunctive to my life and soul,
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive,
Why to a public count I might not go,
Is the great love the general gender bear him ;
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to

stone,

Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrows,
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost ;
A sister driven into desperate terms,
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age
For her perfections : but my revenge will come.
King. Break not your sleeps for that: you

must not think

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear

more-

\ lov'd your father, and we love ourself ;
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine,

Enter a Messenger.

How now ! what news ?

Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet :

This to your majesty; this to the queen.

King. From Hamlet! Who brought them?

Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say ; I saw them
not : [them

They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd
Of him that brought them.

King. Laertes, you shall hear them.

Leave us. \Exit Messenger.

[Reads. ~\ High and mighty, You shall know
I am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow
shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes : when
I shal^ first asking your pardon thereunto,
recount the occasions of my sudden and more
strange return. HAMLET.

What should this mean ? Are all ihe rest come

back ?
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ?

Laer. Know you the hand ?

King. 'Tis Hamlet's character : Naked,
And in a postscript here, he says, alone.
Can you advise me ? [come ;

Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him
It warms the very sickness in my heart,
That I shall live, and tell him to his teeth,
Thus diddest thou.

King. If it be so, Laertes,

As how should it be so ? how otherwise ?
Will you be rul'd by me?

Laer. Ay, my lord ;

So you will not o'errule me to a peace.

King. To thine own peace. If he be now

return'd,

As checking at his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it, I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall :
And for his death no wind of blame shall

breathe ;

But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it accident.

Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd ;

The rather if you could devise it so
That I might be the organ.

King. It falls right.

You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
WTierein they say you shine : your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him
As did that one ; and that, in my regard,
Of the unworthiest siege.

Laer. What part is that, my lord?

King. A very riband in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes

SCENE VII.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1161

The light and careless livery that it wears
Than settled age his sables and his weeds,
Importing health and graveness. Two months

since,

Here was a gentleman of Normandy,
I 've seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,
And they can well on horseback : but this

gallant

Had witchcraft in 't ; he grew unto his seat ;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd
With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my

thought,

That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.

Laer. A Norman was 't ?

King, A Norman.

Laer. Upon my life, Lamond.

King. The very same.

Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch,

indeed,
And gem of all the nation.

King. He made confession of you ;
And gave you such a masterly report
For art and exercise in your defence,
And for your rapier most especially,
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed
If one could match you : the scrimers of their

nation,

He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy,
That he could nothing do but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him.
Now, out of this,

Laer. What out of this, my lord ?

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you ?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart ?

Laer. Why ask you this?

King. Not that I think you did not love your

father ;

But that I know love is begun by time ;
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it ;
And nothing is at a like goodness still ;
For goodness, growing to a pleurisy,
Dies in his own too much : that we would do
We should do when we would ; for this would

changes,

And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ;
And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh
That hurts by easing. But to the quick o' the
ulcer :

Hamlet comes back : what would you under-
take

To show yourself your father's son in deed
More than in words?

Laer. To cut his throat i' the church.

King. No place, indeed, should murder sane-
tuarize ; [Laertes,

Revenge should have no bounds. But, good
Will you do this, keep close within your cham-
ber.

Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home:
We '11 put on those shall praise your excellence,
And set a double varnish on the fame [gether,
The Frenchman gave you ; bring you, in fine, to-
And wager on your heads : he, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils ; so that, with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,
Requite him for your father.

Laer. I will do 't :

And, for that purpose, I '11 anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death
That is but scratch'd withal : I '11 touch my

point

With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.

King. Let 's further think of this ;

Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape : if this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad per-
formance,

'Twere better not assa/d : therefore this project
Should have a back or second, that might hold
If this should blast in proof. Soft ! let me

see:

We '11 make a solemn wager on your cunnings,
I ha't:

When in your motion you are hot and dry,
As make your bouts more violent to that end,
And that he calls for drink, I '11 have prepar'd

him

A chalice for the nonce ; whereon but sipping.
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck
Our purpose may hold there.

Enter QUEEN.

How now, sweet queen !

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's

heel, [Laertes.

So fast they follow : your sister 's drown'd,

Laer. Drown'd ! O, where ?

Queen. There isa willow grows aslant a brook,

1162

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT V.

That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long

purples,

That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call

them.

There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread

wide ;

And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up :
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes ;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu'd
Unto that element : but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laer. Alas, then, she is drown'd ?

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. [Ophelia,

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor
And therefore I forbid my tears : but yet
It is our trick ; nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will : when these are

gone,

The woman will be out. -Adieu, my lord :
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this folly douts it. [Exit.

King. Let 's follow, Gertrude ;

How much I had to do to calm his rage !
Now fear I this will give it start again ;
Therefore let 's follow. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Churchyard.
Enter two Clowns with spades, &c.

1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial
that wilfully seeks her own salvation ?

2 Clo. I tell thee she is ; and therefore make
her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on
her, and finds it Christian burial.

1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned
herself in her own defence ?

2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so.

I Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be
else. For here lies the point : if I drown my-
self wittingly, it argues an act : and an act hath
three branches ; it is to act, to do, and to per-
form :

good : here stands the man ; good : if the man
go to this water and drown himself, it is, will

he, nill he, he goes, mark you that : but if
the water come to him and drown him, he
drowns not himself : argal, he that is not guilty
of his own death shortens not his own life.
2 Clo. But is this law ?

1 Clo. Ay, marry, is 't ; crowner's quest law.

2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on 't ? If this
had not been a gentlewoman she should have
been buried out of Christian burial.

1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st : and the more
pity that great folk should have countenance in
this world to drown or hang themselves more
than their even Christian. Come, my spade.
There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners,
ditchers, and grave-makers : they hold up
Adam's profession.

2 Clo. Was he a gentleman ?

1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms.

2 Clo. Why, he had none.

1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost
thou understand the Scripture ? The Scripture
says, Adam digged : could he dig without arms?
I '11 put another question to thee : if thou an-
swerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself,

2 Clo. Go to.

1 Clo. What is he that builds stronger than
either the mason, the shipwright, or the car-
penter ?

2 Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame
outlives a thousand tenants.

1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith : the
gallows does well ; but how does it well ? it
does well to those that do ill : now thou dost
ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the
church : argal, the gallows may do well to thee.
To't again, come.

2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a
shipwright, or a carpenter ?

1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell.

1 Clo. To't.

2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell.

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, at a distance.

I Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it,
for your dull ass will not mend his pace with
beating ; and when you are asked this question
next, say a grave-maker ; the houses that he
makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to
Yaughan ; fetch me a stoup of liquor.

[Exit Second Clown.

In youth, when I did love, did love, [Digs and sings.

Methought it was very sweet,
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove,

O, methought there was nothing meet.

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of bis
business, that he sings at grave-making ?

*CNB I.j

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1163

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a pro-
perty of easiness.

Ham. 'Tise'enso: the hand of little employ-
ment hath the daintier sense.

I Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, [Sings.

Hath claw'd me in his clutch,
And hath shipp'd me intil the land,
As if I had never been such.

[Throws tip a skull.

Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and
coi Id sing once : how the knave jowls it to the
ground, as if it were Cain's jawbone, that did
the first murder ! This might be the pate of a
politician, which this ass now o'erreaches ; one
that would circumvent God, might it not ?

Hor. It might, my lord.

Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say,
Good-morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou,
good lord ? This might be my lord such-a-one,
that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when
he meant to beg it, might it not ?

Hor. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my Lady
Worm's ; chapless, and knocked about the
mazard with a sexton's spade: here's fine
revolution, an we had the trick to see 't.
these bones cost no more the breeding but t ->
play at loggats with 'em ? mine ache to think
on it.

I Clo. A pick-axe and a spade, a spade, [Sings.

For and a shrouding sheet :
O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.

[Throws up another

Ham. There 's another : why may not that
be the skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quid-
dits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and
his tricks ? why does he suffer this rude knave
now to knock him about the sconce with a
dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action
of battery? Hum ! This fellow might be in 's
time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his
recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers,
his recoveries : is this the fine of his fines, and
the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine
pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers voudi
him no more of his purchases, and double ones
too, than the length and breadth of a pair of
indentures ? The very conveyances of his lands
will hardly lie in this lx>x ; and must the in-
heritor himself have no more, ha ?

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins?

Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too.

Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek
out assurance in that. I will speak to this
fellow. Whose grave's this, sir?

I Clo. Mine, sir.

O, a pit of clay for to be made [Sings.
For such a guest is meet.

Ham. I think it be thine indeed ; for thou
liest in 't.

i Clo. You lie out on 't, sir, and therefore it
is not yours : for my part, I do not lie in } t, and
yet it is mine.

Ham. Thou dost lie in 't, to be in't, and say
it is thine : 'tis for the dead, not for the quick;
therefore thou liest.

I Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 't will away again
from me to you.

Ham. What man dost thou digit for?

I Clo. For no man, sir.

Ham. What woman, then ?

i Clo. For none, neither.

Ham. Who is to be buried in 't ?

I Clo. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest
her soul, she 's dead.

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must
speak by the card, or equivocation will undo
us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I
have taken note of it ; the age is grown so
picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near
the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.
How long hast thou been a grave-maker ?

I Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came
to 't that day that our last King Hamlet o'er-
came Fortinbras-

Ham. How long is that since ?

i Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can
tell that: it was the very day that young
Hamlet was born, he that is mad, and sent
into England. [England?

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into

I Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall
recover his wits there ; or, if he do not, it 's no
great matter there.

Ham. Why?

i Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; there
the men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad ?

i Clo. Very strangely, they say.

Ham. How strangely?

i Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits.

Ham. Upon what ground ?

I Clo. Why, here in Denmark : I have been
sexton here, man and boy, thirty years.

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth
ere he rot ?

I Clo. Faith, if he be not rotten before he
die, as we have many pocky corses now-a-
days, that will scarce hold the laying in, he
will last you some eight year or nine year : a
tanner will last you nine year.

Ham. Why he more than another ?

1164

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT v.

I Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with
his trade that he will keep out water a great
while ; and your water is a sore decayer of your
whoreson dead body. Here 's a skull now ;
this skull has lain in the earth three-and-twenty
years.

Ham. Whose was it ?

I Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was :
whose do you think it was ?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

I Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue !
'a poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once.
This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the
king's jester.

Ham. This?

i Clo. E'en that.

Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas,
poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times ; and
now, how abhorred in my imagination it is !
my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips
that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where
be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs?
your flashes of merriment, that were wont to
set the table on a roar? Not one now, to
mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell
her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour
she must come ; make her laugh at that.
Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What 's that, my lord ?

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o'
this fashion i' the earth ?

Hor, E'en so.

Ham. And smelt so ? pah !

[ Throws down the skull.

Hor. E'en so, my lord.

Ham. To what base uses we may return,
Horatio ! Why may not imagination trace the
noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping
a bung-hole ?

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously to
consider so.

Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow
him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood
to lead it : as thus ; Alexander died, Alexander
was buried, Alexander returneth into dust ; the
dust is earth ; of earth we make loam ; and
why of that loam whereto he was converted
might they not stop a beer-barrel ?

Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away :

O, that that earth which kept the world in awe

Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw !
Hut solt 1 but soft! aside. Here comes the
king.

Enter Priests, &c., in procession ; the Corpse of
OPHELIA, LAERTES and 'Mourners following;
KING, QUEEN, their Trains, 6rv.

The queen, the courtiers: who is that theyfoliow?
And with such maimed rites ? This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desperate hand
Fordo its own life : 'twas of some estate.
Couch we awhile and mark.

[Retiring with HOR.

Laer. What ceremony else ?

Ham. That is Laertes,

A very noble youth : mark.

Laer. What ceremony else ?

I Priest. Her obsequies have been as far

enlarg'd [ful ;

As we have warrantise : her death was doubt-

And, but that great command o'ersways the

order,

She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd
Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown

on her,

Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites,
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer. Must there no more be done ?

I Priest. No more be done :

We should profane the service of the dead
To sing a requiem, and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.

Laer. Lay her i' the earth ;

Ami from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring ! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministering angel shall my sister be
When thou liest howling.

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia!

Queen. Sweets to the sweet : farewell !

[Scattering flowers.

I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's
wife ; [maid,

I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet
And not have strew'd thy grave.

Laer. O, treble woe

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of ! Hold off the earth awhile.
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms :
[Leaps into the grave.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
To o'er-top old Pelion or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [Advancing.] What is he whose grief

Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of

sorrow [stand

Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them

SCENE I.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1163

Like wonder- wounded hearers ? this is I,
Hamlet the Dane. \_Leaps into the grave.

Laer. The devil take thy soul !

[Grappling with, him.

Ham. Thou pray'st not well.
I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat ;
For, though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous,
Which let thy wkeriess fear : away thy hand.

King. Pluck them asunder.

Queen. Hamlet ! Hamlet !

AH. Gentlemen,

Hor. Good my lord, be quiet.

[The Attendants part them, aiid they
come out of the grave.

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this

theme
Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Queen. O my son, what theme?

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers
Could not, with all their quantity of love,
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

King. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou 'It do :
Woul 't weep? woul 't fight? woul 'tfast? woul 't

tear thyself?

Woul 't drink up eisel ? eat a crocodile ?
I '11 do 't. Dost thou come here to whine?
To outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her, and so will I:
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou 'It mouth,
I Ml rant as well as thou.

Queen. This is mere madness :

And thus awhile the fit will work on him ;
Anon, as patient as the female dove,
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,
His silence will sit drooping.

Ham. Hear you, sir ;

What is the reason that you use me thus?
I lov'd you ever : but it is no matter ;
Let Hercules himself do what he may,
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

[Exit.

King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon
him. [Exit HORATIO.

Strengthen your patience in our last night's
speech; [ To LAERTES.

We'll put the matter to the present push.
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.
This grave shall have a living monument :
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ;
Till then, in patience our proceeding be.

\Mxeunt.

SCLNE II. A Hall in the Castle.
Enter HAMLET and HORATIO.

Ham. So much for this, sir : now let me see

the other ;
You do remember all the circumstance?

Hor. Remember it, my lord I [fighting

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of
That would not let me sleep : methought I lay
Worse than the routines in the bilboes. Rashly,
And prais'd be rashness for it, let us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do fail : and that should

teach us

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor. That is most certain,

Ham. Up from my cabin,
My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find out them : had my desire ;
Finger'd their packet ; and, in fine, withdrew
To mine own room again : making so bold,
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal
Their grand commission ; where I found,
Horatio,

royal knavery ! an exact command,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health and England's too,
With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life,
That, on the supervise, no leisure bated,

No, not to stay the grinding of the axe,
My head should be struck off.

Hor. Is 't possible ?

Ham. Here's the commission: read it at

more leisure.
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed ?

Hor. I beseech you. [villanies,

Ham. Being thus benetted round with
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains,
They had begun the play, I sat me down;
Devis'd a new commission ; wrote it fair :

1 once did hold it, as our statists do,

A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much
How to forget that learning ; but, sir, now
It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know ,
The effect of what I wrote ? I

Hor. Ay, good my lord. *

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the

king,

As England was his faithful tributary ;
As love between them like the palm might

flourish ;

As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
And stand a comma 'tween their amities ;
And many such like as 's of great charge,
That, on the view and know of these contents,

ii66

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT v.

Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
Not shriving-time allow'd.

Hor. How was this seal'd ?

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven or-

dinant.

I had my father's signet in my purse,
W.uch was the model of that Danish seal :
Folded the writ up in form of the other ;
Subscrib'd it ; gave 't the impression ; plac'd it
saiely, [day

The changeling never known. Now, the next
Was our sea- fight; and what to this was sequent
Thou know'st already. [to 't.

Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go

ffiim. Why, man, they did make love to this

employment ;

They are not near my conscience ; their defeat
Does by their own insinuation grow :
'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes
Between the pass and fell incensed points
Of mighty opposites.

Hor. Why, what a king is this!

Ham. Does it not, think'st thee, stand me

now upon, [mother;

He that hath kill'd my kirg and whor'd my

Popp'd in between the election and my hopes ;

Thrown out his angle for my proper life,

And with such cozenage, is't not perfect

conscience [damn'd,

To quit him with this arm ? and is 't not to be

To let this canker of our nature come

In further evil ? [England

Hor. It must be shortly known to him from
What is the issue of the business there.

Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine;
And a man's life 's no more than to say One.
But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
That to Laertes I forgot myself ;
For by the image of my cause I see
The portraiture of his : I '11 court his favours :
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a towering passion.

Hor. Peace ; who comes here ?

Enter OSRIC.

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to
Denmark.

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know
this water-fly ?

Hor. No, my good lord.

Hani. Thy state is the more gracious ; for
'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land,
and fertile : let a beast be lord of beasts, and
his crih shall stand at the king'-, mess : 'tis a
chough ; but, as I say, spacious in the posses-
sion of dirt.

Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at

leisure,
I should impart a thing to you from his majesty.

Ham. I will receive it with all diligence of

spirit.

Put your bonnet to his right use ; 'tis for the
head.

Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot.

Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold ; the
wind is northerly.

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.

Ham. Methinks it is very sultry and hot for
my complexion.

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sul-
try, as 'twere, I cannot tell how. But, my
lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that
he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir,
this is the matter,

Ham. I beseech you, remember,

[HAMLET moves him to put on his hat.

Osr. Nay, in good faith ; for mine ease, in
good faith. Sir, here is newly come to court
Laertes ; believe me, an absolute gentleman,
full of most excellent differences, of very soft
society and great showing : indeed, to speak
feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of
gentry, for you shall find in him the continent
of what part a gentleman would see.

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdi-
tion in you ; though, I know, to divide him
inventorially would dizzy the arithmetic of
memory, and it but yaw neither, in respect of
his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment,
I take him to be a soul of great article ; and
his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to
make true diction of him, his semblable is his
mirror ; and who else would trace him, his
umbrage, nothing more. [him.

Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of

Ham. The concernancy, sir? why do we
wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath?

Osr. Sir?

Hor. Is't not possible to understand in
another tongue ? You will do 't .ar, really.

Ham. What imports the nomination of this
gentleman ?

Osr. Of Laertes?

Hor. His purse is empty already; all's
golden words are spent.

Ham. Of him, sir.

Osr. I know, you are not ignorant,

Ham. I would you did, sir ; yet, in faith, if
you did, it would not much approve me.
Well, sir.

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excel-
lence Laertes is,

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1167

compare wilh him in excellence ; but to know
a man well were to know himself.

Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the
imputation laid on him by them, in his meed
he 's unfellowed.

Ham. What 's his weapon ?

Osr. Rapier and dagger.

Ham. That 's two of his weapons : but, well.

Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered wilh him
six Barbary horses : against the which he has
imponed, as I take it, six French rapiers ana
poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers,
and so: three of the carriages, in faith, are
very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts,
most delicate carriages, and cf very liberal
conceit.

Ham. What call you the carriages ?

Hor. I knew you must be edified by the
margent ere you had done.

Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers.

Ham. The phrase would be more german t^
the matter if we could carry cannon by our
sides: I would it might be hangers till then.
But, on: six Barbary horses against six French
swords, their assigns, and three liberal con-
ceited carriages ; that 's the French bet against
the Danish: why is this imponed, as you call
it?

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen
passes between you and him he shall not ex-
ceed you three hits : he hath laid on twelve for
nine ; and it would come to immediate trial if
your lordship would vouchsafe the answer.

Ham. How if I answer no?
- Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your
person in trial.

Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall : if it
please his majesty, it is the breathing time of
day with me: let the foils be brought, the
gentleman willing, and the king hold his pur-
pose, I will win for him if I can ; if not, I will
gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.

Osr. Shall I re-deliver you e'en so?

Ham. To this effect, sir ; after what flourish
your nature will.

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship.

Ham. Yours, yours. [Exit OSRIC.] He
does well to commend it himself ; there are no
tongues else for 's turn. [on his head.

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell

Ham. He did comply with his dug before he
sucked it. Thus has he, and many more of
the same bevy, that I know the drossy age
dotes on, only got the tune of the time, and
outward habit of encounter; a kind of yesty
collection, which carries them through and
through the most fanned and winnowed opin-

ions; and do but blow them to their trial, the
bubbles are out.

Enter a Lord.

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him
to you by young Osric, who brings back to him
that you attend him in the hall: he sends to
know if your pleasure hold to play with
Laertes, or that you will take longer time.

Ham. I am constant to my purposes ; they
follow the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks,
mine is ready ; now or whensoever, provided I
be so able as now. [down.

Lord. The king and queen and all are coming

Ham, In happy time.

Lord. The queen desires you to use some
gentle entertainment to Laertes before you fall
to play.

Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord.

Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord.

Ham. I do not think so ; since he went into
France I have been in continual practice: I
shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not
think how ill all's here about my heart: but
it is no matter.

Hor. Nay, good my lord,

Ham. It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind
of gain -giving as would perhaps trouble a
woman.

Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey
it : I will forestall their repair hither, and say
you are not fit.

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury : there 's
a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to
come, it will be now; if it be not now, yei it
will come : the readiness is all : since no man
has aught of what he leaves, what is 't to leave
betimes?

Enter KING, QUEEN, LAERTES, Lords,
OSRIC, and Attendants with foils, &c.

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this
hand from me.

[The KING/W/J LAERTES'S hand

into HAMLET'S.
Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I have

done you wrong:

But pardon 't, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have

heard,

How I am punish'd with sore distraction.
What I have done,

That might your nature, honour, and exception
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.
Was 't Hamlet wrongM Laertes ? Nevei
Hamlet :

1168

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT V,

If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
And when he 's not himself does wrong Laer-
tes,

Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
Who does it, then? His madness : if't be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd ;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
Sir, in this audience,
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house
And hurt my brother.

Laer. I am satisfied in nature,

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
To my revenge : but in my terms of honour
I stand aloof ; and will no reconcilement
Till by some elder masters of known honour
I have a voice and precedent of peace
To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time
I do receive your offer'd love like love,
And will not wrong it.

Ham. I embrace it freely ;

And will this brother's wager frankly play.
Give us the foils ; come on.

Laer. Come, one for me.

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine

ignorance

Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night,
Stick fiery off indeed.

Laer. You mock me, sir.

Ham. No, by this hand.

King. Give them the foils, young Osric.

Cousin Hamlet,
You know the wager ?

Ham. Very well, my lord ;

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker
side.

King. I do not fear it ; I have seen you both ;
But since he 's better'd, we have therefore odds.

Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another.

Ham. This likes me well. These foils have
all a length ? [ They prepare to play.

Osr. Ay, my good lord.

King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that

table,

If Hamlet give the first or second hit,
Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ;
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ;
And in the cup an union shall he throw,
Richer than that which four successive kings
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the

cups;

And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to
earth,

Now the king drinks to Hamlet. Come,

begin ;

And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.
Ham. Come on, sir.
Laer. Come, my lord.

\_Theyplay.

Ham. One.

Laer. No.

Ham. Judgment.

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit.
Laer. Well ; again.

King. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this

pearl is thine ;
Here's to thy health.

[ Trumpets sound, and cannon shot

off -within.

Give him the cup. [awhile.

Ham. I'll play this bom first; set it by
Come. Another hit ; what say you?

[They play.

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do comess.
King. Our son shall win.
Queen. He 's fat, and scant of breath.
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows :
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
Ham. Good madam !

King. Gertrude, do not drink.

Queen. I will, my lord ; I pray you, pardon
me. [late.

King. \ Aside.] It is the poison'd cup; it is too
Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and

by.

Queen, Come, let me wipe thy face.
Laer. My lord, I ? 11 hit him now.
King. I do not think 't.

Laer. [Aside.] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst

my conscience.
Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes: you

but dally ;

I pray you, pass with your best violence :
I am afeard you make a wanton of me.

Laer. Say you so ? come on. [They play.
Osr. Nothing, neither way.
Laer. Have at you now !

[LAER. wounds HAM. ; then, in scuffling, they
change rapiers, and HAM. wounds LAER.
King. Part them ; they are incens'd.

Ham. Nay, come, again. [7^QuEEN/a//j.
Osr. Look to the queen there, ho !

Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it,

my lord ?

Osr. How is 't, Laertes ?
Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own

springe, Osric;

I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
Ham. How does the queen ?
King. She swoons to see them bleed.

SCENE II.]

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

1169

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, O my

dear Hamlet,

The drink, the drink ! I am poison'd. [Dies.

Ham. O villany ! I lo! let the door be lock'd :

Treachery! seek it out. [ LAERTES falls.

Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art

slain ;

No medicine in the world can do thee good ;
In thee there is not half an hour of life ;
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
Unbated and envenom'd : the foul practice
Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie,
Never to rise again : thy mother 's poison'd :
I can no more : the king, the king 's to blame.

Ham. The point envenom'd too !
Then venom to thy work. [Stabs the KING.
Osr. and Lords. Treason ! treason !
King. O, yet defend me, friends ; I am but

hurt.
Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous,

damned Dane,

Drink off this potion. Is thy union here?
Follow my mother. [KiNG dies.

Laer. He is justly serv'd ;
It is a poison tempered by himself.
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet :
Mine and my father's death come not upon

thee,

Nor thine on me ! [Dies.

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I

follow thee.

lam dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu!
You that look pale and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act,
Had I but time, as this fell sergeant, death,
Is strict in his arrest, O, I could tell you,
But let it be. Horatio, I am dead ;
Thou liv'st ; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.

Hor. Never believe it:

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane,
Here 's yet some liquor left-

Ham. As thou 'rt a man,

Give me the cup; let go; by heaven, I'll

have't

O good Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live

behind me !

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in

pain,
To tell my story.

[March afar off, and shot within.
What warlike noise is this?
Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come
from Poland,

To the ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volley.

Ham. O, I die, Horatio ;

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:
I cannot live to hear the news from England ;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited. The rest is silence.

[Dies.

Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good-
night, sweet prince,

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest !
Why does the drum come hither ?

[March within.

Enter FORTINBRAS, the English Ambassadors,
and others.

Fort. Where is this sight ?

Hor. What is it you would see ?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud

death,

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,
That thou so many princes at a shot
So bloodily hast struck ?

I Amb. The sight is dismal ;

And our affairs from England come too late :
The ears are senseless that should give us

hearing,

To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd,
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead :
Where should we have our thanks ?

Hor. Not from his mouth.

Had it the ability of life to thank you :
He never gave commandment for their death.
But since, so jump upon this bloody question,
You from the Polack wars, and you from

England,

Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies
High on a stage be placed to the view ;
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world
How these things came about : so shall you hear
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ;
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters ;
Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause ;
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
Fall'n on the inventors' heads: all this can I
Truly deliver.

Fort. Let us haste to hear it,

And call the noblest to the audience.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune :
I have some rights ot memory in this king-
dom,

Which now to claim my vantage doth invite
me.

Hor, Of that I shall have also cause to speak.

1170

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

[ACT V.

And from his mouth whose voice will draw on

But let this same be presently pe/form'd,
Even while men's minds are wild : lest more

mischance
On plots and errors happen.

Fort. Let four captains

Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage ;
For he was likely, had he been put on,

To have prov'd most royally: and, for his

passage,

The soldier's music and the rites of war
Speak loudly for him.
Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead march.
[Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies ; aftet
which a peal o ordnance is shot o.

bhow

bnA

:.:-, ...,:. .-,.,-.,? i I - -

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE,

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

DUKE OF VENICE.

BRABANTIO, a Senator.

Oiher Senators.

GRATIANO, Brother to BRABANTIO.

LODOVICO, Kinsman to BRABANTIO.

OTHELLO, a noble Moor, in the service of Venice.

CASSIO, his Lieutenant.

IAGO, his Ancient.

RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman.

MONTANO, OTHELLO'S predecessor in the

government of Cyprus.

Clown, Servant to OTHELLO.
Herald.

DESDEMONA, Daughter to BRABANTIO, and

Wife to OTHELLO.
EMILIA, Wife to IAGO.
BIANCA, Mistress to CASSIO.

Officers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians,
Herald, Sailor, Attendants, &c.

SCENE, The First Act in VENICE; during the rest of the Play at a Seaport in CYPRUS.

ACT I.

SCENE I. VENICE. A Street.

Enter RODERIGO and IAGO.
Rod. Never tell me ; I take it much unkindly
That thou, lago, who hast had my purse
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of

this,

lago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me :
If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me.

Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in

thy hate.
lago. Despise me if I do not. Three great

ones of the city,

In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp'd to him : and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a

place :

But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war:
And, in conclusion, nonsuits
My mediators ; for, Certes> says he,
/ have already chose my officer.
And what was he ?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife ;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows
More than a spinster; unless the bookish

theoric,

Wherein the toged consuls can propose
As masterly as he: mere prattle, without

practice,

Is all bis soldiership. But he, sir, had the

election :

And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,
Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and

calm'd

By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster ;
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, God bless the mark! his Moorship's

ancient. [his hangman.

Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been
lago. Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the

curse of service,

Preferment goes by letter and affection,
And not by old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge

yourself

Whether I in any just tenn am affin'd
To love the Moor.

Rod. I would not follow him, then.

lago. O, sir, content you ;
I follow him to serve my turn upon him :
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For naught but provender ; and when he 's old,

cashierd :

Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves ;
And, throwing but shows of service on their

lords,
Do well thrive by them, and when they have

lin'd their coats,

1172

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE,

[ACTL

Do themselves homage : these fellows have

some soul;

And such a one do I profess myself.
For, sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor I would not be lago:
In following him I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so for my peculiar end :
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at : I am not what I am.
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick lips

owe,
If he can carry 't thus !

lago. Call up her father.

Rouse him : make after him, poison hisdelight,
Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kins-
men,

And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies : though that his ioy be

Yet throw such changes of vexation on 't
As it may lose some colour. [aloud.

Rod. Here is her father's house : I '11 call
lago. Do ; with like timorous accent and dire

yell

As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities. [tio, ho !

Rod. What, ho, Brabantio ! Signior Braban-
lago. Awake ! what, ho, Brabantio ! thieves !
thieves ! thieves ! [bags !

Look to your house, your daughter, and your
Thieves ! thieves !

BRABANTIO appears above at a window.

Bra. What is the teason of this terrible sum-
mons?
What is the matter there ?

Rod. Signior, is all your family within ?

lago. Are your doors locked ?

Bra. Why, wherefore ask you this ?

lago. Zounds, sir, you 're robb'd ; for shame,
put on your gown ; [soul ;

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise ;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you :
Arise, I say.

Bra. What, have you lost your wits ?

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my
voice ?

Bra. Not I ; what are you?

Rod. My name is Roderigo.

Bra. The worser welcome i

I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my

doors ;

In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in mad-
ness,

Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery dost thou come
To start my quiet.

Rod. Sir, sir, sir,

Bra. But thou must needs be sure,

My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience, good sir.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? this

is Venice ;
My house is not a grange.

Rod. Most grave Brabantio,

In simple and pure soul I come to you.

lago. Zounds, sir, you are one of those that
will not serve God if the devil bid you. Be-
cause we come to do you service, and you think
we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter
covered with a Barbary horse ; you '11 have
your nephews neigh to you ; you '11 have cour-
sers for cousins and gennets for germans.

Bra. What profane wretch art thou ?

lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you
your daughter and the Moor are now making
the beast with two backs.

Bra. Thou art a villain.

lago. You are a senator.

Bra. This thou shalt answer ; I know thee,
Roderigo. [seech you,

Rod. Sir, I will answer anything. But I be-
If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent,
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
Transported with no worse nor better guard
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,
If this be known to you, and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
But if you know not this, my manners tsll me
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
That, from the sense of all civility,
I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
Your daughter, if you have not given her

leave,

I say again, hath made a gross revolt ;
Tying her duty, *beauty, wit, and fortunes
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger [self:
Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy your-
If she be in her chamber or your house
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you.

Bra. Strike on the tinder, bo J

SCENE I.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

"73

Give me a taper ! call up all my people !
This accident is not unlike my dream :
Belief of it oppresses me already.
Light, I say ! light ! [Exit front above,

lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you :

It seems not meet nor wholesome to my place
To be produc'd, as if I stay I shall,
Against the Moor : for I do know the state,
However this may gall him with some check,
Cannot with safety cast him ; for he 's embark'd
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,
Which even now stand in act, that, for their

souls,

Another of his fathom they have none
To lead their business : in which regard,
Though I do hate him as I do hell pains,
Yet, for necessity of present life,
I must show out a flag and sign of love,
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall

surely find him,

Lead to the Sagittary the raised search ;
And there will I be with him. So, farewell.

[Exit.

Enter below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with,
torches.

Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ;
And what 's to come of my despised time
Is naught but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
Where didst thou see her ? O unhappy girl !
With the Moor, say'st thou ? Who would be
a father ! [ceives me

How didst thou know 'twas she ? O, she de-
Past thought. What said she to you? Get

more tapers ;
Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think

you ?

Rod. Truly, I think they are.
Bra. O heaven ! How got she out ? O

treason of the blood !
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters'

minds
By what you see them act. Are there not

charms

By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abused ? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing ?

Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed.

Bra. Call up my brother. O, would you

had had her !

Some one way some another. Do you know
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ?
Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please
To pet good guard, and go along with me.
Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house

I '11 call ;
I may command at most. Get weapons, ho !

And raise some special officers of night.
On, good Roderigo : I '11 deserve your pains.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. VENICE. Another Street.

Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with
torches.

>. Though in the trade of war I have

slain men,

Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience
To do no contriv'd murder : I lack iniquity
Sometimes to do me service : nine or ten times
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under

the ribs.

Otk. 'Tis better as it is.
lago. Nay, but he prated,

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
Against your honour,
That, with the little godliness I have,
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you,

sir,

Are you fast married ? Be assured of this,
That the magnifico is much beloved ;
And hath, in his effect, a voice potential
As double as the duke's : he will divorce you ;
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance
The law, with all his might to enforce it on,
Will give him cable.

Oth. Let him do his spite :

My services which I have done the signiory
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to

know,

Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,
I shall promulgate, I fetch my life and being
From men of royal siege ; and my demerits
May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune
As this that I have reach'd : for know, lago,
But that I love the gentle Desdemona,
I would not my unhoused free condition
Put into circumscription and confine
For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights

come yond ?
lago. Those are the raised father and his

friends :
You were best go in.

Oth. Not I ; I must be found :

My parts, my title, and my perfect soul
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ?
lago. By Janus, I think no.

Enter CASSIO and certain Officers with torches*

Oth. The servants of the duke and my lieu-

tenant.

The goodness of the night upon you, friends !
What is the news ?

COLS. The duke does greet you, general ;

1 174

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT i.

And he requires your haste-post-haste appear-
ance
Even on the instant.

Oth. What is the matter, think you ?

Cos. Something from Cyprus, as I may

divine :

It is a business of some heat : the galleys
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers
This very night at one another's heels ;
And many of the consuls, rais'd and met,
Are at the duke's already : you have been hotly

call'd for ;

When, being not at your lodging to be found,
The senate hath sent about three several quests
To search you out.

Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you.

I will but spend a word here in the house,
And go with you. [Exit.

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ?

lago. Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land

carack :
If it prove lawful prize, he 's made for ever.

Cas. I do not understand.

lago. He 's married.

Cas. To who ?

Re-enter OTHELLO.

lago. Marry, to Cotoe, captain, will you go?
Oth. Have with you.

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for

you.

lago. It is Brabantio. General, be advis'd ;
He comes to bad intent.

Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers
with torches and weapons.

Oik. Holla ! stand there !

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor.

Bra. Down with him, thief !

[They draw on both sides.

Iag9. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you.

Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the
dew will rust them. [years

Good signior, you shall more command with
Than with your weapons.

Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou

stow'd my daughter ?

Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her ;
For I '11 refer me to all things of sense,
If she in chains of magic were not bound,
Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,
So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation,
Would ever have, to incur a general mock,
Run from her guaidage to the sooty bosom
Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight.
Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense

That thou hast practis'd on her with foul

charms ;
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs or

minerals

That weaken motion : I '11 have 't disputed on;
'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.
I therefore apprehend and do attach thee
For an abuser of the world, a practiser
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.
Lay hold upon him : if he do resist,
Subdue him at his peril.

Oth. Hold your hands,

Both you of my inclining and the rest :
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it
Without a prompter. Where will you that I go
To answer this your charge ?

Bra. To prison ; till fit time

Of law and course of direct session
Call thee to answer.

Oth. What if I do obey?

How may the duke be therewith satisfied,
Whose messengers are here about my side,
Upon some present business of the state,
To bring me to him.

I Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior ;

The duke 's in council, and your noble self,
I am sure, is sent for.

Bra. How ! the duke in council !

In this time of the night ! Bring him away :
Mine 's not an idle cause : the duke himself,
Or any of my brothers of the state,
Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own ;
For if such actions may have passage free,
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. VENICE. A Council-chamber.

The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table;
Officers attending.

Duke. There is no composition in these newg
That gives them credit.

1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion^ ;
My letters say a hundred and seven galleys.

Duke. And mine a hundred and forty.

2 Sen. And mine two hundred :
But though they jump not on a just account,
As in these cases, where the aim reports,

'Tis oft with difference, yet do they all confirm
A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment :
I do not so secure me in the error,
But the main article I do approve
In fearful sense.

Sailor. [Within.} What, ho! what, hoi
what, ho !

i Off. A messenger from the galleys.

SCENE III.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1175

Enter a Sailor.

Duke. Now, what 's the business ?

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for

Rhodes;

So was I bid report here to the state
By Signior Angelo.

Ditke. How say you by this change ?

I Sen. This cannot be,

By no assay of reason : 'tis a pageant
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ;
And let ourselves again but understand
That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
So may he with more facile question bear it,
For that it stands not in such warlike brace,
But altogether lacks the abilities [of this,

That Rhodes is dress'd in : if we make thought
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful
To leave that latest which concerns him first ;
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain
To wake and wage a danger profitless.

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he 's not for
Rhodes.

I Off. Here is more news.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious,
Steering with due course toward the isle of

Rhodes,

Have there injointed them with an after fleet.
I Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, as
you guess ? [stem

Mess. Of thirty sail : and now do they re-
Their backward course, bearing with frank
appearance [tano,

Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Mon-
Your trusty and most valiant servitor,
With his free duty recommends you thus,
And prays you to believe him.

Duke. 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.
Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town ?
I Sen. He 's now in Florence.
Duke. Write from us to him ; post-post-haste
despatch. [Moor.

I Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant

Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO,
RODERIGO, and Officers.

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight

employ you

Against the general enemy Ottoman.
I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior ;

[To BRABANTIO.

Wdtlack'd your counsel and your help to-night.
hra. So did I yours. Good your grace,
pardon me ;

Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business
Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the

general care

Take hold on me ; for my particular grief
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
And it is still itself.

Duke. Why, what 's the matter ?

Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter !
Duke and Senators. Dead ?

Bra. Ay, to me ;

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
For nature so preposterously to err,
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,
Sans witchcraft could not. [ceeding,

Duke. Whoe'er he be that, in this foul pro-
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself,
And you of her, the bloody book of law
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter
After your own sense ; yea, though our proper

son
Stood in your action.

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace.

Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it

seems,

Your special mandate for the state affairs
Hath hither brought.

Duke and Senators. We are very sorry for 't.
Duke. What, in your own part, can you say

to this? [To OTHELLO.

Bra. Nothing, but this is so. [iprs,

Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend sign-
My very noble and approv'd good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true j true, I have married her :
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my

speech,

And little bless' d with the soft phrase of peace ;
For since these arms of mine had seven years'

pith, [us'd

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have
Their dearest action in the tented field ;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious

patience,

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what

charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,
I won his daughter.

Bra. A maiden never bold :

Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion

1 176

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT !.

Blush'd at herself ; and she, in spite of nature,
Of years, of country, credit, everything,
To fall iti love with what she fear'd to look on !
It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect
That will confess perfection so could err
Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell,
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again,
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the

blood,

Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect,
He wrought upon her.

Duke. To vouch this is no proof ;

Without more wider and more overt test
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods
Of modern seeming do prefer against him.

I Sen. But, Othello, speak :
Did you by indirect and forced courses
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
Or came it by request, and such fair question
As soul to soul arfordeth ?

Oth. I do beseech you,

Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
And let her speak of me before her father
If you do find me foul in her report,
The trust, the office I do hold of you,
Not only take away, but let your sentence
Even fall upon my life.

Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither.

Oth. Ancient, conduct them ; you best know
the place.

{Exeunt IAGO and Attendants.
And, till she come, as truly as to heaven
I do confess the vices of my blood,
So justly to your grave ears I '11 present
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
And she in mine.

Duke. Say it, Othello.

Oth. Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days
To the very moment that he bade me tell it :
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field ;
Of hairbreadth scapes i' the imminent deadly

breach ;

Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history :
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads

touch heaven,

It was my hint to speak, such was the process ;
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear

Would Desdemona seriously incline :

But still the house affairs would draw her

thence ;

Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse : which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively : I did consent ;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs :
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas pass-
ing strange ;

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful :
She wish'd she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man : she

thank'd me ;

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ;
And I lov'd her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd :
Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants.

Duke. I think this tale would win my

daughter too.
Good Brabantio,

Take up this mangled matter at the best .
Men do their broken weapons rather use
Than their bare hands.

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak :

If she confess that she was half the wooer,
Destruction on my head if my bad blame
Light oh the man ! Come hither, gentle mis-
tress :

Do you perceive in all this noble company
Where most you owe obedience ?

Des. My noble father

I do perceive here a divided duty :
To you I am bound for life and education;
My life and education both do learn me
How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty,
I am hitherto your daughter : but here 's my

husband ;

And so much duty as my mother show'd
To you, preferring you before her father,
So much I challenge that I may profess
Due to the Moor, my lord.

Bra, God be with you ! I have done.

fc*.

SCENE III.j

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1177

Please it your grace, on to the state affairs :
I had rather to adopt a child than get it.
Come hither, Moor :

I here do give thee that with all my heart,
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,
I am glad at soul I have no other child ;
For thy escape would teach me tyranny,
To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord.

Duke. Let me speak like yourself; and lay

a sentence,

Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers
Into your favour.

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes

depended.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone
Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes,
Patience her injury a mockery makes.
The robb'd that smiles steals *>mething from

the thief;
He robs himself that spends a lx>otless grief.

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ;
We lose it not so long as we can smile ;
He bears the sentence well that nothing bears
But the free comfort which from thence he hears;
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
These sentences, to sugar or to gall.
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal :
But words are words ; I never yet did hear
That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the
ear. [state.

I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty pre-
paration makes for Cyprus. Othello, the forti-
tude of the place is best known to you ; and
though we have there a substitute of most
allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign
mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice
on you : you must therefore be content to slub-
ber the gloss of your new fortunes with this
more stubborn and boisterous expedition.

Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize
A natural and prompt alacrity
I find in hardness ; and do undertake
These present wars against the Ottomites.
Most humbly, therefore, bending to your state,
I crave fit disposition /or my wife ;
Due reference of place and exhibition ;
With such accommodation and besort
As levels with her breeding.

Dtike. If you please,

Be 't at her father's.

Bra. I '11 not have it so.

Oth. Nor I.

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside,

To put my father in impatient thoughts,
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,
To my unfolding lend a gracious ear ;
And let me find a charter in your voice
To assist my simpleness.

Duke. What would you, Desdemona?

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with

him,

My downright violence and scorn of fortunes
May trumpet to the world : my heart 's subdu'd
Even to the very quality of my lord :
I saw Othello's visage in his mind ;
And to his honours and his valiant parts
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
A moth of peace, and he go to the war,
The rites for which I love him are bereft me,
And I a heavy interim shall support
By his dear absence. Let me go with him.

Oth. Let her have your voices.
Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not
To please the palate of my appetite ;
Nor to comply with heat, the young affects
In me defunct, and proper satisfaction ;
But to be free and bounteous to her mind :
And heaven defend your good souls, that you

think

I will your serious and great business scant
For she is with me : no, when light-wing'd

toys

Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dullness
My speculative and offic'd instruments,
That my disports corrupt and taint my business,
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm,
And all indign and base adversities
Make head against my estimation !

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine,
Either for her stay or going: the affair cries

haste,
And speed must answer it.

i Sen. You must away to-night.

Oth. With all my heart.

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll

meet again.

Othello, leave some officer behind,
And he shall our commission bring to you ;
With such things else of quality and respect
As doth import you.

Oth. So please your grace, my ancient,
A man he is of honesty and trust,
To his conveyance I assign my wife,
With what else needful your good grace shall

think
To be sent after me.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT I.

Duke. Let it be so.

Good-night to every one. And, noble signior,
[To BRABANTIO.

If virtue no delighted beauty lack,
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.

I Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ; use Desdemona
well. [to see :

Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee.

[Exeunt DUKE, Senators, Officers, &c.

Oth. My life upon her faith ! Honest lago,
My Desdemona must I leave to thee :
I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her ;
And bring them after in the best advantage.
Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour
Of love, of worldly matters and direction,
To spend with thee : we must obey the time.
[Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA.

Rod. lago,

lago. What say's! thou, noble heart ?

Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou ?

lago. Why, go to bed and sleep.

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself.

logo. If thou dost, I shall never love thee
after. Why, thou silly gentleman !

Rod. It is silliness to live when to live is
torment ; and then have we a prescription to
die when death is our physician.

lago. O villanous ! I have looked upon the
world for four time? seven years ; and since I
could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an
injury, I never found man that knew how to
love himself. Ere I would say I would drown
myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I would
change my humanity with a baboon.

Rod. What should I do ? I confess it is my
shame to be so fond ; but it is not in my virtue
to amend it.

lago. Virtue ! a fig ! 'tis in ourselves that we
are thus or thus. Our bodies are gardens, to
the which our wills are gardeners-; so that if
we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop
and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender
of herbs or distract it with many, either to
have it sterile with idleness or manured with
industry; why, the power and corrigible
authority of this lies in our wills. If the
balance of our lives had not one scale of reason
to poise another of sensuality, the blood and
baseness of our natures would conduct us to
most preposterous conclusions: but we have
reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal
stings, our unbitted lusts ; whereof I take this,
that you call love, to be a sect or scion.

Rod. It cannot be.

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a
permission of the will. Come, be a man:

drown thyself 1 drown cats and blind puppies.
I have professed me thy friend, and I confess
me knit to thy deserving with cables of per-
durable toughness ; I could never better stead
thee than now. Put money in thy purse ;
follow thou the wars ; defeat thy favour with
an usurped beard ; I say, put money in thy
purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should
long continue her love to the Moor, put
money in thy purse, nor he his to her: it was
a violent commencement, and thou shalt see
an answerable sequestration ; put but money
in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in
their wills ; fill thy purse with money: the
food that to him now is as luscious as locusts
shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida.
She must change for youth : when she is sated
with his body she will find the error of her
choice : she must have change, she must :
therefore put money in thy purse. If thou
wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate
way than drowning. Make all the money thou
canst : if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an
erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian be
not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of
hell, thou shalt enjoy her ; therefore make
money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean
out of the way : seek thou rather to be hanged
in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and
go without her.

Rod. Wilt thou be fest to my hopes if I
depend on the issue ?

lago. Thou art sure of me: go, make
money: I have told thee often, and I re-tell
thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my
cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason.
Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against
him : if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thy-
self a pleasure, me a sport. There are many
events in the womb of time which will be
delivered. Traverse ; go ; provide thy money.
We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu.

Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning ?

lago. At my lodging.

Rod. I '11 be with thee betimes. [Roderigo?

lago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear,

Rod. What say you ?

lago. No more of drowning, do you hear ?

Rod. I am changed : I '11 go sell all my land.

[Exit.

lago. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ;
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane
If I would time expend with such a snipe
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor ;
And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets
He has done my office : I know not if 't be true ;
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,

SCENE III.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1179

Will do as if for surety. He holds me well ;
The better shall my purpose work on him.
Cassio 's a proper man : let me see now ;
To get his place, and to plume up my will
In double knavery, How, how? Let 's see :
After some time to abuse Othello's ear
That he is too familiar with his wife :
He hath a person, and a smooth dispose,
To be suspected ; fram'd to make women false.
The Moor is of a free and open nature,
That thinks men honest that but seem to be so ;
And will as tenderly be led by the nose
As asses are.

I have 't ; it is engenderM : hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's
light. [Exit.

yd* - viT- -V/3ft^Aft9tjppP ,1'iSsi-

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Seaport Town in Cyprus. A
Platform.

Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen.

Mon. What from the cape can you discern
at sea ? [flood ;

1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high-wrought
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main,
Descry a sail. [land ;

Mon. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at
A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements :
If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on
them, [this?

Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of

2 Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet :
For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ;
The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous

main,

Seems to cast water on the burning Bear,
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole :
I never did like molestation view
On the enchafed flood.

Mon. If that the Turkish fleet

Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are

drown'd ;
It is impossible to bear it out.

Enter a third Gentleman.

3 Gent. News, lads ! our wars are done.
The desperate tempest hath so bangtt the Turks
That their designment halts: a noble ship of

Venice

Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
On most part of their fleet.

Mon. How ! is this true ?

3 Gent. The ship is here put in,

A Veronessa ; Michael Cassio,
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,
Is come on shore : the Moor himself 's at sea,
And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

Mon. I am glad on 't ; 'tis a worthy governor.

3 Gent. But this same Cassio, though he

speak of comfort

Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,
And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were

parted
With foul and violent tempest.

Mon. Prey heavens he be ;

For I have serv'd him, and the man commands
Like a full soldier. Let 's to the sea-side, ho !
As well to see the vessel that 's come in
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,
Even till we make the main and the aerial blue
An indistinct regard.

3 Gent. Come, let 's do so ;
For every minute is expectancy

Of more arrivance.

Enter CASSIO.

Cos. Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike

isle,

That so approve the Moor ! O, let the heavens
Give him defence against the elements,
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea !

Mon. Is he well shipp'd? [pilot

Cos. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his
Of very expert and approv'd allowance ;
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,
Stand in bold cure.

\_Within.\ A sail, a sail, a sail !

Enter a fourth Gentleman.
Cas. What noise ? [the sea

4 Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o*
Stand ranks of people, and they cry, A sail!

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor.

[Guns within.

2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of

courtesy :
Our friends at least.

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth,

And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd.
2 Gent. I shall. [Exit.

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general
wiv'd? [maid

Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a
That paragons description and wild fame ;
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
And in the essential vesture of creation
Does tire the ingener.

Re-enter second Gentleman.

How now ! who has put in ?
2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general

n8o

OTHBLLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT ii.

Cos. Has had most favourable and happy
speed : [winds,

Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands,
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,
As having sense of beauty, do omit
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by
The divine Desdemona.

Man. What is she?

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's

captain,

Left in the conduct of the bold lago ;
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello
guard, [breath,

And swell his sail with thine own powerful
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits,
And bring all Cyprus comfort ! O, behold,

Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODE-
RIGO, and Attendants.

The riches of the ship is come on shore !
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven,
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
Enwheel thee round !

Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio.

What tidings can you tell me of my lord ?

Cas. He is not yet arriv'd : nor know I aught
But that he 's well, and will be shortly here.

Des. O, but I fear How lost you company?

Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies
Parted our fellowsnip : but, hark ! a sail.

[Within.'] A sail, a sail ! [Guns within.

2 Gent. They give their greeting to the cita-
del :
This likewise is a friend.

Cas. See for the news.

[Exit Gentlemen.

Good ancient, you are welcome : welcome,
mistress : [ 73? EMILIA.

Let it not gall your patience, good lago,
That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding
That gives me this bold show of courtesy.

[Kissing her.

lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her

lips

As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
You 'd have enough.

Des. Alas, she has no speech.

lago. In faith, too much ;
I find it still when I have list to sleep :
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,
She puts her tongue a little in her heart,
And chides with thinking.

Emil. You have little cause to say so.

lagc. Come on, come on ; you are pictures
out of doors, [kitchens,

Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended,
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in
your beds.

Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer !

lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk :
You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

Emil. You shall not write my praise.

lago. No, let me not.

Des. What wouldst thou write of me if thou
shouldst praise me ?

lago. O gentle lady, do not put me to 't ;
For I am nothing if not critical. [harbour ?

Des. Come on, assay There 's one gone to the

lago. Ay, madam.

Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
Come, how wouldst thou praise me ? [tion

lago. I am about it ; but, indeed, my inven-
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from
frize, [labours,

It plucks out brains and all : but my muse
And thus she is deliver'd.
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,
The one 's for use, the other useth it. [witty ?

Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and

lago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,
She '11 find a white that shall her blackness fit.

Des. Worse and worse.

Emil. How if fair and foolish ?

lago. She never yet was foolish that was fair ;
For even her folly help'd her to an heir.

Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make
fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable
praise hast thou for her that 's foul and foolish?

lago. There 's none so foul, and foolish there-
unto,

But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones
do.

Des. O heavy ignorance ! thou praisest the
worst best. But what praise couldst thou be-
stow on a deserving woman indeed, one that,
in the authority of her merit, did justly put on
the vouch of very malice itself?

lago. She that was ever fair, and never proud;
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ;
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ;
Fled from her wish, and yet said, Now / may;
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly ;
She that in wisdom never was so frail
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail ;
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her
mind ;

SCENE I.j

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1181

Bee suitors following, and not look behind ;
She was a wight, if ever such wight were,

Des. To do what? [beer.

lago. To suckle fools and chronicle small

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion !
Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be
thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not
a most profane and liberal counsellor ?

Cas. He speaks home, madam : you may
relish him more in the soldier than in the
scholar.

lago. [Asz'de.] He takes her by the palm :
ay, well said, whisper : with as little a web as
this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio.
Ay, smile upon her, do ; I will gyve thee in
thine own courtship. You say true ; 'tis so,
indeed : if such tricks as these strip you out of
your lieutenantry, it had been better you had
not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now
again you are most apt to play the sir in.
Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy!
'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your
lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your
sake ! [Trumpet within.'} The Moor ! I know
his trumpet.

Cas. 'Tis truly so.

Des. Let's meet him, and receive him.

Cas. Lo, where he comes !

Enter OTHELLO and Attendants.

Oth. O my fair warrior !

Des. My dear Othello !

Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy !
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken'd

death !

And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low
As hell 's from heaven ! If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear,
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

Des. The heavens forbid

But that our loves and comforts should increase
Even as our days do grow !

Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers !

I cannot speak enough of this content ;
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy :
And this, and this, the greatest discords be

\_Kissing her.
That e'er our hearts shall make !

lugo. [Aside.] O, you are well tun'd now !
But I '11 set down the pegs that make this music,
As honest as I am.

OfL Come, let us to the castle.

News, friends ; out wars are done, the Turks

are drown'd.

How does my old acquaintance of this isle ?
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus ;
I have found great love amongst them. O my

sweet,

I prattle out of fashion, and I dote
In mine own comforts. I pr'ythee, good lago,
Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers :
Bring thou the master to the citadel ;
He is a good one, and his worthiness [mona,
Does challenge much respect. Come, Desde-
Once more well met at Cyprus.

[Exeunt OTH., DES., and Attend.

lago. Do thou meet me presently at the har-
bour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,
as, they say, base men being in love have then
a nobility in their natures more than is native
to them, list me. The lieutenant to-night
watches on the court of guard : first, I must
tell thee this Desdemona is directly in love
with him.

Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible.

lago. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be
instructed. Mark me with what violence she
first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and
telling her fantastical lies : and will she love
him still for prating ? let not thy discreet heart
think it. Her eye must be fed ; and what de-
light shall she have to look on the devil ? When
the blood is made dull with the act of sport,
there should be, -again to inflame it, and to
give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in
favour ; sympathy in years, manners, and beau-
ties ; all which the Moor is defective in : now,
for want of these required conveniences, her
delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin
to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the
Moor ; very nature will instruct her in it, and
compel her to some second choice. Now, sir,
this granted, as it is a most pregnant and un-
forced position, who stands so eminently in
the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a
knave very voluble ; no further conscionable
than in putting on the mere form of civil and
humane seeming, for the better compassing of
his salt and most hidden loose affection ? why,
none ; why, none : a slippery and subtle knave ;
a finder of occasions ; that has an eye can stamp
and counterfeit advantages, though true advan-
tage never present itself: a devilish knave J
besides, the knave is handsome, young, and
hath all those requisites in him that folly and
green minds look after: a pestilent complete
knave ; and the woman hath found him already.

Rod. I cannot believe that in her j she is full
of most blessed condition.

1 1 82

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT

logo. Blessed fig's end ! the wine she drinks
is made of grapes : if she had been blessed, she
would never have loved the Moor : blessed
pudding ! Didst thou not see her paddle with
the palm of his hand ? didst not mark that ?

Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but
courtesy.

lago. Lechery, by this hand ; an index and
obscure prologue to the history of lust and
foul thoughts. They met so near with their
lips that their breaths embraced together.
Villanous thoughts, Roderigo ! when these
mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand
comes the master and main exercise, the incor-
porate conclusion : pish ! But, sir, be you
ruled by me : I have brought you from Venice.
Watch you to-night ; for the command, I '11
lay 't upon you : Cassio knows you not : I '11
not be far from you : do you find some occasion
to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud,
or tainting his discipline, or from what other
course you please, which the time shall more
favourably minister.

Rod. Well.

lago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in
choler, and haply with his truncheon may strike
at you : provoke him that he may ; for even
out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to
mutiny, whose qualification shall come into no
true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio.
So shall you have a shorter journey to your de-
sires by the means I shall th .n have to prefer
them ; and the impediment most profitably
removed, without the which there were no
expectation of our prosperity.

Rod. I will do this, if 1 can bring it to any
opportunity.

lago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by
at the citadel : I must fetch his necessaries
ashore. Farewell.

Rod. Adieu. [Exit.

lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well be-
lieve it ;

That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit:
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature ;
And, I dare think, he '11 prove to Desdemona
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too;
Not out of absolute lust, though, peradventure,
I stand accountant for as great a sin,
But partly led to diet my revenge,
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
Hath leap'd into my seat : the thought whereof
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my in-
wards ;

And nothing can or shall content my soul
Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife ;

Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor

At least into a jealousy so strong

That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to

If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
I '11 have our Michael Cassio on the hip ;
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb,
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too ;
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and re-
ward me

For making him egregiously an ass,
And practising upon his peace and quiet
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confus'd :
Knavery's plain face is never seen till us'd.

[Exit.

SCENE II. A Street.

Enter a Herald with a proclamation ; People
following.

Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and
valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now
arrived, importing the mere perdition of the
Turkish fleet, every man put himself into
triumph ; some to dance, some to make bon-
fires, each man to what sport and revels his
addiction leads him : for, besides these bene-
ficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial :
so much was his pleasure should be proclaimed.
All offices are open ; and there is full liberty
of feasting from this present hour of five till
the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the
isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello !

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Hall in the Castle.

Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and
Attendants.

Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard

to-night :

Let 's teach ourselves that honourable stop,
Not to out-sport discretion.

Cos. lago hath direction what to do ;
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye
Will I look to 't.

Oth. lago is most honest.
Michael, good -night: to-morrow with your

earliest

Let me have speech with you. Come, my dear
love, [To DESDEMONA.

The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ;
That profit 's yet to come 'tween me and you.
Good-night.

[Exeunt OTH., DBS., and Attend.

SCENE III.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1183

Enter IAGO.

Cas. Welcome, lago ; we must to the watch.

lago. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet
ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus
early for the love of his Desdemona ; who let
us not therefore blame : he hath not yet made
wanton the night with her ; and she is sport
for Jove.

Cas. She 's a most exquisite lady.

lago. And, I Ml warrant her, full of game.

Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate
creature.

lago. What an eye she has ! methinks it
sounds a parley to provocation. [modest.

Cas. An inviting eye ; and yet methinks right

lago. And when she speaks, is it not an
alarm to love?

Cas. She is, indeed, perfection.

lago. Weil, happiness to their sheets !
Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and
here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants
that would fain have a measure to the health
of black Othello.

Cas. Not to-night, good lago : I have very
poor and unhappy brains for drinking : I could
well wish courtesy would invent some other
custom of entertainment.

lago. O, they are our friends ; but one cup :
I '11 drink for you.

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and
that was craftily qualified too, and, behold,
what innovation it makes here : I am unfortu-
nate in the infirmity, and dare not task my
weakness with any more.

logo. What, man ! 'tis a night of revels : the
gallants desire it.

Cas. Where are they ? [them in.

lago. Here at the door ; I pray you, call

Cas. I '11 do 't ; but it dislikes me. [Exit.

lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him,
With that which he hath drunk to-night

already,

He '11 be as full of quarrel and offence
As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick
fool Roderigo, [out,

Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side
To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd
Potations pottle deep ; and he 's to watch :
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike isle.
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock

of drunkards,

Am I to put our Cassio in some action
That may offend the isle : but here they come :

If consequence do but approve my dream,
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

Re-enter CASSIO, with him MONTANO and
Gentlemen, followed by Servant with wine.

Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a
rouse already.

Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a
pint, as I am a soldier.

lago. Some wine, ho !

\Singt,

And let me the canakin clink, clink ;
And let me the canakin clink :

A soldier 's a man ;

O, man's life 's but a span ;
Why, then, let a soldier drink.

Some wine, boys.

Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song.

lago. I learned it in England, where, indeed,
they are most potent in potting : your Dane,
your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,
Drink, ho ! are nothing to your English.

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his
drinking ?

lago. Why, he drinks you, with iacility,
your Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to over-
throw your Almain ; he gives your Hollander
a vomit ere the next pottle can be filled.

Cas. To the health of our general !

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I '11 do
you justice.

lago. O sweet England !

King Stephen was and a worthy peer, \Sings.

His breeches cost him but a crown ;
He held them sixpence all too dear,

With that he call'd the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,

And thou art but of low degree :
'TLs pride that pul.s the country down ;

Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho !

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song
than the other.

lago. Will you hear it again ?

Cas. No ; for I hold him to be unworthy of
his place that does those things. Well,
heaven 's above all ; and there be souls must
be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

lago. It 's true, good lieutenant.

Cas. For mine own part, no offence to the
general, nor any man oi quality, I hope to be
saved.

lago. And so do I too, lieutenant

Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ;
the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient.
Let 's have no more of this ; let 's to our affairs.
Forgive us our sins ! Gentlemen, let 's look
to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I
am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my

1 184

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE,

[ACT ii.

right hand, and this is my left hand : I am
not drunk now ; I can stand well enough, and
speak well enough.

All, Excellent well.

Cas. Why, very well, then : you must not
think, then, that I am drunk. [Exit.

Man. To the platform, masters ; come, let 's
set the watch. [before ;

lago. You see this fellow that is gone
He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar
And give direction : and do but see his vice ;
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox,
The one as long as the other : 'tis pity of him.
I fear the trust Othello puts him in,
On some odd time of his infirmity,
Will shake this island.

Mon. But is he often thus ?

lago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep :
He '11 watch the horologe a double set
If drink rock not his cradle.

Mon. It were well

The general were put in mind of it.
Perhaps he sees it not ; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,
And looks not on his evils : is not this true?

Enter RODERIGO.

lago. How, now, Roderigo ! [Aside to him.
I pray you, after the lieutenant ; go.

[Exit ROD.

Mon. And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor
Should hazard such a place as his own second
With one of an ingraft infirmity :
It were an honest action to say
So to the Moor.

lago. Not I, for this fair island ;

I do love Cassio well ; and would do much
To cure him of this evil. But, hark! what
noise? [Cry within, "Help! help!"

Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO.

Cas. You rogue ! you rascal !

Mon. What 's the matter, lieutenant ?

Cas. A knave teach me my duty !
I '11 beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

Rod. Beat me !

Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue ?

[Striking RODERIGO.

Mon. Nay, good lieutenant ;

[Staying him.
I pray you, sir, hold your hand.

Cas. Let me go, sir,

Or I '11 knock you o'er the mazard.

Mon. Come, come, you 're drunk.

Cas. Drunk! [They fight.

lago. Away, I say ! go out, and cry a mutiny !
\Aszde to ROD., who goes out.

Nay, good lieutenant, alas, gentlemen ;
Help, ho ! Lieutenant, sir, Montano,

sir:

Help, masters ! Here 's a goodly watch indeed !

[Bell rings.

Who 's that which rings the bell? Diablo, ho !
The town will rise : God's will, lieutenant, hold
You will be sham'd for ever.

Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants.

Oth. What is the matter here ?

Mon. Zounds, I bleed still ; I am hurt to

the death.

Oth. Hold, for your lives ! [ gentlemen,
lago. Hold, ho ! lieutenant, sir, Montano,
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ?
Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, for
shame ! [this ?

Oth. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth
Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that
Which Heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous

brawl :

He that stirs next to carve for his own rage
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion.
Silence that dreadful bell ! it frights the isle
From her propriety. What is the matter,

masters ?

Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving,
Speak, who began this ? on thy love, I charge
thee. [even now,

lago. I do not know : friends all but now,
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
Divesting them for bed ; and then, but now,
As if some planet had unwitteil rren,
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds ;
And would in action glorious I had lost
Those legs that brought me to a part of it !
Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus

forgot?

Cas. I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak.
Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be

civil ;

The gravity and stillness of your youth
The world hath noted, and your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure : what 's the matter,
That you unlace your reputation thus,
And spend your rich opinion for the name
Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it.

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger:
Your officer, lago, can inform you,
While I spare speech, which something now

offends me,

Of all that I do know : nor know I aught
By me that 's said or done amiss this night s

SCENE III.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1185

Unless self-charky be sometimes a vice,
And to defend ourselves it be a sin
When violence assails us.

Oth. Now, by heaven,

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ;
And passion, having my best judgment collied,
Assays to lead the way. If I once stir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began, who set it on ;
And he that is approv'd in this offence,
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,
Shall lose me. What ! in a town of war
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of iear,
To manage private and domestic quarrel,
In night, and on the court and guard of safety !
'Tis monstrous. lago, who began 't?

Man. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office,
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth,
Thou art no soldier.

lago. Touch me not so near :

I had rather have this tongue cut from my

mouth

Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ;
iTet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general.
Montano and myself being in speech,
There comes a fellow crying out for help ;
And Cassio followinghim with determin'd sword,
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause:
Myself the crying fellow did pursue,
Lest by his clamour, as it so fell out,
The town might tall in fright : he, swift of foot,
Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords,
And Cassio high in oath ; which till-to-night
I ne'er might say before. When I came back,
For this was brief, I found them close together
At blow and thrust ; even as again they were
When you yourself did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report;
But men are men ; the best sometimes forget :
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,
As men in rage strike those that wish them

best,

Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd
From him that fled some strange indignity
Which patience could not pass.

Oth. I know, lago,

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee ;
But never more be officer of mine.

Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended.

Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up !
I '11 make thee an example.

Des. What 's the mailer ?

Oth. All 's well now, sweeiing ; come away

to bed.

Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon:
Lead him off. [To MONTANO, who is ted off.
lago, look with care about the town,
And silence those whom this vile brawl dis-
tracted.

Come, Desdemona : 'tis the soldier's life
To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife.
[Exeunt all bttt IAGO and CASSIO.

lago. What, are ycu hurt, lieutenant?

Cas. Ay, past all surgery.

lago. Marry, heaven forbid !

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O,
I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the
immortal part of myself, and what remains is
bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputation!

lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you
had received some bodily wound ; there is more
sense in that than in reputation. Reputation
is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got
without merit, and lost without deserving : you
have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute
yourself such a loser. What, man ! there are
ways to recover the general again : you are but
now cast in his mood, a punishment more in
policy than in malice ; even so as one would
beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious
lion : sue to him again, and he is yours.

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than to
deceive so good a commander with so slight, so
drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk?
and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger?
swear? and discourse fustian with one's own
shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if
thou hast no name to be known by, let us call
thee devil !

lago. What was he that you followed with
your sword ? What had he done to you ?

Cas. I know not.

lago. Is 't possible ?

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but no-
thing distinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing where-
fore. O God, that men should put an enemy
in their mouths to steal away their brains ! that
we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and
applause, transform ourselves into beasts !

lago. Why, but you are now well enough :
how come you thus recovered ?

Cas. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to
give place to the devil wrath: one unperfectness
shows me another, to make me frankly despise
myself.

lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler :
as the time, the place, and the condition of
this country stands, I could heartily wish this

2 P

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT in.

bad not befallen ; but, since it is as it is, mend
it for your own good.

Cas. I will ask him for my place again, he
shall tell me I am a drunkard ! Had I as many
mouths as Hydra, such an answer would step
them all. To be now a sensible man, by and
by a fool, and presently a beast ! O strange !
Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the
ingredient is a devil.

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good
familiar creature if it be well used : exclaim no
more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think
you think I love you.

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk !

lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk
at a time, man. I '11 tell you what you shall
do. Our general's wife is now the general ; I
may say so in this respect, for that he hath
devoted and given up himself to the contempla-
tion, mark, and denotement of her parts and
graces : confess yourself freely to her ; im-
portune her help to put you in your place
again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so
blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her
goodness not to do more than she is requested :
this broken joint between you and her husband
entreat her to splinter ; and, my fortunes against
any lay worth naming, this crack of your love
shall grow stronger than it was before.

Cas. You advise me well.

lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and
honest kindness.

Cas. I think it freely; and betimes in the
morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona
to undertake for me: I am desperate of my
fortunes if they check me here.

lago. You are in the right. Good-night,
lieutenant ; I must to the watch.

Cas. Good -night, honest lago. [Exit.

lago. And what's he, then, that says I play

the villain ?

When this advice is free I give and honest,
Probal to thinking, and, indeed, the course
To win the Moor again ? For 'tis most easy
The inclining Desdemona to subdue
In any honest suit : she 's fram'd as fruitful
As the free elements. And then for her
To win the Moor, were't to renounce his

baptism,

All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the god
With his weak function. How am I, then, a

villain

To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
Directly to his good ? Divinity of hell 1

When devils will their blackest sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,
As I do now : for whiles this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes,
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
I '11 pour this pestilence into his ear,
That she repeals him for her body's lust ;
And by how much she strives to do him good
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch ;
And out of her own goodness make the net
That shall enmesh them all.

Enter RODERIGO.

How now, Roderigo !

Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like
a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the
cry. My money is almost spent ; I have been
to-night exceedingly well cudgelled ; and I
think the issue will be I shall have so much
experience for my pains : and so, with no
money at all, and a little more wit, return
again to Venice. [patience!

lago. How poor are they that have not
What wound did ever heal but by degrees ?
Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by

witchcraft ;

And wit depends on dilatory time.
Does 't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee,
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd

Cassio ;

Though other things grow fair against the sun,
Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe:
Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis

morning ;
Pleasure and action make the hours seem

short.

Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted :
Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter:
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit ROD.] Two things

are to be done,

My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ;
I '11 set her on ;

Myself the while to draw the Moor apart,
And bring him jump when he may Cassio find
Soliciting his wife. Ay, that's the way;
Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit

ACT III.

SCENE I. CYPRUS. Before the Castle.
Enter CASSIO and some Musicians.

Cas. Masters, play here, I will content

your pains,

Something that 's brief; and bid good-morrow,
general,

SCENE T.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1187

Enter Clown.

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments
been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose
thus?

I Mus. How, sir, how!

Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments?

i Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir.

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tale.

I Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir ?

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument
that I know. But, masters, here 's money for
you : and the general so likes your music that
he desires you, for love's sake, to make no
more noise with it.

i Mus. Well, sir, we will not.

Clo. If you have any music that may not be
heard, to't again: but, as they say, to hear
music the general does not greatly care.

I Mus. We have none such, sir.

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for
I '11 away : go ; vanish into air ; away.

[Exeunt Musicians.

Cas. Dost thou hear, mine honest friend?

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend ; I
hear you.

Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There 's
a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentle-
woman that attends the general's wife be
stirring, tell her there 's one Cassio entreats
her a little favour of speech : wilt thou do this?

Clo. She is stirring, sir; if she will stir
hither I shall seem to notify unto her.

Cas. Do, good my friend. [Exit Clown.

Enter lAGO.

In happy time, lago.

lago. You have not been a-bed, then ?

Cas. Why, no ; the day had broke
Before we parted. I have made bold, lago,
To send in to your wife : my suit to her
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona
Procure me some access.

lago. I '11 send her to you presently ;

And I '11 devise a mean to draw the Moor
Out of the way, that your converse and business
May be more free.

Cas. I humbly thank you for 't. [Exit I AGO. ]

I never knew
A Florentine more kind and honest.

Enter EMILIA.

Emil. Good-morrow, good lieutenant : I am

sorry

For your displeasure; but all will soon be well.
The general and his wife are talking of it ;
And she speaks for you stoutly : the Moor replies

That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus,
And great affinity, and that, in wholesome
wisdom, [he loves you,

He might not but refuse you ; but he protests
And needs no other suitor but his likings
To take the saf 'st occasion by the front
To bring you in again.

Cas. Yet, I beseech you,

If you think fit, or that it may be done,
Give me advantage of some brief discourse
With Desdemon alone.

Emil. Pray you, come in :

I will bestow you where you shall have time
To speak your bosom freely.

Cas. I am much bound to you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. CYPRUS. A Room in the Castle.
Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen.

Oth. These letters give, lago, to the pilot ;
And by him do my duties to the senate :
That done, I will be walking on the works ;
Repair there to me.

lago. Well, my good lord, I '11 do't.

Oth. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we

see 't ?
Gent. We '11 wait upon your lordship.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. CYPRUS. The Garden of the
Castle.

Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA.

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do
All my abilities in thy behalf. [my husband

Emil. Good madam, do : I warrant it grieves
As if the case were his. [doubt, Cassio,

Des. O, that's an honest fellow. Do not
But I will have my lord and you again
As friendly as you were.

Cas. Bounteous madam,

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
He 's never anything but your true servant.

Des. I know 't, I thank you. You do love
my lord : [assur'd

You have known him long ; and be you well
He shall in strangeness stand no further off
Than in a politic distance.

Cas. Ay, but, lady,

That policy may either last so long,
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet,
Or breed itself so out of circumstance,
That, I being absent, and my place supplied,
My general will forget my love and service.

Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here
I give thee warrant of thy place : assure thee,

u88

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT in.

If I do vow a friendship, I '11 perform it

To the last article : my lord shall never rest ;

I '11 watch him tame, and talk him out of

patience ;

His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ;
I '11 intermingle everything he does
With Cassio's suit : therefore be merry, Cassio;
For thy solicitor shall rather die
Than give thy cause away.

Emil. Madam, here comes

My lord.

Cos. Madam, I '11 take my leave.

Des. Why, stay,

And hear me speak,

Cos. Madam, not now : I am very ill at ease,
Unfit for mine own purposes.

Des. Well, do your discretion.

[Exit CASSIO.

Enter OTHELLO and IAGO.

lago. Ha ! I like not that.

Oth. What dost thou say ? [what.

lago. Nothing, my lord : or if I know not

Oth. Was not that Cassio parted from my
wife ? [think it,

lago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I cannot
That he would steal away so guilty-like,
Seeing you coming.

Oth. I do believe 'twas he.

Des. How now, my lord !
I have been talking with a suitor here,
A man that languishes in your displeasure.

Oth. Who is 't you mean ? [lord,

Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my
If I have any grace or power to move you,
His present reconciliation take ;
For if he be not one that truly loves you,
That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning,
I have no judgment in an honest face :
I pr'ythee, call him back.

Oth. Went he hence now ?

Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled
That he hath left part of his grief with me,
To sufter with him. Good love, call him back.

Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemon ; some
other time.

Dei. But shall't be shortly ?

Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you.

Des. Shall 't be to-night at supper ?

Oth. No, not to-night.

Des. To-morrow dinner, then ?

Oth. I shall not dine at home ;

I meet the captains at the citadel.

Des. Why, then, to-morrow night ; or Tues-
day morn ; [morn :
On Tuesday noon, or night ; on Wednesday
I pr'ythee, name the time ; but let it not

Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent ;
And yet his trespass, in our common reason,
Save that, they say, the wars must make ex^

amples

Out of the best, is not almost a fault
To incur a private check. When shall he come?
Tell me, Othello : I wonder in my soul
What you would ask me that I should deny,
Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael
Cassio, [time,

That came a-wooing with you ; and so many a
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,
Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do
To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do
much, [he will ;

Oth. Pr'ythee, no more ; let him come when
I will deny thee nothing.

Des. Why, this is not a boon ;

'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit
To your own person : nay, when I have a suit
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,
It shall be full of poise and difficult weight,
And fearful to be granted.

Oth. I will deny thee nothing :

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,
To leave me but a little to myself.

Des. Shall I deny you ? no : farewell, my lord

Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona : I '11 come
to thee straight. [you ;

Des Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach
Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

[Exit -with EMILIA.

Oth. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my

soul,

But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not
Chaos is come again.

lago. My noble lord,

Oth. What dost thou say, lago ?

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd

my lady,
Know of your love ? [thou ask ?

Oth. He did, from first to last : why dost

lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ;
No further harm.

Oth. Why of thy thought, lago ?

lago. I did not think he had been acquainted
with her.

Oth. O, yes ; and went between us very oft.

lago. Indeed !

Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed : discern'st thou

aught in that ?
Is he not honest ?

lago. Honest, my lord !

Oth. Honest ! ay, honest.

lago. My lord, for aught I know.

SCENE III.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1189

Of A. What dost thou think ?

logo. Think, my lord !

Oth. Think, my lord !

By heaven, he echoes me,
As if there were some monster in his thought
Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean
something : [that,

I heard thee say even now, thou lik'dst not
When Cassio left my wife : what didst not like?
And when I told thee he was of my counsel
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst,
Indeed! [gether,

And didst contract and purse thy brow to-
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit : if thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

/ago. My lord, you know I love you.

Oth. I think thou dost ;

And, for I know thou'rt full of love and

honesty, [breath,

And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them

Therefore these stops of thine fright me the

For such things in a false disloyal knave
Are tricks of custom ; but in a man that 's just
They 're close delations, working from the heart,
That passion cannot rule.

lago. For Michael Cassio,

I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.

Oth. I think so too.

lago. Men should be what they seem ;

Or those that be not, would they might seem
none !

Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem.

lago. Why, then,

I think Cassio 's an honest man.

Oth. Nay, yet there 's more in this :
I pr'ythee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst ot

thoughts
The worst of words.

/ago. Good my lord, pardon me :

Though I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.
Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile

and false,

As where 's that palace whereunto foul things
Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure
But some uncleanly apprehensions
Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit
With meditations lawful ? [lago,

Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend,
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st

his ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.

lago. I do beseech you,

Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,

As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
To spy into abuses, and of my jealousy [yet,
Shape faults that are not, that your wisdom
From one that so imperfectly conceits,
Would take no notice ; nor build yourself a

trouble

Out of his scattering and unsure observance :
It were not for your quiet nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.

Oth. What dost thou mean ?

lago. Good name in man and woman, dear

my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls :
Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis some-
thing, nothing ; [thousands ;
''Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And .nakes me poor indeed.

Oth. By heaven, I '11 know thy thoughts.

lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your

hand;
Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

Oth. Ha!

lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ;
It is the green-ey'd monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on : that cuckold lives hi bliss
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ;
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly
loves !

Oth. O misery ! [enough ;

lago. Poor and content is rich, and rich
But riches fineless is as poor as winter
To him that ever fears he shall be poor :
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy !

Oth. Why, why is this ?

Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon
With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in

doubt

Is once to be resolv'd : exchange me for a goat
When I shall turn the business of my soul
To auch exsufflicate and blown surmises,
Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me

jealous,

To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous :
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt ;
For she Lad eyes, and chose me. No, lago ;
I '11 see before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ;
And, on the proof, there is no more but this,
Away at once with love or jealousy !

1190

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT in.

lago. I am glad of it ; for now I shall have

reason

To show the love and duty that I bear you
With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound,
Receive it from me : I speak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife ; observe her well with

Cassio ;

Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure :
I would not have your free and noble nature,
Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look to 't :
I know our country disposition well ;
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks
They dare not show their husbands ; their best

conscience
Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown.

Oth. Dost thou say so ? [you ;

lago. She did deceive her father, marrying
And when she seem'd to shake and fear your

looks,
She lov'd them most.

Oth. And so she did.

lago. Why, go to, then ;

She that, so young, could give out such a

seeming,

To seal her father's eyes up close as oak,
He thought 'twas witchcraft, But I am much j

to blame ;

I humbly do beseech you of your pardon
For too much loving you.

Oth. I am bound to thee for ever.

lago. I see this hath a little dash'd your
spirits.

Oth. Not a jot, not a jot.

lago. Trust me, I fear it has.

I hope you will consider what is spoke
Comes from my love; but I do see you're

mov'd :

I am to pray you not to strain my speech
To grosser issues nor to larger reach
Than to suspicion.

Oth. I will not.

lago. Should you do so, my lord,

My speech should fall into such vile success
W T hich my thoughts aim'd not. Cassio 's my

worthy friend :
My lord, I see you 're mov'd.

Oth. No, not much mov'd :

I do not think but Desdemona 's honest.

lago. Long live she so ! and long live you
to think so ! [self,

Oth. And yet, how nature erring from it-

lago. Ay, there 's the point : as, to be

bold with you,

Not to affect many proposed matches
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
Whereto we see in all things nature tends,
Foh ! one may smell in such a will most rank,

Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural :
But pardon me : I do not in position
Distinctly speak of her ; though I may fear
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment,
May fall to match you with her country forms,
And happily repent.

Oth. Farewell, farewell :

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ;
Set on thy wife to observe : leave me, lago.

lago. My lord, I take my leave. [Going.

Oth. Why did I marry? This honest creature

doubtless [unfolds.

Sees and knows more, much more, than he

lago. [Returning.] My lord, I would I might

entreat your honour

To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time :
Although 'tis fit that Cassio have his place,
For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile,
You shall by that perceive him and his means:
Note if your lady strain his entertainment
With any strong or vehement importunity ;
Much will be seen in that. In the meantime
Let me be thought too busy in my fears,
As worthy cause I have to fear I am,
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour.

Oth. Fear not my government.

lago. I once more take my leave. [Exit.

Oth. This fellow 's of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard ,
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-
strings,

I 'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black,
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have ; or, for I am declin'd
Into the vale of years, yet that 's not much,
She 's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my relief
Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others' uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great

ones ;

Prerogativ'd are they less than the base ;
'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death :
Even then this forked plague is fated to us
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes :
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself !
I '11 not believe 't.

Re-enter DESDEMONA and EMILIA.

Des. How now, my dear Othello!

Your dinner, and the generous islanders
By you invited, do attend your presence.

SCBNE III.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1191

Oth, I am to blame.

Des. Why do you speak so faintly?

Are you not well ?

Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here.
Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill

away again :

Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.

Oth. Your napkin is too little ;

[He puts the handkerchief from him,

and she drops it.

Let it alone. Come, I '11 go in with you.
Des. I am very sorry that you are not well.
[Exeunt OTH. and DES.
Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin :
This was her first remembrance from the Moor :
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it ; but she so loves the

token,

For he conjur'd her she should ever keep it,
That she reserves it evermore about her
To kiss and talk to. I '11 have the work ta'en

out,

And give 't lago :

What he '11 do with it heaven knows, not I ;
I nothing but to please his fantasy.

Re-enter IAGO.

lago. How now ! what do you here alone ?

Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for
you.

lago. A thing for me ! it is a common thing.

Emil. Ha!

lago. To have a foolish wife. [now

Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me
For that same handkerchief?

lago. What handkerchief?

Emil. What handkerchief !
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ;
That which so often you did bid me steal.

lago. Hast stol'n it from her ?

Emil. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence,
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up.
Look, here it is.

lago. A good wench ; give it me.

Emil. What will you do with't, that you

have been so earnest
To have me filch it ?

lago. Why, what 's that to you ?

[Snatching it.

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import,
Give 't me again : poor lady, she '11 run mad
When she shall lack it. [it.

lago. Be not acknown on 't ; I have use for
Go, leave me. [Exit EMILIA.

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,
And let him find it. Trifles light as air

Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ : this may do something.
The Moor already changes with my poison :
Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste,
But, with a little act upon the blood,
Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say
so : [dragora,

Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor man-
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday.

Re-enter OTHELLO.

Oth. Ha! ha! false to me?

lago. Why, how now, general ! no more of
that. [the rack :

Oth. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on
I swear 'tis better to be much abus'd
Than but to know 't a little.

lago. How now, my lord !

Oth. What sense had I of her stol'n hours

of lust ?

I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me :
I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips :
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n,
Let him not know 't, and he 's not robb'd at all.

lago. I am sorry to hear this.

Oth. I had been happy if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content !
Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars
That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell !
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war !
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone !

lago. Is't possible, my lord?

Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a
whore, [ Taking him by the throat.
Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof ;
Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul,
Thou hadst been better have been born a dog
Than answer my wak'd wrath !

lago. Is 't come to this ?

Oth. Make me to see 't ; or, at the least, so

prove it

That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
To hang a doubt on ; or woe upon thy life !

lago. My noble lord,

Uth. If thou dost slander her and torture me,
Never pray more ; abandon all remorse ;

1 192

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT III.

On horror's head horrors accumulate ;

Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth

amaz'd ;

For nothing canst thou to damnation add
Greater than that.

lago. O grace ! O heaven forgive me !

Are you a man? have you a soul or sense?
God b' wi' you; take mine office. O wretched

fool,
That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice !

monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O

world,
To be direct and honest is not safe.

1 thank you for this profit ; and from hence

I '11 love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.

Of A. Nay, stay : thou shouldst be honest.

lago. I should be wise ; for honesty 's a fool,
And loses that it works for.

Oth. By the world,

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art
not : [fresh

I '11 have some proof : her name, that was as
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. If there be cords or knives,
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,
I '11 not endure 't. Would I were satisfied !

lago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion :
I do repent me that I put it to you.
Vou would be satisfied ?

Oth. Would! nay, I will.

logo. And may: but how? how satisfied,

my lord ?

Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on,
Behold her tupp'd ?

Oth. Death and damnation ! O !

lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think,
To bring them to that prospect : damn them,

then,

If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster
More than their own ! What then? how then?
What shall I say? Where 's satisfaction ?
It is impossible you should see this,
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
If imputation and strong circumstances,
Which lead directly to the door of truth,
Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't.

Oth. Give me a living reason she 's disloyal.

lago. I do not like the office :
But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,
Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love,
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately ;
And, being troublea with a raging tooth,
I could not sleep.
There are a kind of men so loose of soul

That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs :

One of this kind is Cassio :

In sleep I heard him say, Sweet Desdenwna,

Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ;

And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my

hand,

Cry, O sweet creature ! and then kiss me hard.
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots,
That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then
Cried, Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor !

Oth. O monstrous ! monstrous !

lago. Nay, this was but his dream.

Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion :
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

lago. And this may help to thicken other

proofs
That do demonstrate thinly.

Oth. I '11 tear her all to pieces.

lago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing

done;

She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief
Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand ?

Oth. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first
gift. [chief,

lago. I know not that : but such a handker-
I am sure it was your wife's, did I to-day
See Cassio wipe his beard with.

Oth. If it be that,

lago. If it be that, or any that was hers,
It speaks against her with the other proofs.

Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand

lives,

One is too poor, too weak for my revenge !
Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago ;
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven :
'Tis gone.

Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell !
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy

fraught,
For 'tis of aspics' tongues !

lago. Yet be content.

Oth. O, blood, lago, blood !

lago. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps
may change.

Oth. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea,
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontic and the Hellespont ;
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
Till that a capable and wide revenge [heaven,
Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble
In the due reverence of a sacred vow {Kneels.
I here engage my words.

SCENE IV.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

H93

logo. Do not rise yet. [Kneels.

Witness, you ever-burning lights above,
You elements that clip us round about,
Witness that here lago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
To wrong'd Othello's service ! Let him

command,

And to obey shall be in me remorse,
What bloody business ever.

Oth. I greet thy love,

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance

bounteous,

And will upon the instant put thee to't:
Within these three days let me hear thee say
That Cassio 's not alive. [request :

lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your
But let her live.

Oth. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her !
Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw
To furnish me with some swift means of death
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.

lago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. CYPRUS. Before the Castle.
Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, and Clown.

Des. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant
Cassio lies ?

Clo. I dare not say he lies anywhere.

Des. Why, man?

Clo. He 's a soldier ; and for one to say a
soldier lies is stabbing.

Des. Go to : where lodges he ?

Clo. To tell you where he lodges is to tell
you where I lie.

Des. Can anything be made of this ?

Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for
me to devise a lodging, and say he lies here or
tie lies there were to lie in mine own throat.

Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified
by report ?

Clo. I will catechize the world for him ; that
is, make questions, and by them answer.

Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell
him I have moved my lord on his behalf, and
hope all will be well.

Clo. To do this is within the compass of
man's wit ; and therefore I will attempt the
doing it. [Exit.

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief,
Emilia?

Emil. I know not, madam. [purse

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my
Full of crusadoes : and, but my noble Moor
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.

Emil. Is he not jealous ?

Des. Who, he? I think the sun where he

was born
Drew all such humours from him.

EmJl. Look, where he comes.

Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio
Be call'd to him.

Enter OTHELLO.

How is 't with you, my lord ?

Oth. Well, my good lady. [Aside.'} O,

hardness to dissemble !
How do you, Desdemona ?

Des. Well, my good lord.

Oth. Give me your hand : this hand is moist,
my lady. [sorrow.

Des. It yet hath felt no age nor known no

Oth. This argues fruitfulness and liberal
heart : [quires

Hot, hot, and moist : this hand of yours re-
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,
Much castigation, exercise devout ;
For here 's a young and sweating devil here
That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand,
A frank one.

Des. You may indeed say so ;
For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

Oth. A liberal hand : the hearts of old gave

hands ;
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now,
your promise.

Oth. What promise, chuck ?

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak
with you.

Oth. I have a salt and sorry rheum
Lend me thy handkerchief.

Des. Here, my lord.

Oth. That which I gave you.

Des. I have it not about me.

Oth. Not?

Des. No, indeed, my lord.

Oth. That is a fault.

That handkerchief
Did an Egyptian to my mother give ;
She was a charmer, and could almost read
The thoughts of people: she told her, while
she kept it, [father

'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my
Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it,
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathed, and his spirits should

hunt

After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me ;
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,
To give it her. I did so : and take heed on 't ;
Make it a darling like your precious eye ;

1 194

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT III.

To lose 't or give 't away were such perdition
As nothing else could match.

Des. Is 't possible?

Oth. 'Tis true : there 's magic in the web of it :
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world
The sun to course two hundred compasses,
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work ; [silk ;
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the
And it was dy'd in mummy which the skilful
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts.

Des. Indeed ! is 't true ?

Oth. Most veritable ; therefore look to 't well.

Des. Then would to God that I had never
seen 't !

Oth. Ha! wherefore?

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and
rash? [the way?

Oth. Is 't lost ? is 't gone ? speak, is it out of

Des. Heaven bless us !

Oth. Say your

Des. It is not lost ; but what an if it were ?

Oth. How!

Des. I say, it is not lost.

Oth. Fetch 't, let me see 't.

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
This is a trick to put me from my suit :
Pray you, let Cassio be receiv'd again.

Oth. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind
misgives.

Des. Come, come ;
]fou '11 never meet a more sufficient man.

Oth. The handkerchief !

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio.

Oth. The handkerchief !

Des. A man that all his time

Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,
Shar'd dangers with you,

Oth. The handkerchief !

Des. In sooth, you are to blame.

Oth. Away! [Exit.

Emit. Is not this man jealous?

Des. I ne'er saw this before.
Sure there 's some wonder in this handkerchief:
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man :
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food :
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full,
They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my
husband.

Enter CASSIO and IAGO.

lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must

do't:

And, lo, the happiness ! go and importune her.
Des. How now, good Cassio! what's the

news with you ? [you

Cas. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech

That by your virtuous means I may again
Exist, and be a member of his love,
Whom I, with all the office of my heart,
Entirely honour : I would not be delay' d.
If my offence be of such mortal kind
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows,
Nor purpos'd merit in futurity,
Can ransom me into his love again,
But to know so must be my benefit ;
So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content,
And shut myself up in some other course,
To fortune's alms.

Des. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio !

My advocation is not now in tune ;
My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him,
Were he in favour as in humour alter'd.
So help me every spirit sanctified,
As I have spoken for you all my best,
And stood, within the blank of his displeasure
For my free speech ! You must awhile be

patient :

What I can do I will ; and more I will
Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you.
lago. Is my lord angry?
Emil. He went hence but now,

And certainly in strange unquietness.

lago. Can he be angry? I have seen the

cannon,

When it hath blown his ranks into the air,
And, like the devil, from his very arm
Puff'd his own brother ; and can he be angry?
Something of moment, then : I will go meet

him :

There 's matter in 't indeed if he be angry.
Des. I pr'ythee, do so. [Exit IAGO. ] Some-
thing, sure, of state,

Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practice
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,
Hath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even

so;

For let our finger ache, and it endues
Our other healthful members even to that sense
Of pain : nay, we must think men are not gods,
Nor of them look for such observancy
As fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am,
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ;
But now I find I had suborn'd the witness,
And he 's indicted falsely. [you think,

Emil. Pray heaven it be state matters, as
And no conception nor no jealous toy
Concerning you.

Des. Alas the day, I never gave him cause !
Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd
so;

SCENE IV.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

"95

They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster
Begot upon itself, born on itself. [mind !

Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's
Emil. Lady, amen. [about :

Des. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk here-
If I do find him fit, I '11 move your suit,
And seek to effect it to my uttermost.
Cos. I humbly thank your ladyship.

[Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA.

Enter BlANCA.

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio !
Cas. What make you from home ?

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?
I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.
Bian. And I was going to your lodging,

Cassio.
What, keep a week away? seven days and

nights ?
Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent

hours,
More tedious than the dial eight score times ?

weary reckoning !

Cas. Pardon me, Bianca:

1 have this while with leaden thoughts been

press'd ;

But I shall in a more continuate time
Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,
[Giving her DESDEMONA'S handkerchief.
Take me this work out.

Bian. O Cassio, whence came this ?

This is some token from a newer friend :
To the felt absence now I feel a cause :
Is 't come to this ? Well, well.

Cas. Go to, woman !

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth,
From whence you have them. You are jealous

now

That this is from some mistress, some remem-
brance :
No, in good troth, Bianca.

Bian. Why, whose is it ?

Cas. I know not neither : I found it in my

chamber.

I like the work well : ere it be demanded,
As like enough it will, I 'd have it copied :
Take it, and do 't ; and leave me for this time.

Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ?

Cas. I do attend here on the general ;
And think it no addition, nor my wish,
To have him see me woman'd.

Bian. Why, I pray you ?

Cas. Not that I love you not.

Bian. But that you do not love me

I pray you, bring me on the way a little ;
And say if I shall see you soon at night.

Cas. 'Tis but a little way that I can bring

you,

For I attend here : but I '11 see you soon.
Bian. 'Tis very good ; I must be circum-
stanc'd. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. CYPRUS. Be/ore the Castle.
Enter OTHELLO and IAGO.

lago. Will you think so ?

Oth. Think so, lago ?

What,

_
To kiss in private ?

Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss.

lago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed
An hour or more, not meaning any harm ?

Oth. Naked in bed, lago, and not mean harm !
It is hypocrisy against the devil :
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so,
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt
heaven.

lago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip :
But if I give my wife a handkerchief,

Oth. What then ? [being hers,

lago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord ; and.
She may, I think, bestow 't on any man.

Oth. She is protectress of her honour too :
May she give that ? [seen ;

lago. Her honour is an essence that's not
They have it very oft that have it not :
But, for the handkerchief, [forgot it :

Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have
Thou said'st, O, it comes o'er my memory
As doth the raven o'er the infected house,
Boding to all, he had my handkerchief.

lago. Ay, what of that ?

Oth. That 's not so good now.

lago. What,

If I had said I had seen him do you wrong ?
Or heard him say, as knaves be such abroad,
Who having, by their own importunate suit,
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress,
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose
But they must blab,

Oth. Hath he said anything ?

lago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well

assur'd,
No more than he '11 unswear.

Oth. What hath he said ?

lago. Faith, that he did, I know not what
he did.

Oth. What? what?

lago. Lie,

Oth. With her?

lago. With her, on her ; what you wilL

1196

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT iv.

Oth. Lie with her ! lie on her 1 We say lie
on her when they belie her. Lie with her !
that 's fulsome. Handkerchief, confessions,
handkerchief! To confess, and be hanged
for his labour ; first, to be hanged, and then
to confess. I tremble at it. Nature would
not invest herself in such shadowing passion
without some instruction. It is not words that
shake me thus : pish ! noses, ears, and lips.
Is 't possible ? Confess, handkerchief ! O
devil ! [Falls in a trance.

lago. Work on, [caught ;

My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus,
All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho ! my

lord !
My lord, I say ! Othello 1

Enter CASSIO.

How now, Cassio !

Cas. What 's the matter ?

lago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy :
This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday.

Cas. Rub him about the temples.

lago. No, forbear ;

The lethargy must have his quiet course :
If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs :
Do you withdraw yourself a little while,
He will recover straight : when he is gone,
I would on great occasion speak with you.

[Exit CASSIO.

How is it, general? have you not hurt your
head?

Oth. Dost thou mock me?

lago. I mock you ! no, by heaven.

Would you would bear your fortune like a man !

Oth. A horned man 's a monster and a beast.

lago. There 's many a beast, then, in a popu-
lous city,
And many a civil monster.

Oth. Did he confess it?

lago. Good sir, be a man ;

Think every bearded fellow that 's but yok'd
May draw with you : there 's millions now alive
That nightly lie in those unproper beds
Which they dare swear peculiar : your case is

better.

O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,
To lip a wanton in a secure couch,
And to suppose her chaste ! No, let me know;
And knowing what I am, I know what she
shall be.

Oth. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain.

lago. Stand you awhile apart ;

Confine yourself but in a patient list, [grief,
Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your

A passion most unsuiting such a man,
Cassio came hither : I shifted him away,
And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy ;
Bade him anon return, and here speak with me ;
The which he promis'd. Do but encave your-
self, [scorns,

And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable
That dwell in every region of his face ;
For I will make him tell the tale anew,
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
He hath, and is again to cope your wife :
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience ;
Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen,
And nothing of a man.

Oth. Dost thou hear, lago?

I will be found most cunning in my patience ;
But, dost thou hear ? most bloody.

lago. That 's not amiss ;

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ?
[OTHELLO withdraws.
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
A housewife that, by selling her desires,
Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature
That dotes on Cassio, as 'tis the strumpet's

plague
ile man

To beguile many and be beguil'd by one :
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain
From the excess of laughter : here he comes :
As he shall smile Othello shall go mad ;
And his unbookish jealousy must construe
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light be-

haviour
Quite in the wrong.

Re-enter CASSIO.

How do you now, lieutenant ?
Cas. The worser that you give me the ad-

dition

Whose want even kills me. [on 't.

lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure
Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power,

[Speaking lower.
How quickly should you speed !

Cas. Alas, poor caitiff !

Oth. [Aside.'} Look, how he laughs already !
lago. I never knew woman love man so.
Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, i' faith,

she loves me.
Oth. [Aside.} Now he denies it faintly, and

laughs it out.

lago. Do you hear, Cassio ?
Oth. [Aside. ] Now he importunes him

To tell it o'er : go to ; well said, well said.
lago. She gives it out that you shall marry

her:
Do you intend it ?

Cas. Ha, ha, ha I

SCENE I.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

"97

Oth. [As6k.]Do you triumph, Roman? do
you triumph ?

Cas. I marry her ! what, a customer 1 I
pr'ythee, bear some charity to my wit ; do not
think it so unwholesome : ha, ha, ha !

Oth. [Aside.] So, so, so, so: they laugh
that win. [marry her.

logo. Faith, the cry goes that you shall

Cas. Pr'ythee, say true.

lago. I am a very villain else.

Oth. [Aside.] Have you scored me? Well.

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out :
she is persuaded I will marry her, out of her
own love and flattery, not out of my promise.

Oth. [Aside.] lago beckons me ; now he
begins the story.

Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me
in every place. I was the other day talking on
the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither
comes the bauble, and falls thus about my
neck,

Oth. [Aside.] Crying, O dear Cassiol as it
were : his gesture imports it.

Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon
me ; so hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha !

Oth. [Aside.] Now he tells how she plucked
him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of
yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.

Cas. Well, I must leave her company.

lago. Before me ! look where she comes.

Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a
perfumed one,

Enter BlANCA.

What do you mean by this haunting of me ?

Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you i
What did you mean by that same handkerchief
you gave me even row ? I was a fine fool to
take it. I must take out the work ? A likely
piece of work that you should find it in your
chamber, and not know who left it there !
This is some minx's token, and I must take out
the work ? There, give it your hobby-horse:
wheresoever you had it, I '11 take out no work
on 't. [how now !

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca ! how now !

Oth. [Aside.] By heaven, that should be my
handkerchief !

Bian. An you '11 come to supper to-night,
you may ; an you will not, come when you are
next prepared for. [Exit.

lago. After her, after her. [else.

Cas. Faith, I must; she'll r?il in the street

lago. Will you sup there ?

Cas. Faith, I intend so.

lago. Well, I may chance to see you ; for I
would very fain speak with you.

Cas. Pr'ythee, come ; will you ?

lago. Go to ; say no more. [Exit CASSIO.

Oth. [Coming forward.] How shall I murder
him, lago? [vice?

lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his

Oth. O lago !

lago. And did you see the handkerchief?

Oth. Was that mine ?

lago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how
he prizes the foolish woman your wife ! she
gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.

Oth. I would have him nine years a-kiiling.
A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet
woman !

lago. Nay, you must forget that.

Oth. Ay, L m t her rot, and perish, and be
damned to-night ; for she shall not live : no,
my heart is turned to stone ; I strike it, and
it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not
a sweeter creature : she might lie by an
emperor's side, and command him tasks.

lago. Nay, that 's not your way.

Oth. Hang her ! I do bul say what she is :
so delicate with her needle ! an admirable
musician ! O, she will sing the savageness out
of a bear ! Of so high and plenteous wit and
invention !

lago. She 's the worse for all this.

Oth. O, a thousand thousand times : and
then of so gentle a condition !

lago. Ay, too gentle.

Oth. Nay, that 's certain : but yet the pity
of it, lago ! O lago, the pity of it, lago !

lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity,
give her patent to onvnd ; for, if it touch not
you, it comes near nobody.

Oth. I will chop her iuio messes. Cuckold
me !

lago. O, 'tis foul in her.

Oth. With mine officer !

lago. That 's fouler.

Oth. Get me some poison, lago ; this night.
I '11 not expostulate with her. lest her body
and beauty unprovide my mind again : this
night, lago.

lago. Do it not with poison ; strangle her in
her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated.

Oth. Good, good : the justice of it pleases :
very good.

lago. And for Cassio, let me be his under-
taker : you shall hear more by midnight.

Jth. Excellent good. [A trumpet within.]
What trumpet is that same?

lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis

Lodovico

Come from the duke: and, see, your wife is
with him.

1 198

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT iv.

Enter LODOVICO, DESDEMONA, and
Attendants.

Lod. Save you, worthy general !

Oth. With all my heart, sir.

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet
you. [Gives him a packet.

Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures.
[Opens the packet and reads.

Des. And what's the news, good cousin
Lodovico ?

lago. I am very glad to see you, signior ;
Welcome to Cyprus. [Cassio ?

Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant

lago'. Lives, sir. [my lord

Des. Cousin, there 's fall'n between hint and
An unkind breach : but you shall make all well.

Oth. Are you sure of that ?

Des. My lord? [will,

Oth. [Reads.'] This fail you not to do as you

Lod. He did not call ; he 's busy in the paper.
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio ?

Des. A most unhappy one : I would do much
To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.

Oth. Fire and brimstone !

Des. My lord?

Oth. Are you wise ?

Des. What, is he angry ?

Lod. May be the letter mov'd him ;

For, as I think, they do command him home,
Deputing Cassio in his government.

Des. Trust me, I am glad on 't.

Gih. Indeed !

Des. My lord ?

Oth. I am glad to see you mad.

Des. Why, sweet Othello,

Oth. Devil ! [Striking her.

Des. I have not deserv'd this.

Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in

Venice,

Though I should swear I saw 't : 'tis very much :
Make her amends ; she weeps.

Oth. O devil, devil !

If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Out of my sight !

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going.

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady :
I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

Oth. Mistress !

Des. My lord ?

Oth. What would you with her, sir?

Lod. Who, I, my lord ? [her turn :

Oth. Ay ; you did wish that I would make
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,
And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep;
And she 's obedient, as you say, obedient,

Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears.
Concerning this, sir, O well-painted passion !
I am commanded home. Get you away ;
I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the man-
date,
And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt !

[Exit DESDEMONA.

Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-night,

I do entreat that we may sup together :

You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and

monkeys ! [Exit.

Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full

senate

Call all-in-all sufficient ? Is this the nature
Whom passion could not shake? whose solid

virtue

The shot of accident nor dart of chance
Could neither graze nor pierce ?

lago. He is much chang'd.

Lod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of

brain ?

lago. He is that he is : I may not breathe my

censure. [not,

What he might be, if what he might he is

I would to heaven he were !

Lod. What, stvike his wife !

lago. Faith, that was not so well ; yet would

I knew
That stroke would prove the worst !

Lod. Is it his use ?

Or did the letters work upon his blood,
And new-create this fault ?

logo. Alas, alas !

It is not honesty in me to speak
What I have seen and known. You shall

observe him ;

And his own courses will denote him so
That I may save my speech: do but go after,
And mark how he continue^

Lod. I am sorry that I am deceiv'd in him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. CYPRUS. A Room in the Castle.
Enter OTHELLO and EMILIA.

Oth. You have seen nothing, then ?

Emil. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she to-
gether.

Emil. But then I saw no harm, and then I

heard [them.

Each syllable that breath made up between

Oth. What, did they never whisper ?

Emil. Never, my lord.

Oth. Nor send you out o' the way?

Emil. Never. [nor nothing?

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask,

SCENE II.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1199

EmiL Never, my lord.

Oik. That 's strange. [honest,

EmiL I durst, my lord, to wager she is

Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other,

Remove your thought, it doth abuse your

bosom.

If any wretch hath put this in your head,
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse !
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There's no man happy; the purest of their

wives
Is foul as slander.

Oth. Bid her come hither. Go.

{Exit EMILIA.

She says enough ; yet she 's a simple bawd
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle

whore,

A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets :
And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen
her do 't.

Re-enter EMILIA with DESDEMONA.

Des. My lord, what is your will ?

Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither.

Des. What is your pleasure ?

Oth. Let me see your eyes ;

Look in my face.

Des. What horrible fancy 's this ?

Oth. Some of your function, mistress ;

[ To EMIT..

Leave procreants alone, and shut the door ;
Cough, or cry hem, if any body come:
Your -mystery, your mystery; nay, despatch.
[Exit EMILIA.

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech

import ?

I understand a fury in your words,
But not the words.

Oth. Why, what art thou ?

Des. You wife, my lord ; your true

And loyal wife.

Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself;

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils
themselves [damn'd.

Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double-
Swear thou art honest.

Des. Heaven doth truly know it.

Oth. Heaven truly knows that thou art false
as hell. [am I false ?

Des. To whom, mv lord? with whom? How

Oth. Ah, Desdemona ! away ! away ! away !

Des. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord ?
If haply you my father do suspect
An instrument of this your calling back, [him,
Lay not your blame on me : if you have lost
Why, I have lost him too.

Oth. Had it pleas'd heaven

To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head ;
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ;
I should have found in some place of my soul
A drop of patience : but, alas, to make me
The fixed figure of the time, for scorn
To point his slow and moving finger at !
Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well :
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart ;
Where either I must live, or bear no life,
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence !
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads [there,
To knot and gender in ! turn thy complexion
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'dcherubin,
Ay, there, look grim as hell !

Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me
honest.

Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the

shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. O thou

weed,

Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,
That the sense aches at thee, would thou
hadst ne'er been born !

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I com-
mitted ?

Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly

book,

Made to write whore upon ? What committed !
Committed ! O thou public commoner 1
I should make very forges of my cheeks,
That would to cinders burn up modesty,
Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed !
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon

winks ;

The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear it. What committed !
Impudent strumpet !

Des. By heaven, you do me wrong.

Oth. Are not you a strumpet ?

Des. No, as I am a Christian :

If to preserve this vessel for my lord
From any other foul unlawful touch
Be not to be a stnimpet, I am none.

Oth. What, not a whore ?

Des. No, as I shall be sav'd.

Oth. Is 't possible ?

Des. O, heaven forgive us !

Oth. I cry you mercy, then :

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice
That married with Othello. You, mistress,
That have the office opposite te Saint Petei.,
And keep the gate of hell !

1200

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT iv.

Re-enter EMILIA.

You, you, ay you !
We have done our course ; there 's money for

your pains :

I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.

[Exit.

Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman con-
ceive? [lady?
How do you, madam ? how do you, my good
Des. Faith, half asleep. [my lord?
Emil. Good madam, what 's the matter with
Des. With who?

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam.
Des. Who is thy lord ?
Emil. lie that is yours, sweet lady.

Des. I have none : do not talk to me, Emilia ;
I cannot weep ; nor answer have I none,
But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-
night [her ;
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remem-
And call thy husband hither.

Emil. Here 's a change indeed 1 [Exit.
Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet.
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick
The small'st opinion on my least misuse ?

Re-enter EMILIA with IAGO.

lago. What is your pleasure, madam ? How
is 't with you ? [young babes

Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks :
He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.

lago. What 's the matter, lady ?

Emil. Alas, lago, my lord hath so bewhor'd

her,

Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her
As true hearts cannot bear.

Des. Am I that name, lago ?

lago. What name, fair lady?

Des. Such as she says my lord did say I was.

Emil. lie call'd her whore: a beggar in his

drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.

lago. Why did he so ? [such.

Des. I do not know ; I am sure I am none

lago. Do not weep, do not weep: alas, the
day ! [matches,

Emil. Hath she forsook so many noble
Her father, and her country, and her friends,
To be call'd whore? would it not make one
weep?

Des. It is my wretched fortune.

lago. Beshrew him for 't !

How comes this trick upon him ?

Des. Nay, heaven doth know.

Emil. I will be hang'd if some eternal villain,

Some busy and insinuating rogue,

Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,

Have not devis'd this slander ; I 11 be hang'd

else. [possible.

lago. Fie, there is no such man ; it is im-

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon

him ! [his bones !

Emil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw

Why should he call her whore? who keeps her

company ?

What place? what time? what form? what likeli-
hood ?
The Moor's abus'd by some most villanous

knave,

Some base notorious Lnave, some scurvy
fellow :

heaven, that such companions thou 'dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip

To lash the rascals naked through the world
Even from the east to the west !

lago. Speak within door.

Emil. O, fie upon him ! some such squire

he was

That turn'd your wit the seamy side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

lago. You are a fool ; go to.

Des. Alas, lago,

What shall I do to win my lord again ?
Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of
heaven,

1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel :
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Either in discourse of thought or actual deed ;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form ;

Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will, though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do

much ;

And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love. I cannot say whore,
It does abhor me now I speak the word ;
To do the act that might the addition earn,
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.

lago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his

humour :

The business of the state does him offence,
And he does chide with you.

Des. If 'twere no other,

lago. It is but so, I warrant.

[ Trumpets within.

Hark, how these instruments summon to supper !
1'he messengers of Venice stay the meat :
Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well.
[Exeunt DESDKMONA and EMILIA.

SCENE II. J

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1 20 1

Enter RODERIGO.

How now, Roderigo !

Rod. I do not find that thou dealest justly
with me.

lago. What in the contrary?

Rod. Every day thou daffest me with some
device, lago ; and rather, as it seems to me
now, keepest from me all conveniency than
suppliest me with the least advantage of hope.
I will, indeed, no longer endure it ; nor am I
yet persuaded to put up in peace what already
I have foolishly suffered.

lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo?

Rod. Faith, I have heard too much ; for your
words and performances are no kin together.

lago You charge me most unjustly.

Rod. With naught but truth. 1 have wasted
myself out of my means. The jewels you have
had from me to deliver to Desdemona would
half have corrupted a votarist: you have told
me she hath received them, and returned me
expectations and comforts of sudden respect
and acquaintance ; but I find none.

lago. Well ; go to ; very well.

Rod. Very well ! go to ! I cannot go to, man ;
nor 'tis not very well : nay, I think it is scurvy,
and begin to find myself fobbed in it.

lago. Very well.

Rod. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will
make myself known to Desdemona : if she will
return me my jewels, I will give over my suit,
and repent my unlawful solicitation ; if not,
assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of you.

lago. You nave said now.

Rod. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest
intendment ot doing.

lago. Why, now I see there 's mettle in thee ;
and even from this instant do build on thee a
better opinion than ever before. Give me thy
hand, Roderigo: thou hast taken against me a
most just exception ; but yet, I protest, I have
dealt most directly in thy affair.

Rod. It hath not appeared.

lago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared ;
and your suspicion is not without wit and judg-
ment. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee
indeed, which I have greater reason to believe
now than ever, I mean purpose, courage, and
valour, this night show it : if thou the next
night following enjoy not Desdemona, take me
from this world with treachery, and devise
engines for my life.

Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason
and compass?

lago. Sir, there is especial commission come
from Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place.

Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and
Desdemona return again to Venice.

Ia?o. O, no ; he goes into Mauritania, and
takes away with him the fair Desdemona,
unless his abode be lingered here by some
accident : wherein none can be so determinate
as the removing of Cassio.

Rod. How do you mean removing of him ?

lago. Why, by making him uncapable of
Othello's place, knocking out his brains.

Rod. And that you would have me to do ?

lago. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit
and a right. He sups to-night with a harlotry,
and thither will I go to him : he knows not
yet of his honourable fortune. If you will
watch his going thence, which I will fashion
to fall out between twelve and one, you may
take him at your pleasure : I will be near to
second your attempt, and he shall fall between
us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go
along with me ; I will show you such a
necessity in his death that you shall think
yourself bound to put it on him. It is now
high supper-time, and the night grows to
waste : about it.

Rod. I will hear further reason for this.

lago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. CYPRUS. Another Room in
the Castle.

Enter OTHELLO, LODOVICO, DESDEMONA,
EMILIA, and Attendants.

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself

no further. [walk.

Oth. O, pardon me ; 'twill do me good to

Lod. Madam, good-night ; I humbly thank

your ladyship.

Des. Your honour is most welcome.
Oth. Will you walk, sir ?

O, Desdemona,
Des. My lord?

Oth. Get you to bed on the instant ; I will
be returned forthwith : dismiss your attendant
there : look 't be done.
Des. I will, my lord.

[Exeunt OTH., LOD., and Attendants.
Emil. How goes it now? he looks gentler

than he did.

Des. He says he will return incontinent :
He hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bade me to dismiss you.

Emil. Dismiss me !

Des. It was his bidding; therefore, good

Emilia,

Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu :
We must not now displease him.

1202

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT IV.

Emil. I would you had never seen him !

Des. So would not I : my love doth so ap-
prove him, [frowns,
That even his stubbornness, his checks, his
Pr'ythee, unpin me, have grace and favour in
them. [on the bed.

Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me

Des. All 's one. Good faith, how foolish are

our minds !

If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.

Emil. Come, come, you talk.

Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara :
She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her : she had a song of willow ;
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it : that song to-night
Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do,
But to go hang my head all at one side,
And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee,
despatch.

Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ?

Des. No, unpin me here.

This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emil. A very handsome man.

Des. He speaks well.

Emil. I know a lady in Venice would have
walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his
nether lip.

Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,

[Sings.

Sing all a green willow ;
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee.

Sing willow, willow, willow :

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her
moans ;

Sing willow, willow, willow ;
Her salt tears fell from her and soften'd the stones ;

Lay by these :

Sing willow, willow, willow ; {Sings.
Pr'ythee, hie thee ; he '11 come anon :

Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
[Sings.
Let nobody blame him ; his scorn I approve,

Nay, that's not next. Hark! who is't that

knocks ?
Emil. It 's the wind.

Des. I call d my love false love ; but what said he
then? [Sings.

Sing willow, willow, willow :
If I court mo women, you '11 couch with mo men.

So, get thee gone ; good-night. Mine eyes do

itch;

Doth that bode weeping?
Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there.

Des. I have heard it said so. O, these men,
these men !-

Dost thou in conscience think, tell me,

Emilia,

That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind ?

Emil. There be some such, no question.

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the
world ?

Emil. Why, would not you ?

Des. No, by this heavenly light !

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light ;
I might do 't as well i' the dark. [world ?

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the

Emil. The world 's a huge thing : it is a

great price
For a small vice.

Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not.

Emil. In troth, I think I should ; and un-
do 't when I had done. Marry, I would not do
such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures
of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps,
nor any petty exhibition ; but for the whole
world, why, who would not make her hus-
band a cuckold to make him a monarch? I
should venture purgatory for 't.

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a
wrong for the whole world.

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the
world ; and having the world for your labour,
'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might
quickly make it right.

Des. I do not think there is any such woman.

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many to the
vantage as would store the world they play'd for.
But I do think it is their husbands' faults
If wives do fall : say that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps ;
Or else break out in peevish jealousies, [us,
Throwing restraint upon us ; or say they strike
Or scant our former having in despite ;
Why, we have galls ; and though we have

some grace,

Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them : they see and

smell,

And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do
When they change us for others ? Is it sport ?
I think it is : and doth affection breed it ?
I think it doth : is't frailty that thus errs?
It is so too. And have not we affections,
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have ?
Then let them use us well : else let them know
The ills we do their ills instruct us to.

Des. Good-night, good-night : heaven me

such usage send,
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend J

/ SCENE I.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1203

ACT V.

SCENE I. CYPRUS. A Street.
Enter IAGO and RODERIGO.

lago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight

will he come :

Wear thy good rapier bare, and put ir home :
Quick, quick ; fear nothing ; I '11 be at thy

elbow :

It makes us or it mars us ; think on that,
And fix most firm thy resolution.

Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in 't.
lago. Here, at thy hand : be bold, and take

thy stand. [Retires to a little distance.

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ;

And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons :

'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword ; he

dies. [Goes to his stand,

lago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost

to the sense, [Cassio

And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,
Every way makes my gain : live Roderigo,
He calls me to a restitution large
Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him
As gifts to Desdemona ;
It must not be : if Cassio do remain,
He hath a daily beauty in his life
That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor
May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much

peril .
No, he must die. But, so, I hear him coming.

Enter CASSIO.

Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he. Villain, thou

diest !

[Rushes out, and makes a pass at CASSIO.
Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy in-
deed,

But that my coat is better than thou know'st :
I will make proof of thine.

[Draws, and wounds RODERIGO.
Rod. O, I am slain !

[IAGO rushes from his post, cuts CASSIO

behind in the leg, and exit.
Cas. I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho ! mur-
der ! murder ! [Falls.

Enter OTHELLO at a distance.

Oth. The voice of Cassio : lago keeps his

word.

Rod. O, villain that I am !
Oth. It is even so.

Cas. O, help, ho ! light ! a surgeon !
Oth. 'Tis he : O brave lago, honest and just

That hath such noble sense of thy friend's

wrong !

Thou teachest me, minion, your dear lies dead,
And your unbless'd fate hies. Strumpet, I

come ! [blotted ;

Faith of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are
Thy bed. lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be

spotted. [Exit.

Enter LODOVICO and GRATIANO at a distance.

Cas. What, ho ! no watch ? no passage ?

murder ! murder ! [direful.

Gra. J Tis some mischance ; the voice is very
Cas. O, help !
Lod. Hark!

Rod. O wretched villain ! [night :

Lod. Two or three groan : it is a heavy

These may be counterfeits : let 's think 't unsafe

To come in to the cry without more help.

Rod. Nobody come? then shall I bleed to

death.

Lod. Hark!
Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with

light and weapons.

Re-enter IAGO with a light.

lago. Who 's there ? whose noise is this that
cries on murder ?

Lod. We do not know.

lago. Did not you hear a cry r

Cas. Here, here ! for heaven's sake, help me !

lago. What 's the matter ?

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it.

Lod. The same indeed ; a very valiant fellow.

lago. What are you here that cry so griev-
ously ? [villains !

Cas. lago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by
Give me some help. [done this ?

lago. O me, lieutenant ! what villains have

Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout,
And cannot make away.

lago. O treacherous villains !

What are you there ? come in, and give some

help. [To LODOVICO and GRATIANO.

Rod. O, help me here !

Cas. That 's one of them.

lago. O murderous slave ! O villain !

[Stabs RODERIGO.

Roa. O damn'd lago ! O inhuman dog !

lago. Kill men i' the dark ! Where be these

bloody thieves ?

How silent is this town ! Ho ! murder ! mur-
der !
What may you be ? are you of good or evil ?

Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us.

lago. Signior Lodovico?

Lod. He, sir.

1204

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACTV.

lago. I cry you mercy. Here 's Cassio hurt

by villains.
Gra. Cassio!
logo. How is 't, brother ?
Cos. My leg is cut in two.
lago. Marry, heaven forbid !

Light, gentlemen : I '11 bind it with my shirt.

Enter BIANCA.

Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is't

that cried ?

lago. Who is 't that cried !
Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio !
O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio !

lago. O notable strumpet ! Cassio, may you

suspect [you ?

Who they should be that have thus mangled

Cas. No.

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus: I have

been to seek you.

lago. Lend me a garter : so. O, for a chair,
To bear him easily hence ! [Cassio !

Bian. Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio,
lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash
To be a party in this injury.
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come ;
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no?
Alas, my friend and my dear countryman
Roderigo? no: yes, sure ; O heaven 1 Roderigo.
Gra. What, of Venice ?
lago. Even he, sir : did you know him ?
Gra. Know him I ay.

lago. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle

pardon ;

These bloody accidents must excuse my manners,
That so neglected you.

Gra. I am glad to see you.

lago. How do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a

chair 1

Gra. Roderigo !

lago. He, he, 'tis he. O, that's well said ;

the chair : [A chair brought in.

Some good man bear him carefully from hence ;

I'll fetch the general's surgeon. For you,

mistress, [To BiANCA.

Save you your labour. He that lies slain here,

Cassio, [you ?

Was my dear friend : what malice was between

Cas. None in the world nor do I know the

man.

Togo. [To BIAN.] What, look you pale?
O, bear him out o' the air.

[CAS. and ROD. are borne off.
Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale,

mistress ?

Do you perceive the gastness of her eye?
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.

Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her :
Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will

speak
Though tongues were out of use.

Enter EMILIA.

Emil. 'Las, what 's the matter ? what 's the

matter, husband?

lago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark
By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scap'd :
He 's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.
Emil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good
Cassio ! [thee, Emilia,

lago. This is the fruit of whoring. Pr'y-
Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night.
What, do you shake at that ?
Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I there-
fore shake not.

lago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me.
Emil. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet !
Bian. I am no strumpet ; but of life as honest
As you that thus abuse me.
Emil. As I ! foh ! fie upon thee !

lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor

Cassio dress'd.

Come, mistress, you must tell 's another tale.
Emilia, run you to the citadel,
And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd.
Will you go on afore ?--\Aside.} This is the

night
That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

\_Exeunt.

SCENE II. CYPRUS. A Bedchamber in the
Castle: DESDEMONA in bed asleep; a light
burning.

Enter OTHELLO.

Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars !
It is the cause. Yet I '11 not shed her blood ;
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.

[Takes off his sword.

Yet she must die, else she '11 betray more men,,
Put out the light, and then put out the light :
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore, [light,
Should I repent me: but once put out thy
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume. When I have

pluck'd thy rose,

I cannot give it vital growth again,
It needs must wither: I'll smell it on the

tree. [Kissing her.

O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade

SCENE II. J

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1205

Justice to break her sword ! One more, one

more. [thee,

Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill

And love thee after. One more, and that's

the last :

So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
But they are cruel tears : this sorrow's heavenly;
It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.

Des. Who's there? Othello?

Oth. Ay, Desdemona.

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ?

Oth. Have you prayM to-night, Desdemon ?

Des. Ay, my lord.

Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime
Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight. [that ?

Des. Alack, aiy lord, what may you mean by

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief ; I will walk

by:

I would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; [soul.
No, heaven forfend ! I would not kill thy

Des. Talk you of killing ?

Oth. Ay, I do.

Des. Then heaven

Have mercy on me !

Oth. Amen, with all my heart !

Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill
me.

Oth. Hum! [then

Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal

When your eyes roll so : why I should fear I

know not, [fear.

Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet I feel I

Oth. Think on thy sins.

Des. They are loves I bear to you.

Oth. Av, and for that thou diest. [loving.

Des. Taat death's unnatural that kills for
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame :
These are portents ; but yet I hope, I hope,
They do not point on me.

Oth. Peace, and be still !

Des. I will so. What 's the matter ?

Oth. That handkerchief which I so lov'd and

gave thee
Thou gav'st to Cassio.

Des. No, by my life and soul !

Send for the man and ask him.

Oth. Sweet soul, take heed,

Take heed of perjury ; thou 'rt on thy death-bed.

Des. Ay, but not yet to die.

Oth. Yes, presently :

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ;
For to deny each article with oath
Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.

Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me 1

Oth. I say, amen.

Des. And have you mercy too ! I never did
Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio
But with such general warranty of heaven
As I might love : I never gave him token.

Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's
hand.

perjur'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart,
And mak'st me call what I intend to do

A murder, which I thought a sacrifice :

1 saw the handkerchief.

Des. He found it, then ;

I never gave it him : send for him hither ;
Let him confess a truth.

Oth. He hath confess'd.

Des. What, my lord ?

Oth. That he hath us'd thee.

Des. How? unlawfully?

Oth. Ay.

Des. He will not say so.

Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'o :

Honest lago hath ta'en order for 't. [dead i

Des. O, my fear interprets ! What, is he

Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great

revenge
Had stomach for them all.

Des. Alas, he is betray 'd, and I undone !

Oth. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him
to my face ?

Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not !

Oth. Down, strumpet I

Des. Kill me to-morrow ; let me live to-night!

Oth. Nay, if you strive,

Des. But half an hour !

Oth. Being done, there is no pause.

Des. But while I say one prayer !

Oth. It is too late. {Smothers her.

Emil. [Within.} My lord, my lord ! what,
ho ! my lord, my lord !

Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not

yet quite dead ?

I that am cruel am yet merciful ;
I would not have thee linger in thy pain :
So, so. [lord !

Emil. [Within.} What, ho! my lord, my

Oth. Who's there?

Emil. \Within.~\ O, good my lord, I would
speak a word with you ! [dead.

Oth. Yes : 'tis Emilia : by and by. She 's
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death ;
The noise was high. Ha ! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were 't
good ? [do ?

I think she stirs again : no. What's best to
If she come in she '11 sure speak to my wife :
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife*
O, insupportable 1 O heavy hour 1

1206

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE,

[ACT v.

Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse

Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe

Should yawn at alteration.

Emil. [Within.'] I do beseech you

That I may speak with you, O, good my lord !

Oth. I had forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia:
Soft, by and by: let me the curtains draw.
Where art thou? [Unlocks the door.

Enter EMILIA.

What's the matter with thee now?

Emit. O, my good lord, yonder 's foul mur-
ders done !

Oth. What, now?

Emil. But now, my lord.

Oth. It is the very error of the moon ;
She comes more nearer earth than she was wont,
And makes men mad. [Venetian

Emil. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young
Call'd Roderigo.

Oth. Roderigo kill'd !

And Cassio kill'd !

Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd.

Oth. Not Cassio kill'd ! then murder 's out

of tune,
And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd !

Emil. Alas, what cry is that?

Oth. That! what! [voice.

Emil. Out and alas! that was my lady's
Help ! help, ho ! help ! O lady, speak again !
Sweet Desdemona ! O sweet mistress, speak !

Des. A guiltless death I die.

Emil. O, who hath done this deed?

Des. Nobody; I myself. Farewell:
Commend me to my kind lord : O, farewell !

[Dies.

Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd ?

Emil. Alas, who knows ?

Oth. You heard her say herself it was not I.

Emil. She said so : I must needs report the
truth.

Oth. She 's, like a liar, gone to burning hell :
'Twas I that kill'd her.

Emil. O, the more angel she,

And you the blacker devil !

Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.

Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a
devil.

Oth. She was false as water.

Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say

That she was false : O, she was heavenly true !

Oth. Cassio did tup her ; ask thy husband else.
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all,

EmiL My husband!

Oth. Thy husband.

Emil. That she was false to wedlock?

Oth. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been

true,

If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I 'd not have sold her for it.

Emil. My husband !

Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first:

An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.

Emil. My husband !

Oth. What needs this iterance, woman? I say
thy husband. [with love !

Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks
My husband say that she was false !

Oth. He, woman ;

I say thy husband : dost understand the word ?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago.

Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart :
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

Oth. Ha!

Emil. Do thy worst :

This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
Than thou wast worthy her.

Oth. Peace, you were best.

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do

me harm

As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt !
As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed,
I care not for thy sword ; I '11 make thee known,
Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho!
help ! [murder !

The Moor hath kill'd my mistress ! murder !

Enter MoNTANO, GRATIANO, and IAGO.

Mon. What is the matter? How now,
general ! [well,

EmiL O, are you come, lago ? you have done
That men must lay their murders on your neck.

Gra. What is the matter ? [man :

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a
He says thou told'st him that his wife was false :
I know thou didst not, thou 'rt not such a villain :
Speak, for my heart is full. [no more

lago. I told him what I thought ; and told
Than what he found himself was apt and true.

EmiL But did you ever tell him she was false?

lago. I did.

EmiL You told a lie ; an odious, damned

lie;

Upon my soul, a lie ; a wicked lie :
She false with Cassio! Did you say with

Cassio ?

lago. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm
your tongue.

SCENE II.]

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1207

Emit. I will not eharm my tongue ; I am

bound to speak :

My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed,
AIL O heavens forfend !
EmiL And your reports have set the murder

on. ' [indeed.

Oth. Nay, stare not, masters: it is true,
Gra. 'Tis a strange truth.
Man. O monstrous act !
EmiL Villany, villany, villany !

f think upon 't, I think, I smell 't ; O
villany! [grief:

I thought so then; I'll kill myself for

villany, villany !

lago. What, are you mad? I charge you,
get you home. [speak :

EmiL Good gentlemen, let me have leave to
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
Perchance, lago, I will ne'er go home.

Oth. O ! O ! O ! {Hanging over his wife.

Emit. Nay, lay thee down and roar ;

For though hast kill'd the sweetest innocent
That e'er did lift up eye.

Oth. O, she was foul !

[Rising.

1 scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your

niece,
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly

stopp'd :
I know this act shows horrible and grim.

Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy

father 's dead :

Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now,
This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
And fall to reprobance.

Oth. 'Tis pitiful ; but yet lago knows
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
A thousand times committed ; Cassio confess'd

it:

And she did gratify his amorous works
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand :
It was a handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

EmiL O heaven ! O heavenly powers !

lago. Come, hold your peace.

EmiL 'Twill out, 'twill out: I peace !

No, I will speak as liberal as the north :
Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I '11 speak.

lago. Be wise, and get you home.

EmiL I will not.

[!AGO offers to stab his wife.

Gra. Fie !

Your sword upon a woman?

EmiL O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief

thou speak 'st of

I found by fortune, and did give my husband ;
For often, with a solemn earnestness,
More than, indeed, belong' d to such a trifle,
He begg'd of me to steal it.

lago. Villanous whore !

EmiL She give it Cassio ! no, alas, I found it,
And I did give 't my husband.

lago. Filth, thou liest !

EmiL By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentle-
men.

O murderous coxcomb 1 what should such a fool
Do with so good a wife ?

[lAGO stabs EMILIA, and then runs out.

Oth. Are there no stones in heaven

But what serve for the thunder? Precious

villain ! [wife.

Gra. The woman falls ; sure he hath kill'd his

EmiL Ay, ay : O, lay me by my mistress'

side.

Gra. He 's gone, but his wife 's kill'd.
Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this

weapon,

Which I have here recover'd from the Moor :
Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass,
But kill him rather. I '11 after that same villain,
For 'tis a damned slave.

{Exeunt MON. and GRA.
Oth. I am not valiant neither,

But every puny whipster gets my sword :
But why should honour outlive honesty ?
Let it go all.

EmiL What did thy song bode, lady ?
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the

swan,

And die in music : Willow, willow, willow.

[Sings.
Moor, she was chaste ; she lov'd thee, cruel

Moor ;

So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ;
So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Dies.
Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber ;
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper:
O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.
Gra. [Within.1\i thou attempt it, it will

cost thee dear :

Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.
Oth. Look in upon me, then, and speak with

me,
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.

Re-enter GRATIANO.

: ,i?r>v !!ivV

Gra . What is the matter ?

Oth. Behold, I have a weapon ;

A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day

1208

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

[ACT v.

That, with this little arm and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop : but, O vain

boast !

Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now.
Be not afraid though you do see me weapon'd ;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismay'd ? 'tis a lost fear ;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires : where should Othello go ?
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd

wench ! [compt,

Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my

girl!

Even like thy chastity.
O cursed, cursed slave ! Whip me, ye devils,
From the possession of this heavenly sight !
Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur !
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire !
O Desdemon ! dead, Desdemon ! dead ! O 1

Enter LODOVICO, MONTANO, CASSIO, carried
in a chair i and Officers, with IAGO prisoner.

Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortun-
ate man ?

Oth. That 's he that was Othello ; here I am.
Lod. Where is that viper ? bring the villain

forth.
Oth. I look down towards his feet, but

that's a fable.
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.

[ Wounds IAGO,

Lod. Wrench his sword from him.
logo. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd.

Oth. I am not sorry neither : I 'd have thee

live;
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

Lod. O thou Othello, that wert once so good,
Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave,
What shall be said to thee ?

Oth. Why, anything :

An honourable murderer, if you will ;
For naught I did in hate, but all in honour.
Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his

villany :

Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ?
Oth. Ay.

Cos. Dear general, I never gave you cause.
Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body ?
logo. Demand me nothing : what you know,

you know :
From this time forth I never will speak word.

Lod. What, not to pray ?

Gra. Torments will ope your lips.

Oth. Well, thou dost best. [falrn,

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath be-
Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a

letter

Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo ;
And here another : the one of them imports
The death of Cassio to be undertook
By Roderigo.

Oth. O villain!

Cos. Most heathenish and most gross !

Lod. Now here 's another discontented paper,
Found in his pocket toe ; and this, it seems,
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned

villain ;

But that, belike, lago in the interim
Came in and satisfied him.

Oth. O the pernicious caitiff !

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief
That was my wife's ?

Cas. I found it in my chamber :

And he himself confess'd but even now
That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose
Which wrought to his desire.

Oth. O fool ! fool $ fool !

Cas. There is besides in Roderigo's letter,
How he upbraids lago that he made him
Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came
That I was cast : and even but now he spake,
After long seeming dead, lago hurt him,
lago set him on.

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with

us:

Your power and your command is taken off,
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,
If there be any cunning cruelty
That can torment him much and hold him long,
It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest
Till that the nature of your fault be known
To the Venetian state. Come, bring away.

Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they

know \ ;

No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice : then must you

speak

Of one that lov'd not wisely, but too well ;
Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe ; of one whose subdu'd

eyes,

Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees

SCENE II. j

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

1209

Their medicinal gum. Set you down this ;
And say, besides, that in Allepo once,
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
Beat a Venetian and traduc'd the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog.
And smote him thus. [Stabs himself.

Lod. O bloody period !

Gra. All that 's spoke is marr'd.

Oth. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee : no way

but this, [Falling upon DESDEMON A.

Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies.

Cos. This did I fear, but thought he had no

weapon ;
For he was great of heart.

Lod. [To IAGO.] O Spartan dog,

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
Look on the tragic loading of this bed ;
This is thy work : the ooject poisons sight ;
Let it be hid Gratiano, keep the house,
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed on you. To you, lord

governor,

Remains the censure of this hellish villain ;
The time, the place, the torture, O, enforce

it!

Myself will straight aboard ; and to the state
This heavy act with heavy heart relate

[Extunt.

wolf

jtfs>qq... u

tt A
>H

VENUS AND ADONIS,

* Vilia miretur vulgus, mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.' OVID.

*rfl o}

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.

iriJ Jttd

RIGHT HONOURABLE,

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor
how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen :
only if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advan-
tage of all idle hours till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of
my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so
barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest I leave it to your honourable survey,
and your honour to your heart's content ; which I wish may always answer your own wish, and
the world's hopeful expectation.

Your Honour's in all duty,

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase ;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn ;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.

* Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,

* The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are ;

Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

* Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey-secrets shall thou know :

Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set I '11 smother thee with kisses ;

* And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty :

A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm.
The precedent of pith and livelihood,

And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good :
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force,
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a full disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ;

She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens ; (O how quick is love ! )
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove :

Backward she push'd him, as she would be

thrust,

And govern'd him in strength, though not in
lust.

So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips :
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he

frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his

lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language

broken,
* If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open,'

VENUS AND ADONIS.

I2II

He burns with bashful shame ; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks :
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs,
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks :

He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss ;

What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone ;
Even soshekiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forc'd to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face ;
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace,

Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of
flowers, [showers.

So they were dew'd with such distilling

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fastened in her arms Adonis lies ;
Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes j
Rain added to a river that is rank,
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ;
Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy pale ;
Beingred,she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,

Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks
all wet ; [debt.

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being looted on, ducks as quickly in ;
So offers he to give what she did crave';
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer's heat [turn :
More thirst for drink, than she for this good
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get ;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn :

O, pity,' 'gan she cry, ' flint-hearted boy 1
but a kiss I beg ; why art thou -coy?

'Tis

' I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes, in every jar ;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt
have.

' Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest ;
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

V J ru4? oiW >.:T*oi;.$as;,'j:>'~> -j^dT

* Thus he that overrul'd I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain :
Strong-temperd steel his stronger strength

* obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.

O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight !

* Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,
(Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red. )
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine :
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy

head;

Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies :
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?

' Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink, so shall the day seem night :
Love keeps his revels where there are but twain ;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight :
These blue-vein'd voilets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

' The tender spring upon thy tempting lip

Shows thee unripe ; yet mayst thou well be
tasted ;

Make use of time, let not advantage slip ;

Beauty within itself should not be wasted :
Fair flowers thatare notgather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

* Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,

Then mightst thou pause, for then I were

not for thee ;
But having no defects, why dost abhor me ?

1 Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ;
Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in
turning;

1212

VENUS AND ADONIS.

His lowering brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,

Souring his cheeks, cries, ' Fie, no more of
love!

The sun doth burn my face ; I must remove.'

'Ah me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind !
What bare excuses mak'st thou to begone !
I '11 sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun ;

I '11 make a shadow for thee of my hairs ;

If they burn too, I '11 quench them with my
tears.

' The sun that shines from heaven shines but

warm,

And lo, I lie between that sun and thee :
The heat I have from thence doth little harm.
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me :
And were I not immortal, life were done,
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

' Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth ?
O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died
unkind.

' What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this ?

Or what great danger dwells upon my suit ?

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ;

Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I '11 give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.

' Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ;

Thou art no man, though of a man's com-
plexion,

For men will kiss even by their own direction.'

This said, impatience chokes her pleading

tongue,

And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause :
And now she weeps, and now she fain would

speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his

hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground ;

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning ;

My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand
felt,

Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen :
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

' Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie !
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees sup-
port me ;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through

the sky,
From morn to night, even where I list to sport

me :

Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left ?

Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,

Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

' Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ;
Things growing to themselves are growth's

abuse :
Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth

beauty,
Thou wast begot, to get it is thy duty.

* Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou
feed,

Unless the earth with thy increase be fed ?

By law of Nature thou art bound to breed,

That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead ;
And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook

them,

And Titan, 'tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them ;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him, and by Venus' side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,

VENUS AND ADONIS.

1213

Sometimes her arms infold him like a band ;

She would, he will not in her arms be bound ;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.

* Fondling,' she saith, * since I have hemm'd
thce here,

Within the circuit of this ivory pale,

I '11 be a park, and thou shall be my deer ;

Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

* Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom -grass, and high delightful plain,
Round nsing hillocks, brakesobscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain ;

Then be my deer, since I am such a park ;

No dog shall rouse thee, tho' a thousand bark. '

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple :
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple ;
Foreknowing well if there he came to lie,
Why there Love liv'd and there he could not
die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting

pits,

Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking :
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second

striking ?

Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn !

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she

say?

Her words are done, her woes the more increas-
ing,

The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing :
' Pity ' she cries, ' some favour some re-
morse '
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.

But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud :

The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a
tree,

Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder ;

The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's

thunder ;

The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick'd ; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end ;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send :
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty, and modest pride ;
Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps,
As who should say, lo! thus my strength is

tried ;

And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.

; ' ^ * "i.'ii

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering ' holla,' or his ' Stand, I say '?
What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur ?
For rich caparisons, or trapping gay ?

He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion d steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed ;
So did this horse excel a common one,
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.

Round-hooPd, short -jointed, fetlocks shag and
long, [wide,

Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril

High crest, short ears, straight legs, and pass-
ing strong,

Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender

hide:
Look what a horse should have, he did not

lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometime he scuds far off, and there he stares ;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather ;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whe'r he run, or fly, they knew not whether ;
For thro' his mane and tail the high wind

sings,

Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd
wings.

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her ;
She answers him as if she knew his mind :

1214

VENUS AND ADONIS-

Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,

She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind ;

Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels,

Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malecontent,
He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent ;
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume :
His love, perceiving how he is enrag'd,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd.

His testy master goeth about to take him ;
When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there :
As they were mad unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.

All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast ;
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong,
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage :
So of concealed sorrow may be said ;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow ;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askaunce he holds her in his eye.

O what a sight it was, wistly to view

How she came stealing to the wayward boy !

To note the fighting conflict of her hue !

How white and red each other did destroy !
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels ;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels :

His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's
print

As apt as new-fallen snow takes any dint.

O what a war of looks was then between them J
Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing :

His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the

wooing :

And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did
rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,

A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,

Or ivory in an alabaster band ;

So white a friend engirts so white a foe :
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began :
' O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure

thee,

Though nothing but my body's bane would
cure thee.'

4 Give me my hand,' saith he, ' why dost thou

feel it ? '
' Give me my heart,' saith she, * and thou shalt

have it ;

give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it ;

Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis heart hath made mine hard.'

' For shame,' he cries, ' let go, and let me go ;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 't is your fault I am bereft him so ;

1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone :
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'

Thus she replies : c Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire.
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd ;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire :

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath
none,

Therefore no marvel though thy horse begone.

' How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein !
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain ;

Throwing the base thong from his bending
crest,

Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

1 Who sees his true love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,

VENUS AND ADONIS.

1215

But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight ?
Who is so faint that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold ?

* Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy ;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,

To take advantage on presented joy ; [thee.

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach
O learn to love ; the lesson is but plain,
And, once made perfect, never lost again.'

' I know not love,' quoth he, * nor will not know

it,

Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it :
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it ;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it ;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a
breath.

* Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth ?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:

The colt that 's back'd and burthen'd being

young
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.

' You hurt my hand with wringing ; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat :
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart ;
To love's alarm it will not ope the gate.

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your

flattery ;

For where a heart is hard, they make no
battery.'

1 What ! canst thou talk,' quoth she, hast thou
a tongue ?

would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing !
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double

wrong ;

1 had my load before, now press'd with bearing:

Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh

sounding, [wounding.

Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore

* Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible :

Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible :

Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love, by touching thee.

' Sav that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,

And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much ;
For from the still'tory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love
by smelling.

' But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four !
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door ?
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast.

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield ;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh :
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before it barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth:
A smile recures the wounding of a frown,
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth !

The silly boy, believing she is dead, [red ;

Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it
rud m :\i-r/ '.'rfj

And all-amaz'd brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent :
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her !

For on the grass she lies as she were slain,

Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard ;
He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd ;
He kisses her ; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day :
Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth :
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumin'd with her eye :

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.

I2l6

VENUS AND ADONIS.

Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brows' repine ;

But hers, which thro' the crystal tears gave
light,

Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or

heaven,

Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire ?
What hour is this? or morn, or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire ?

But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy ;

But now I died, and death was lively joy.

* O thou didst kill me ; kill me once again :
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such dis-
dain [mine ;

That they have murder'd this poor heart of
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their

queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

* Long may they kiss each other, for this cure !
O never let their crimson liveries wear !

And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year !
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say the plague is banished by thy breath.

* Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lip imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing ?
To sell myself I can be well contented,

So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good deal-
ing;

Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips,
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

' A thousand kisses buys my heart from me ;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee ?
Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone ?

Say, for non-payment that the debt should
double,

Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ? '

' Fair queen/ quoth he, ' if any love you owe

me,

Measure my strangeness with my unripe years;
Before I know myself seek not to know me ;
No fisher but the ungro-vn fry forbears :

The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks

fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.

* Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the west :

The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late;
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest ;

And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's
light

Do summon us to part, and bid good night.

' New let me say "good night," and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she; and, ere he says

* adieu,'
The honey fee of parting tender'd is :

Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;

Incorporate then they seem ; face grows to face.

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward

drew

The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,

Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,

Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth :

He with her plenty press'd, she faint with

dearth,
(Their lips together glued,) fall to the earth.

Now quick Desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth ;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth ;

Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price
so high,

That she will draw his lips' rich treas'.t2 dry.

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage ;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth

boil,

And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage ;
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's
wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much

handling,

Or as the fleet-foot roe that 's tir'd with chasing,
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

What wax so frozen but dissolves with temper-
ing*

And yields at last to every light impression ?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with ven-
turing,

Chiefly in love, whose leave exceedscommission:
Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward,
But then wooes best when most his choice is
froward,

VENUS AND ADONIS,

1217

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis

pluck'd :

Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through, and picks them all
at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him ;

The poor fool prays her that he may depart :

She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him ;

Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

' Sweet boy,' she says, * this night I '11 waste in

sorrow,

For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the

match ? '

He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

' The boar ! ' quoth she, whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheeks ; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws :
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

Now is she in the very lists of love,

Her champion mounted for the hot encounter :

All is imaginary she doth prove,

He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw :

The warm effects which she in him finds
missing,

She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be :
She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd ;
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee ;
She 's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd.

' Fie, fie,' he says, ' you crush me ; let me go;

You have no reason to withhold me so.'

'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy,

ere this, [boar.

But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the

O be advis'd ! thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheath'd he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.

' On his bow-back he hath a battle set

Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ;

His eyes like glowworms shine when he doth
fret:

His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ;
Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his cruel trshes slay.

' His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof than thy spear's point can

enter ;

His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd ;
Being ireful on the lion he will venture :

The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part ; through whom he
rushes.

' Alas, he nought esteems that face ot thine,
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes ;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes ;
But having thee at vantage, (wondrous dread !)
Would root these beauties as he roots the
mead.

' O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still !
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
Come not within his danger by thy will :
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.

When thou didst name the boar, not to dis-
semble, [ble.

I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did trem^

' Didst thou not mark my face ? Was it not

white ?

Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye ?
Grew I not faint ? And fell I not downright ?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no

rest,

But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my
breast.

' For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel ;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, " kill, kill ; "
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire.

* This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up love's tender spring,

1218

VENUS AND ADONIS.

This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,

That sometime true news, sometime false doth

bring,

Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,
That if I love thee I thy death should fear :

' And, more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing hoar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore ;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being

shed

Doth make them droop with grief, and hang
the head.

* What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tiemble at the imagination?

The thought of it doth make my faint heart
bleed,

And fear doth teach it divination :

I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

' But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me ;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty,
Or at the roe, which no encounter dare :
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd hon>e keep with
thy hounds.

* And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles,
How he outruns the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles:

The many musits through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

' Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds mistake their

smell,

And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell ;

And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer ;

Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear :

* For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to

doubt,

Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ;
Then do they spend their mouths : Echo

replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.

* By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,

To hearken if his foes pursue him still ;

Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.

' Then shalt thou see the dew -bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way ;
Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay :
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low never reliev'd by any.

' Lie quietly, and hear a little more ;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise :
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,

Applying this to that, and so to so ;

For love can comment upon every woe.

'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,'

quoth he ;

* Leave me, and then the story aptly ends :
The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?'

quoth she.

' I am,' quoth he, ' expected of my friends ;
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
* In night,' quoth she, ' desire sees best of all.

4 But if thou fall, O then imagine this,
The earth in love with thee thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. [lips

Rich preys make true men thieves : so do thy
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn.

' Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were
divine, [despite,

Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's
To shame the sun by day, an3 her by night.

1 And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies,
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature ;
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery ;

1 As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood :

Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd
despair,

Swear Nature's death for framing thee so fair.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

1219

' And not the least of all these maladies,
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under :
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.

* Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,

Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.

* What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity [have,
Which by the rights of time thou needs must
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ?

If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

* So in thyself thyself art made away ;

A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do

slay

Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life.
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that 's put to use more gold begets. 3

' Nay, then,' quoth Adon, ' you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme ;
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream ;

For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul
nurse, [worse.

Your treatise makes me like you worse and

* If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;

For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there ;

* Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast ;

And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.

No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

' What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove ?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger ;
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranf ?r.

You do it for increase ; O strange excuse !

When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.

' Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating lust on earth usurp'd his name ;
Under whose simple semblance he nath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ;
Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

' Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But lust's effect is tempest after sun ;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done.
Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies :
Love is all truth ; lust full of forged lies.

* More I could tell, but more I dare not say ;

The text is old, the orator too green.

Therefore, in sadness, now I will away ;

My face is full of shame, my heart of teen ;
Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'

With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms which bound him to her
breast, [apace ;

And homeward through the dark laund runs
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ;

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend ;
So did the merciless and pitchy nifht
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood ;
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,

That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming
troubled,

Make verbal repetition of her moans ;

Passion on passion deeply is redoubled : [woe V
'Ah me!' she cries, and twenty times, 'woe,
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

She, marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty; [dote;
How love makes young men thrall, and old men
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty :
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

1220

VENUS AND ADONIS.

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night,

For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:

If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight

In such like circumstance, with such like sport :

Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,

End without audience, and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal,

But idle sounds resembling parasites,

Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every

call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ?

She says, ' 'tis so : ' they answer all, ' 'tis so;'
And would say after her, if she said * no.'

Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high ,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver

breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty ;

Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow :
' O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth

borrow

The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly

mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love :
She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn :
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way

Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her
face,

Some twine about her thigh to make her stay;

She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like amilchdoe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake.

By this she hears the hounds are at a bay,
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and

shudder ;

Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses, and her spright confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase ,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,

Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud :

Finding their enemy to be so curst, [first.

They all strain court'sy who shall cope him

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart,
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling
part : [yield,

Like soldiers, when their captain once doth
They basely fly, and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ;
Till, cheering up her senses sore-dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error that they are afraid ;

Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no
more ; [boar ;

And with that word she spied the hunted

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way she runs, and now she will no further.
But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways ;

She treads the path that she untreads again ;

Her more than haste is mated with delays,

Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respect, yet nought at all respecting,
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master ;
And, there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with
howling.

When he hath ceas'd his ill -resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim.
Against the welkin volleys out his voice ;
Another and another answer him,

Clapping their proud tails to the ground
below, [go.

Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they

Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd t
Ir Busing them with dreadful prophecies :
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath,
And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

1221

' Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,' (thus chidesshe Death, )

* Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost

thou mean
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath,

Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose ; smell to the violet ?

' If he be dead, O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it
O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.

Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's
heart.

' Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,

And hearing him thy power had lost his power.

The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke ;

They bid thee crop a weed, thoupluck'sta flower :
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead.

* Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st

such weeping?

What may a heavy groan advantage thee ?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopp'd
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd ;

But through the floodgates breaks the silver
rain,

And with his strong course opens them again.

O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow !
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye ;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's

sorrow,

Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry ;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet
again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each passion labours so
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best ; then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off she hears s^me huntsmen hollo :
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well :

The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel ;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should

pass,

To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth
drown'd.

hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous !

Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes,
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous :

The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath

wrought ;

Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame ;
It was not she that called him all -to naught :
Now she adds honours to his hateful name ;
She clepes him king of graves, and grave for

kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

' No, no,' quoth she, ' sweet Death, I did but

jest;

Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe ;
Then, gentle shadow (truth I must confess),
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

' 'Tis not my fault : the boar provok'd my

tongue ;

Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee

wrong ;

1 did but act, he 's author of thy slander :

Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both, without ten women's
wit. '

Thus, hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate ; [stories
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs ; and
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.

' O Jove,' quoth she. ' how much a fool was I,
To be of such a weak and silly mind,

1222

VENUS AND ADONIS.

To wail his death who lives, and must not die,
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind !

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

' Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with

thieves,

Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. '
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcon to the lure away she flies ;

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ;

And in her haste unfortunately spies

The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight ;

Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the
view, [drew.

Like stars asham'd of day, themselves with-

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again ;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head ;

Where they resign their office and their light

To the disposing of her troubled brain ;

Who bids them still consort with ugly night,

And never wound the heart with looks again ;

Who, like a king perplexed in his throne,

By their suggestion gives a deadly groan.

Whereat each tributary subject quakes :
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation
shakes, [found,

Which with cold terror doth men's minds con-
The mutiny each part doth so surprise,
That from their dark beds once more leap
her eyes ;

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had

trench'd

In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was

drench'd :

No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or

weed, [bleed.

But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ;
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.

Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow;

Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,

That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem

three ;

And then she reprehends her mangling eye
That makes more gashes where no breach

should be :

His face seems twain, each several limb is

doubled ; [troubled.

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being

' My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead !
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead ;

Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes' red
fire !

So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

' Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that 's worth the view-
ing ? [boast
Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou
Of things long since, or anything ensuing ?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and

trim ;
But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died with him.

' Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear !

Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you :

Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ;

The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss

you:

But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves to rob him of his fair;

' And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ;
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone,
Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep:
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry
his tears.

' To see his face the lion walk'd along [him :
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear
To recreate himself, when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him :
If he had spoke the wolf would leave his prey,
And never fright the silly lamb that day.

' When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills ;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took
That some would sing, some other in their bills

Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red
cherries ; [berries.

He fed them with his sight, they him with

' But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave^

VENUS AND ADONIS.

1223

Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ;

Witness the entertainment that he gave ;
If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

* 'Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain ;
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ;

And nuzzling in his flank the loving swine
Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin.

* Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first ;
But he is dead, and never did he bless

My youth with his ; the more am I accurst.'
With this she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ;

She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ;

She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,

As if they heard the woeful words she told :
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in dark-
ness lies :

Two glasses where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect ;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect :

'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,
That you being dead the day should yet be
light.

* Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesy,
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend ;

It shall be waited on with jealousy,

Find sweet beginning but unsavoury end ;

Ne'er settled equally, but high or low ; [woe.

That all love's pleasure shall not match his

' It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud ;

Bud and be blasted in a breathing while ;

The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd

With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to
speak.

' It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck dov/n the rich, enrich the poor with

treasures :

It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.

* It shall suspect where is no cause of fear ;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful, and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just ;

Perverse it shall be where it shows most
toward,

Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

' It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire ;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire ;

Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,
They that love best their love shall not enjoy.'

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness
stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to

smell,

Comparing it to her Adonis' breath ;
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death :
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to
tears.

' Poor flower,' quoth she, ' this was thy father's

guise,

(Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,)
For every little grief to wet his eyes :
To grow unto himself was his desire,

And so 'tis thine ; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.

' Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right :
Lo ! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and

night :

There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid
Their mistress, mounted, through the empty

skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd,

Holding their course to Paphos, where their

queen
Means to immure herself, and not be seen.

-,- . -.-/

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.

THE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end ; whereof this pamphlet, without begin-
ning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the
worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what
I have to do is yours ; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater my
duty would show greater : meantime, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish
long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your Lordship's in all duty,

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

THE ARGUMENT.

Lucius TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he had caused his own
father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and
customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the king-
dom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. Dur-
ing which siege, the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus
Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of
his own wife ; among whom, Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia.
In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome ; and intending by their secret and sudden
arrival to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his
wife (though it were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids : the other ladies were all
found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Colla-
tinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius, being inflamed with
Lucrece's beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to
the camp ; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was (according to his
estate) royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacher-
ously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away.
Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily despatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father,
another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the
other with Publius Valerius ; and, finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the
cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor and
whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one con-
sent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins ; and, bearing the dead
body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with
a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king ; wherewith the people were so moved, that
with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state govern-
ment changed from kings to consuls.

FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust - breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman

host,

And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire,
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite ;
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,

Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's
beauties,

With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1225

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state,
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate ;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud

rate,

That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few !
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew
Against the golden splendour of the sun !
An expir'd date, cancell'd ere well begun :
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator ;
What needeth then apologies be made
To set forth that which is so singular ?
Or why is Collatine the publisher

Of that rich^jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own ?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king ;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be :
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting

His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men
should vaunt,

That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those :
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows
old !

When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd,
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd
Which of them both should underprop her fame :
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for

shame ;

When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that or with silver white.

But beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field :
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild
Their silver cheeks, andcall'd it then their shield ;

Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the
white.

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white :
Of cither's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right :
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight ;
The sovereignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.

This silent war of lilies and of roses
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ;
Where, lest between them both it should be

kill'd,

The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband'? shallow tongue
(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so)
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show :
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe,
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper ;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on

evil ;

Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear :
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd :

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy ;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store
That cloy'dwith much he pineth still formore.

But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books ;
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no

hooks ;

Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ;

1226

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry,
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory ;
Her joy with heav'd-up handshedoth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming thither
He makes excuses for his being there.
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy spright ;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night :
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth

fight;

And every one to rest themselves betake,
Save thieves? and cares, and troubled minds,
that wake.

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, [staining
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to ab-
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining ;
And when great treasure is the meedpropos'd,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death
suppos'd.

[ jyaj \ ' '

Those that much covet are with gain so fond
That what they have not, that which they possess
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less ;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich
gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age ;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage ;
As life for honour in fell battles' rage ; [cost
Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth
The death of all, and all together lost.

So that in vent' ring ill we leave to be

The things we are, for that which we expect ;

And this ambitious foul infirmity,

In having much, torments us with defect

Of that we have : so then we do neglect

The thing we have, and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing, by augmenting it.

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make.
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ;
And for himself himself he must forsake :
Then where is truth if there be no self-trust ?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
When he himself himself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful
days?

Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ;
No comfortable star did lend his light, [cries ;
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding
Now serves the season that they may surprise

The silly lambs ; pure thoughts are dead and
still,

While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed,

Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ;

Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ;

Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm ;

But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly,
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly :
' As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.'

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise,
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise ;
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust,
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust :

' Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine !
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine !
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine :

Let fair humanity abhor the deed [weed.

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white

' O shame to knighthood and to shining arms !

O foul dishonour to my household's grave !

O impious act, including all foul harms !

A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ;

True valour still a true respect should have ;
Then my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my face.

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1227

' Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
And be an eyesore in my golden coat ;
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
To cipher me how fondly I did dote ;
That my posterity, sham'd with the note,
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
To wish that I their father had not been.

* What win I if I gain the thing I seek ?

A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy:

Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ?

Or sells eternity to get a toy?

For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken
down?

' If Collatinus dream of my intent,
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ?
This siege that hath engirt his marriage,
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,
This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?

' O what excuse can my invention make

When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?

Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints
shake?

Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed ?

The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed ;
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.

' Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife ;
As in revenge or quittal of such strife :

But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend.

The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

' Shameful it is ; ay, if the fact be known :
Hateful it is ; there is no hate in loving ;
I '11 beg her love ; but she is not her own ;
The worst is but denial, and reproving :
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.'

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot -burning will,
And with good thoughts makes dispensation,
Urging the worser sense for vantage still ;
Which in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.

Quoth he, ' She took me kindly by the hand,
And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
O how her fear did make her colour rise !
First red as roses that on lawn we lay,
Then white as lawn, the roses took away.

' And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd,
Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear ;
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear ;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.

' Why hunt I then for colour or excuses ?

All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth ;

Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ;

Love thrives not in the heart that shadows
dreadeth :

Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ;
And when his gaudy banner is display'd,
The coward fights, and will not be dismayed

' Then, childish fear, avaunt ! debating, die !
Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age !
My heart shall never countermand mine eye j
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage ;
My part is youth, and beats these from the stage :

Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ;

Then who fears sinking where such treasure
lies?'

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust.
Away he steals with opening, listening ear,
Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust ;
Both which, as servitors to the unjust,

So cross him with their opposite persuasion,
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.

Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the selfsame seat sits Collatine :
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline ;

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part;

And therein heartens up his servile powers,
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours ;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.

1228

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

The locks between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforc'd retires his ward ;
But as they open they all rate his ill,
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard,
The threshold grates the door to have him heard ;

Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him
there ;

They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

As each unwilling portal yields him way,
Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars with his torch, to make him

stay,

And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case ;

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth

scorch,
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch :

And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks ;
He takes it from the rushes where it lies,
And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks :
As who should say r this glove to wanton tricks

Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ;

Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste,

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay

him ;

He in the worst sense construes their denial :
The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay

him,

He takes for accidental things of trial ;
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial,
Who with a lingering stay his course doth

let,
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.

* So, so,' quoth he, ' these lets attend the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing ;

Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates,
shelves and sands,

The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.'

Now is he come unto the chamber door
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more,
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought,
That for his prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heaven should countenance his sin.

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,
Having solicited the eternal power,

That his foul thoughts might compass his fair

fair,

That they would stand auspicious to the hour,
Even there he starts : quoth he, ' I must de-
flower ;

The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,
How can they then assist me in the act ?

' Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!
My will is back'd with resolution : [tried,

Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be
The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ;
Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide :
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch ;
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside :
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head :
By their high treason is his heart misled ;

Which gives the watchword to his hand full
soon,

To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light :
Whether it is that she reflects so bright,

That dazzleth them, or else some shame
supposed ; [closed.

But blind they are, and keep themselves en-

O, had they in that darksome prison died,
Then had they seen the period of their ill !
Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side
In his clear bed might have reposed still :
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill ;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss ;
Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his bliss ;
Between whose hills her head entombed is :
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,
To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes.

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1229

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their

light,

And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her

breath ;

O modest wantons ! wanton modesty !
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
And death's dim look in life's mortality :
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain there were no strife,
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life.

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred :
Who like a foul usurper went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner
out.

What could he see but mightily he noted ?

What did he note but strongly he desir'd?

What he beheld on that he firmly doted,

And in his will his wilful eye he tir'd.

With more than admiration he admir'd
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,

Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,

So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,

His rage of lust by gazing qualified ;

Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her

side,

H ; s eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins :

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage

fighting,

Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting,
In bloody death and ravishment delighting,
Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans re-
specting,

Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting :
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their
liking.

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand ;

His hand, as proud of such a dignity, [stand
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ;

Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did
scale,

Left their round turrets destitute and pale.

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset,
And fright her with confusion of their cries :
She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up

eyes,

Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and con-
troll'd.

Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking ;
What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, needfully doth view
The sight which makes supposed terror true.

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ;
She dares not look ; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes :
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries :
W T ho, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful
sights.

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,
(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall !)
May feel her heart, poor citizen, distress'd,
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,
To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe,
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show ;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still
Under what colour he commits this ill.

Thus he replies : ' The colour in thy face
(That even for anger makes the lily pale,
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace)
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale :
Under that colour am I come to scale

Thy never-conquer'd fort : the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.

1230

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

4 Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide :
Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will abide,
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which I to conquer sought with all my might ;
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred,

' I see what crosses my attempt will bring ;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends ;
I think the honey guarded with a sting :
All this, beforehand, counsel comorehends :
But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends ;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or
duty.

' I have debated, even in my soul,

What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall

breed ;

But nothing can Affection's course control,
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue the deed,

Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity ;

Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy/

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wing's shade,
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he

dies :
So under his insulting falchion lies

Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's
bells.

* Lucrece,' quoth he, * this night I must enjoy

thee :

If thou deny, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee ;
That done, some worthless slave of thine I '11

slay,

To kill thine honour with thy life's decay ;
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place

him,
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.

* So thy surviving husband shall remain
The scornful ,nark of every open eye ;

Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blnrr'd with nameless bastardy :
And thou, the author of their obloquy,

Shalt have "ny trespass cited up in rhymes,
And sung by children in succeeding times.

' But if thou yield I rest thy secret friend :
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ;

A little harm, done to a great good end,

For lawful policy remains enacted.

The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted

In a pure compound ; being so applied,

His venom in effect is purified.

' Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake,
Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot ;
Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot :
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.'

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause ;
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws,
Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws,

To the rough beast that knows no gentle
right,

Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite :

But when a black -fac'd cloud the world doth

threat,

In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth

get,
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their

biding,

Hindering their present fall by this dividing ;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

Yet, foul night- waking cat, he doth but dally,
While in his holdfast foot the weak mouse

panteth ;

Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth :
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart

granteth

No penetrable entrance to her plaining :
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with

raining.

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ;
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd,
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place,
And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks,
That twice she doth begin ere once she
speaks.

She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's
oath*

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1231

By her untimely tears, her husband's love,
By holy human law, and common troth,
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both,
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire,
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.

Quoth she, ' Reward not hospitality [tended ;

With such black payment as thou hast pre-

Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee ;

Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ;

End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended :
He is no woodman that doth bend his bow
To strike a poor unseasonable doe.

' My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare

me ;

Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me;
Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me ;
Thou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive me;
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to

heave thee.

If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans,
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans :

* All which together, like a troubled ocean,
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart ;
To soften it with their continual motion ;

For stones dissolv'd to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,

Melt at my tears, and be compassionate !

Soft pity enters at an iron gate.

* In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee ;
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame ?
To all the host of heaven I complain me,
Thou wrong' st his honour, wound'st his princely

name.

Thou art not what thou seem'st ; and if the same,
Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king j
For kings like gods should govern everything.

* How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring !
If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage,
What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king!
O be remember'd, no outrageous thing

From vassal actors Can be wip'd away ;
Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.

' This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear,
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love :
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove :
If but for fear of this thy will remove ;

For princes are the glass, the school, the
book, [look.

Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do

' And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall

learn ?

Must he in thee read lectures of such shame :
Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern
Authority for sin, warrant for blame,
To privilege dishonour in thy name ?

Thou back'st reproach against long-lived laud,
And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd.

' Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will :
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil,

When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may
say, [way?

He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the

' Think but how vile a spectacle it were
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ;
Their own transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy

brother,

O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies,
That from their own misdeeds askaunce their
eyes !

' To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash rel'er ;
I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal ;
Let him return and flattering thoughts retire :
His true respect will 'prison false desire,
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.'

* Have done,' quoth he ; ' my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires

abide,

And with the wind in greater fury fret :
The petty streams that pay a daily debt

To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls'

haste,
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.'

' Thou art,' quoth she, ' a sea, a sovereign king;
And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these petty ills c hall change thy good,
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hears'd,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispers'd.

' So shall these slaves be king, and thou their

slave ;
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ;

1232

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave ;

Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride :

The lesser thing should not the greater hide ;

The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,

But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.

* So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state '
' No more,' quoth he ; 'by heaven, I will not

hear thee :

Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear

thee ; s

That done, despiteful ly I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.'

This said, he sets the foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies ;
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb

cries
Till with her own white fleece her voice con-

troll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold :

For with the nightly linen that she wears
He pens her piteous clamours in her head ;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed !
The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again.
This forced league doth force a further strife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot desire converts to cold disdain :
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight ;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night :
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring.

O deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination !
Drunken desire must vomit his receipt,
Ere he can see his own abomination.
While lust is in his pride no exclamation
Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,
Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless

pace,

Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case :
The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with

grace,

For there it revels ; and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd ;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands

disgrac'd :

Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac'd ;
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter' d down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and make her thrall
To living death, and pain perpetual ;

Which in her prescience she controlled still,
But her foresight could not forestall their will.

Even in this thought through the dark night he

stealeth,

A captive victor that hath lost in gain ;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain,
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind,
And he the burthen of a guilty mind.

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence ;
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there j
He scowls, and hates himself for his offence ;
She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ;

She stays, exclaiming on the direful night ;

He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd
delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite ;

She there remains a hopeless castaway :

He in his speed looks for the morning light ;

She prays she never may behold the day ;

' For day,' quoth she, ' night's scapes doth open

lay;

And my true eyes have never practis'd how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.

* They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves
behold ;

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1233

And therefore would they still in darkness be,
To have their unseen sin remain untold ;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave, like water, that doth eat in steel,
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.'

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind.

Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her
spite

Against the unseen secrecy of night :

* O comfort-killing night, image of hell !
Dim register and notary of shame !
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell !
Vast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame !
Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame !

Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator,
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher !

* O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night,
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportioned course of time !
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb

His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

' With rotten damps ravish the morning air ;
Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick
The life of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noontide prick ;
And let thy misty vapours march so thick,
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light,
May set at noon, and make perpetual night.

'WereTs

The silver-

Her twinkli:

Through night's black bosom' should not peep
again ;

So should I have copartners in my pain :
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makesshort their pilgrimage.

* Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms, and hang their heads with

mine,

To mask their brows, and hide their infamy ;
But I alone alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with

groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.

1 O night, thou furnace of foul -reeking smoke,
Let not the jealous day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace !
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign are made.
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade !

' Make me not object to the tell-tale day !
The light will show, character'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock vow :
Yea, the illiterate, that know not how
To 'cipher what is writ in learned books,
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.

' The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name ;
The orator, to deck his oratory,
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame :
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.

' Let my good name, that senseless reputation,
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted :
If that be made a theme for disputation,
The branches of another root are rotted,
And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted,
That is as clear from this attaint of mine,
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.

' O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace !
O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar !
Reproach is stamp' d in Collatinus' face,
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar,
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
Which not themselves but he that gives them
knows !

* If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me by strong assault it is bereft.
My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my summer left,
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft :

In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath
crept, [kept.

And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee

' Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack,
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him ;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him :
Besides of weariness he did complain him,
And talk'd of virtue : O, unlook'd for evil,
When virtue is profan'd in such a devil J

1234

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

* Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ?

Or kings be breakers of their own behests ?
JBut no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.

' The aged man that coffers up his gold [fits,
Is plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And useless barns the harvest of his wits ;
Having no other pleasure of his gain
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.

' So then he "hath it, when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to be master'd by his young ;
Who in their pride do presently abuse it :
Their father was too weak, and they too strong,
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long,
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,
Even in the moment that we call them ours.

* Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious

flowers ;

The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing ;
What virtue breeds iniquity devours :
We have no good that we can say is ours,
But ill-annexed Opportunity
Or kills his life, or else his quality.

* O Opportunity ! thy guilt is great :

'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason ;
Thou sett'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season;
'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason;

And in thy shady cell, where none may spy
him,

Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.

' Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath ;

Thou blow'stthe fire when temperance 10 thaw'd ;

Thou smother'st honesty, thou murther'st troth;

Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd !

Thou plantest scandal, and displaces! laud :
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief !

* Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast ;
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name ;

Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste :

Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ?

' When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath

chain'd ?

Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd ?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out

for thee;
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity,

' The patient dies while the physician sleeps ;
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ;
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ;
Advice is sporting while infection breeds ;
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds :

Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's
rages,

Thy heinous hours wait on them astheir pages.

' When truth and virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid ;
They buy thy help : but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes ; and thou art well appay'd
As well to hear as grant what he hath saioU
My Collatine would else have come to fiae
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.

* Guilty thou art of murder and of theft ;

Guilty of perjury and subornation 5

Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift j

Guilty of incest, that abomination :

An accessary by thine inclination

To all sins past, and all that are to come)
From the creation to the general doom.

' Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night>
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly Care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin's packhorse, virtue's

snare ;
Thou nursest all, and murtherest all that are.

O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time !

Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

' Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betray'd the hours thou gav st me to repose ?
Cancell'd my fortunes and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes ?
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes ;
To eat up errors by opinion bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.

' Time's glory is to calm contending kings,
To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right ;

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

"35

To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,
And smear with dust their glittering golden

' To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books, and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings,
To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs ;
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel ;

* To show the beldame daughtersof her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child,
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd ;
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
And waste huge stones with little water-drops.

' Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends ?
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand

friends,

Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends :
O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour

come back,
I could prevent thisstorm, and shun thy wrack !

'Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight :
Devise extremes beyond extremity,
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night :
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright,
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.

' Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ;
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,
To make him moan, but pity not his moans :
Stone him with hardened hearts, harder than

stones ;

And let mild women to him lose their mildness,
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.

' Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have lime against himself to rave,
Let him have time of Time's help to despair,
Let him have time to live a loathed slave,
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave ;
And time to see one that by alms doth live
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.

1 Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort ;

Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport :
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail the abusing of his time.

' O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse him that thou taught' st this

ill!

At his own shadow let the thief run mad !
Himself himself seek every hour to kill !
Such wretched hands such wretched blood

should spill :

For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave?

' The baser is he, coming from a king,
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate.
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate ;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd,
But little stars may hide them when they list.

' The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in

mire,

And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away,
But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious

day.

Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly,
But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye.

' Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools !

Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!

Busy yourselves in ski 11 -con ten ding schools,

Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;

To trembling clients be you mediators :
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my case is past the help of law.

' In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night ;
In vain I cavil with my infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite :
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right
The remedy indeed to do me good,
Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood.

' Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ;
For if I die my honour lives in thee,
But if I live thou liv'st in my defame :
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,
And was afear'd to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.'

1236

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

This said, from her betumbled couch she starteth,
To find some desperate instrument of death :
But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth,
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth
As smoke from ^Etna, that in air consumes,
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.

' In vain,' quoth she, * I live, and seek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain,
Yet for the self- same purpose seek a knife :
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife ;

So am I now : O no, that cannot be ;

Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.

* O ! that is gone for which I sought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to slander's livery ;
A dying life to living infamy ;

Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away,
To burn the guiltles

less casket where it lay !

* Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shall not know
The stained taste of violated troth ;

I will not wrong thy true affection so
To flatter thee with an infringed oath ;
This bastard graff shall never come to growth :
He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute
That thou art doting father of his fruit.

' Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state ;
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate,

And with my trespass never will dispense,
Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence.

* I will not poison thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ;
My sable ground of sin I will not paint,

To hide the truth of this false night's abuses :
My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes like sluices,
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended
To ugly hell ; when lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow :
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd
be.

Revealing day through every cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits

weeping,

To whom she sobbing speaks : ' O eye of eyes,
Why pryest thou through my window? leave

thy peeping ;
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are

sleeping :

Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do what 's done by

night.'

Thus cavils she with everything she sees :

True grief is fond and testy as a child,

Who wayward once, his mood with nought

agrees.

Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ;
Continuance tames the one ; the other wild,
Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still
With too much labour drowns for want of
skill.

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth compare ;
No object but her passion's strength renews ;
And as one shifts, another straight ensues :
Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words j
Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords.

The little birds that tune their morning's joy
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody.
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ;
Sad souls are slain in merry company :
Grief best is pleas'd with griefs society :
True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd
When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd.

'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ;
He ten times pines that pines beholding food ;
To see the salve doth make the wound ache

more ;

Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er-

flows:
Grief dallied with noi law nor limit knows.

'You mocking birds/ quoth she, 'your tunes

entomb

Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb !
(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ;
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :)
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ;
Distress like dumps when time is kept with
tears.

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1237

' Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair.
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear :
For burthen-wise I '11 hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill.

* And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart

Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye ;

Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heartstrings to true languish-
ment.

' And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way,
That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold,
We will find out ; and there we will unfold

To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their
kinds: [minds.'

Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily ;
So with herself is she in mutiny,

To live or die which of the twain were better,
When life is sham'd, and Death reproach's
debtor.

'To kill myself,' quoth she, *alack! whatwereit,
But with my body my poor soul's pollution ?
They that lose half with greater patience bear it
Than they whose wholeis swallow'd in confusion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion

Who, having two sweet babes, when death
takes one,

Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.

* My body or my soul, which was the dearer?
When the one pure, the other made divine.
Whose love of either to myself was nearer ?
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine.
Ah, me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine,

His leaves will wither, and his sap decay ;
So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away.

'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted,

Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ;

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted,

Grossly engirt with daring infamy:

Then let it not be call'd impiety

If in this biemish'd fort I make some hole
Through which I may convey this troubled
soul.

' Yet die I will not till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death ;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I '11 bequeath,
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,
And as his due writ in my testament.

' My honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body so dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ;
The one will live, the other being dead :
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ;
For in my death I murther shameful scorn :
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.

' Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee ?
My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast,
By whose example thou reveng'd mayst be.
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me :

Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe ;

And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so.

' This brief abridgment of my will I make :

My soul and body to the skies and ground;

My resolution, husband, do thou take ;

Mine honour be the knife's that makes my
wound ;

My shame be his that did my fame confound ;
And all my fame that lives disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of me.

' Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will ;
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it !
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ;
My life's foul deed my life's fair end shall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, " so be it."

Yieid to my hand ; my hand shall conquer thee ;

Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.'

This plot of death when sadly she had laid,
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid,
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers

flies.

Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their

Her mistress shedoth give demure good-morrow,
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,

1238

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
(For why? her face wore sorrow's livery,)
But durst not ask of her audaciously

Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,
Nor why her fair cheeks over- wash'd with woe.

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye ;
Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy
Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky,
Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light,
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy
night.

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling :
One justly weeps ; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling :
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts,
And then they drown their eyes, or break
their hearts.

For men have marble, women waxen minds,
And therefore are they form'd as marble will ;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange

kinds

Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill :
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax shall be accounted evil,
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign

plain,

Lays open all the little worms that creep ;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep :
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold

stern looks,
Poor women's faces are their own faults'

books.

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower,
But chide rough winter that the flower hath

kiird

Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild
Poor women's faults that they are so fulfill'd
With men's abuses ! those proud lords, to

blame,
Make weak-made women tenants to their

shame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong

Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong :
Such danger to resistance did belong,

That dying fear through all her body spread ;

And who cannot abuse a body dead ?

By this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining :
' My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks

are raining ?

If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my

mood :
If tears could help, mine own would do me

good.

'But tell me, girl, when went' (and there she

stay'd

Till after a deep groan) 'Tarquin from hence?'
' Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid,
' The more to blame my sluggard negligence :
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day,
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.

' But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,
She would request to know your heaviness.'
' O peace ! ' quoth Lucrece ; ' if it should be

told,

The repetition cannot make it less ;
For more it is than I can well express :
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell,
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

' Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen
Yet save that labour, for I have them here.
What should I say? One of my husband's men
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear ;
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it :
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be
writ.'

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill :
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ;
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill :
Much like a press of people at a door,
Throng her inventions, which shall be before.

At last she thus begins : ' Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe to afford
(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see)
Some present speed to come and visit me :

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1239

So I commend me from our house in grief;
My woes are tedious, though my words are

brief.'

Here folds she up the tenor of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her griefs true quality ;
She dares not thereof make discovery,

Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ;
When sighs, and groans, and tears may grace

the fashion

Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
From that suspicion which the world might

bear her.
To shun this blot, she would not blot the

letter [better.

With words, till action might become them

To see sad sights moves more than hear them

told;

For then the eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold,
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear :

Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow

fords, [words.

And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ,
* At Ardea to my lord with more than haste ; '
The post attends, and she delivers it,
Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast.

Speed more than speed but dull and slow
she deems :

Extremity still urgeth such extremes.

The homely villain court'sies to her low ;
And blushing on her, with a steadfast eye
Receives the scroll, without or yea or no,
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms He

Imagine every eye beholds their blame ;

For Lucrece thought he blusb'd to see her
shame ;

When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely :

Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blaz'd ;
She thought he blush'd as knowing Tarquin's

lust,

And, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd ;

Her earnest eye did make him more amaz'd :

The more she saw the blood his cheeks

replenish, [blemish.

The more she thought he spied in her some

But long she thinks till he return again,
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain,
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan :
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy ;
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece,
For Helen's rape the city to destroy,
Threat'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy ;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud,
As heaven (itseem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life :
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife :
The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife;
And dying eyesgleam'd forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring pioneer
Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loopholes thrust,
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust :

Such sweet observance in this work was had,
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.

In great commanders grace and majesty
You might behold, triumphing in their faces ;
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity ;
And here and there the painter interlaces
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling

paces ;

Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake
and tremble.

In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art
Of physiognomy might one behold !

I2 4

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart ;
Their face their manners most expressly told :
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd ;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent
Show'd deep regard and smiling government.

There pleading might you see grave Nestor

stand,

As 't were encouraging the Greeks to fight ;
Making such sober action with his hand
That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight :
In speech, it seem'd, his beard all silver white
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did

fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the

sky.

About him were a press of gaping faces,
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice ;
All jointly listening, but with several graces,
As if some mermaid did their ears entice ;
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice :
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seem'd to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's

ear ;
Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n

and red ;

Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear ;
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear,
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry

swords.

For much imaginary work was there ;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Grip'd in an armed hand ; himself, behind,
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind :
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd

to field,

Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield,

That through their light joy seemed to appear
(Like bright things stain'd) a kind of "

fear.

heavy

And, from the strond of Dardan where they

fought,
To Simois reedy banks, the red blood ran,

Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges ; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than
Retire again, till meeting greater ranks
They join, and shoot their foam at Simois'
banks.

t ysrri -onthBiLcQ ^in.Lp'TM UQ;'- .-
To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,
To find a face where all distress is stell'd.
Many she sees where cares have carved some,
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd,
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld,

Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot
lies.

KW.-I3 VfUU ?-H:3j" i boi ,-dgiri fWif/

In her the painter had anatomiz'd

Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's

reign ;
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were dis-

guis'd ;

Of what she was no semblance did remain :
Her blue blood, chang'd to black in every vein,
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes

had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.

...? 'j.'.i oj o>.'-.''':!r9y;j ->.a'. S-^' K>/i J
On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,
And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes,
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries,
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes :
The painter was no god to lend her those ;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her

wrong,
To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.

' Poor instrument,' quoth she, * without a sound,
I '11 tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue :
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong,
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so

long;

And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

' Show me the strumpet that began this stir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth

bear;

Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here :
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter,
die.

' Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many mo ?

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1241

Let sin, alone committed, light alone
Upon his head that hath transgressed so.
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe :
For one's offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general ?

' Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus

swounds ;

Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,
And one man's lust these many lives confounds :
Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame, and not
with fire.

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes :
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes ;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell :
So Lucrece set a- work sad tales doth tell

To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow ;

She lends them words, and she their looks
doth borrow.

She throws her eyes about the painting round,

And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament :

At last she sees a wretched image bound,

That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent ;

His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content :

Onward to Troy with the blunt swains hegoes,

So mild that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.

In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe ;
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.

But, like a constant and confirmed devil,
He entertain'd a show so seeming just,
And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil,
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms,
Or blot with hell -born sin such saint-like forms.

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew
For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story
The credulous old Priam after slew ; [glory
Whose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,
And little stars shot from their fixed places,
When their glass fell wherein they view'd
their faces.

This picture she advisedly perus'd,
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill ;
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd,
So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill ;
And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still.
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,
That she concludes the picture was belied.

' It cannot be,' quoth she, 'that so much guile'
(She would have said) ' can lurk in such a look ;'
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the

while,
And from her tongue * can lurk ' from ' cannot ;

took ;

' It cannot be ' she in that sense forsook,
And turn'd it thus : ' It cannot be, I find,
But such a face should bear a wicked mind :

' For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,
(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,)
To me came Tarquin armed ; so beguil'd
With outward honesty, but yet defil d

With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish.

' Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds.
Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise ?
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds ;
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds ;

Those round clear pearls of his that move thy
pity

Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.

' Such devils steal effects from lightless hell ;
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell ;
These contraries such unity do hold
Only to flatter fools, and make them bold ;
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth

flatter,

That he finds means to burn his Troy with
water.'

Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,
Comparing him to that unhappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest ;

At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ;

' Fool ! fool ! ' quoth she, ' his wounds will
not be sore.'

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,
And time doth weary time with her complain-
ing.

1242

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

She looks for night, and then she longs for

morrow,

And both she thinks too long with her remain-
ing :

Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustain-
ing.

Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ;
And they that watch see time how slow it

Which all this time hathoverslipp'd her thought,
That she with painted images hath spent ;
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought
By deep surmise of others' detriment ;
Losing her woes in shows of discontent.
It easeth some, though none it ever cur'd,
To think their dolour others have endur'd.

But now the mindful messenger, come back,
Brings home his lord and other company ;
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black ;
And round about her tear-distained eye
Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky.
These water-galls in her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent.

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,

Amazedly in her sad face he stares :

Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and

raw,

Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares,
But stood like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wondering each other's
chance.

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand,
And thus begins : * What uncouth ill event
Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling

stand ?
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour

spent ?

Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent ?
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.'

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow

fire,

Ere once she can discharge one word of woe :
At length address'd to answer his desire,
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe ;
While Collatine and his consorted lords
With sad attention long to hear her words.

And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending :

' Few words,' quoth she, ' shall fit the trespass

best,

Where no excuse can give the fault amending :
In me more woes than words are now depend-
ing ; [long,
And my laments would be drawn out too
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.

* Then be this all the task it hath to say :
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed

A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong else may be imagined
By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free.

* For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light,
And softly cried, Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain my love ; else lasting shame

On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's desire do contradict.

'For somehard-favour'dgroom of thine,quoth he,
Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I '11 murder straight, and then I '11 slaughter thee,
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed : this act will be
My fame, and thy perpetual infamy.

' With this I did begin to start and cry,
And then against my heart he set his sword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I should not live to speak another word :
So should my shame still rest upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome
The adulterate death of Lucrece and her
groom.

' Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear :
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak ;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there :
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear

That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes,
And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies.

' O teach me how to make mine own excuse !

Or, at the least, this refuge let me find ;

Though my gross blood be stain'd with this
abuse,

Immaculate and spotless is my mind ;

That was not forc'd ; that never was inclin'd
To accessary yieldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.'

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1243

Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,
With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with

woe,

With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away that stops his answer so :
But wretched as he is he strives in vain ;
What he breathes out his breath drinks up
again.

As through an arch the violent roaring tide
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste ;
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast ;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past :
Even so he sighs, his sorrows make a saw.
To push grief on, and back the same grief
draw.

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh :

* Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power ; no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh

More feeling-painful : let it then suffice
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.

* And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me;
Be suddenly revenged on my foe, [fend me
Thine, mine, his own ; suppose thou dost de-
From what is past: the help that thou shalt

lend me

Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ;
For sparing justice feeds iniquity.

'But ere I name him, you, fair lords,' quoth

she,
(Speaking to those that came with Colktine)

* Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ;
For 'tis a meritorious fair design

1 o chase injustice with revengeful arms :
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor
ladies' harms.'

At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said,

The protestation stops. 'O speak,' quoth
she, [me ?

4 How may this forced stain be wip'd from

1 What is the quality of mine offence,

Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance ?

May my pure mind with the foul act dispense,

My low-declined honour to advance ?

May any terms acquit me from this chance ?

The poison'd fountain clears itself again ;

And why not I from this compelled stain ? '

With this, they all at once began to say,
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears.

4 No, no,' quoth she, ' no dame, hereafter
living,

By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.'

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
She throws forth Tarquin's name : ' He, he/
she says, [speak ;

But more than ' he ' her poor tongue could not
Till after many accents and delays,
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
She utters this : ' He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
That guides this hand to give this wound to
me.'

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul un-

sheath'd :

That blow did bail it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breath'd :
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds

doth fly
Life's lasting date from canceli'd destiny.

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew ;
Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw ;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The murderous knife, and as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ;

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,
Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood
Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. ^
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd,
And some look'd black, and that false Tar-
quin stain'd.

About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes,
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place :
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
Corrupted blood some watery token shows ;

1244

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

And blood untainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrefied.

' Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries,
' That life was mine which thou hast here de-

priv'd.

If in the child the father's image lies,
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unliv'd ?
Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd.
If children predecease progenitors,
We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

' Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born ;
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,
Shows me a barebon'd death by time outworn;
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn !
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass,
That I no more can see what once I was.

* O time, cease thou thy course, and last no
longer,

If they surcease to be that should survive.

Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,

And leave the faltering feeble souls alive ?

The old bees die, the young possess their hive :
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! '

By this starts Collatine as from a dream,
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ;
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits to die with her a space ;
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,
And live, to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward soul
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue ;
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng

Weak words, so thick come, in his poor
heart's aid,

That no man could distinguish what he said.

Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain,
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more ;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er :
Then son and father weep with equal strife,
Who should weep most for daughter or for
wife.

The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay,

The father says, ' She 's mine,' ' O, mine she

is,'

Replies her husband : ' do not take away
My sorrow's interest ; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.'

' O,' quoth Lucretius, ' I did give that life
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.'
'Woe, wos,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my

wife,

I ow'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.'
' My daughter ! ' and ' My wife ! ' with clamours

fill'd

The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, ' My daughter ! ' and
' My wife ! '

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece'

side,

Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words, and uttering foolish
things.

But now he throws that shallow habit by,

Wherein deep policy did him disguise ;

And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,

To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.

' Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he,

' arise ;

Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool,
Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school.

' Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe ?

Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous
deeds?

Is it revenge to give thyself a blow,

For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ?

Such childish humour from weak minds pro-
ceeds :

Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself, that should have slain her
foe.

' Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations,
But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations,
That they will suffer these abominations,
(Since Rome herself in them doth stand dis-

grac'd,)

By our strong arms from forth her fair streets
chas'd.

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

1245

'Now by the Capitol that we adore,

And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,

By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's

store,

By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd,
And by chaste Lucrece'soul that late complain'd
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
We will revenge the death of this true wife.'

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow ;
And to his protestation urg'd the rest.

Who, wondering at him, did his words allow ;

Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow ;
And that deep vow which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence ;
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence :
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

SONNETS.

TO . THE . ONLIE . BEGETTER . OP

THESE . INSUING . SONNETS .

MR. W. H. ALL . HAFPINESSE .

AND . THAT . ETERNITIE .

PROMISED .

BY .
OUR . EVER -LIVING . POET .^}

WISHETH .

THE . WELL - WISHING .

ADVENTURER . IN .

SETTING .

FORTH .

T,T.

FROM fairest creatures we desire increase.
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decrease,
His tender heir might bear his memory :
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed's! thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggard ing.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

II.

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held :
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days ;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer c This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old ex-
cuse '

Proving his 'beauty by succession thine !
This were to be new-made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it
cold

in.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another ;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some

mother.

For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry ?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity ?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime :
So thou through windows of thine age shalt

see,

Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV.

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy ?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And, being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give ?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live ?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave ?
The nnus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

SONNETS.

1247

Those hours that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel ;
For never- resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there ;
Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite

gone,

Beauty o'ersnow'd. and bareness everywhere :
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was.

But flowers distill'd, though they with winter
meet, [sweet.

Leese but their show j their substance still lives

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd :
Make sweet some phial j treasure thou some

place

With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan ;
That 's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times rehgur'd thee :
Then what could Death do if thou shouldst

depart,

Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be Death's conquest and make worms thine

heir.

VII.

Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty ;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage ;
But when from high-most pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way :
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

VIII.

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy,

Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not

gladly?

Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds
By unions married, do offend thine car,
They do but sweetly chide thee who confounds
In singleness the parts that thcu shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another 5
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing :
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming

one,
Sings this to thee, ' thou single wilt prove none.*

IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consum'st thyself in single life ?
Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife ;
The world will be thy widow, and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep,
By children's eyes, her husband's shape, in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it :
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits,
That on himself such murderous shame com-
mits.

For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant if thou wilt thou art belovM of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident j
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O change thy thought, that I may change my

mind !

Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove ;
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest ;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou
bestow'st, [convertest.

Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase :
Without this folly, age, and cold decay.

I2 4 8

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If all were minded so the times should cease,
And threescore years would make the world

away.

Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish :
Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the

more ; [cherish ;

Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty

She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby

Thou shouldst print more, nor let that copy

die.

>2 8S3

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white ;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow ;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make
defence [hence.

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee

XIII.

O that you were yourself: but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live :
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you held in lease
Find no determination : then you were
Yourself again, after yourself s decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should

bear.

Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day,
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?

O ! none but unthrifts : Dear my love, you
know

You had a father ; let your son say so.

XIV.

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality :
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find :

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And (constant stars) in them I read such art,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert ;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date,

_/-.: Vrr-v
XV.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge state presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment ;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky ;
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory ;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful time debateth with decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night ;
And, all in war with Time, for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

XVI.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way

Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time ?

And fortify yourself in your decay

With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?

Now stand you on the top of happy hours ;

And many maiden gardens, yet unset,

With virtuous wish would bear your living

flowers,

Much liker than your painted counterfeit :
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this. Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.

To give away yourself keeps yourself still ;

And you must live, drawn by your own sweet
skill.

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ?
Though yet, Heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your

parts.

If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, this poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly

faces.

So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than

tongue ;

And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antique song :

SONNETS.

1249

But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it, and in my
rhyme.

XVIII.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate :
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date :
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, un

trimm'd ;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his

shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest ;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

XIX.

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet

brood ;

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood ;
Make glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleets,
And do whatever thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world, and all her fading sweets ;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime :
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen ;
Him in thy course untainted do allow,
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.

XX.

A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion ;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false woman's

fashion ; [rolling,

An eye more bright than theirs, less false in
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ;
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling.
Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls

amazeth.

And for a woman wert thou first created ;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's

pleasure, [treasure.

Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their

XXI.

So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse ;
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ;
Making a couplement of proud compare.
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich
gems, [rare

With April's first-born flowers, and all things
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air :

Let them say more that like of hearsay well ;

I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.

XXII.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date ;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me j

How can I then be elder than thou art ?

O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary,
As I not for myself but for thee will ;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.

Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ;

Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

XXIII.

r\oire : fcyn: vriT

As an imperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Cr some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own

heart ;

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's

might.

O let my books be, then, the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast ;
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more

express'd.

O learn to read what silent love hath writ :
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

XXIV.

Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath

stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart ;

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SONNETS.

My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have

done :
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for

me [sun

Are windows to my breast, where-through the

Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ;

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,

They draw but what they see, know not the

heart.

xxv.rf) ,*!

Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for ioy in that I honour most.
Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye ;
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd :
Then happy I, that love and am belov'd
Where I may not remove, nor be remov'd.

XXVI.

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to

show it ;

But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it :
Till whatsoever star that guides by moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect :
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee,
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst
prove me.

XXVII.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tir'd ;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work 's expir'd :
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see :
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old faee

new.

Lo. thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

."ooirir! -n-r'f >;:;' " ri ooj rw'Jonior:!

XXVIII.

How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ?
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night and night by day oppress'd ?
And each, though enemies to cither's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the

heaven :

So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night ;
When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'iit

the even.

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make griefs strength

seem stronger.

XXIX.

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state, [cries,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends pos-

sess'd,

Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least ;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth
brings,

That then I scorn to change my state with
kings.

XXX.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail ray dear times'

waste :

Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless

night,

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1251

And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe,
And moan ihe expense of many a vanish'd

sight.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.

XXXI.

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead ;
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie !
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give ;
That due of many now is thine alone :
Their images I lov'd I view in thee,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.

XXXII.

If thou survive my well -contented day,

When that churl Death my bones with dust

shall cover,

And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time ;
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought !
' Had my friend's muse grown with this grow-
ing age,

A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage :
But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I '11 read, his for his love.'

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace :
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendour on my brow ;
But out ! alack ! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ;
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's
sun staineth.

xxxiv.

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou

break,

To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the dis-
grace :

Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief ;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss :
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross,

Ah ! but those tears are pearl which thy love
sheds, '

And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.

xxxv.

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast

done :

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorising thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are :
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,
(Thy adverse party is thy advocate,)
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence :
Such civil war is in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from

XXXVI.

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one :
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet dotn it steal sweet hours from love's

delight.

I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame ,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name :
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort,}, ^7^
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report

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SONNETS.

XXXVII.

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store :
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow dost such substance give,
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,
And by a part of all thy glory live.

Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ;

This wish I have ; then ten times happy me !

XXXVIII.

How can my muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my

verse

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar pap^r to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight ;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light ?
Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in

worth

Than those old nine which rhymers invocate ;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date. [days,
If my slight muse do please these curious
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the

praise.

XXXIX.

O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me ?
What can mine own praise to mine own self

bring ?

And what is 't but mine own, when I praise thee?
Even for this let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone.
O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
(Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth

deceive,)

And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here, who doth hence remain !

XL.

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all ;
What hast tho>i then more than thou hadst
before?

No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest ;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty ;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known in-
jury.

Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
j Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

XLI.

Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd ;
And when a woman wooes, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd ?
Ah me ! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forc'd to break a twofold truth;
Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

XLI I.

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
An^. yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly ;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye :
Thou dost love her, because thou knew'st I

love her ;

And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her,
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss j
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross :

But here 's the joy ; my friend and I are one;

Sweet flattery ! then she loves but me alone.

XLIII.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected ;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed;
Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make

bright,

How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so J

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"53

How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth

stay ?

All days are nights to see, till I see thee,
And nights, bright days, when dreams do
show thee me.

XLIV.

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way ;
For then, despite of space, I would be brought
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then, although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee,
For nimble thought can jump both seaand land,
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah ! thought kills me, that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art

gone,

But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan ;
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe :

XLV.

The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide ;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present -absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melan-
choly ;

Until life's composition be recur'd
By those swift messengers return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again, assur'd
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me :
This told, I joy ; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again, and straight grow sad.

XLVI.

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight ;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would

My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
(A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,)
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impannelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart ;
And by their verdict is determined [part :

The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's

As thus ; mine eye's due is thine outward part,
And my heart's right thine in ward love of heart

XLVII.

u'T

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart ;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part :
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thyself away art present still with me ;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst

move,

And I am still with them, and they with thee ;
Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart tc heart's and eye's delight.

XLVI 1 1.

How careful was I when I took my way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That, to my use, it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and

part;

And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

XLIX.

Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
Whenas thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects ;
Against that time, when thou shalt strangely

pass,

And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity ;
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part :
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since, why to love, I can allege no cause.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek my weary travel's end

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SONNETS.

Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
*Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy

friend ! '

The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed, being made from

thee :

The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side ;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

LI.

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed :
From where thou art why should I haste me

thence ?

Till I return, of posting is no need.
O what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow ?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the

wind ;

In winged speed no motion shall I know :
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ;
Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made,
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race ;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ;
Since from thee going he went wilful slow,
Towards thee I '11 run, and give him leave to

go-

LIT.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you, as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special-blest,
By new unfolding his imprison' d pride.
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.

Lin.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one's shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you ;

On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new :
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year ;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant
heart.

LIV.

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds dis-
closes :

But v for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, by verse distils your
truth.

LV.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish

time.

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall

burn

The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find

room,

Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

LVI.

Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said,
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might :
So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with

fulness,

To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness.

SONNETS.

1255

Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view ;
Or call it winter ; which, being full of care,
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd,

more rare.

LVIJ.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire ?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world- without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu ;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,
Save, where you are how happy you make

those :

So true a fool is love, that in your will
(Though you do anything) he thinks no ill.

LVIII.

That God forbid, that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of

pleasure,

Or at your hand the account of hours to crave.
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure !
O, let me suffer (being at your beck)
The imprison'd absence of your liberty,
And patience, tame tosufferance, bide each check
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list ; your charter is so strong,
That you yourself may privilege your time :
Do what you will, to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell ;

Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

L1X.

If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd,
Which labouring for invention bear amiss
The second burthen of a former child !
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done !
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame ;
Whether we are mended, or whe'r better th^y,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O ! sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

LX.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled

shore,

So do our minutes hasten to their end ;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ;
Feeds on the rarities ot nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
Andyet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

LXI.

Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night ?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight ?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home, into my deeds to pry ;
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy ?
O no ! thy love, though much, is not so great ;
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake :

For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake else-
where,

From me far off, with others all-too-near.

LXII.

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part ;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account,
And for myself mine own worth to define,
As 1 all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read,
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy day;.

LXIII.

Against my love shall be, as I am now,

With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er worn ;

When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his

brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn

1256

SONNETS.

Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night ;
And all those beauties, whereof now he 's king,
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring ;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life.
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them, still green.

LXIV.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age ;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd,
And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay ;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate-
That Time will come and take my love away,
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

LXV.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless

sea,

But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower ?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ?
O fearful meditation ! where, alack !
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold hisswift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ?
O none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love maystill shinebright.

LXVI.

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in joiiity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill :

Tir'd with all these, from these would I be

gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

LXVIl.

Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve,
And lace itself with his society ?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek,
And steal dead seeing of his living hue ?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ?
Why should he live now Nature bankrupt is,
Beggar 3 d of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains.

O, him she stores, to show what wealth she
had

In days long since, before these last so bad.

LXVIII.

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow 5
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head,
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself, and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new ;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

LXIX.

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can

mend :

All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thine outward thus with outward praise is

crown'd ;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine

own,

In other accents do this praise confound,
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into Ae beauty of thy mind,
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ;
Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes

were kind,

To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds :
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
The sol ve is this, that thou dost common grow.

SONNETS.

1257

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect.
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present's! a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd ;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd :
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst
owe.

LXXI.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to

dwell :

Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if (I say) you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ;
But let your love even with my life decay :
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

LXXII.

O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove ;
Unless you would devise some virtuous He,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart :
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing
worth.

LXXIII.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds
sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st which makes thy love
more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere
long:

LXXIV.

But be contented : when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee.
The earth can have but earth, which is his due ;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me :
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead ;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that, is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.

LXXV.

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground,
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found :
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure ;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my

pleasure :

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look ;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.

Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day.

Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

LXXVI.

Why is my verse so barren of new pride ?
So far from variation or quick change ?
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds

strange ?

Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did pro-
ceed?

I2 5 8

SONNETS.

O know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument ;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent ;
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.

LXXVII.

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show,
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look what thy memory cannot contain,
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shaltfind
Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.

So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse,

And found such fair assistance in my verse,

As every alien pen hatli got my use,

And under ihee their poesy disperse.

Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to

sing,

And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feathers to the learned's wing,
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee :
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ;
But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.

LXXIX.

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ;
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd,
And my sick muse doth give another place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent,
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give,
And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost

pay.

LXXX.

O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame 1
But since your worth (wide as the ocean is)
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride ;
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building, and of goodly pride :
Then if he thrive, and I be cast away,
The worst was this ; my love was my decay.

| LXXXI.

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten ;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die :
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ;
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead ;
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)
Where breath most breathes, even in the
mouths of men.

LXXXI1.

I grant thou wert not married to my muse,
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book.
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise ;
And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days.
And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend ,
And their gross painting might be better us'd
Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abus'd.

I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set.
I found, or thought 1 found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet's debt :
And therefore have I slept in your report
That you yourself, being extant, well might show

SONNETS.

1259

How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life, and bring a tomb,
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.

LXXXIV.

Who is it that says most ? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you ?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew ?
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell,
That to his subject lends not some small glory ;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story,
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired everywhere.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your
praises worse.

LXXXV.

My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise x richly compil'd,
Reserve their character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd.
I think good thoughts, while others write good

words,

And, like unlettered clerk, still cry ' Amen '
To every hymn that able spirit affords,
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you prais'd, I say, ' 'Tis so, 'tis true,'
And to the most of praise add something more ;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank

before.

Then others for the breath of words respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

LXXXVI.

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain in-
hearse, [grew ?

Making their tomb the womb wherein they
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,

As victors, of my silence cannot boast ;

I was not sick of any fear from thence.
But when your countenance fil'd up his line,
Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine.

LXXXVII.

Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate :
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ?
And for that riches where is my deserving ?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not

knowing,

Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,

Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,

In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.

LXXXVIII.

When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I '11 fight,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art for.

sworn :

With mine own weakness being best acquainted.
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted ;
That thou, in losing me, shall win much glory :
And I by this will be a gainer too ;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.

LXXXIX.

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence :
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt ;
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I '11 myself disgrace : knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange ;
Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue
Thy sweet-beloved name no more shall dwell ;
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against myself I '11 vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

xc.

Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ;
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,

1260

SONNETS.

Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,

And do not drop in for an after-loss :

Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scap'd this

sorrow,

Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come ; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might ;

And other strains of woe, which now seem
woe,

Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so.

xci.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body's

force ;
Some in their garments, though new-fangled

ill ; [horse ;

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest ;
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments'

cost,

Of more delight than hawks and horses be ;
And, having thee, of all men's pride I boast.
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

xci I.

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine ;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend:
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die !
But what 's so blessed-fair that fears no b^t?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not :

xcnr.

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband ; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new ;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place :
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.

In many's looks the false heart's history

Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles

strange ;

But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings
be, ' [tell.

Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show ?

xciv.

They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ;
They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches from expense ;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet
Though to itself it only live and die ;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity :

For sweetest things turn sourest by their
deeds :

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

XCV.

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame,
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name !
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose !
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise :
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O, what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee !
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see !

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ;

The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

xcvr.

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness ;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport ;
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and

less:

Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd ;
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated, and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate !

SONNETS.

1261

How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state !
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort,
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

xcvu.

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year !
What freezings have I felt, what dark days

seen !

What old December's bareness everywhere !
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease ;
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute j
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's
near.

XCVIII.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they

grew:

Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and you, away,
As with your shadow I with these did play :

xcix.

The forward violet thus did I chide ;
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet

that smells,

If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair :
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair ;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both,
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ;
.But for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee.

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forgett'st so

long

To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects

light ?

Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
[n gentle numbers time so idly spent ;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem,
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
tf Time have any wrinkle graven there ;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised everywhere.

Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ;

So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

Cl.

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd ?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends ;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse : wilt thou not haply say,
' Truth needs no colour with his colour fix'd,
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay ;
But best is best, if never intermix' d ? '
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so ; for it lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse ; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows
now.

cn.
My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in

seeming ;

I love not less, though less the show appear ;
That love is merchandiz'd whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was won't to greet it with my lays ;
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days :
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the

night,

But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their deaf

delight.

Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.

cm.

Alack 1 what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,

1262

SONNETS.

The argument, all bare, is of more worth,
Than when it hath my added praise beside.
O blame me not if I no more can write !
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful, then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well ?
For to no other pass my verses tend,
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell ;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit,
Your own glass shows you, when you look in it.

civ.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters'
cold [pride ;

Have from the forests shook three summers'
Three beauteous springs toyellowautumnturn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen ;
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd ;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth

stand,

Hath motion, 5 nd mine eye may be deceiv'd.
For fear of wh ich, hear this, thou age unbred,
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead.

Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be,
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence ;
Therefore my verse, to constancy confin'd,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kino, and true, is all my argument,
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope

affords.

Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone,
Which three, till now, never kept seat in one.

cvi.

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.

So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring ;
And, for they look'd but wkh divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing :
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to
praise.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
And the sad augers mock their own presage ;
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since spite of him I '11 live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are
spent.

CVIII.

What 's in the brain that ink may character,
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit ?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit ?
Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same ;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page ;
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
Where time and outward form would show it
dead.

cix.

O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify !
As easy might I from myself depart,
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie :
That is my home of love : if I have rang'd,
Like him that travels, I return again ;
Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all.

SONNETS.

1263

ex.

Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is

most dear,

Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely ; but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worst essays prov'd thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end :
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A God in love, to whom I am confin'd.

Then give me welcome, next my heaven the
best,

Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.

D '.:''.* i:(!9. O fnti :i. KOI VOW ^O jfl/gur Int) JSHJ U
CXI.

O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide,
Than public means, which public manners

breeds.

Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand :
Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd ;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eysell, 'gainst my strong infection ;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

CXII.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow ;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow ?
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your

tongue ;

None else to me. nor I to none alive,
That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of other's voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense ;
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides methinks are dead.

CXIII.

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind ;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function, and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out ;

For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch [
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch ;
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your

feature.

Incapable of more, replete with you,
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.

cxiv.

Or whether doth my mind being crown'd with

you,

Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery,
Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true,
And that your love taught it this alchymy,
To make of monsters and things indigest
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As fast as objects to his beams assemble ?
O, 'tis the first ; 'tis flattery in my seeing,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up t
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is

'greeing,

And to his palate doth prepare the cup :
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin.

cxv.

Those lines that I before have writ, do lie ;
Even those that said I could not love you dearer;
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn

clearer.

But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of

kings,

Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering

things ;

Alas ! why, fearing of Time's tyranny,
Might I not then say, ' Now I love you best,'
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ?
Love is a babe ; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth

grow?

CXV1.

.: :.;;, . OJ 5tpqc{l: i#ir, ; t e3qtjii i)j IBP** SM 1 ^'^

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove :

O no ; it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ;

1264

SONNETS.

It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth 's unknown, although his height

be taken.
Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and

cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come ;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

cxvu.

Accuse me thus ; that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay ;
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
And given to time your own dear-purchas'd

right ;

That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your

sight.

Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
And on just proof surmise accumulate,
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate :
Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.

CXVIII.

Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
With eager compounds we our palate urge ;
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge ;
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweet-
ness,

To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding,
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseas'd, ere that there was true need-
ing.

Thus policy in love, to anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured,
And brought to medicine a healthful state,
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured.
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.

cxix.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd from limbecs foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win !
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never !
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been

fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever !

O benefit of ill ! now I find true
That better is by evil still made better ;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far

greater.

So I return rebuk'd to my content,
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.

cxx.

That you were once unkind, befriends me now.
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken,
As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time ;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime.

that our night of woe might have remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender' d
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!

But that your trespass now becomes a fee ;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

CXXI.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd.
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood ?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think

good?

No. I am that I am ; and they that level
At my abuses, reckon up their own : [bevel ;

1 may be straight, though they themselves be
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be

shown ;

Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad, and in their badness reign

cxx 1 1.

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full, character'd with lasting memory
Which shall above that idle rank remain,
Beyond all date, even to eternity :
Or at the least so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist ;
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more :
To keep an adjunct to remember thee,
Were to import forgetfulness in me.

SONNETS.

1265

CXXIII.

No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do

change :

Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old ;
And rather make iihem born to our desire,
Than think that we before have heard them

told.

Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondering at the present nor the past ;
For thy records and what we see do lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste t
This I do vow, and this shall ever be,
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee :

CXXIV.

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd,
As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers

gathered.

No, it was builded far from accident ;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls :
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on lease? of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic, [showers.
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for
crime,

cxxv.

Were it aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
For compound sweet foregoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent ?
No ; let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mixM with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul,
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy
control.

CXXVI.

O thou, my Lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour ;

Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st!
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee

back,

She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure ;
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure :

Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,

And her quietus is to render thee.

cxxv 1 1.

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slanderM with a bastard shame :
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow* d face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour,
But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
Her eyes so suited ; and they mourners seem
At such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem :
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says, beauty should look

CXXVIII.

How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently

sway'st

The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest

reap,

At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

cxxix.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action ; and till action, lust
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust ;
Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight j
Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad :

1266

SONNETS.

Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ;
A bliss in proof, and prov'd, a very woe ;
Before, a joy propos'd ; behind, a dream :

All this the world well knows ; yet none knows
well

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

cxxx.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ;
Cpral is far more red than her lips' red :
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks ;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound ;
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress when she walks, treads on the

ground ;

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

cxxxi.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,

As those whose beauties proudly make them

cruel ;

For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel,
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make love

groan :

To say they err, I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone,
And, to be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

CXXXII.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,

Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,

Have put on black, and loving mourners be,

Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.

And truly not the morning sun of heaven

Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,

Nor that full star that ushers in the even

Doth half that glory to the sober west,

As those two mourning eyes become thy face :

O, let it then as well beseem thy heart

To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee

grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.

Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

CXXXIII.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to
groan [me !

For that deep wound it gives my friend and
Is 't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd ;
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken ;
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart

bail;

Who e'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol :
And yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

CXXXIV.

So now I have confess'd that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will ;
Myself I '11 forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still :
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind ;
He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that putt'st forth all to use,
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake ;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.

Him have I lost ; thou hast both him and me;

He pays the whole, and yet am I hot free.

cxxxv.

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,
And will to boot, and will in over-plus ;
More than enougn am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
And in abundance addeth to his store ;
So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will
One will of mine, to make thy large will more-
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill ;
Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

cxxxvi.

If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,

SONNETS.

1267

And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ;
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one,
In things of great receipt with ease we prove ;
Among a number one is reckon'd none.
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be ;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee ;

Make but my name thy love, and love that
still, [Will.

And then thou lov'st me, for my name is

CXXXVII.

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine

eyes,

That they behold, and see not what they see ?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's com-
mon place ?

Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have
err'd, [ferr'd.

And to this false plague are they now trans-

CXXXVIII.

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies ;
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue ;
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest,
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old ?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told :
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

CXXXIX.

O, call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy

tongue ;

Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside.

What need'st thou wound with cunning, when

thy might

Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide?
Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies ;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries :
Yet do not so : but since I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.

CXL.

Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain ;
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express
The manner of my pity- wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ;
(As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;)
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee :
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud
heart go wide.

.iiibSwoIo-j t fii:rr '.;# uha-x loeiow- odT
CXLI. [ o.'

\ i** nwrc~vi* * T*

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note ;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune

delighted ;

Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone :
But my five wits, nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee.
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to

be:

Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.

CXLI I.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving :
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving ;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments,
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine ;
Robb'd others' beds' revenues cf their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee :

1268

SONNETS.

Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,

Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied !

CXLIII.

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift

despatch

In pursuit of the thing she would have stay ;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent ;
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind ;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind :
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.

CXLIV.

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still ;
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman, colour' d ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side.
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ;
But, being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

CXLV.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breath'd forth the sound that said, ' I hate,'
To me that languish'd for her sake :
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom ;
And taught it thus anew to greet :
' I hate ' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
' I hate ' from hate away she threw,
And savM my life, saying ' not you.'

CXLV I.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fool'd by these rebel powers that thee array,

Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body's end ?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ;
Within be fed, without be rich no more :

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on
men, [then.

And, Death once dead, there 's no more dying

CXLVII.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease ;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic mad with evermore unrest ;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's

are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed ;

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee
bright,

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

CXLVIII.

O me ! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight !
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright ?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no,
How can it ? O how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I mistake my view ;
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.

O cunning Love 1 with tears thou keep'st me
blind,

Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

CXLIX.

Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not,
When I, against myself, with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ?

; '

SONNETS.

1269

Nay if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan ?
What merit do I in myself respect, ^
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ?

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ;

Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind,

CL.

O, from what power hast thou this powerful

might,

With insufficiency my heart to sway ?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the

day?

Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee

more,

The more I hear and see just cause of hate ?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state ;
If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.

Love is too young to know what conscience is :
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love ?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason ;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason ;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side,
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.

GUI.

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swear-
ing ;

In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith

torn,

In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty ? I am perjur'd most ;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee,
And all my honest faith in thee is lost :
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kind-
ness,

Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ;
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they

see ;

For I have sworn thee fair : more perjur'd I,
To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie !

CL1II.

Cupid lay by his brand, and fell asleep :
A maid of JDian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fir'd,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desir'd,
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest,
But found no cure : the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire, my mistress eyes.

CLIV.

The little love-god, lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to

keep

Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd ;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

, ! "idri

FROM off a hill whose concave womb re-worded
A* plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tun'd tale ;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it

saw

The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit ; but, spite of Heaven's fell

rage, [age.

Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears ;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride ;
As they did battery to the spheres intend ;
Sometimes diverted their poor balls are tied
To th s orbed earth : sometimes they do extend
Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

Her hair, nor loose, nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ;
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheav'd hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And, true to bondage, would not break from

thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet,
Which one by one she in a river thiew,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set ;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands, that let not bounty fall
Where want cries * some,' but where excess begs
all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the

flood;

Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone,
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ;
Found yet mo letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secresy.

These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often gave to tear ;
Cried, ' O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear !
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned

here ! '

This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh,

Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew

Of court, of city, and had let go by

The swiftest hours, observed as they flew,

Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew ;

And, privileg'd by age, desires to know

In brief, the grounds and motives of her

So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side ;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide :
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promis'd in the charity of age.

' Father,' she says, ' though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old ;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power :
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, if I had self- applied
Love to myself, and to no love beside.

' But woe is me ! too early I attended
A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace)
Of one by nature's outwards so cpmmended,
That maiden's eyes stuck over all his face :
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her

place ;

And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodg'd, and newly deified.

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

1271

* His browny locks did hang in crooked curls ;
And every light occasion of the wind

Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What 's sweet to do, to do will aptly find :
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind ;
For on his visage was in little drawn,
What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.

' Small show of man was yet upon his chin ;
His phcenix down began but to appear,
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to

wear ;

Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear ;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best 'twere as it was, or best without.

* His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free ;
Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, [be.
When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they
His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

' Well could he ride, and often men would say
That horse his mettle from his rider takes :
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what

stop he makes !

And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

' But quickly on this side the verdict went ;
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case :
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Can for additions ; yet their purpos'd trim
Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him.

' So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kind of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep :
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will ;

' That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted :
Consents bewitch'd, ere hedesire, have granted ;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.

' Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ;
Like fools that in the imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought as-

sign'd;

And labouring in mo pleasures to bestow them,
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe

them :

' So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,)
What with his heart in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower,
.>rtii ** nwo 9 nlta iJ .^havil ni gj^Drf ;q^
' Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded ;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded :
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

* But ah ! who ever shunn'd by precedent

The destin'd ill she must herself assay?

Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content,

To put the by-pass'd perils in her way?

Counsel may stop a while what will not stay;

For when we rage, advice is often seen

By blunting us to make our wits more keen.

' Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof,
To be forbid the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof !
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though reason weep, and cry It is thy last.

: bn-jifijs ob son^iLKi vfosDiL liarfj ^iiijii^ >!/:v//
' For further I could say, This man 's untrue,
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling ;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ;
Thought characters and words, merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

' And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he 'gan besiege me : Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid :
That 's to you sworn, to none was ever said ;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow.

1275

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

' All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind ;
Love made them not ; with acture they may

be,

Where neither party is nor true nor kind :
They sought their shame that so their shame did

find;

And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.

* Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as

warm'd,

On my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd :
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was

harm'd ;

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.

' Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent

me,

Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent

Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but righting outwardly.

* And lo ! behold the talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have receiv'd from many a several fair,
(Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,)
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

' The diamond, why 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invis'd properties did tend ;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend ;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold ; each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some
moan.

* Lo ! all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender :

For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

* O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white bears down the airy scale of praise ;

Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'dwith sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you ; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.

* Lo ! this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified of holiest note ;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote ;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence re-
move,
To spend her living in eternal love.

' But O, my sweet, what labour is 't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not

strives ?

Paling the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves:
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

' O pardon me, in that my boast is true ;
The accident which brought me to her eye,
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put out religion's eye :
Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd,
And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd.

' How mighty then you are, O hear me tell !
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among :
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being

strong,

Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.

' My parts had power to charm a sacred sun,
Who, disciplin'd and dieted in grace,
Believ'd her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place.
O most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else aie thine.

' When thou impresses!, what are precepts worth
Of stale example ? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth,
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame !
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,

'gainst shame,

And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

1273

' Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they

pine,

And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst

mine,

Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.

c This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace :
O how the channel to the stream gave grace !
Who, glaz'd with crystal, gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue
encloses.

* O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear !
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear ?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here ?
O cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath!

' For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolv'd my reason into tears ;
There my white stole of chastity I daff 'd,
Shook off my sober guards, and civil fears ;
Appear to him, as he to me appears, [bore,
All melting ; though our drops this difference
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

' In him a plenitude of subtle matter,

Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,

Of burning blushes or of weeping water,

Or swooning paleness ; and he takes and leaves,

In cither's aptness, as it best deceives,

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,

Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows ;

' That not a heart which in his level came
Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame ;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would

maim :

Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chas-
tity.

' Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd,
That the unexperienc'd gave the tempter place,
Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so

lover'd ?

Ah me ! I fell ; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.

nuno MCI

' O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid ! '

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THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM

DID not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argu-
ment,

Persuade my heart to this false perjury ?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee :
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ;
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ;
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth

shine,

Exhale this vapour vow ; in thee it is :
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To lose an oath, to win a paradise ?

II.

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's

queen.

She told him stories to delight his ear ;
She show'd him favours to allure his eye ;
To win his heart, she touch'd him here and

there :

Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer :
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and

toward ;
He rose and ran away ; ah, fool too froward !

in.

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear
to love ?

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 con-
stant prove; [osiers bow'd.

Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine
eyes,

Where all those pleasures live that art can com-
prehend.

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall
suffice ; [commend ;

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without

wonder ; [admire :

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts

Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his

dreadful thunder, [fire.

Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet

Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,

To sing the heavens' praise with such an

earthly tongue.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for

shade,

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made,
Under an osier growing by a brook,
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.
Hot was the day ; she hdtter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green

brim ;

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him :

He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood;

O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood ?

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle ;

Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ;

Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;

Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty :
A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swear-
ing !

How many tales to please me hath she coin'd,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing !
Yet in the midst of all her pure pretestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were
jestings.

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth,
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw out
burneth ; [framing,

She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ?

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.

THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.

1275

VI.

If music and sweet poetry agree,

As they must needs, the sister and the brother,

Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and

me,

Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ;
Spencer to me, whose deep conceit is such,
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
Whenas himself to singing he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign ;

One knight loves both, and both in thee
remain.

Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love,
* * . * * * *

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill :
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ;
She, silly queen, with more than love'sgood will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those

grounds ;

Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a

boar,

Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth !
See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the

sore :
She showed hers ; he saw more wounds than

one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.

VIII.

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon

vaded,

Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring !
Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded !
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp

sting !

Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should
be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ;
For why ? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why ? I craved nothing of thee still :

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee ;

Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

Venus, with Adonis sitting by her,
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him :
She told the youngling how god Mars did try

her,

And as he fell to her, she fell to him.
Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd

me ;

And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms :
Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd

me;

As if the boy should use like loving charms.
Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,
And with her lips on his did act the seizure ;
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her

pleasure.

Ah ! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away J

Crabbed age and youth

Cannot live together ;
Youth is full of pleasance,

Age is full of care :
Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather ;
Youth like summer brave,

Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short,

Youth is nimble, age is lame :
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold ;

Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee ;

O, my love, my love is young !
Age, I do defy thee ;
O sweet shepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

XI.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,

A shining gloss, that vadeth suddenly ;

A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ;

A brittle glass, that 's broken presently :
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever 's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

1276

THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.

Good night, good rest Ah ! neither be my

She bade good night, that kept my rest away ;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
Farewell, quoth she, and come again to-
morrow ;
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether :
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither :
Wander^ a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

XIII.

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east !
My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning
rise

Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.

Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ;

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night :
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished
sight ; [sorrow ;

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with
For why ? she sigh'd, and bade me come to-
morrow.

> :^ fl{ L bill:

.ao^Jsd.srf T>abf^a"cJ ll&mid g^narfW
Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours ;
To spite me now. each minute seems a moon ;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers !
Pack night, peep day ; good day, of night now
borrow ; [morrow.

Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-

T9H

rt?H

uodi a^fnirfism 'l

>nA

&3rto% Y-HO

*rV 1-iVfi-J ' 6f ' 9fW

SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF

MUSIC

ft was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of

three, [be.

That liked of her master as well as well might

Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that

eye could see,
Her fancy fell a turning.
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with
love did fight, [knight ;

To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant
To put in practice either, alasjfcwas a spite

Unto the silly damsel. [pain,

But one must be refused, more mickle was the

That nothing could be used, to turn them both

to gain, [with disdain :

For of the two the trusty knight was wounded

Alas, she could not help it ! [the day,

Thus art, with arms contending, was victor of

Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid

away ;
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady

^^ - A A

For now my song is ended.
II.

On a day (alack the day !),
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find ;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ;
Air, would I might triumph so !
But, alas, my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet,
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

in.

My flocks feed not,

My ewes breed not,

My rams speed not,

All is amiss :

Love is dying,
Faith 's defying,
Heart 's denying,

Causer of this.

All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost, God wot :
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is plac'd without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss ;

O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame !
For now I see,
Inconstancy

The Complete Works of Shakespeare - Part 7