Total word count

	1 KING HENRY IV


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)


HENRY,
Prince of Wales	(PRINCE HENRY:)	|
		| sons of the King
JOHN of Lancaster	(LANCASTER:)	|


WESTMORELAND:

SIR WALTER BLUNT:

THOMAS PERCY	Earl of Worcester. (EARL OF WORCESTER:)

HENRY PERCY	Earl of Northumberland. (NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY	surnamed HOTSPUR, his son. (HOTSPUR:)

EDMUND MORTIMER	Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

RICHARD SCROOP	Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

ARCHIBALD	Earl of Douglas. (DOUGLAS:)

OWEN GLENDOWER:

SIR RICHARD VERNON	(VERNON:)

SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

SIR MICHAEL	a friend to the Archbishop of York.

POINS:

GADSHILL:

PETO:

BARDOLPH:

FRANCIS	a waiter.

LADY PERCY	wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.

LADY MORTIMER	daughter to Glendower,
	and wife to Mortimer.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. (Hostess:)

	Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,
	Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, Attendants,
	and an Ostler.
	(Sheriff:)
	(Vintner:)
	(Chamberlain:)
	(First Carrier:)
	(Second Carrier:)
	(First Traveller:)
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Ostler:)



SCENE	England.




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL
	of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]

KING HENRY IV	So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
	Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
	And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
	To be commenced in strands afar remote.
	No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
	Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
	Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,
	Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
	Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
	Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
	All of one nature, of one substance bred,
	Did lately meet in the intestine shock
	And furious close of civil butchery
	Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
	March all one way and be no more opposed
	Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
	The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
	No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
	As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
	Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
	We are impressed and engaged to fight,
	Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
	Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
	To chase these pagans in those holy fields
	Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
	Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
	For our advantage on the bitter cross.
	But this our purpose now is twelve month old,
	And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:
	Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
	Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
	What yesternight our council did decree
	In forwarding this dear expedience.

WESTMORELAND	My liege, this haste was hot in question,
	And many limits of the charge set down
	But yesternight: when all athwart there came
	A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
	Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
	Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
	Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
	Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
	A thousand of his people butchered;
	Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
	Such beastly shameless transformation,
	By those Welshwomen done as may not be
	Without much shame retold or spoken of.

KING HENRY IV	It seems then that the tidings of this broil
	Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

WESTMORELAND	This match'd with other did, my gracious lord;
	For more uneven and unwelcome news
	Came from the north and thus it did import:
	On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
	Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
	That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
	At Holmedon met,
	Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
	As by discharge of their artillery,
	And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
	For he that brought them, in the very heat
	And pride of their contention did take horse,
	Uncertain of the issue any way.

KING HENRY IV	Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
	Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
	Stain'd with the variation of each soil
	Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
	And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
	The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:
	Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
	Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
	On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
	Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
	To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,
	Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:
	And is not this an honourable spoil?
	A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?

WESTMORELAND	In faith,
	It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

KING HENRY IV	Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin
	In envy that my Lord Northumberland
	Should be the father to so blest a son,
	A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
	Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
	Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:
	Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
	See riot and dishonour stain the brow
	Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
	That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
	In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
	And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
	Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
	But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
	Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
	Which he in this adventure hath surprised,
	To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
	I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

WESTMORELAND	This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,
	Malevolent to you in all aspects;
	Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
	The crest of youth against your dignity.

KING HENRY IV	But I have sent for him to answer this;
	And for this cause awhile we must neglect
	Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
	Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
	Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:
	But come yourself with speed to us again;
	For more is to be said and to be done
	Than out of anger can be uttered.

WESTMORELAND	I will, my liege.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE II	London. An apartment of the Prince's.


	[Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

PRINCE HENRY	Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack
	and unbuttoning thee after supper and sleeping upon
	benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to
	demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know.
	What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the
	day? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes
	capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials the
	signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself
	a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no
	reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand
	the time of the day.

FALSTAFF	Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take
	purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not
	by Phoebus, he,'that wandering knight so fair.' And,
	I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God
	save thy grace,--majesty I should say, for grace
	thou wilt have none,--

PRINCE HENRY	What, none?

FALSTAFF	No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to
	prologue to an egg and butter.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

FALSTAFF	Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not
	us that are squires of the night's body be called
	thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's
	foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the
	moon; and let men say we be men of good government,
	being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and
	chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

PRINCE HENRY	Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the
	fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and
	flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is,
	by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold
	most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most
	dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with
	swearing 'Lay by' and spent with crying 'Bring in;'
	now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder
	and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my
	hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

PRINCE HENRY	As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And
	is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

FALSTAFF	How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and
	thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a
	buff jerkin?

PRINCE HENRY	Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

FALSTAFF	Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a
	time and oft.

PRINCE HENRY	Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

FALSTAFF	No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

PRINCE HENRY	Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;
	and where it would not, I have used my credit.

FALSTAFF	Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent
	that thou art heir apparent--But, I prithee, sweet
	wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when
	thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is
	with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do
	not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

PRINCE HENRY	No; thou shalt.

FALSTAFF	Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

PRINCE HENRY	Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have
	the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.

FALSTAFF	Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my
	humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell
	you.

PRINCE HENRY	For obtaining of suits?

FALSTAFF	Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman
	hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
	as a gib cat or a lugged bear.

PRINCE HENRY	Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.

FALSTAFF	Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

PRINCE HENRY	What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of
	Moor-ditch?

FALSTAFF	Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and art indeed
	the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young
	prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more
	with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a
	commodity of good names were to be bought. An old
	lord of the council rated me the other day in the
	street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet
	he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and
	yet he t

	2 KING HENRY VI


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY
the Sixth	(KING HENRY VI:)

HUMPHREY	Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. (GLOUCESTER:)

CARDINAL BEAUFORT	Bishop of Winchester, great-uncle to the King.
	(CARDINAL:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD	|
	|  his sons
RICHARD	|


DUKE OF SOMERSET	(SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

LORD CLIFFORD	(CLIFFORD:)

YOUNG CLIFFORD	his son.

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

LORD SCALES	(SCALES:)

LORD SAY	(SAY:)

SIR HUMPHREY
STAFFORD	(SIR HUMPHREY:)

WILLIAM STAFFORD	Sir Humphrey Stafford's brother.

SIR JOHN STANLEY	(STANLEY:)

VAUX:

MATTHEW GOFFE:

	A Sea-captain, (Captain:)  Master, and Master's-Mate.

WALTER WHITMORE:

	Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)


JOHN HUME (HUME:)	|
	|  priests.
JOHN SOUTHWELL	|


BOLINGBROKE	a conjurer.

THOMAS HORNER	an armourer. (HORNER:)

PETER	Thomas Horner's man.

	Clerk of Chatham. (Clerk:)

	Mayor of Saint Alban's. (Mayor:)

SIMPCOX	an impostor.

ALEXANDER IDEN	a Kentish gentleman. (IDEN:)

JACK CADE	a rebel. (CADE:)


GEORGE BEVIS	(BEVIS:)	|
		|
JOHN HOLLAND	(HOLLAND:)	|
		|
DICK the butcher	(DICK:)	|
		|  followers of Cade.
SMITH the weaver	(SMITH:)	|
		|
MICHAEL	(MICHAEL:)	|
		|
&c.		|


	Two Murderers
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)

QUEEN MARGARET	Queen to King Henry.

ELEANOR	Duchess of Gloucester. (DUCHESS:)

MARGARET JOURDAIN	a witch.

	Wife to Simpcox  (Wife:)

	Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. Petitioners,
	Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and
	Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers,
	Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
	(First Neighbour:)
	(Second Neighbour:)
	(Third Neighbour:)
	(First Petitioner:)
	(Second Petitioner:)
	(Herald:)
	(Beadle:)
	(Sheriff:)
	(Servant:)
	(Soldier:)
	(Townsman:)
	(First 'Prentice:)
	(Second 'Prentice:)
	(Post:)
	(Messenger:)

	A Spirit. (Spirit:)



SCENE	England.




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING
	HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and
	CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK,
	YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other]

SUFFOLK	As by your high imperial majesty
	I had in charge at my depart for France,
	As procurator to your excellence,
	To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,
	So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,
	In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
	The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,
	Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,
	I have perform'd my task and was espoused:
	And humbly now upon my bended knee,
	In sight of England and her lordly peers,
	Deliver up my title in the queen
	To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
	Of that great shadow I did represent;
	The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
	The fairest queen that ever king received.

KING HENRY VI	Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:
	I can express no kinder sign of love
	Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,
	Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
	For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
	A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
	If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

QUEEN MARGARET	Great King of England and my gracious lord,
	The mutual conference that my mind hath had,
	By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,
	In courtly company or at my beads,
	With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,
	Makes me the bolder to salute my king
	With ruder terms, such as my wit affords
	And over-joy of heart doth minister.

KING HENRY VI	Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
	Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
	Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys;
	Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
	Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.

ALL	[Kneeling]  Long live Queen Margaret, England's
	happiness!

QUEEN MARGARET	We thank you all.

	[Flourish]

SUFFOLK	My lord protector, so it please your grace,
	Here are the articles of contracted peace
	Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,
	For eighteen months concluded by consent.

GLOUCESTER	[Reads]  'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French
	king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of
	Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that
	the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret,
	daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and
	Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the
	thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy
	of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released
	and delivered to the king her father'--

	[Lets the paper fall]

KING HENRY VI	Uncle, how now!

GLOUCESTER	       Pardon me, gracious lord;
	Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart
	And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.

KING HENRY VI	Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.

CARDINAL	[Reads]  'Item, It is further agreed between them,
	that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be
	released and delivered over to the king her father,
	and she sent over of the King of England's own
	proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'

KING HENRY VI	They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:
	We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
	And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,
	We here discharge your grace from being regent
	I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months
	Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,
	Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,
	Salisbury, and Warwick;
	We thank you all for the great favour done,
	In entertainment to my princely queen.
	Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
	To see her coronation be perform'd.

	[Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK]

GLOUCESTER	Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
	To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
	Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
	What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
	His valour, coin and people, in the wars?
	Did he so often lodge in open field,
	In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
	To conquer France, his true inheritance?
	And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
	To keep by policy what Henry got?
	Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
	Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
	Received deep scars in France and Normandy?
	Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
	With all the learned council of the realm,
	Studied so long, sat in the council-house
	Early and late, debating to and fro
	How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,
	And had his highness in his infancy
	Crowned in Paris in despite of foes?
	And shall these labours and these honours die?
	Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
	Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?
	O peers of England, shameful is this league!
	Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
	Blotting your names from books of memory,
	Razing the characters of your renown,
	Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
	Undoing all, as all had never been!

CARDINAL	Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,
	This peroration with such circumstance?
	For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.

GLOUCESTER	Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
	But now it is impossible we should:
	Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
	Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine
	Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
	Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

SALISBURY	Now, by the death of Him that died for all,
	These counties were the keys of Normandy.
	But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

WARWICK	For grief that they are past recovery:
	For, were there hope to conquer them again,
	My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
	Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
	Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
	And are the cities, that I got with wounds,
	Delivered up again with peaceful words?
	Mort Dieu!

YORK	For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,
	That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
	France should have torn and rent my very heart,
	Before I would have yielded to this league.
	I never read but England's kings have had
	Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:
	And our King Henry gives away his own,
	To match with her that brings no vantages.

GLOUCESTER	A proper jest, and never heard before,
	That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth
	For costs and charges in transporting her!
	She should have stayed in France and starved
	in France, Before--

CARDINAL	My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:
	It was the pleasure of my lord the King.

GLOUCESTER	My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
	'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
	But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.
	Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face
	I see thy fury: if I longer stay,
	We shall begin our ancient bickerings.
	Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
	I prophesied France will be lost ere long.

	[Exit]

CARDINAL	So, there goes our protector in a rage.
	'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,
	Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,
	And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
	Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,
	And heir apparent to the English crown:
	Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,
	And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,
	There's reason he should be displeased at it.
	Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words
	Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.
	What though the common people favour him,
	Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of
	Gloucester,'
	Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice,
	'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!'
	With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!'
	I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
	He will be found a dangerous protector.

BUCKINGHAM	Why should he, then, protect our sovereign,
	He being of age to govern of himself?
	Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,
	And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,
	We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.

CARDINAL	This weighty business will not brook delay:
	I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.

	[Exit]

SOMERSET	Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride
	And greatness of his place be grief to us,
	Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal:
	His insolence is more intolerable
	Than all the princes in the land beside:
	If Gloucester be dis

	2 KING HENRY IV


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


RUMOUR	the Presenter.

KING HENRY	the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)


PRINCE HENRY			|
OF WALES		(PRINCE HENRY:)	|
	afterwards KING HENRY V.	|
			|
THOMAS, DUKE OF			|  sons of King Henry.
CLARENCE		(CLARENCE:)	|
			|
PRINCE HUMPHREY			|
OF GLOUCESTER		(GLOUCESTER:)	|


EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

EARL OF SURREY:

GOWER:

HARCOURT:

BLUNT:

	Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench:
	(Lord Chief-Justice:)

	A Servant of the Chief-Justice.

EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

SCROOP,
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	(ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

LORD MOWBRAY	(MOWBRAY:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD BARDOLPH:

SIR JOHN COLEVILE	(COLEVILE:)


TRAVERS	|
	|  retainers of Northumberland.
MORTON	|


SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

	His Page. (Page:)

BARDOLPH:

PISTOL:

POINS:

PETO:


SHALLOW	|
	|  country justices.
SILENCE	|


DAVY	servant to Shallow.


MOULDY	|
	|
SHADOW	|
	|
WART	|  recruits.
	|
FEEBLE	|
	|
BULLCALF	|


FANG	|
	|  sheriff's officers.
SNARE	|


LADY
NORTHUMBERLAND:

LADY PERCY:

MISTRESS QUICKLY	hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.

DOLL TEARSHEET:

	Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers,
	Beadles, Grooms, &c.
	(First Messenger:)
	(Porter:)
	(First Drawer:)
	(Second Drawer:)
	(First Beadle:)
	(First Groom:)
	(Second Groom:)

	A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.


SCENE	England.




	2 KING HENRY IV

	INDUCTION


	[Warkworth. Before the castle]

	[Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues]

RUMOUR	Open your ears; for which of you will stop
	The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
	I, from the orient to the drooping west,
	Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
	The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
	Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
	The which in every language I pronounce,
	Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
	I speak of peace, while covert enmity
	Under the smile of safety wounds the world:
	And who but Rumour, who but only I,
	Make fearful musters and prepared defence,
	Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
	Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
	And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
	Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures
	And of so easy and so plain a stop
	That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
	The still-discordant wavering multitude,
	Can play upon it. But what need I thus
	My well-known body to anatomize
	Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
	I run before King Harry's victory;
	Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
	Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
	Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
	Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I
	To speak so true at first? my office is
	To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
	Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
	And that the king before the Douglas' rage
	Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
	This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
	Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
	And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
	Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
	Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,
	And not a man of them brings other news
	Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues
	They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
	true wrongs.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter LORD BARDOLPH]

LORD BARDOLPH	Who keeps the gate here, ho?

	[The Porter opens the gate]

		       Where is the earl?

Porter	What shall I say you are?

LORD BARDOLPH	Tell thou the earl
	That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

Porter	His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard;
	Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
	And he himself wilt answer.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

LORD BARDOLPH	Here comes the earl.

	[Exit Porter]

NORTHUMBERLAND	What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now
	Should be the father of some stratagem:
	The times are wild: contention, like a horse
	Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
	And bears down all before him.

LORD BARDOLPH	Noble earl,
	I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Good, an God will!

LORD BARDOLPH	                  As good as heart can wish:
	The king is almost wounded to the death;
	And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
	Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
	Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John
	And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;
	And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
	Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
	So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,
	Came not till now to dignify the times,
	Since Caesar's fortunes!

NORTHUMBERLAND	How is this derived?
	Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

LORD BARDOLPH	I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
	A gentleman well bred and of good name,
	That freely render'd me these news for true.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
	On Tuesday last to listen after news.

	[Enter TRAVERS]

LORD BARDOLPH	My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
	And he is furnish'd with no certainties
	More than he haply may retail from me.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?

TRAVERS	My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
	With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,
	Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
	A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
	That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
	He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
	I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:
	He told me that rebellion had bad luck
	And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
	With that, he gave his able horse the head,
	And bending forward struck his armed heels
	Against the panting sides of his poor jade
	Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
	He seem'd in running to devour the way,
	Staying no longer question.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Ha! Again:
	Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
	Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion
	Had met ill luck?

LORD BARDOLPH	                  My lord, I'll tell you what;
	If my young lord your son have not the day,
	Upon mine honour, for a silken point
	I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
	Give then such instances of loss?

LORD BARDOLPH	Who, he?
	He was some hilding fellow that had stolen
	The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
	Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

	[Enter MORTON]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
	Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
	So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
	Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
	Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

MORTON	I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
	Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
	To fright our party.

NORTHUMBERLAND	How doth my son and brother?
	Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
	Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
	Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
	So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
	Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
	And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
	But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
	And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
	This thou wouldst say, 'Your son did thus and thus;
	Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:'
	Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
	But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
	Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
	Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.'

MORTON	Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
	But, for my lord your son--

NORTHUMBERLAND	Why, he is dead.
	See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
	He that but fears the thing he would not know
	Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
	That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
	Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
	And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
	And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

MORTON	You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
	Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
	I see a strange confession in thine eye:
	Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin
	To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;
	The tongue offends not that reports his death:
	And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
	Not he which says the dead is not alive.
	Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
	Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
	Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
	Remember'd tolling a departing friend.

LORD BARDOLPH	I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

MORTON	I am sorry I should force you to believe
	That which I would to God I had not seen;
	But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
	Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,
	To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
	The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
	From whence with life he never more sprung up.
	In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
	Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
	Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
	From the best temper'd courage in his troops;
	For from his metal was his party steel'd;
	Which once in him abated, all the rest
	Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:
	And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
	Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
	So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
	Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
	That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
	Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
	Fly from the field. Then was the noble Worcester
	Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
	The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
	Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
	'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame
	Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,
	Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
	Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out
	A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
	Under the conduct of young Lancaster
	And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.

NORTHUMBERLAND	For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
	In poison there is physic; and these news,
	Having been well, that would have made me sick,
	Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
	And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
	Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
	Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
	Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
	Wea

	1 KING HENRY VI


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING
HENRY THE SIXTH	(KING HENRY VI:)

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER	uncle to the King, and Protector. (GLOUCESTER:)

DUKE OF BEDFORD	uncle to the King, and Regent of France. (BEDFORD:)

THOMAS BEAUFORT	Duke of Exeter, great-uncle to the King. (EXETER:)

HENRY BEAUFORT	great-uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and
	afterwards Cardinal. (BISHOP OF WINCHESTER:)

JOHN BEAUFORT	Earl, afterwards Duke, of Somerset. (SOMERSET:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, (RICHARD
	PLANTAGENET:)  afterwards Duke of York.
	(YORK:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

LORD TALBOT	afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. (TALBOT:)

JOHN TALBOT	Lord Talbot's son.

EDMUND MORTIMER	Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

SIR JOHN FASTOLFE	(FASTOLFE:)

SIR WILLIAM LUCY	(LUCY:)

SIR
WILLIAM GLANSDALE	(GLANDSDALE:)

SIR
THOMAS GARGRAVE	(GARGRAVE:)

Mayor of London	(Mayor:)

WOODVILE	Lieutenant of the Tower.

VERNON	of the White-Rose or York faction.

BASSET	of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction.

	A Lawyer. (Lawyer:)

	Mortimer's Keepers. (First Gaoler:)

CHARLES	Dauphin, and afterwards King, of France.

REIGNIER	Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples.

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF ALENCON	(ALENCON:)

BASTARD OF ORLEANS:

	Governor of Paris.

	Master-Gunner of Orleans, (Master-Gunner:)
	and his Son. (Boy:)

	General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. (General:)

	A French Sergeant. (Sargeant:)

	A Porter.

	An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. (Shepherd:)

MARGARET	daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to King Henry.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE:

JOAN LA PUCELLE	commonly called Joan of Arc.

	Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers,
	Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.
	(First Warder:)
	(Second Warder:)
	(Captain:)
	(Officer:)
	(Soldier:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Watch:)
	(Scout:)
	(First Sentinel:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Serving-Man:)
	(Second Serving-Man:)
	(Third Serving-Man:)

	Fiends appearing to La Pucelle.


SCENE	Partly in England, and partly in France.




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I	Westminster Abbey.


	[Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the
	Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of
	France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of
	WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c]

BEDFORD	Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
	Comets, importing change of times and states,
	Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
	And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
	That have consented unto Henry's death!
	King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
	England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

GLOUCESTER	England ne'er had a king until his time.
	Virtue he had, deserving to command:
	His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:
	His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
	His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
	More dazzled and drove back his enemies
	Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
	What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
	He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.

EXETER	We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?
	Henry is dead and never shall revive:
	Upon a wooden coffin we attend,
	And death's dishonourable victory
	We with our stately presence glorify,
	Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
	What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
	That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
	Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
	Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him
	By magic verses have contrived his end?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
	Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day
	So dreadful will not be as was his sight.
	The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
	The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

GLOUCESTER	The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,
	His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
	None do you like but an effeminate prince,
	Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector
	And lookest to command the prince and realm.
	Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
	More than God or religious churchmen may.

GLOUCESTER	Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,
	And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st
	Except it be to pray against thy foes.

BEDFORD	Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace:
	Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us:
	Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms:
	Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead.
	Posterity, await for wretched years,
	When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,
	Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
	And none but women left to wail the dead.
	Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:
	Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
	Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
	A far more glorious star thy soul will make
	Than Julius Caesar or bright--

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My honourable lords, health to you all!
	Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
	Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:
	Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
	Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

BEDFORD	What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
	Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
	Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.

GLOUCESTER	Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?
	If Henry were recall'd to life again,
	These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

EXETER	How were they lost? what treachery was used?

Messenger	No treachery; but want of men and money.
	Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
	That here you maintain several factions,
	And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
	You are disputing of your generals:
	One would have lingering wars with little cost;
	Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
	A third thinks, without expense at all,
	By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
	Awake, awake, English nobility!
	Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:
	Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
	Of England's coat one half is cut away.

EXETER	Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
	These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.

BEDFORD	Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
	Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.
	Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
	Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
	To weep their intermissive miseries.

	[Enter to them another Messenger]

Messenger	Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.
	France is revolted from the English quite,
	Except some petty towns of no import:
	The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;
	The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
	Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
	The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.

EXETER	The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
	O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

GLOUCESTER	We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.
	Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

BEDFORD	Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
	An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
	Wherewith already France is overrun.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Messenger	My gracious lords, to add to your laments,
	Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,
	I must inform you of a dismal fight
	Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

Messenger	O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:
	The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
	The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,
	Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
	Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.
	By three and twenty thousand of the French
	Was round encompassed and set upon.
	No leisure had he to enrank his men;
	He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
	Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges
	They pitched in the ground confusedly,
	To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
	More than three hours the fight continued;
	Where valiant Talbot above human thought
	Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
	Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
	Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew:
	The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;
	All the whole army stood agazed on him:
	His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit
	A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain
	And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
	Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
	If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:
	He, being in the vaward, placed behind
	With purpose to relieve and follow them,
	Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
	Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
	Enclosed were they with their enemies:
	A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
	Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,
	Whom all France with their chief assembled strength
	Durst not presume to look once in the face.

BEDFORD	Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,
	For living idly here in pomp and ease,
	Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
	Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.

Messenger	O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
	And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:
	Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.

BEDFORD	His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
	I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:
	His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
	Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
	Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
	Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
	To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:
	Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
	Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

Messenger	So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;
	The English army is grown weak and faint:
	The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
	And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
	Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

EXETER	Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
	Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
	Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

BEDFORD	I do remember it; and here take my leave,
	To go about my preparation.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
	To view the artillery and munition;
	And then I will proclaim young Henry king.

	[Exit]

EXETER	To Eltham will I, where the young king is,
	Being ordain'd his

	3 KING HENRY VI
	
	

	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Sixth.

EDWARD,
PRINCE OF WALES	his son. (PRINCE EDWARD:)

KING LEWIS XI	King of France. (KING LEWIS XI:)

DUKE OF SOMERSET	(SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF EXETER	(EXETER:)

EARL OF OXFORD	(OXFORD:)

EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

LORD CLIFFORD	(CLIFFORD:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD	(EDWARD:) Earl of March,	|
	afterwards King Edward IV.	|
	(KING EDWARD IV:)		|
			|
EDMUND	Earl of Rutland, (RUTLAND:)	|
			|  his sons.
GEORGE	(GEORGE:)  afterwards Duke of	|
	Clarence  (CLARENCE:)	|
			|
RICHARD	(RICHARD:) afterwards Duke of	|
	Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)	|


DUKE OF NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

MARQUESS OF
MONTAGUE	(MONTAGUE:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF PEMBROKE	(PEMBROKE:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD STAFFORD	(STAFFORD:)


SIR JOHN MORTIMER	(JOHN MORTIMER:)	|
		|  uncles to the Duke of York.
SIR HUGH MORTIMER	(HUGH MORTIMER:)	|


HENRY	Earl of Richmond, a youth (HENRY OF RICHMOND:).

LORD RIVERS	brother to Lady Grey. (RIVERS:)

SIR
WILLIAM STANLEY	(STANLEY:)

SIR
JOHN MONTGOMERY	(MONTGOMERY:)

SIR
JOHN SOMERVILLE	(SOMERVILLE:)

	Tutor to Rutland. (Tutor:)

	Mayor of York. (Mayor:)

	Lieutenant of the Tower. (Lieutenant:)

	A Nobleman. (Nobleman:)

	Two Keepers.
	(First Keeper:)
	(Second Keeper:)

	A Huntsman. (Huntsman:)

	A Son that has killed his father. (Son:)

	A Father that has killed his son. (Father:)

QUEEN MARGARET:

LADY GREY	afterwards Queen to Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

BONA	sister to the French Queen.

	Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, &c.
	(Soldier:)
	(Post:)
	(Messenger:)
	(First Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(First Watchman:)
	(Second Watchman:)
	(Third Watchman:)


SCENE	England and France.




ACT I



SCENE I	London. The Parliament-house.


	[Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK,
	MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]

WARWICK	I wonder how the king escaped our hands.

YORK	While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
	He slily stole away and left his men:
	Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
	Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
	Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
	Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
	Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in
	Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.

EDWARD	Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,
	Is either slain or wounded dangerously;
	I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:
	That this is true, father, behold his blood.

MONTAGUE	And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,
	Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

RICHARD	Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.

	[Throwing down SOMERSET's head]

YORK	Richard hath best deserved of all my sons.
	But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?

NORFOLK	Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!

RICHARD	Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.

WARWICK	And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,
	Before I see thee seated in that throne
	Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
	I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.
	This is the palace of the fearful king,
	And this the regal seat: possess it, York;
	For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'

YORK	Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
	For hither we have broken in by force.

NORFOLK	We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.

YORK	Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords;
	And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.

	[They go up]

WARWICK	And when the king comes, offer no violence,
	Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.

YORK	The queen this day here holds her parliament,
	But little thinks we shall be of her council:
	By words or blows here let us win our right.

RICHARD	Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.

WARWICK	The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
	Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,
	And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
	Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

YORK	Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
	I mean to take possession of my right.

WARWICK	Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
	The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
	Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.
	I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:
	Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.

	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD,
	NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest]

KING HENRY VI	My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
	Even in the chair of state: belike he means,
	Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,
	To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.
	Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.
	And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge
	On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends.

NORTHUMBERLAND	If I be not, heavens be revenged on me!

CLIFFORD	The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

WESTMORELAND	What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down:
	My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.

KING HENRY VI	Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.

CLIFFORD	Patience is for poltroons, such as he:
	He durst not sit there, had your father lived.
	My gracious lord, here in the parliament
	Let us assail the family of York.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so.

KING HENRY VI	Ah, know you not the city favours them,
	And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?

EXETER	But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly.

KING HENRY VI	Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,
	To make a shambles of the parliament-house!
	Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats
	Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
	Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,
	and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
	I am thy sovereign.

YORK	I am thine.

EXETER	For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York.

YORK	'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.

EXETER	Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

WARWICK	Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
	In following this usurping Henry.

CLIFFORD	Whom should he follow but his natural king?

WARWICK	True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.

KING HENRY VI	And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?

YORK	It must and shall be so: content thyself.

WARWICK	Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king.

WESTMORELAND	He is both king and Duke of Lancaster;
	And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.

WARWICK	And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget
	That we are those which chased you from the field
	And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
	March'd through the city to the palace gates.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
	And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.

WESTMORELAND	Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
	Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives
	Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.

CLIFFORD	Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,
	I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
	As shall revenge his death before I stir.

WARWICK	Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!

YORK	Will you we show our title to the crown?
	If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.

KING HENRY VI	What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
	Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;
	Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:
	I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
	Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop
	And seized upon their towns and provinces.

WARWICK	Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.

KING HENRY VI	The lord protector lost it, and not I:
	When I was crown'd I was but nine months old.

RICHARD	You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose.
	Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.

EDWARD	Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.

MONTAGUE	Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms,
	Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.

RICHARD	Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.

YORK	Sons, peace!

KING HENRY VI	Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.

WARWICK	Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;
	And be you silent and attentive too,
	For he that interrupts him shall not live.

KING HENRY VI	Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,
	Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?
	No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
	Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,
	And now in England to our heart's great sorrow,
	Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?
	My title's good, and better far than his.

WARWICK	Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.

KING HENRY VI	Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.

YORK	'Twas by rebellion against his king.

KING HENRY VI	[Aside]  I know not what to say; my title's weak.--
	Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

YORK	What then?

KING HENRY VI	An if he may, then am I lawful king;
	For Richard, in the view of many lords,
	Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
	Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

YORK	He rose against him, being his sovereign,
	And made him to resign his crown perforce.

WARWICK	Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
	Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?

EXETER	No; for he could not so resign his crown
	But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

KING HENRY VI	Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?

EXETER	His is the right, and therefore pardon me.

YORK	Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?

EXETER	My conscience tells me he is lawful king.

KING HENRY VI	[Aside]  All will revolt from me, and turn to him.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
	Think not that Henry shall be so deposed.

WARWICK	Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power,
	Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,
	Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,
	Can set the duke up in despite of me.

CLIFFORD	King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
	Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
	May that ground gape and swallow me alive,
	Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!

KING HENRY VI	O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!

YORK	Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
	What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?

WARWICK	Do right unto this princely Duke of York,
	Or I will fill the house with armed men,
	And over the chair of state, where 

	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING OF FRANCE	(KING:)

DUKE OF FLORENCE	(DUKE:)

BERTRAM	Count of Rousillon.

LAFEU	an old lord.

PAROLLES	a follower of Bertram.


Steward	|
	|  servants to the Countess of Rousillon.
Clown	|


	A Page. (Page:)

COUNTESS OF
ROUSILLON	mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)

HELENA	a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.

	An old Widow of Florence. (Widow:)

DIANA	daughter to the Widow.


VIOLENTA	|
	|  neighbours and friends to the Widow.
MARIANA	|


	Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Fourth Lord:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Gentleman:)



SCENE	Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE I	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,
	and LAFEU, all in black]

COUNTESS	In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

BERTRAM	And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death
	anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to
	whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

LAFEU	You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,
	sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times
	good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose
	worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather
	than lack it where there is such abundance.

COUNTESS	What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

LAFEU	He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
	practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and
	finds no other advantage in the process but only the
	losing of hope by time.

COUNTESS	This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
	'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was
	almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
	far, would have made nature immortal, and death
	should have play for lack of work. Would, for the
	king's sake, he were living! I think it would be
	the death of the king's disease.

LAFEU	How called you the man you speak of, madam?

COUNTESS	He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
	his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

LAFEU	He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very
	lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he
	was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge
	could be set up against mortality.

BERTRAM	What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?

LAFEU	A fistula, my lord.

BERTRAM	I heard not of it before.

LAFEU	I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
	the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

COUNTESS	His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
	overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
	her education promises; her dispositions she
	inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
	an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
	commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
	traitors too; in her they are the better for their
	simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.

LAFEU	Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

COUNTESS	'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
	in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
	her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all
	livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;
	go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect
	a sorrow than have it.

HELENA	I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.

LAFEU	Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
	excessive grief the enemy to the living.

COUNTESS	If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
	makes it soon mortal.

BERTRAM	Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

LAFEU	How understand we that?

COUNTESS	Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
	In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
	Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
	Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
	Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
	Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
	Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence,
	But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
	That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
	Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
	'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
	Advise him.

LAFEU	          He cannot want the best
	That shall attend his love.

COUNTESS	Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

	[Exit]

BERTRAM	[To HELENA]  The best wishes that can be forged in
	your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable
	to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

LAFEU	Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of
	your father.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]

HELENA	O, were that all! I think not on my father;
	And these great tears grace his remembrance more
	Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
	I have forgot him: my imagination
	Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
	I am undone: there is no living, none,
	If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
	That I should love a bright particular star
	And think to wed it, he is so above me:
	In his bright radiance and collateral light
	Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
	The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
	The hind that would be mated by the lion
	Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague,
	To see him every hour; to sit and draw
	His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
	In our heart's table; heart too capable
	Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
	But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
	Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?

	[Enter PAROLLES]

	[Aside]

	One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
	And yet I know him a notorious liar,
	Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
	Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him,
	That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
	Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
	Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

PAROLLES	Save you, fair queen!

HELENA	And you, monarch!

PAROLLES	No.

HELENA	And no.

PAROLLES	Are you meditating on virginity?

HELENA	Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me
	ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how
	may we barricado it against him?

PAROLLES	Keep him out.

HELENA	But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
	in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some
	warlike resistance.

PAROLLES	There is none: man, sitting down before you, will
	undermine you and blow you up.

HELENA	Bless our poor virginity from underminers and
	blowers up! Is there no military policy, how
	virgins might blow up men?

PAROLLES	Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be
	blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with
	the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It
	is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to
	preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational
	increase and there was never virgin got till
	virginity was first lost. That you were made of is
	metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost
	may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is
	ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't!

HELENA	I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.

PAROLLES	There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the
	rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,
	is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible
	disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin:
	virginity murders itself and should be buried in
	highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate
	offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,
	much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very
	paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.
	Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of
	self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the
	canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose
	by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make
	itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the
	principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!

HELENA	How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?

PAROLLES	Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it
	likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with
	lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't
	while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request.
	Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out
	of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just
	like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not
	now. Your date is better in your pie and your
	porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,
	your old virginity, is like one of our French
	withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,
	'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;
	marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?

HELENA	Not my virginity yet [         ]
	There shall your master have a thousand loves,
	A mother and a mistress and a friend,
	A phoenix, captain and an enemy,
	A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
	A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
	His humble ambition, proud humility,
	His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
	His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
	Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
	That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he--
	I know not what he shall. God send him well!
	The court's a learning place, and he is one--

PAROLLES	What one, i' faith?

HELENA	That I wish well. 'Tis pity--

PAROLLES	What's pity?

HELENA	That wishing well had not a body in't,
	Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
	Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
	Might with effects of them follow our friends,
	And show what we alone must think, which never
	Return us thanks.

	[Enter Page]

Page	Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I
	will think of thee at court.

HELENA	Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.

PAROLLES	Under Mars, I.

HELENA	I especially think, under Mars.

PAROLLES	Why under Mars?

HELENA	The wars have so kept you under that you must needs
	be born under Mars.

PAROLLES	When he was predominant.

HELENA	When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

PAROLLES	Why think you so?

HELENA	You go so much backward when you fight.

PAROLLES	That's for advantage.

HELENA	So is running away, when fear proposes the safety;
	but the composition that your valour and fear makes
	in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

PAROLLES	I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee
	acutely. I will return perf

	CORIOLANUS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CAIUS MARCIUS	(MARCUS:)  Afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS.
	(CORIOLANUS:)


TITUS LARTIUS	(LARTIUS:)	|
		|  generals against the Volscians.
COMINIUS		|


MENENIUS AGRIPPA	friend to Coriolanus. (MENENIUS:)


SICINIUS VELUTUS	(SICINIUS:)	|
		|  tribunes of the people.
JUNIUS BRUTUS	(BRUTUS:)	|


Young MARCUS	son to Coriolanus.

	A Roman Herald. (Herald:)

TULLUS AUFIDIUS	general of the Volscians. (AUFIDIUS:)

	Lieutenant to Aufidius. (Lieutenant:)

	Conspirators with Aufidius.
	(First Conspirator:)
	(Second Conspirator:)
	(Third Conspirator:)

	A Citizen of Antium.

	Two Volscian Guards.

VOLUMNIA	mother to Coriolanus.

VIRGILIA	wife to Coriolanus.

VALERIA	friend to Virgilia.

	Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia. (Gentlewoman:)

	Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians,
	AEdiles, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers,
	Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants.
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)
	(A Patrician:)
	(Second Patrician:)
	(AEdile:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Second Soldier:)
	(First Citizen:)
	(Second Citizen:)
	(Third Citizen:)
	(Fourth Citizen:)
	(Fifth Citizen:)
	(Sixth Citizen:)
	(Seventh Citizen:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(First Serviceman:)
	(Second Serviceman:)
	(Third Serviceman:)
	(Officer:)
	(First Officer:)
	(Second Officer:)
	(Roman:)
	(First Roman:)
	(Second Roman:)
	(Third Roman:)
	(Volsce:)
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Third Lord:)


SCENE	Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli
	and the neighbourhood; Antium.




	CORIOLANUS



ACT I



SCENE I	Rome. A street.


	[Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with staves,
	clubs, and other weapons]

First Citizen	Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.

All	Speak, speak.

First Citizen	You are all resolved rather to die than to famish?

All	Resolved. resolved.

First Citizen	First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people.

All	We know't, we know't.

First Citizen	Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price.
	Is't a verdict?

All	No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away!

Second Citizen	One word, good citizens.

First Citizen	We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good.
	What authority surfeits on would relieve us: if they
	would yield us but the superfluity, while it were
	wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely;
	but they think we are too dear: the leanness that
	afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an
	inventory to particularise their abundance; our
	sufferance is a gain to them Let us revenge this with
	our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know I
	speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.

Second Citizen	Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?

All	Against him first: he's a very dog to the commonalty.

Second Citizen	Consider you what services he has done for his country?

First Citizen	Very well; and could be content to give him good
	report fort, but that he pays himself with being proud.

Second Citizen	Nay, but speak not maliciously.

First Citizen	I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he did
	it to that end: though soft-conscienced men can be
	content to say it was for his country he did it to
	please his mother and to be partly proud; which he
	is, even till the altitude of his virtue.

Second Citizen	What he cannot help in his nature, you account a
	vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous.

First Citizen	If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations;
	he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition.

	[Shouts within]

	What shouts are these? The other side o' the city
	is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol!

All	Come, come.

First Citizen	Soft! who comes here?

	[Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA]

Second Citizen	Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved
	the people.

First Citizen	He's one honest enough: would all the rest were so!

MENENIUS	What work's, my countrymen, in hand? where go you
	With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I pray you.

First Citizen	Our business is not unknown to the senate; they have
	had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do,
	which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say poor
	suitors have strong breaths: they shall know we
	have strong arms too.

MENENIUS	Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours,
	Will you undo yourselves?

First Citizen	We cannot, sir, we are undone already.

MENENIUS	I tell you, friends, most charitable care
	Have the patricians of you. For your wants,
	Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
	Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them
	Against the Roman state, whose course will on
	The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
	Of more strong link asunder than can ever
	Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,
	The gods, not the patricians, make it, and
	Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,
	You are transported by calamity
	Thither where more attends you, and you slander
	The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers,
	When you curse them as enemies.

First Citizen	Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us
	yet: suffer us to famish, and their store-houses
	crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to
	support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act
	established against the rich, and provide more
	piercing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain
	the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and
	there's all the love they bear us.

MENENIUS	Either you must
	Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,
	Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you
	A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it;
	But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
	To stale 't a little more.

First Citizen	Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not think to
	fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, an 't please
	you, deliver.

MENENIUS	There was a time when all the body's members
	Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it:
	That only like a gulf it did remain
	I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive,
	Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
	Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments
	Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
	And, mutually participate, did minister
	Unto the appetite and affection common
	Of the whole body. The belly answer'd--

First Citizen	Well, sir, what answer made the belly?

MENENIUS	Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,
	Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus--
	For, look you, I may make the belly smile
	As well as speak--it tauntingly replied
	To the discontented members, the mutinous parts
	That envied his receipt; even so most fitly
	As you malign our senators for that
	They are not such as you.

First Citizen	Your belly's answer? What!
	The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye,
	The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
	Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter.
	With other muniments and petty helps
	In this our fabric, if that they--

MENENIUS	What then?
	'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what then?

First Citizen	Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,
	Who is the sink o' the body,--

MENENIUS	Well, what then?

First Citizen	The former agents, if they did complain,
	What could the belly answer?

MENENIUS	I will tell you
	If you'll bestow a small--of what you have little--
	Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer.

First Citizen	Ye're long about it.

MENENIUS	Note me this, good friend;
	Your most grave belly was deliberate,
	Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd:
	'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he,
	'That I receive the general food at first,
	Which you do live upon; and fit it is,
	Because I am the store-house and the shop
	Of the whole body: but, if you do remember,
	I send it through the rivers of your blood,
	Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain;
	And, through the cranks and offices of man,
	The strongest nerves and small inferior veins
	From me receive that natural competency
	Whereby they live: and though that all at once,
	You, my good friends,'--this says the belly, mark me,--

First Citizen	Ay, sir; well, well.

MENENIUS	'Though all at once cannot
	See what I do deliver out to each,
	Yet I can make my audit up, that all
	From me do back receive the flour of all,
	And leave me but the bran.' What say you to't?

First Citizen	It was an answer: how apply you this?

MENENIUS	The senators of Rome are this good belly,
	And you the mutinous members; for examine
	Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly
	Touching the weal o' the common, you shall find
	No public benefit which you receive
	But it proceeds or comes from them to you
	And no way from yourselves. What do you think,
	You, the great toe of this assembly?

First Citizen	I the great toe! why the great toe?

MENENIUS	For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, poorest,
	Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost:
	Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,
	Lead'st first to win some vantage.
	But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:
	Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;
	The one side must have bale.

	[Enter CAIUS MARCIUS]

		       Hail, noble Marcius!

MARCIUS	Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,
	That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
	Make yourselves scabs?

First Citizen	We have ever your good word.

MARCIUS	He that will give good words to thee will flatter
	Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,
	That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you,
	The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
	Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
	Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,
	Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
	Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
	To make him worthy whose offence subdues him
	And curse that justice did it.
	Who deserves greatness
	Deserves your hate; and your affections are
	A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
	Which would increase his evil. He that depends
	Upon your favours swims with fins of lead
	And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust Ye?
	With every minute you do change a mind,
	And call him noble that was now your hate,
	Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter,
	That in these several places of the city
	You cry against the noble senate, who,
	Under the gods, keep you in awe, whi

	AS YOU LIKE IT


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE SENIOR	living in banishment.

DUKE FREDERICK	his brother, an usurper of his dominions.


AMIENS	|
	|  lords attending on the banished duke.
JAQUES	|


LE BEAU	a courtier attending upon Frederick.

CHARLES	wrestler to Frederick.


OLIVER		|
		|
JAQUES (JAQUES DE BOYS:)  	|  sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.
		|
ORLANDO		|


ADAM	|
	|  servants to Oliver.
DENNIS	|


TOUCHSTONE	a clown.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	a vicar.


CORIN	|
	|  shepherds.
SILVIUS	|


WILLIAM	a country fellow in love with Audrey.

	A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)

ROSALIND	daughter to the banished duke.

CELIA	daughter to Frederick.

PHEBE	a shepherdess.

AUDREY	a country wench.

	Lords, pages, and attendants, &c.
	(Forester:)
	(A Lord:)
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(First Page:)
	(Second Page:)


SCENE	Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the
	Forest of Arden.




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE I	Orchard of Oliver's house.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ORLANDO	As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
	bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,
	and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his
	blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my
	sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
	report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,
	he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more
	properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you
	that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that
	differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses
	are bred better; for, besides that they are fair
	with their feeding, they are taught their manage,
	and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his
	brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the
	which his animals on his dunghills are as much
	bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so
	plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave
	me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets
	me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
	brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my
	gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that
	grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I
	think is within me, begins to mutiny against this
	servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I
	know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

ADAM	Yonder comes my master, your brother.

ORLANDO	Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
	shake me up.

	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER	Now, sir! what make you here?

ORLANDO	Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

OLIVER	What mar you then, sir?

ORLANDO	Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
	made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

OLIVER	Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.

ORLANDO	Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
	What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should
	come to such penury?

OLIVER	Know you where your are, sir?

ORLANDO	O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.

OLIVER	Know you before whom, sir?

ORLANDO	Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know
	you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle
	condition of blood, you should so know me. The
	courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that
	you are the first-born; but the same tradition
	takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers
	betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as
	you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is
	nearer to his reverence.

OLIVER	What, boy!

ORLANDO	Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

OLIVER	Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

ORLANDO	I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
	Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice
	a villain that says such a father begot villains.
	Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand
	from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy
	tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.

ADAM	Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's
	remembrance, be at accord.

OLIVER	Let me go, I say.

ORLANDO	I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My
	father charged you in his will to give me good
	education: you have trained me like a peasant,
	obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
	qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
	me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow
	me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or
	give me the poor allottery my father left me by
	testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

OLIVER	And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
	Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled
	with you; you shall have some part of your will: I
	pray you, leave me.

ORLANDO	I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

OLIVER	Get you with him, you old dog.

ADAM	Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my
	teeth in your service. God be with my old master!
	he would not have spoke such a word.

	[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]

OLIVER	Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will
	physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand
	crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!

	[Enter DENNIS]

DENNIS	Calls your worship?

OLIVER	Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?

DENNIS	So please you, he is here at the door and importunes
	access to you.

OLIVER	Call him in.

	[Exit DENNIS]

	'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.

	[Enter CHARLES]

CHARLES	Good morrow to your worship.

OLIVER	Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the
	new court?

CHARLES	There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:
	that is, the old duke is banished by his younger
	brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords
	have put themselves into voluntary exile with him,
	whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke;
	therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

OLIVER	Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be
	banished with her father?

CHARLES	O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves
	her, being ever from their cradles bred together,
	that she would have followed her exile, or have died
	to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no
	less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and
	never two ladies loved as they do.

OLIVER	Where will the old duke live?

CHARLES	They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and
	a many merry men with him; and there they live like
	the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young
	gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time
	carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

OLIVER	What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

CHARLES	Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
	matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand
	that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition
	to come in disguised against me to try a fall.
	To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that
	escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him
	well. Your brother is but young and tender; and,
	for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
	must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore,
	out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
	withal, that either you might stay him from his
	intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall
	run into, in that it is a thing of his own search
	and altogether against my will.

OLIVER	Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
	thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had
	myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and
	have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from
	it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles:
	it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full
	of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's
	good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
	me his natural brother: therefore use thy
	discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck
	as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if
	thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not
	mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise
	against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
	treacherous device and never leave thee till he
	hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other;
	for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak
	it, there is not one so young and so villanous this
	day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
	should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
	blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.

CHARLES	I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
	to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go
	alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and
	so God keep your worship!

OLIVER	Farewell, good Charles.

	[Exit CHARLES]

	Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see
	an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
	hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
	schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of
	all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much
	in the heart of the world, and especially of my own
	people, who best know him, that I am altogether
	misprised: but it shall not be so long; this
	wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that
	I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE II	Lawn before the Duke's palace.


	[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

CELIA	I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

ROSALIND	Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;
	and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could
	teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
	learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

CELIA	Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight
	that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
	had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou
	hadst been still with me, I could have taught my
	love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,
	if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously
	tempered as mine is to thee.

ROSALIND	Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
	rejoice in yours.

CELIA	You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is
	like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt
	be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy
	father perforce, I will render thee again in
	affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break
	that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my
	sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

ROSALIND	From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let
	me see; what think you of falling in love?

CELIA

	CYMBELINE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CYMBELINE	king of Britain.

CLOTEN	son to the Queen by a former husband.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	a gentleman, husband to Imogen.

BELARIUS	a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan.


GUIDERIUS	|  sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names
	|  of Polydote and Cadwal, supposed sons to
ARVIRAGUS	|  Morgan.


PHILARIO	friend to Posthumus,	|
			|  Italians.
IACHIMO	friend to Philario, 	|


CAIUS LUCIUS	general of the Roman forces.

PISANIO	servant to Posthumus.

CORNELIUS	a physician.

	A Roman Captain. (Captain:)

	Two British Captains.
	(First Captain:)
	(Second Captain:)

	A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
	(Frenchman:)

	Two Lords of Cymbeline's court.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)

	Two Gentlemen of the same.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)

	Two Gaolers.
	(First Gaoler:)
	(Second Gaoler:)

QUEEN	wife to Cymbeline.

IMOGEN	daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen.

HELEN	a lady attending on Imogen.

	Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes,
	a Soothsayer, a Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musicians,
	Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers,
	and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(Lady:)
	(First Lady:)
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)
	(First Tribune:)
	(Soothsayer:)
	(Messenger:)

	Apparitions.
	(Sicilius Leonatus:)
	(Mother:)
	(First Brother:)
	(Second Brother:)
	(Jupiter:)

SCENE	Britain; Rome.




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE I	Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman	You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods
	No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
	Still seem as does the king.

Second Gentleman	But what's the matter?

First Gentleman	His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
	He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow
	That late he married--hath referr'd herself
	Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
	Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
	Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
	Be touch'd at very heart.

Second Gentleman	None but the king?

First Gentleman	He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,
	That most desired the match; but not a courtier,
	Although they wear their faces to the bent
	Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not
	Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Second Gentleman	And why so?

First Gentleman	He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
	Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--
	I mean, that married her, alack, good man!
	And therefore banish'd--is a creature such
	As, to seek through the regions of the earth
	For one his like, there would be something failing
	In him that should compare. I do not think
	So fair an outward and such stuff within
	Endows a man but he.

Second Gentleman	You speak him far.

First Gentleman	I do extend him, sir, within himself,
	Crush him together rather than unfold
	His measure duly.

Second Gentleman	                  What's his name and birth?

First Gentleman	I cannot delve him to the root: his father
	Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
	Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
	But had his titles by Tenantius whom
	He served with glory and admired success,
	So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
	And had, besides this gentleman in question,
	Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
	Died with their swords in hand; for which
	their father,
	Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
	That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
	Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
	As he was born. The king he takes the babe
	To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
	Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
	Puts to him all the learnings that his time
	Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
	As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
	And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--
	Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,
	A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
	A glass that feated them, and to the graver
	A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
	For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
	Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
	By her election may be truly read
	What kind of man he is.

Second Gentleman	I honour him
	Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
	Is she sole child to the king?

First Gentleman	His only child.
	He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,
	Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
	I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
	Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
	Which way they went.

Second Gentleman	How long is this ago?

First Gentleman	Some twenty years.

Second Gentleman	That a king's children should be so convey'd,
	So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
	That could not trace them!

First Gentleman	Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
	Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
	Yet is it true, sir.

Second Gentleman	I do well believe you.

First Gentleman	We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,
	The queen, and princess.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN]

QUEEN	No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
	After the slander of most stepmothers,
	Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
	Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
	That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
	So soon as I can win the offended king,
	I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
	The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
	You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
	Your wisdom may inform you.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Please your highness,
	I will from hence to-day.

QUEEN	You know the peril.
	I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
	The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
	Hath charged you should not speak together.

	[Exit]

IMOGEN	O
	Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
	Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
	I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing--
	Always reserved my holy duty--what
	His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
	And I shall here abide the hourly shot
	Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
	But that there is this jewel in the world
	That I may see again.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	My queen! my mistress!
	O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
	To be suspected of more tenderness
	Than doth become a man. I will remain
	The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
	My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
	Who to my father was a friend, to me
	Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
	And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
	Though ink be made of gall.

	[Re-enter QUEEN]

QUEEN	Be brief, I pray you:
	If the king come, I shall incur I know not
	How much of his displeasure.

	[Aside]

		        Yet I'll move him
	To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
	But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
	Pays dear for my offences.

	[Exit]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Should we be taking leave
	As long a term as yet we have to live,
	The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

IMOGEN	Nay, stay a little:
	Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
	Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
	This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
	But keep it till you woo another wife,
	When Imogen is dead.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	How, how! another?
	You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
	And sear up my embracements from a next
	With bonds of death!

	[Putting on the ring]

		Remain, remain thou here
	While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
	As I my poor self did exchange for you,
	To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
	I still win of you: for my sake wear this;
	It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
	Upon this fairest prisoner.

	[Putting a bracelet upon her arm]

IMOGEN	O the gods!
	When shall we see again?

	[Enter CYMBELINE and Lords]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Alack, the king!

CYMBELINE	Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
	If after this command thou fraught the court
	With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!
	Thou'rt poison to my blood.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	The gods protect you!
	And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.

	[Exit]

IMOGEN	                  There cannot be a pinch in death
	More sharp than this is.

CYMBELINE	O disloyal thing,
	That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
	A year's age on me.

IMOGEN	I beseech you, sir,
	Harm not yourself with your vexation
	I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
	Subdues all pangs, all fears.

CYMBELINE	Past grace? obedience?

IMOGEN	Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

CYMBELINE	That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

IMOGEN	O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
	And did avoid a puttock.

CYMBELINE	Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
	A seat for baseness.

IMOGEN	No; I rather added
	A lustre to it.

CYMBELINE	                  O thou vile one!

IMOGEN	Sir,
	It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:
	You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
	A man worth any woman, overbuys me
	Almost the sum he pays.

CYMBELINE	What, art thou mad?

IMOGEN	Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
	A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
	Our neighbour shepherd's son!

CYMBELINE	Thou foolish thing!

	[Re-enter QUEEN]

	They were again together: you have done
	Not after our command. Away with her,
	And pen her up.

QUEEN	                  Beseech your patience. Peace,
	Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
	Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
	Out of your best advice.

CYMBELINE	Nay, let her languish
	A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
	Die of this folly!

	[Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords]

QUEEN	                  Fie! you must give way.

	[Enter PISANIO]

	Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?

PISANIO	My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN	Ha!
	No harm, I trust, is done?

PISANIO	There might have been,
	But that my master rather play'd than fought
	And had no help of anger: they were parted
	By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN	I am very glad on't.

IMOGEN	Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
	To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
	I would they were in Afric both together;
	Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
	The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

PISANIO	On his command: he would not suffer me
	To bring him to the haven; left these notes
	Of what commands I should be subject to,
	When 't pleased you to employ me.

	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE



MARK ANTONY		|
		|
OCTAVIUS CAESAR		|  triumvirs.
		|
M. AEMILIUS		|
LEPIDUS	(LEPIDUS:)	|


SEXTUS POMPEIUS	(POMPEY:)


DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	|
	|
VENTIDIUS	|
	|
EROS	|
	|
SCARUS	|  friends to Antony.
	|
DERCETAS	|
	|
DEMETRIUS	|
	|
PHILO	|


MECAENAS	|
	|
AGRIPPA	|
	|
DOLABELLA	|
	|
PROCULEIUS	|  friends to Caesar.
	|
THYREUS	|
	|
GALLUS	|
	|
MENAS	|


MENECRATES	|
	|  friends to Pompey.
VARRIUS	|


TAURUS	lieutenant-general to Caesar.

CANIDIUS	lieutenant-general to Antony.

SILIUS	an officer in Ventidius's army.

EUPHRONIUS	an ambassador from Antony to Caesar.

	
ALEXAS		|
		|
MARDIAN	a Eunuch.	|
		|  attendants on Cleopatra.
SELEUCUS		|
		|
DIOMEDES		|


	A Soothsayer. (Soothsayer:)

	A Clown. (Clown:)

CLEOPATRA	queen of Egypt.

OCTAVIA	sister to Caesar and wife to Antony.


CHARMIAN	|
	|  attendants on Cleopatra.
IRAS	|


	Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
	(First Officer:)
	(Second Officer:)
	(Third Officer:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Egyptian:)
	(Guard:)
	(First Guard:)
	(Second Guard:)
	(Attendant:)
	(First Attendant:)
	(Second Attendant:)



SCENE	In several parts of the Roman empire.




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT I



SCENE I	Alexandria. A room in CLEOPATRA's palace.


	[Enter DEMETRIUS and PHILO]

PHILO	Nay, but this dotage of our general's
	O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes,
	That o'er the files and musters of the war
	Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
	The office and devotion of their view
	Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart,
	Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
	The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper,
	And is become the bellows and the fan
	To cool a gipsy's lust.

	[Flourish. Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, her Ladies,
	the Train, with Eunuchs fanning her]

		  Look, where they come:
	Take but good note, and you shall see in him.
	The triple pillar of the world transform'd
	Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see.

CLEOPATRA	If it be love indeed, tell me how much.

MARK ANTONY	There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

CLEOPATRA	I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved.

MARK ANTONY	Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.

	[Enter an Attendant]

Attendant	News, my good lord, from Rome.

MARK ANTONY	Grates me: the sum.

CLEOPATRA	Nay, hear them, Antony:
	Fulvia perchance is angry; or, who knows
	If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent
	His powerful mandate to you, 'Do this, or this;
	Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that;
	Perform 't, or else we damn thee.'

MARK ANTONY	How, my love!

CLEOPATRA	Perchance! nay, and most like:
	You must not stay here longer, your dismission
	Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.
	Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? both?
	Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's queen,
	Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
	Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays shame
	When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messengers!

MARK ANTONY	Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
	Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space.
	Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike
	Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life
	Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair

	[Embracing]

	And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
	On pain of punishment, the world to weet
	We stand up peerless.

CLEOPATRA	Excellent falsehood!
	Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
	I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony
	Will be himself.

MARK ANTONY	                  But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
	Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours,
	Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:
	There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
	Without some pleasure now. What sport tonight?

CLEOPATRA	Hear the ambassadors.

MARK ANTONY	Fie, wrangling queen!
	Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
	To weep; whose every passion fully strives
	To make itself, in thee, fair and admired!
	No messenger, but thine; and all alone
	To-night we'll wander through the streets and note
	The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
	Last night you did desire it: speak not to us.

	[Exeunt MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with
	their train]

DEMETRIUS	Is Caesar with Antonius prized so slight?

PHILO	Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
	He comes too short of that great property
	Which still should go with Antony.

DEMETRIUS	I am full sorry
	That he approves the common liar, who
	Thus speaks of him at Rome: but I will hope
	Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!

	[Exeunt]




	ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. Another room.


	[Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer]

CHARMIAN	Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas,
	almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer
	that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew
	this husband, which, you say, must charge his horns
	with garlands!

ALEXAS	Soothsayer!

Soothsayer	Your will?

CHARMIAN	Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things?

Soothsayer	In nature's infinite book of secrecy
	A little I can read.

ALEXAS	Show him your hand.

	[Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough
	Cleopatra's health to drink.

CHARMIAN	Good sir, give me good fortune.

Soothsayer	I make not, but foresee.

CHARMIAN	Pray, then, foresee me one.

Soothsayer	You shall be yet far fairer than you are.

CHARMIAN	He means in flesh.

IRAS	No, you shall paint when you are old.

CHARMIAN	Wrinkles forbid!

ALEXAS	Vex not his prescience; be attentive.

CHARMIAN	Hush!

Soothsayer	You shall be more beloving than beloved.

CHARMIAN	I had rather heat my liver with drinking.

ALEXAS	Nay, hear him.

CHARMIAN	Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married
	to three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all:
	let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry
	may do homage: find me to marry me with Octavius
	Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.

Soothsayer	You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.

CHARMIAN	O excellent! I love long life better than figs.

Soothsayer	You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune
	Than that which is to approach.

CHARMIAN	Then belike my children shall have no names:
	prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?

Soothsayer	If every of your wishes had a womb.
	And fertile every wish, a million.

CHARMIAN	Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.

ALEXAS	You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.

CHARMIAN	Nay, come, tell Iras hers.

ALEXAS	We'll know all our fortunes.

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall
	be--drunk to bed.

IRAS	There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.

CHARMIAN	E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.

IRAS	Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.

CHARMIAN	Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful
	prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee,
	tell her but a worky-day fortune.

Soothsayer	Your fortunes are alike.

IRAS	But how, but how? give me particulars.

Soothsayer	I have said.

IRAS	Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?

CHARMIAN	Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than
	I, where would you choose it?

IRAS	Not in my husband's nose.

CHARMIAN	Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas,--come,
	his fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman
	that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! and let
	her die too, and give him a worse! and let worst
	follow worse, till the worst of all follow him
	laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good
	Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a
	matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!

IRAS	Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people!
	for, as it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man
	loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a
	foul knave uncuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep
	decorum, and fortune him accordingly!

CHARMIAN	Amen.

ALEXAS	Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to make me a
	cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but
	they'ld do't!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Hush! here comes Antony.

CHARMIAN	Not he; the queen.

	[Enter CLEOPATRA]

CLEOPATRA	Saw you my lord?

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	                  No, lady.

CLEOPATRA	Was he not here?

CHARMIAN	No, madam.

CLEOPATRA	He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden
	A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!

DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS	Madam?

CLEOPATRA	Seek him, and bring him hither.
	Where's Alexas?

ALEXAS	Here, at your service. My lord approaches.

CLEOPATRA	We will not look upon him: go with us.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants]

Messenger	Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.

MARK ANTONY	Against my brother Lucius?

Messenger	Ay:
	But soon that war had end, and the time's state
	Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar;
	Whose better issue in the war, from Italy,
	Upon the first encounter, drave them.

MARK ANTONY	Well, what worst?

Messenger	The nature of bad news infects the teller.

MARK ANTONY	When it concerns the fool or coward. On:
	Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus:
	Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
	I hear him as he flatter'd.

Messenger	Labienus--
	This is stiff news--hath, with his Parthian force,
	Extended Asia from Euphrates;
	His conquering banner shook from Syria
	To Lydia and to Ionia; Whilst--

MARK ANTONY	Antony, thou wouldst say,--

Messenger	O, my lord!

MARK ANTONY	Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue:
	Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome;
	Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults
	With such full licence as both truth and malice
	Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds,
	When our quick minds lie still; and our ills told us
	Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.

Messenger	At your noble pleasure.

	[Exit]

MARK ANTONY	From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there!

First Attendant	The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one?

Second Attendant	He stays upon your will.

MARK ANTONY	Let him appear.
	These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
	Or lose myself in dotage.

	[Enter another Messenger]

		    What are you?

Second Messenger	Fulvia thy wife is dead.

MARK ANTONY	Where died she?

Second Messenger	In Sicyon:
	Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
	Imp

	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SOLINUS	Duke of Ephesus. (DUKE SOLINUS:)

AEGEON	a merchant of Syracuse.


ANTIPHOLUS	|
OF EPHESUS	|
	|  twin brothers, and sons to AEgeon and AEmilia.
ANTIPHOLUS	|
OF SYRACUSE	|


DROMIO OF EPHESUS	|
	|  twin brothers, and attendants on the two Antipholuses.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	|


BALTHAZAR	a merchant

ANGELO	a goldsmith.

First Merchant	friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.

Second Merchant	to whom Angelo is a debtor.

PINCH	a schoolmaster.

AEMILIA	wife to AEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus.

ADRIANA	wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.

LUCIANA	her sister.

LUCE	servant to Adriana.

	A Courtezan.

	Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants
	(Gaoler:)
	(Officer:)
	(Servant:)

SCENE	Ephesus.




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT I



SCENE I	A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace.


	[Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other
	Attendants]

AEGEON	Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall
	And by the doom of death end woes and all.

DUKE SOLINUS	Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;
	I am not partial to infringe our laws:
	The enmity and discord which of late
	Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
	To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
	Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives
	Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
	Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.
	For, since the mortal and intestine jars
	'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
	It hath in solemn synods been decreed
	Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
	To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more,
	If any born at Ephesus be seen
	At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
	Again: if any Syracusian born
	Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
	His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,
	Unless a thousand marks be levied,
	To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
	Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
	Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
	Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.

AEGEON	Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
	My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

DUKE SOLINUS	Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
	Why thou departed'st from thy native home
	And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.

AEGEON	A heavier task could not have been imposed
	Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
	Yet, that the world may witness that my end
	Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
	I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave.
	In Syracusa was I born, and wed
	Unto a woman, happy but for me,
	And by me, had not our hap been bad.
	With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased
	By prosperous voyages I often made
	To Epidamnum; till my factor's death
	And the great care of goods at random left
	Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
	From whom my absence was not six months old
	Before herself, almost at fainting under
	The pleasing punishment that women bear,
	Had made provision for her following me
	And soon and safe arrived where I was.
	There had she not been long, but she became
	A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
	And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
	As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
	That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
	A meaner woman was delivered
	Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
	Those,--for their parents were exceeding poor,--
	I bought and brought up to attend my sons.
	My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
	Made daily motions for our home return:
	Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon,
	We came aboard.
	A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
	Before the always wind-obeying deep
	Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
	But longer did we not retain much hope;
	For what obscured light the heavens did grant
	Did but convey unto our fearful minds
	A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
	Which though myself would gladly have embraced,
	Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
	Weeping before for what she saw must come,
	And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
	That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
	Forced me to seek delays for them and me.
	And this it was, for other means was none:
	The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
	And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
	My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
	Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
	Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
	To him one of the other twins was bound,
	Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:
	The children thus disposed, my wife and I,
	Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
	Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
	And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
	Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
	At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
	Dispersed those vapours that offended us;
	And by the benefit of his wished light,
	The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
	Two ships from far making amain to us,
	Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
	But ere they came,--O, let me say no more!
	Gather the sequel by that went before.

DUKE SOLINUS	Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
	For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

AEGEON	O, had the gods done so, I had not now
	Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
	For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
	We were encounterd by a mighty rock;
	Which being violently borne upon,
	Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
	So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
	Fortune had left to both of us alike
	What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
	Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
	With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,
	Was carried with more speed before the wind;
	And in our sight they three were taken up
	By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
	At length, another ship had seized on us;
	And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
	Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
	And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
	Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
	And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
	Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
	That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
	To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

DUKE SOLINUS	And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
	Do me the favour to dilate at full
	What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.

AEGEON	My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
	At eighteen years became inquisitive
	After his brother: and importuned me
	That his attendant--so his case was like,
	Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name--
	Might bear him company in the quest of him:
	Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
	I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
	Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
	Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
	And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
	Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
	Or that or any place that harbours men.
	But here must end the story of my life;
	And happy were I in my timely death,
	Could all my travels warrant me they live.

DUKE SOLINUS	Hapless AEgeon, whom the fates have mark'd
	To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
	Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
	Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
	Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
	My soul would sue as advocate for thee.
	But, though thou art adjudged to the death
	And passed sentence may not be recall'd
	But to our honour's great disparagement,
	Yet I will favour thee in what I can.
	Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
	To seek thy life by beneficial help:
	Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
	Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
	And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
	Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaoler	I will, my lord.

AEGEON	Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend,
	But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT I



SCENE II	The Mart.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse,
	and First Merchant]

First Merchant	Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,
	Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
	This very day a Syracusian merchant
	Is apprehended for arrival here;
	And not being able to buy out his life
	According to the statute of the town,
	Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
	There is your money that I had to keep.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
	And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
	Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
	Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,
	Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
	And then return and sleep within mine inn,
	For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
	Get thee away.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Many a man would take you at your word,
	And go indeed, having so good a mean.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,
	When I am dull with care and melancholy,
	Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
	What, will you walk with me about the town,
	And then go to my inn and dine with me?

First Merchant	I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
	Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
	I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock,
	Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart
	And afterward consort you till bed-time:
	My present business calls me from you now.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Farewell till then: I will go lose myself
	And wander up and down to view the city.

First Merchant	Sir, I commend you to your own content.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	He that commends me to mine own content
	Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
	I to the world am like a drop of water
	That in the ocean seeks another drop,
	Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
	Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
	So I, to find a mother and a brother,
	In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

	[Enter DROMIO of Ephesus]

	Here comes the almanac of my true date.
	What now? how chance thou art return'd so soon?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late:
	The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
	The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
	My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
	She is so hot because the meat is cold;
	The meat is cold because you come not home;
	You come not home because you have no stomach;
	You have no stomach having broke your fast;
	But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray
	Are penitent for your default to-day.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Stop in your wind, sir: tell 

	HAMLET


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CLAUDIUS	king of Denmark. (KING CLAUDIUS:)

HAMLET	son to the late, and nephew to the present king.

POLONIUS	lord chamberlain. (LORD POLONIUS:)

HORATIO	friend to Hamlet.

LAERTES	son to Polonius.

LUCIANUS	nephew to the king.


VOLTIMAND	|
	|
CORNELIUS	|
	|
ROSENCRANTZ	|  courtiers.
	|
GUILDENSTERN	|
	|
OSRIC	|


	A Gentleman, (Gentlemen:)

	A Priest. (First Priest:)


MARCELLUS	|
	|  officers.
BERNARDO	|


FRANCISCO	a soldier.

REYNALDO	servant to Polonius.
	Players.
	(First Player:)
	(Player King:)
	(Player Queen:)

	Two Clowns, grave-diggers.
	(First Clown:)
	(Second Clown:)

FORTINBRAS	prince of Norway. (PRINCE FORTINBRAS:)

	A Captain.

	English Ambassadors. (First Ambassador:)

GERTRUDE	queen of Denmark, and mother to Hamlet.
	(QUEEN GERTRUDE:)

OPHELIA	daughter to Polonius.

	Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers,
	and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(First Sailor:)
	(Messenger:)

	Ghost of Hamlet's Father. (Ghost:)



SCENE	Denmark.




	HAMLET


ACT I



SCENE I	Elsinore. A platform before the castle.


	[FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO]

BERNARDO	Who's there?

FRANCISCO	Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.

BERNARDO	Long live the king!

FRANCISCO	Bernardo?

BERNARDO	He.

FRANCISCO	You come most carefully upon your hour.

BERNARDO	'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.

FRANCISCO	For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
	And I am sick at heart.

BERNARDO	Have you had quiet guard?

FRANCISCO	Not a mouse stirring.

BERNARDO	Well, good night.
	If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
	The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

FRANCISCO	I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there?

	[Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS]

HORATIO	Friends to this ground.

MARCELLUS	And liegemen to the Dane.

FRANCISCO	Give you good night.

MARCELLUS	O, farewell, honest soldier:
	Who hath relieved you?

FRANCISCO	Bernardo has my place.
	Give you good night.

	[Exit]

MARCELLUS	Holla! Bernardo!

BERNARDO	Say,
	What, is Horatio there?

HORATIO	A piece of him.

BERNARDO	Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

MARCELLUS	What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?

BERNARDO	I have seen nothing.

MARCELLUS	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.

HORATIO	Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

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

HORATIO	Well, sit we down,
	And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

BERNARDO	Last night of all,
	When yond same star that's westward from the pole
	Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
	Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
	The bell then beating one,--

	[Enter Ghost]

MARCELLUS	Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

BERNARDO	In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

MARCELLUS	Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

BERNARDO	Looks it not like the king?  mark it, Horatio.

HORATIO	Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.

BERNARDO	It would be spoke to.

MARCELLUS	Question it, Horatio.

HORATIO	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!

MARCELLUS	It is offended.

BERNARDO	                  See, it stalks away!

HORATIO	Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!

	[Exit Ghost]

MARCELLUS	'Tis gone, and will not answer.

BERNARDO	How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:
	Is not this something more than fantasy?
	What think you on't?

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

MARCELLUS	                  Is it not like the king?

HORATIO	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.

MARCELLUS	Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
	With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

HORATIO	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.

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

HORATIO	That can I;
	At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
	Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
	Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
	Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
	Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--
	For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--
	Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,
	Well ratified by law and heraldry,
	Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
	Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:
	Against the which, a moiety competent
	Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
	To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
	Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,
	And carriage of the article design'd,
	His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
	Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
	Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
	Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
	For food and diet, to some enterprise
	That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--
	As it doth well appear unto our state--
	But to recover of us, by strong hand
	And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
	So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
	Is the main motive of our preparations,
	The source of this our watch and the chief head
	Of this post-haste and romage in the land.

BERNARDO	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.

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

	[Re-enter Ghost]

	I'll 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:

	[Cock crows]

	If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
	Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!
	Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
	Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
	For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
	Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.

MARCELLUS	Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

HORATIO	Do, if it will not stand.

BERNARDO	'Tis here!

HORATIO	'Tis here!

MARCELLUS	'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.

BERNARDO	It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

HORATIO	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.

MARCELLUS	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 dares stir abroad;
	The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
	No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
	So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

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

MARCELLUS	Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
	Where we shall find him most conveniently.

	[Exeunt]




	HAMLET


ACT I



SCENE II	A room of state in the castle.


	[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET,
	POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords,
	and Attendants]

KING CLAUDIUS	Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
	The memory be green, and that it us befitted
	To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom
	To be contracted in one brow of woe,
	Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
	That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
	Together with remembrance of ourselves.
	Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
	The imperial jointress to this warlike state,
	Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--
	With an auspicious and a dropping eye,
	With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
	In equal scale weighing delight and dole,--
	Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd
	Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
	With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
	Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
	Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
	Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
	Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
	Colleagued wit

	KING JOHN
	

	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING JOHN:

PRINCE HENRY	son to the king.

ARTHUR	Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the king.

The Earl of
PEMBROKE	(PEMBROKE:)

The Earl of ESSEX	(ESSEX:)

The Earl of
SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

The Lord BIGOT	(BIGOT:)

HUBERT DE BURGH	(HUBERT:)

ROBERT
FAULCONBRIDGE	Son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge. (ROBERT:)

PHILIP the BASTARD	his half-brother. (BASTARD:)

JAMES GURNEY	servant to Lady Faulconbridge. (GURNEY:)

PETER Of Pomfret	a prophet. (PETER:)

PHILIP	King of France. (KING PHILIP:)

LEWIS	the Dauphin.

LYMOGES	Duke of AUSTRIA. (AUSTRIA:)

CARDINAL PANDULPH	the Pope's legate.

MELUN	a French Lord.

CHATILLON	ambassador from France to King John.

QUEEN ELINOR	mother to King John.

CONSTANCE	mother to Arthur.

BLANCH of Spain	niece to King John. (BLANCH:)

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE:

	Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
	Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
	(First Citizen:)
	(French Herald:)
	(English Herald:)
	(First Executioner:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Partly in England, and partly in France.




	KING JOHN


ACT I



SCENE I	KING JOHN'S palace.


	[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX,
	SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON]

KING JOHN	Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

CHATILLON	Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
	In my behavior to the majesty,
	The borrow'd majesty, of England here.

QUEEN ELINOR	A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!'

KING JOHN	Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

CHATILLON	Philip of France, in right and true behalf
	Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
	Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
	To this fair island and the territories,
	To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
	Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
	Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
	And put these same into young Arthur's hand,
	Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.

KING JOHN	What follows if we disallow of this?

CHATILLON	The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
	To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

KING JOHN	Here have we war for war and blood for blood,
	Controlment for controlment: so answer France.

CHATILLON	Then take my king's defiance from my mouth,
	The farthest limit of my embassy.

KING JOHN	Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace:
	Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
	For ere thou canst report I will be there,
	The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
	So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
	And sullen presage of your own decay.
	An honourable conduct let him have:
	Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.

	[Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE]

QUEEN ELINOR	What now, my son! have I not ever said
	How that ambitious Constance would not cease
	Till she had kindled France and all the world,
	Upon the right and party of her son?
	This might have been prevented and made whole
	With very easy arguments of love,
	Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
	With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

KING JOHN	Our strong possession and our right for us.

QUEEN ELINOR	Your strong possession much more than your right,
	Or else it must go wrong with you and me:
	So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
	Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.

	[Enter a Sheriff]

ESSEX	My liege, here is the strangest controversy
	Come from country to be judged by you,
	That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?

KING JOHN	Let them approach.
	Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
	This expedition's charge.

	[Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD]

		    What men are you?

BASTARD	Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
	Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son,
	As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
	A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
	Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.

KING JOHN	What art thou?

ROBERT	The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.

KING JOHN	Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
	You came not of one mother then, it seems.

BASTARD	Most certain of one mother, mighty king;
	That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
	But for the certain knowledge of that truth
	I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother:
	Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

QUEEN ELINOR	Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother
	And wound her honour with this diffidence.

BASTARD	I, madam? no, I have no reason for it;
	That is my brother's plea and none of mine;
	The which if he can prove, a' pops me out
	At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
	Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!

KING JOHN	A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
	Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

BASTARD	I know not why, except to get the land.
	But once he slander'd me with bastardy:
	But whether I be as true begot or no,
	That still I lay upon my mother's head,
	But that I am as well begot, my liege,--
	Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!--
	Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
	If old sir Robert did beget us both
	And were our father and this son like him,
	O old sir Robert, father, on my knee
	I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!

KING JOHN	Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!

QUEEN ELINOR	He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
	The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
	Do you not read some tokens of my son
	In the large composition of this man?

KING JOHN	Mine eye hath well examined his parts
	And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
	What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

BASTARD	Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
	With half that face would he have all my land:
	A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year!

ROBERT	My gracious liege, when that my father lived,
	Your brother did employ my father much,--

BASTARD	Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
	Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.

ROBERT	And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
	To Germany, there with the emperor
	To treat of high affairs touching that time.
	The advantage of his absence took the king
	And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's;
	Where how he did prevail I shame to speak,
	But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
	Between my father and my mother lay,
	As I have heard my father speak himself,
	When this same lusty gentleman was got.
	Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
	His lands to me, and took it on his death
	That this my mother's son was none of his;
	And if he were, he came into the world
	Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
	Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
	My father's land, as was my father's will.

KING JOHN	Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
	Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,
	And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
	Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
	That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
	Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
	Had of your father claim'd this son for his?
	In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
	This calf bred from his cow from all the world;
	In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's,
	My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
	Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes;
	My mother's son did get your father's heir;
	Your father's heir must have your father's land.

ROBERT	Shall then my father's will be of no force
	To dispossess that child which is not his?

BASTARD	Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
	Than was his will to get me, as I think.

QUEEN ELINOR	Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge
	And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
	Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
	Lord of thy presence and no land beside?

BASTARD	Madam, an if my brother had my shape,
	And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him;
	And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
	My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin
	That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
	Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!'
	And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
	Would I might never stir from off this place,
	I would give it every foot to have this face;
	I would not be sir Nob in any case.

QUEEN ELINOR	I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
	Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?
	I am a soldier and now bound to France.

BASTARD	Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.
	Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
	Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear.
	Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

QUEEN ELINOR	Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

BASTARD	Our country manners give our betters way.

KING JOHN	What is thy name?

BASTARD	Philip, my liege, so is my name begun,
	Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

KING JOHN	From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st:
	Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
	Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet.

BASTARD	Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand:
	My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
	Now blessed by the hour, by night or day,
	When I was got, sir Robert was away!

QUEEN ELINOR	The very spirit of Plantagenet!
	I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.

BASTARD	Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though?
	Something about, a little from the right,
	In at the window, or else o'er the hatch:
	Who dares not stir by day must walk by night,
	And have is have, however men do catch:
	Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
	And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

KING JOHN	Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire;
	A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
	Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
	For France, for France, for it is more than need.

BASTARD	Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee!
	For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.

	[Exeunt all but BASTARD]

	A foot of honour better than I was;
	But many a many foot of land the worse.
	Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
	'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'--
	And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
	For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
	'Tis too respective and too sociable
	For your conversion. Now your traveller,
	He and his toothpick at my worship's mess,
	And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
	Why then I suck my teeth and catechise
	My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'
	Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,
	'I shall beseech you'--t

	KING HENRY VIII


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY
the Eighth	(KING HENRY VIII:)

CARDINAL WOLSEY:

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS:

CAPUCIUS	Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V

CRANMER	Archbishop of Canterbury.

DUKE OF NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

DUKE OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

EARL OF SURREY	(SURREY:)

Lord Chamberlain	(Chamberlain:)

Lord Chancellor	(Chancellor:)

GARDINER	Bishop of Winchester.

	Bishop of Lincoln. (LINCOLN:)

LORD ABERGAVENNY	(ABERGAVENNY:)

LORD SANDS	(SANDS:)

SIR HENRY
GUILDFORD	(GUILDFORD:)

SIR THOMAS LOVELL	(LOVELL:)

SIR ANTHONY DENNY	(DENNY:)

SIR NICHOLAS VAUX	(VAUX:)

	Secretaries to Wolsey.
	(First Secretary:)
	(Second Secretary:)

CROMWELL	Servant to Wolsey.

GRIFFITH	Gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine.

	Three Gentlemen.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(Third Gentleman:)

DOCTOR BUTTS	Physician to the King.

	Garter King-at-Arms. (Garter:)

	Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. (Surveyor:)

BRANDON:

	A Sergeant-at-Arms. (Sergeant:)

	Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter, (Porter:)
	and his Man. (Man:)

	Page to Gardiner. (Boy:)
	A Crier. (Crier:)

QUEEN KATHARINE	(QUEEN KATHARINE:)  Wife to King Henry, afterwards
	divorced. (KATHARINE:)

ANNE BULLEN	(ANNE:) her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen. (QUEEN ANNE:)

	An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. (Old Lady:)

PATIENCE	woman to Queen Katharine.

	Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women
	attending upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards,
	and other Attendants.
	Spirits.

	(Scribe:)
	(Keeper:)
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	London; Westminster; Kimbolton




	KING HENRY VIII


	THE PROLOGUE


	I come no more to make you laugh: things now,
	That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
	Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
	Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
	We now present. Those that can pity, here
	May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
	The subject will deserve it. Such as give
	Their money out of hope they may believe,
	May here find truth too. Those that come to see
	Only a show or two, and so agree
	The play may pass, if they be still and willing,
	I'll undertake may see away their shilling
	Richly in two short hours. Only they
	That come to hear a merry bawdy play,
	A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
	In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,
	Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,
	To rank our chosen truth with such a show
	As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
	Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,
	To make that only true we now intend,
	Will leave us never an understanding friend.
	Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known
	The first and happiest hearers of the town,
	Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see
	The very persons of our noble story
	As they were living; think you see them great,
	And follow'd with the general throng and sweat
	Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see
	How soon this mightiness meets misery:
	And, if you can be merry then, I'll say
	A man may weep upon his wedding-day.




	KING HENRY VIII


ACT I



SCENE I	London. An ante-chamber in the palace.


	[Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM
	and ABERGAVENNY]

BUCKINGHAM	Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
	Since last we saw in France?

NORFOLK	I thank your grace,
	Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
	Of what I saw there.

BUCKINGHAM	An untimely ague
	Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when
	Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
	Met in the vale of Andren.

NORFOLK	'Twixt Guynes and Arde:
	I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
	Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
	In their embracement, as they grew together;
	Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd
	Such a compounded one?

BUCKINGHAM	All the whole time
	I was my chamber's prisoner.

NORFOLK	Then you lost
	The view of earthly glory: men might say,
	Till this time pomp was single, but now married
	To one above itself. Each following day
	Became the next day's master, till the last
	Made former wonders its. To-day the French,
	All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
	Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
	Made Britain India: every man that stood
	Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
	As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too,
	Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
	The pride upon them, that their very labour
	Was to them as a painting: now this masque
	Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
	Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,
	Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
	As presence did present them; him in eye,
	Still him in praise: and, being present both
	'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner
	Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns--
	For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged
	The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
	Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story,
	Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
	That Bevis was believed.

BUCKINGHAM	O, you go far.

NORFOLK	As I belong to worship and affect
	In honour honesty, the tract of every thing
	Would by a good discourser lose some life,
	Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal;
	To the disposing of it nought rebell'd.
	Order gave each thing view; the office did
	Distinctly his full function.

BUCKINGHAM	Who did guide,
	I mean, who set the body and the limbs
	Of this great sport together, as you guess?

NORFOLK	One, certes, that promises no element
	In such a business.

BUCKINGHAM	I pray you, who, my lord?

NORFOLK	All this was order'd by the good discretion
	Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.

BUCKINGHAM	The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed
	From his ambitious finger. What had he
	To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder
	That such a keech can with his very bulk
	Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun
	And keep it from the earth.

NORFOLK	Surely, sir,
	There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
	For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
	Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
	For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
	For eminent assistants; but, spider-like,
	Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
	The force of his own merit makes his way
	A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
	A place next to the king.

ABERGAVENNY	I cannot tell
	What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye
	Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
	Peep through each part of him: whence has he that,
	If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,
	Or has given all before, and he begins
	A new hell in himself.

BUCKINGHAM	Why the devil,
	Upon this French going out, took he upon him,
	Without the privity o' the king, to appoint
	Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
	Of all the gentry; for the most part such
	To whom as great a charge as little honour
	He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,
	The honourable board of council out,
	Must fetch him in the papers.

ABERGAVENNY	I do know
	Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
	By this so sickened their estates, that never
	They shall abound as formerly.

BUCKINGHAM	O, many
	Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em
	For this great journey. What did this vanity
	But minister communication of
	A most poor issue?

NORFOLK	                  Grievingly I think,
	The peace between the French and us not values
	The cost that did conclude it.

BUCKINGHAM	Every man,
	After the hideous storm that follow'd, was
	A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke
	Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,
	Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
	The sudden breach on't.

NORFOLK	Which is budded out;
	For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
	Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

ABERGAVENNY	Is it therefore
	The ambassador is silenced?

NORFOLK	Marry, is't.

ABERGAVENNY	A proper title of a peace; and purchased
	At a superfluous rate!

BUCKINGHAM	Why, all this business
	Our reverend cardinal carried.

NORFOLK	Like it your grace,
	The state takes notice of the private difference
	Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you--
	And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
	Honour and plenteous safety--that you read
	The cardinal's malice and his potency
	Together; to consider further that
	What his high hatred would effect wants not
	A minister in his power. You know his nature,
	That he's revengeful, and I know his sword
	Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said,
	It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend,
	Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,
	You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock
	That I advise your shunning.

	[Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him,
	certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with
	papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his
	eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full
	of disdain]

CARDINAL WOLSEY	The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?
	Where's his examination?

First Secretary	Here, so please you.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Is he in person ready?

First Secretary	Ay, please your grace.

CARDINAL WOLSEY	Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham
	Shall lessen this big look.

	[Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train]

BUCKINGHAM	This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
	Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
	Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
	Outworths a noble's blood.

NORFOLK	What, are you chafed?
	Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only
	Which your disease requires.

BUCKINGHAM	I read in's looks
	Matter against me; and his eye reviled
	Me, as his abject object: at this instant
	He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king;
	I'll follow and outstare him.

NORFOLK	Stay, my lord,
	And let your reason with your choler question
	What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills
	Requires slow pace at first: anger is like
	A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
	Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
	Can advise me like you: be to yourself
	As you would to your friend.

BUCKINGHAM	I'll to the king;
	And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
	This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim
	There's difference in no persons.

NORFOLK	Be advised;
	Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
	That it do singe yourself: we may outrun,
	By violent 

	KING HENRY V


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Fifth. (KING HENRY V)

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER	(GLOUCESTER:)	|
		|  brothers to the King.
DUKE OF BEDFORD	(BEDFORD:)	|


DUKE OF EXETER	uncle to the King. (EXETER:)

DUKE OF YORK	cousin to the King. (YORK:)

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

BISHOP OF
CANTERBURY	(CANTERBURY:)

BISHOP OF ELY	(ELY:)

EARL OF CAMBRIDGE	(CAMBRIDGE:)

LORD SCROOP	(SCROOP:)

SIR THOMAS GREY	(GREY:)


SIR
THOMAS ERPINGHAM	(ERPINGHAM:)	|
		|
GOWER		|
		|
FLUELLEN		|  Officers in King Henry's army.
		|
MACMORRIS		|
		|
JAMY		|


BATES	|
	|
COURT	|  soldiers in the same.
	|
WILLIAMS	|


PISTOL:

NYM:

BARDOLPH:

	Boy
	A Herald.

CHARLES the Sixth	King of France. (KING OF FRANCE:) (FRENCH KING:)

LEWIS	the Dauphin. (DAUPHIN:)

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF ORLEANS	(ORLEANS:)

DUKE OF BOURBON	(BOURBON:)

	The Constable of France. (Constable:)


RAMBURES	|
	|  French Lords.
GRANDPRE	|


GOVERNOR	of Harfleur.

MONTJOY	a French Herald.

	Ambassadors to the King of England.

ISABEL	Queen of France. (QUEEN ISABEL:)

KATHARINE	daughter to Charles and Isabel.

ALICE	a lady attending on her.

	Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap formerly
	Mistress Quickly, and now married to Pistol.
	Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens,
	Messengers, and Attendants. Chorus.
	(Hostess:)
	(First Ambassador:)
	(Messenger:)
	(French Soldier:)

SCENE	England; afterwards France.




	KING HENRY V

	PROLOGUE


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
	The brightest heaven of invention,
	A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
	And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
	Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
	Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
	Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire
	Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all,
	The flat unraised spirits that have dared
	On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
	So great an object: can this cockpit hold
	The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
	Within this wooden O the very casques
	That did affright the air at Agincourt?
	O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
	Attest in little place a million;
	And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
	On your imaginary forces work.
	Suppose within the girdle of these walls
	Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
	Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
	The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
	Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
	Into a thousand parts divide on man,
	And make imaginary puissance;
	Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
	Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
	For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
	Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
	Turning the accomplishment of many years
	Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,
	Admit me Chorus to this history;
	Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
	Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT I



SCENE I	London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY]

CANTERBURY	My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged,
	Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign
	Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd,
	But that the scambling and unquiet time
	Did push it out of farther question.

ELY	But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?

CANTERBURY	It must be thought on. If it pass against us,
	We lose the better half of our possession:
	For all the temporal lands which men devout
	By testament have given to the church
	Would they strip from us; being valued thus:
	As much as would maintain, to the king's honour,
	Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,
	Six thousand and two hundred good esquires;
	And, to relief of lazars and weak age,
	Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil.
	A hundred almshouses right well supplied;
	And to the coffers of the king beside,
	A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill.

ELY	This would drink deep.

CANTERBURY	'Twould drink the cup and all.

ELY	But what prevention?

CANTERBURY	The king is full of grace and fair regard.

ELY	And a true lover of the holy church.

CANTERBURY	The courses of his youth promised it not.
	The breath no sooner left his father's body,
	But that his wildness, mortified in him,
	Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment
	Consideration, like an angel, came
	And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him,
	Leaving his body as a paradise,
	To envelop and contain celestial spirits.
	Never was such a sudden scholar made;
	Never came reformation in a flood,
	With such a heady currance, scouring faults
	Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness
	So soon did lose his seat and all at once
	As in this king.

ELY	                  We are blessed in the change.

CANTERBURY	Hear him but reason in divinity,
	And all-admiring with an inward wish
	You would desire the king were made a prelate:
	Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
	You would say it hath been all in all his study:
	List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
	A fearful battle render'd you in music:
	Turn him to any cause of policy,
	The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
	Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks,
	The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
	And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
	To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences;
	So that the art and practic part of life
	Must be the mistress to this theoric:
	Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it,
	Since his addiction was to courses vain,
	His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow,
	His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports,
	And never noted in him any study,
	Any retirement, any sequestration
	From open haunts and popularity.

ELY	The strawberry grows underneath the nettle
	And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
	Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality:
	And so the prince obscured his contemplation
	Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt,
	Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,
	Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty.

CANTERBURY	It must be so; for miracles are ceased;
	And therefore we must needs admit the means
	How things are perfected.

ELY	But, my good lord,
	How now for mitigation of this bill
	Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty
	Incline to it, or no?

CANTERBURY	He seems indifferent,
	Or rather swaying more upon our part
	Than cherishing the exhibiters against us;
	For I have made an offer to his majesty,
	Upon our spiritual convocation
	And in regard of causes now in hand,
	Which I have open'd to his grace at large,
	As touching France, to give a greater sum
	Than ever at one time the clergy yet
	Did to his predecessors part withal.

ELY	How did this offer seem received, my lord?

CANTERBURY	With good acceptance of his majesty;
	Save that there was not time enough to hear,
	As I perceived his grace would fain have done,
	The severals and unhidden passages
	Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms
	And generally to the crown and seat of France
	Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather.

ELY	What was the impediment that broke this off?

CANTERBURY	The French ambassador upon that instant
	Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come
	To give him hearing: is it four o'clock?

ELY	It is.

CANTERBURY	Then go we in, to know his embassy;
	Which I could with a ready guess declare,
	Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.

ELY	I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. The Presence chamber.


	[Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER,
	WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants]

KING HENRY V	Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?

EXETER	Not here in presence.

KING HENRY V	Send for him, good uncle.

WESTMORELAND	Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?

KING HENRY V	Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved,
	Before we hear him, of some things of weight
	That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.

	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY]

CANTERBURY	God and his angels guard your sacred throne
	And make you long become it!

KING HENRY V	Sure, we thank you.
	My learned lord, we pray you to proceed
	And justly and religiously unfold
	Why the law Salique that they have in France
	Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim:
	And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,
	That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,
	Or nicely charge your understanding soul
	With opening titles miscreate, whose right
	Suits not in native colours with the truth;
	For God doth know how many now in health
	Shall drop their blood in approbation
	Of what your reverence shall incite us to.
	Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,
	How you awake our sleeping sword of war:
	We charge you, in the name of God, take heed;
	For never two such kingdoms did contend
	Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops
	Are every one a woe, a sore complaint
	'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords
	That make such waste in brief mortality.
	Under this conjuration, speak, my lord;
	For we will hear, note and believe in heart
	That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd
	As pure as sin with baptism.

CANTERBURY	Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,
	That owe yourselves, your lives and services
	To this imperial throne. There is no bar
	To make against your highness' claim to France
	But this, which they produce from Pharamond,
	'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:'
	'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:'
	Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze
	To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
	The founder of this law and female bar.
	Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
	That the land Salique is in Germany,
	Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;
	Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons,
	There left behind and settled certain French;
	Who, holding in disdain the German women
	For some dishonest manners of their life,
	Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female
	Should be inheritrix in Salique land:
	Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
	Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen.
	Then doth it well appear that Salique law
	Was not devised for the realm of France:
	Nor did the French p

	KING LEAR


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


LEAR	king of Britain  (KING LEAR:)

KING OF FRANCE:

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF CORNWALL	(CORNWALL:)

DUKE OF ALBANY	(ALBANY:)

EARL OF KENT	(KENT:)

EARL OF GLOUCESTER	(GLOUCESTER:)

EDGAR	son to Gloucester.

EDMUND	bastard son to Gloucester.

CURAN	a courtier.

Old Man	tenant to Gloucester.

Doctor:

Fool:

OSWALD	steward to Goneril.

	A Captain employed by Edmund. (Captain:)

	Gentleman attendant on Cordelia. (Gentleman:)
	A Herald.

	Servants to Cornwall.
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Third Servant:)


GONERIL	|
	|
REGAN	|  daughters to Lear.
	|
CORDELIA	|


	Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers,
	Soldiers, and Attendants
	(Knight:)
	(Captain:)
	(Messenger:)



SCENE	Britain.




	KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE I	King Lear's palace.


	[Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND]

KENT	I thought the king had more affected the Duke of
	Albany than Cornwall.

GLOUCESTER	It did always seem so to us: but now, in the
	division of the kingdom, it appears not which of
	the dukes he values most; for equalities are so
	weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice
	of either's moiety.

KENT	Is not this your son, my lord?

GLOUCESTER	His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have
	so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am
	brazed to it.

KENT	I cannot conceive you.

GLOUCESTER	Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon
	she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son
	for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.
	Do you smell a fault?

KENT	I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it
	being so proper.

GLOUCESTER	But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year
	elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account:
	though this knave came something saucily into the
	world before he was sent for, yet was his mother
	fair; there was good sport at his making, and the
	whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this
	noble gentleman, Edmund?

EDMUND	No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my
	honourable friend.

EDMUND	My services to your lordship.

KENT	I must love you, and sue to know you better.

EDMUND	Sir, I shall study deserving.

GLOUCESTER	He hath been out nine years, and away he shall
	again. The king is coming.

	[Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY,
	GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants]

KING LEAR	Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER	I shall, my liege.

	[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]

KING LEAR	Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.
	Give me the map there. Know that we have divided
	In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
	To shake all cares and business from our age;
	Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
	Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,
	And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
	We have this hour a constant will to publish
	Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
	May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
	Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
	Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
	And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,--
	Since now we will divest us both of rule,
	Interest of territory, cares of state,--
	Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
	That we our largest bounty may extend
	Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,
	Our eldest-born, speak first.

GONERIL	Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
	Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;
	Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
	No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
	As much as child e'er loved, or father found;
	A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
	Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

CORDELIA	[Aside]  What shall Cordelia do?
	Love, and be silent.

LEAR	Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
	With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
	With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
	We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue
	Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,
	Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

REGAN	Sir, I am made
	Of the self-same metal that my sister is,
	And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
	I find she names my very deed of love;
	Only she comes too short: that I profess
	Myself an enemy to all other joys,
	Which the most precious square of sense possesses;
	And find I am alone felicitate
	In your dear highness' love.

CORDELIA	[Aside]	Then poor Cordelia!
	And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
	More richer than my tongue.

KING LEAR	To thee and thine hereditary ever
	Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
	No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
	Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy,
	Although the last, not least; to whose young love
	The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
	Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw
	A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

CORDELIA	Nothing, my lord.

KING LEAR	Nothing!

CORDELIA	Nothing.

KING LEAR	Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

CORDELIA	Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
	My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
	According to my bond; nor more nor less.

KING LEAR	How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,
	Lest it may mar your fortunes.

CORDELIA	Good my lord,
	You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I
	Return those duties back as are right fit,
	Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
	Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
	They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
	That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
	Half my love with him, half my care and duty:
	Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
	To love my father all.

KING LEAR	But goes thy heart with this?

CORDELIA	Ay, good my lord.

KING LEAR	So young, and so untender?

CORDELIA	So young, my lord, and true.

KING LEAR	Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower:
	For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
	The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
	By all the operation of the orbs
	From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
	Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
	Propinquity and property of blood,
	And as a stranger to my heart and me
	Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
	Or he that makes his generation messes
	To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
	Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved,
	As thou my sometime daughter.

KENT	Good my liege,--

KING LEAR	Peace, Kent!
	Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
	I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
	On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!
	So be my grave my peace, as here I give
	Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs?
	Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany,
	With my two daughters' dowers digest this third:
	Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
	I do invest you jointly with my power,
	Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
	That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,
	With reservation of an hundred knights,
	By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
	Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain
	The name, and all the additions to a king;
	The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
	Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,
	This coronet part betwixt you.

	[Giving the crown]

KENT	Royal Lear,
	Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
	Loved as my father, as my master follow'd,
	As my great patron thought on in my prayers,--

KING LEAR	The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.

KENT	Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
	The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,
	When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man?
	Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,
	When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
	When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;
	And, in thy best consideration, cheque
	This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
	Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
	Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
	Reverbs no hollowness.

KING LEAR	Kent, on thy life, no more.

KENT	My life I never held but as a pawn
	To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it,
	Thy safety being the motive.

KING LEAR	Out of my sight!

KENT	See better, Lear; and let me still remain
	The true blank of thine eye.

KING LEAR	Now, by Apollo,--

KENT	                  Now, by Apollo, king,
	Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

KING LEAR	O, vassal! miscreant!

	[Laying his hand on his sword]


ALBANY	|
	|  Dear sir, forbear.
CORNWALL	|


KENT	Do:
	Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
	Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom;
	Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
	I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

KING LEAR	Hear me, recreant!
	On thine allegiance, hear me!
	Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
	Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride
	To come between our sentence and our power,
	Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,
	Our potency made good, take thy reward.
	Five days we do allot thee, for provision
	To shield thee from diseases of the world;
	And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
	Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,
	Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
	The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter,
	This shall not be revoked.

KENT	Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear,
	Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

	[To CORDELIA]

	The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
	That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!

	[To REGAN and GONERIL]

	And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
	That good effects may spring from words of love.
	Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;
	He'll shape his old course in a country new.

	[Exit]

	[Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE,
	BURGUNDY, and Attendants]

GLOUCESTER	Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

KING LEAR	My lord of Burgundy.
	We first address towards you, who with this king
	Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least,
	Will you require in present dower with her,
	Or cease your quest of love?

BURGUNDY	Most royal majesty,
	I crave no more than what your highness offer'd,
	Nor will you tender less.

KING LEAR	Right noble Burgundy,
	When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
	But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands:
	If aught within t

	JULIUS CAESAR


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


JULIUS CAESAR	(CAESAR:)


OCTAVIUS CAESAR	(OCTAVIUS:)	|
		|
MARCUS ANTONIUS	(ANTONY:)	|  triumvirs after death of Julius Caesar.
		|
M. AEMILIUS		|
LEPIDUS	(LEPIDUS:)	|


CICERO		|
		|
PUBLIUS		|  senators.
		|
POPILIUS LENA	(POPILIUS:)	|


MARCUS BRUTUS	(BRUTUS:)	|
		|
CASSIUS		|
		|
CASCA		|
		|
TREBONIUS		|
		|   conspirators against Julius Caesar.
LIGARIUS		|
		|
DECIUS BRUTUS		|
		|
METELLUS CIMBER		|
		|
CINNA		|


FLAVIUS	|
	|   tribunes.
MARULLUS	|


ARTEMIDORUS
Of Cnidos	a teacher of rhetoric. (ARTEMIDORUS:)

A Soothsayer	(Soothsayer:)

CINNA	a poet. (CINNA THE POET:)

Another Poet	(Poet:)


LUCILIUS		|
		|
TITINIUS		|
		|
MESSALA		|  friends to Brutus and Cassius.
		|
Young CATO	(CATO:)	|
		|
VOLUMNIUS		|


VARRO	|
	|
CLITUS	|
	|
CLAUDIUS	|
	|  servants to Brutus.
STRATO	|
	|
LUCIUS	|
	|
DARDANIUS	|


PINDARUS	servant to Cassius.

CALPURNIA	wife to Caesar.

PORTIA	wife to Brutus.

	Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c.
	(First Citizen:)
	(Second Citizen:)
	(Third Citizen:)
	(Fourth Citizen:)
	(First Commoner:)
	(Second Commoner:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Second Soldier:)
	(Third Soldier:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Rome: the neighbourhood of Sardis: the neighbourhood
	of Philippi.




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT I



SCENE I	Rome. A street.


	[Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners]

FLAVIUS	Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home:
	Is this a holiday? what! know you not,
	Being mechanical, you ought not walk
	Upon a labouring day without the sign
	Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

First Commoner	Why, sir, a carpenter.

MARULLUS	Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
	What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
	You, sir, what trade are you?

Second Commoner	Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but,
	as you would say, a cobbler.

MARULLUS	But what trade art thou? answer me directly.

Second Commoner	A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe
	conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

MARULLUS	What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?

Second Commoner	Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet,
	if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

MARULLUS	What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow!

Second Commoner	Why, sir, cobble you.

FLAVIUS	Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

Second Commoner	Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I
	meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's
	matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon
	to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I
	recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon
	neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.

FLAVIUS	But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
	Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

Second Commoner	Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself
	into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday,
	to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.

MARULLUS	Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
	What tributaries follow him to Rome,
	To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?
	You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
	O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
	Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
	Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
	To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
	Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
	The livelong day, with patient expectation,
	To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
	And when you saw his chariot but appear,
	Have you not made an universal shout,
	That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
	To hear the replication of your sounds
	Made in her concave shores?
	And do you now put on your best attire?
	And do you now cull out a holiday?
	And do you now strew flowers in his way
	That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone!
	Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
	Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
	That needs must light on this ingratitude.

FLAVIUS	Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,
	Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
	Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
	Into the channel, till the lowest stream
	Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

	[Exeunt all the Commoners]

	See whether their basest metal be not moved;
	They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
	Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
	This way will I	disrobe the images,
	If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.

MARULLUS	May we do so?
	You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

FLAVIUS	It is no matter; let no images
	Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about,
	And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
	So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
	These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing
	Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
	Who else would soar above the view of men
	And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

	[Exeunt]




	JULIUS CAESAR


ACT I



SCENE II	A public place.



	[Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course;
	CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS,
	CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among
	them a Soothsayer]

CAESAR	Calpurnia!

CASCA	         Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

CAESAR	Calpurnia!

CALPURNIA	Here, my lord.

CAESAR	Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
	When he doth run his course. Antonius!

ANTONY	Caesar, my lord?

CAESAR	Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
	To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say,
	The barren, touched in this holy chase,
	Shake off their sterile curse.

ANTONY	I shall remember:
	When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd.

CAESAR	Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

	[Flourish]

Soothsayer	Caesar!

CAESAR	Ha! who calls?

CASCA	Bid every noise be still: peace yet again!

CAESAR	Who is it in the press that calls on me?
	I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
	Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear.

Soothsayer	Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR	What man is that?

BRUTUS	A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

CAESAR	Set him before me; let me see his face.

CASSIUS	Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

CAESAR	What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.

Soothsayer	Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR	He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.

	[Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS]

CASSIUS	Will you go see the order of the course?

BRUTUS	Not I.

CASSIUS	I pray you, do.

BRUTUS	I am not gamesome: I do lack some part
	Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
	Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
	I'll leave you.

CASSIUS	Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
	I have not from your eyes that gentleness
	And show of love as I was wont to have:
	You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
	Over your friend that loves you.

BRUTUS	Cassius,
	Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look,
	I turn the trouble of my countenance
	Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
	Of late with passions of some difference,
	Conceptions only proper to myself,
	Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;
	But let not therefore my good friends be grieved--
	Among which number, Cassius, be you one--
	Nor construe any further my neglect,
	Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
	Forgets the shows of love to other men.

CASSIUS	Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
	By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
	Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
	Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

BRUTUS	No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,
	But by reflection, by some other things.

CASSIUS	'Tis just:
	And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
	That you have no such mirrors as will turn
	Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
	That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
	Where many of the best respect in Rome,
	Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus
	And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
	Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

BRUTUS	Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
	That you would have me seek into myself
	For that which is not in me?

CASSIUS	Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear:
	And since you know you cannot see yourself
	So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
	Will modestly discover to yourself
	That of yourself which you yet know not of.
	And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:
	Were I a common laugher, or did use
	To stale with ordinary oaths my love
	To every new protester; if you know
	That I do fawn on men and hug them hard
	And after scandal them, or if you know
	That I profess myself in banqueting
	To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

	[Flourish, and shout]

BRUTUS	What means this shouting? I do fear, the people
	Choose Caesar for their king.

CASSIUS	Ay, do you fear it?
	Then must I think you would not have it so.

BRUTUS	I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.
	But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
	What is it that you would impart to me?
	If it be aught toward the general good,
	Set honour in one eye and death i' the other,
	And I will look on both indifferently,
	For let the gods so speed me as I love
	The name of honour more than I fear death.

CASSIUS	I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
	As well as I do know your outward favour.
	Well, honour is the subject of my story.
	I cannot tell what you and other men
	Think of this life; but, for my single self,
	I had as lief not be as live to be
	In awe of such a thing as I myself.
	I was born free as Caesar; so were you:
	We both have fed as well, and we can both
	Endure the winter's cold as well as he:
	For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
	The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
	Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now
	Leap in with me into this angry flood,
	And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word,
	Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
	And bade him follow; so indeed he did.
	The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
	With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
	And stemming it with hearts of controversy;
	But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
	Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!'
	I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,
	Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
	The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
	Did I the tired Caesar. And this man
	Is now become a god, and Cassius is
	A wretched creature and must bend his body,
	If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
	He had a fever when he was in Spain,
	And when the fit 

	KING RICHARD II


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING RICHARD	the Second. (KING RICHARD II:)


JOHN OF GAUNT	Duke of Lancaster		|
			|  uncles to the King.
EDMUND OF LANGLEY	Duke of York  (DUKE OF YORK:)	|


HENRY, surnamed
BOLINGBROKE	(HENRY BOLINGBROKE:)  Duke of Hereford,
	son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	son to the Duke of York.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Duke of Norfolk.

DUKE OF SURREY:

EARL OF SALISBURY:

LORD BERKELEY:


BUSHY	|
	|
BAGOT	|  servants to King Richard.
	|
GREEN	|


EARL
OF NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY,
surnamed HOTSPUR	his son. (HENRY PERCY:)

LORD ROSS:

LORD WILLOUGHBY:

LORD FITZWATER:

BISHOP OF CARLISLE:

Abbot Of
Westminster	(Abbot:)

LORD MARSHAL	(Lord Marshal:)

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:

SIR
PIERCE OF EXTON	(EXTON:)

	Captain of a band of Welshmen. (Captain:)

QUEEN
to King Richard	(QUEEN:)

DUCHESS OF YORK	(DUCHESS OF YORK:)

DUCHESS
OF GLOUCESTER	(DUCHESS:)

	Lady attending on the Queen. (Lady:)

	Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
	Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(First Herald:)
	(Second Herald:)
	(Gardener:)
	(Keeper:)
	(Groom:)
	(Servant:)


SCENE	England and Wales.




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE I	London. KING RICHARD II's palace.


	[Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other
	Nobles and Attendants]

KING RICHARD II	Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
	Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
	Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
	Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
	Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
	Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

JOHN OF GAUNT	I have, my liege.

KING RICHARD II	Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
	If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
	Or worthily, as a good subject should,
	On some known ground of treachery in him?

JOHN OF GAUNT	As near as I could sift him on that argument,
	On some apparent danger seen in him
	Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.

KING RICHARD II	Then call them to our presence; face to face,
	And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
	The accuser and the accused freely speak:
	High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
	In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Many years of happy days befal
	My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Each day still better other's happiness;
	Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
	Add an immortal title to your crown!

KING RICHARD II	We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
	As well appeareth by the cause you come;
	Namely to appeal each other of high treason.
	Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
	Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	First, heaven be the record to my speech!
	In the devotion of a subject's love,
	Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
	And free from other misbegotten hate,
	Come I appellant to this princely presence.
	Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
	And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
	My body shall make good upon this earth,
	Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
	Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
	Too good to be so and too bad to live,
	Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
	The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
	Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
	With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
	And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
	What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
	'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
	The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
	Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
	The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
	Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
	As to be hush'd and nought at all to say:
	First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
	From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
	Which else would post until it had return'd
	These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
	Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
	And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
	I do defy him, and I spit at him;
	Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
	Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
	And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
	Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
	Or any other ground inhabitable,
	Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
	Mean time let this defend my loyalty,
	By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
	Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,
	And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
	Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
	If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
	As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:
	By that and all the rites of knighthood else,
	Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
	What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	I take it up; and by that sword I swear
	Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
	I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
	Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
	And when I mount, alive may I not light,
	If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

KING RICHARD II	What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
	It must be great that can inherit us
	So much as of a thought of ill in him.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;
	That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
	In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
	The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
	Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
	Besides I say and will in battle prove,
	Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
	That ever was survey'd by English eye,
	That all the treasons for these eighteen years
	Complotted and contrived in this land
	Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
	Further I say and further will maintain
	Upon his bad life to make all this good,
	That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
	Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
	And consequently, like a traitor coward,
	Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
	Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
	Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
	To me for justice and rough chastisement;
	And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
	This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

KING RICHARD II	How high a pitch his resolution soars!
	Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

THOMAS MOWBRAY	O, let my sovereign turn away his face
	And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
	Till I have told this slander of his blood,
	How God and good men hate so foul a liar.

KING RICHARD II	Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
	Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
	As he is but my father's brother's son,
	Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
	Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
	Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
	The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:
	He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
	Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
	Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
	Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
	Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
	The other part reserved I by consent,
	For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
	Upon remainder of a dear account,
	Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
	Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,
	I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
	Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
	For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
	The honourable father to my foe
	Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
	A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul
	But ere I last received the sacrament
	I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
	Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
	This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd,
	It issues from the rancour of a villain,
	A recreant and most degenerate traitor
	Which in myself I boldly will defend;
	And interchangeably hurl down my gage
	Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
	To prove myself a loyal gentleman
	Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
	In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
	Your highness to assign our trial day.

KING RICHARD II	Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;
	Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
	This we prescribe, though no physician;
	Deep malice makes too deep incision;
	Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;
	Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
	Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
	We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

JOHN OF GAUNT	To be a make-peace shall become my age:
	Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

KING RICHARD II	And, Norfolk, throw down his.

JOHN OF GAUNT	When, Harry, when?
	Obedience bids I should not bid again.

KING RICHARD II	Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
	My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
	The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
	Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
	To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
	I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here,
	Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
	The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
	Which breathed this poison.

KING RICHARD II	Rage must be withstood:
	Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.
	And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
	The purest treasure mortal times afford
	Is spotless reputation: that away,
	Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
	A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
	Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
	Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
	Take honour from me, and my life is done:
	Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
	In that I live and for that will I die.

KING RICHARD II	Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
	Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
	Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
	Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
	Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,
	Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
	The slavish motive of recanting fear,
	And spit it blee

	KING RICHARD III


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING EDWARD
The Fourth	(KING EDWARD IV:)


EDWARD	Prince of Wales, (PRINCE EDWARD:)	|
	afterwards King Edward V.,	|  sons to
			|  the King.
RICHARD	Duke of York, (YORK:)	|


GEORGE	Duke of Clarence, (CLARENCE:)	|
			|
RICHARD	Duke of Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)  	|  Brothers to
	afterwards King Richard III.,	|  the King.
	(KING RICHARD III:)		|


	A young son of Clarence. (Boy:)

HENRY	Earl of Richmond, (RICHMOND:)
	afterwards King Henry VII.

CARDINAL BOURCHIER	Archbishop of Canterbury. (CARDINAL:)

THOMAS ROTHERHAM	Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

JOHN MORTON	Bishop of Ely. (BISHOP OF ELY:)

DUKE of BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

DUKE of NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

EARL of SURREY	His son. (SURREY:)

EARL RIVERS	Brother to Elizabeth. (RIVERS:)


MARQUIS OF DORSET	(DORSET:)	|
		|  Sons to Elizabeth.
LORD GREY	(GREY:)	|


EARL of OXFORD	(OXFORD:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD STANLEY	(STANLEY:)  Called also EARL of DERBY. (DERBY:)

LORD LOVEL	(LOVEL:)

SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN	(VAUGHAN:)

SIR RICHARD
RATCLIFF	(RATCLIFF:)

SIR WILLIAM
CATESBY	(CATESBY:)

SIR JAMES TYRREL	(TYRREL:)

SIR JAMES BLOUNT	(BLOUNT:)

SIR WALTER HERBERT	(HERBERT:)

SIR ROBERT
BRAKENBURY	Lieutenant of the Tower. (BRAKENBURY:)

CHRISTOPHER
URSWICK	A priest. (CHRISTOPHER:)

	Another Priest. (Priest:)


TRESSEL	|
	|  Gentlemen attending on the Lady Anne.
BERKELEY	|  (Gentleman:)


	Lord Mayor of London. (Lord Mayor:)

	Sheriff of Wiltshire. (Sheriff:)

ELIZABETH	Queen to King Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

MARGARET	Widow of King Henry VI. (QUEEN MARGARET:)

DUCHESS of YORK	Mother to King Edward IV.

LADY ANNE	Widow of Edward Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.;
	afterwards married to Richard.

	A young Daughter of Clarence [MARGARET PLANTAGENET] (Girl:)

	Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III.,
	Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant
	Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers
	Soldiers, &c.
	(Ghost of Prince Edward:)
	(Ghost of King Henry VI:)
	(Ghost of CLARENCE:)
	(Ghost of RIVERS:)
	(Ghost of GREY:)
	(Ghost of VAUGHAN:)
	(Ghost of HASTING:)
	(Ghosts of young Princes:)
	(Ghost of LADY ANNE:)
	(Ghost of BUCKINGHAM:)
	(Pursuivant:)
	(Scrivener:)
	(First Citizen:)
	(Second Citizen:)
	(Third Citizen:)
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(Third Messenger:)
	(Fourth Messenger:)


SCENE	England.




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE I	London. A street.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, solus]

GLOUCESTER	Now is the winter of our discontent
	Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
	And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
	In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
	Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
	Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
	Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
	Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
	Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
	And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
	To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
	He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
	To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
	But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
	Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
	I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
	To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
	I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
	Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
	Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
	Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
	And that so lamely and unfashionable
	That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
	Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
	Have no delight to pass away the time,
	Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
	And descant on mine own deformity:
	And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
	To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
	I am determined to prove a villain
	And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
	Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
	By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
	To set my brother Clarence and the king
	In deadly hate the one against the other:
	And if King Edward be as true and just
	As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
	This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
	About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
	Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
	Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
	Clarence comes.

	[Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY]

	Brother, good day; what means this armed guard
	That waits upon your grace?

CLARENCE	His majesty
	Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
	This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

GLOUCESTER	Upon what cause?

CLARENCE	                  Because my name is George.

GLOUCESTER	Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
	He should, for that, commit your godfathers:
	O, belike his majesty hath some intent
	That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower.
	But what's the matter, Clarence?  may I know?

CLARENCE	Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest
	As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
	He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
	And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.
	And says a wizard told him that by G
	His issue disinherited should be;
	And, for my name of George begins with G,
	It follows in his thought that I am he.
	These, as I learn, and such like toys as these
	Have moved his highness to commit me now.

GLOUCESTER	Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
	'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower:
	My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
	That tempers him to this extremity.
	Was it not she and that good man of worship,
	Anthony Woodville, her brother there,
	That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
	From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
	We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

CLARENCE	By heaven, I think there's no man is secure
	But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds
	That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
	Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
	Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?

GLOUCESTER	Humbly complaining to her deity
	Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
	I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
	If we will keep in favour with the king,
	To be her men and wear her livery:
	The jealous o'erworn widow and herself,
	Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen.
	Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

BRAKENBURY	I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
	His majesty hath straitly given in charge
	That no man shall have private conference,
	Of what degree soever, with his brother.

GLOUCESTER	Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,
	You may partake of any thing we say:
	We speak no treason, man: we say the king
	Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
	Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
	We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
	A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
	And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks:
	How say you sir? Can you deny all this?

BRAKENBURY	With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

GLOUCESTER	Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,
	He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
	Were best he do it secretly, alone.

BRAKENBURY	What one, my lord?

GLOUCESTER	Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?

BRAKENBURY	I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal
	Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

CLARENCE	We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

GLOUCESTER	We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
	Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
	And whatsoever you will employ me in,
	Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,
	I will perform it to enfranchise you.
	Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
	Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

CLARENCE	I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

GLOUCESTER	Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
	Meantime, have patience.

CLARENCE	I must perforce. Farewell.

	[Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard]

GLOUCESTER	Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
	Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,
	That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
	If heaven will take the present at our hands.
	But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

	[Enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS	Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

GLOUCESTER	As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
	Well are you welcome to the open air.
	How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

HASTINGS	With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
	But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
	That were the cause of my imprisonment.

GLOUCESTER	No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
	For they that were your enemies are his,
	And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

HASTINGS	More pity that the eagle should be mew'd,
	While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

GLOUCESTER	What news abroad?

HASTINGS	No news so bad abroad as this at home;
	The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,
	And his physicians fear him mightily.

GLOUCESTER	Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
	O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
	And overmuch consumed his royal person:
	'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
	What, is he in his bed?

HASTINGS	He is.

GLOUCESTER	Go you before, and I will follow you.

	[Exit HASTINGS]

	He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
	Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
	I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
	With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
	And, if I fall not in my deep intent,
	Clarence hath not another day to live:
	Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
	And leave the world for me to bustle in!
	For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
	What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
	The readiest way to make the wench amends
	Is to become her husband and her father:
	The which will I; not all so much for love
	As for another secret close intent,
	By marrying her which I must reach unto.
	But yet I run before my horse to market:
	Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:
	When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. Another street.

	[Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen
	with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner]

LADY ANNE	Set down, set down your honourable load,
	If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
	Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
	The untimely fall of virtuous Lancast

	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


VINCENTIO	the Duke. (DUKE VINCENTIO:)

ANGELO	Deputy.

ESCALUS	an ancient Lord.

CLAUDIO	a young gentleman.

LUCIO	a fantastic.

	Two other gentlemen.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	Provost.


PETER	(FRIAR PETER:)	|
		|  two friars.
THOMAS	(FRIAR THOMAS:)	|


	A Justice.

VARRIUS:

ELBOW	a simple constable.

FROTH	a foolish gentleman.

POMPEY	servant to Mistress Overdone.

ABHORSON	an executioner.

BARNARDINE	a dissolute prisoner.

ISABELLA	sister to Claudio.

MARIANA	betrothed to Angelo.

JULIET	beloved of Claudio.

FRANCISCA	a nun.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	a bawd.

	Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendant.
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Vienna.




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE I	An apartment in the DUKE'S palace.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, ESCALUS, Lords and
	Attendants]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Escalus.

ESCALUS	My lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Of government the properties to unfold,
	Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse;
	Since I am put to know that your own science
	Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
	My strength can give you: then no more remains,
	But that to your sufficiency [           ]
	[                  ] as your Worth is able,
	And let them work. The nature of our people,
	Our city's institutions, and the terms
	For common justice, you're as pregnant in
	As art and practise hath enriched any
	That we remember. There is our commission,
	From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
	I say, bid come before us Angelo.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	What figure of us think you he will bear?
	For you must know, we have with special soul
	Elected him our absence to supply,
	Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,
	And given his deputation all the organs
	Of our own power: what think you of it?

ESCALUS	If any in Vienna be of worth
	To undergo such ample grace and honour,
	It is Lord Angelo.

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  Look where he comes.

	[Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO	Always obedient to your grace's will,
	I come to know your pleasure.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Angelo,
	There is a kind of character in thy life,
	That to the observer doth thy history
	Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings
	Are not thine own so proper as to waste
	Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
	Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,
	Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
	Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
	As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
	But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends
	The smallest scruple of her excellence
	But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
	Herself the glory of a creditor,
	Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech
	To one that can my part in him advertise;
	Hold therefore, Angelo:--
	In our remove be thou at full ourself;
	Mortality and mercy in Vienna
	Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus,
	Though first in question, is thy secondary.
	Take thy commission.

ANGELO	Now, good my lord,
	Let there be some more test made of my metal,
	Before so noble and so great a figure
	Be stamp'd upon it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	No more evasion:
	We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
	Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
	Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
	That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd
	Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
	As time and our concernings shall importune,
	How it goes with us, and do look to know
	What doth befall you here. So, fare you well;
	To the hopeful execution do I leave you
	Of your commissions.

ANGELO	Yet give leave, my lord,
	That we may bring you something on the way.

DUKE VINCENTIO	My haste may not admit it;
	Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
	With any scruple; your scope is as mine own
	So to enforce or qualify the laws
	As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand:
	I'll privily away. I love the people,
	But do not like to stage me to their eyes:
	Through it do well, I do not relish well
	Their loud applause and Aves vehement;
	Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
	That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

ANGELO	The heavens give safety to your purposes!

ESCALUS	Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!

DUKE	I thank you. Fare you well.

	[Exit]

ESCALUS	I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
	To have free speech with you; and it concerns me
	To look into the bottom of my place:
	A power I have, but of what strength and nature
	I am not yet instructed.

ANGELO	'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,
	And we may soon our satisfaction have
	Touching that point.

ESCALUS	I'll wait upon your honour.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE II	A Street.


	[Enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO	If the duke with the other dukes come not to
	composition with the King of Hungary, why then all
	the dukes fall upon the king.

First Gentleman	Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of
	Hungary's!

Second Gentleman	Amen.

LUCIO	Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that
	went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped
	one out of the table.

Second Gentleman	'Thou shalt not steal'?

LUCIO	Ay, that he razed.

First Gentleman	Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain and
	all the rest from their functions: they put forth
	to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in
	the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition
	well that prays for peace.

Second Gentleman	I never heard any soldier dislike it.

LUCIO	I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where
	grace was said.

Second Gentleman	No? a dozen times at least.

First Gentleman	What, in metre?

LUCIO	In any proportion or in any language.

First Gentleman	I think, or in any religion.

LUCIO	Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all
	controversy: as, for example, thou thyself art a
	wicked villain, despite of all grace.

First Gentleman	Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.

LUCIO	I grant; as there may between the lists and the
	velvet. Thou art the list.

First Gentleman	And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou'rt
	a three-piled piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief
	be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou
	art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak
	feelingly now?

LUCIO	I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful
	feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own
	confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I
	live, forget to drink after thee.

First Gentleman	I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?

Second Gentleman	Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free.

LUCIO	Behold, behold. where Madam Mitigation comes! I
	have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to--

Second Gentleman	To what, I pray?

LUCIO	Judge.

Second Gentleman	To three thousand dolours a year.

First Gentleman	Ay, and more.

LUCIO	A French crown more.

First Gentleman	Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou
	art full of error; I am sound.

LUCIO	Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound as
	things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow;
	impiety has made a feast of thee.

	[Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE]

First Gentleman	How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried
	to prison was worth five thousand of you all.

Second Gentleman	Who's that, I pray thee?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.

First Gentleman	Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw
	him carried away; and, which is more, within these
	three days his head to be chopped off.

LUCIO	But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so.
	Art thou sure of this?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam
	Julietta with child.

LUCIO	Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two
	hours since, and he was ever precise in
	promise-keeping.

Second Gentleman	Besides, you know, it draws something near to the
	speech we had to such a purpose.

First Gentleman	But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation.

LUCIO	Away! let's go learn the truth of it.

	[Exeunt LUCIO and Gentlemen]

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what
	with the gallows and what with poverty, I am
	custom-shrunk.

	[Enter POMPEY]

	How now! what's the news with you?

POMPEY	Yonder man is carried to prison.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Well; what has he done?

POMPEY	A woman.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	But what's his offence?

POMPEY	Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What, is there a maid with child by him?

POMPEY	No, but there's a woman with maid by him. You have
	not heard of the proclamation, have you?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What proclamation, man?

POMPEY	All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	And what shall become of those in the city?

POMPEY	They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too,
	but that a wise burgher put in for them.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be
	pulled down?

POMPEY	To the ground, mistress.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth!
	What shall become of me?

POMPEY	Come; fear you not: good counsellors lack no
	clients: though you change your place, you need not
	change your trade; I'll be your tapster still.
	Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that
	have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you
	will be considered.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw.

POMPEY	Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to
	prison; and there's Madam Juliet.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter Provost, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and Officers]

CLAUDIO	Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world?
	Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Provost	I do it not in evil disposition,
	But from Lord Angelo by special charge.

CLAUDIO	Thus can the demigod Authority
	Make us pay down for our offence by weight
	The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will;
	On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.

	[Re-enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO	Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint?

CLAUDIO	From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
	As surfeit is the father of much fast,
	So every scope by the immoderate

  	A LOVER'S COMPLAINT



FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings 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 carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering 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;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the 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 sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or 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 perused, 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 moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan 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 grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.

So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age.

'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your 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 commended,
That maidens' 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 lodged and newly deified.

'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.

'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-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 were as it was, or best without.

'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by 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,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds 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 he desire, 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 th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:

'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.

'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod 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.'

'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.

''All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.

''Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or 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 me
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 fighting outwardly.

''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received 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 invised 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, smiled or made some moan.

''Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.

''Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by s

	LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE

FERDINAND	king of Navarre.


BIRON	|
	|
LONGAVILLE	|  lords attending on the King.
	|
DUMAIN	|


BOYET	|
	|  lords attending on the Princess of France.
MERCADE	|


DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	a fantastical Spaniard.

SIR NATHANIEL	a curate.

HOLOFERNES	a schoolmaster.

DULL	a constable.

COSTARD	a clown.

MOTH	page to Armado.

	A Forester.

	The PRINCESS of France: (PRINCESS:)


ROSALINE	|
	|
MARIA	|  ladies attending on the Princess.
	|
KATHARINE	|


JAQUENETTA	a country wench.

	Lords, Attendants, &c.
	(First Lord:)


SCENE	Navarre.




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT I



SCENE I	The king of Navarre's park.


	[Enter FERDINAND king of Navarre, BIRON, LONGAVILLE
	and DUMAIN]

FERDINAND	Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
	Live register'd upon our brazen tombs
	And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
	When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
	The endeavor of this present breath may buy
	That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
	And make us heirs of all eternity.
	Therefore, brave conquerors,--for so you are,
	That war against your own affections
	And the huge army of the world's desires,--
	Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
	Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
	Our court shall be a little Academe,
	Still and contemplative in living art.
	You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
	Have sworn for three years' term to live with me
	My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes
	That are recorded in this schedule here:
	Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names,
	That his own hand may strike his honour down
	That violates the smallest branch herein:
	If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do,
	Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.

LONGAVILLE	I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast:
	The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
	Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
	Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

DUMAIN	My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
	The grosser manner of these world's delights
	He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
	To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
	With all these living in philosophy.

BIRON	I can but say their protestation over;
	So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
	That is, to live and study here three years.
	But there are other strict observances;
	As, not to see a woman in that term,
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
	And one day in a week to touch no food
	And but one meal on every day beside,
	The which I hope is not enrolled there;
	And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
	And not be seen to wink of all the day--
	When I was wont to think no harm all night
	And make a dark night too of half the day--
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there:
	O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
	Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

FERDINAND	Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.

BIRON	Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:
	I only swore to study with your grace
	And stay here in your court for three years' space.

LONGAVILLE	You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

BIRON	By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
	What is the end of study? let me know.

FERDINAND	Why, that to know, which else we should not know.

BIRON	Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense?

FERDINAND	Ay, that is study's godlike recompense.

BIRON	Come on, then; I will swear to study so,
	To know the thing I am forbid to know:
	As thus,--to study where I well may dine,
	When I to feast expressly am forbid;
	Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
	When mistresses from common sense are hid;
	Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath,
	Study to break it and not break my troth.
	If study's gain be thus and this be so,
	Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
	Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.

FERDINAND	These be the stops that hinder study quite
	And train our intellects to vain delight.

BIRON	Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
	Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain:
	As, painfully to pore upon a book
	To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
	Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:
	Light seeking light doth light of light beguile:
	So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
	Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
	Study me how to please the eye indeed
	By fixing it upon a fairer eye,
	Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed
	And give him light that it was blinded by.
	Study is like the heaven's glorious sun
	That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks:
	Small have continual plodders ever won
	Save base authority from others' books
	These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
	That give a name to every fixed star
	Have no more profit of their shining nights
	Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
	Too much to know is to know nought but fame;
	And every godfather can give a name.

FERDINAND	How well he's read, to reason against reading!

DUMAIN	Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!

LONGAVILLE	He weeds the corn and still lets grow the weeding.

BIRON	The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding.

DUMAIN	How follows that?

BIRON	                  Fit in his place and time.

DUMAIN	In reason nothing.

BIRON	                  Something then in rhyme.

FERDINAND	Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
	That bites the first-born infants of the spring.

BIRON	Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast
	Before the birds have any cause to sing?
	Why should I joy in any abortive birth?
	At Christmas I no more desire a rose
	Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
	But like of each thing that in season grows.
	So you, to study now it is too late,
	Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.

FERDINAND	Well, sit you out: go home, Biron: adieu.

BIRON	No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you:
	And though I have for barbarism spoke more
	Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
	Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore
	And bide the penance of each three years' day.
	Give me the paper; let me read the same;
	And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.

FERDINAND	How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

BIRON	[Reads]  'Item, That no woman shall come within a
	mile of my court:' Hath this been proclaimed?

LONGAVILLE	Four days ago.

BIRON	Let's see the penalty.

	[Reads]

	'On pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this penalty?

LONGAVILLE	Marry, that did I.

BIRON	Sweet lord, and why?

LONGAVILLE	To fright them hence with that dread penalty.

BIRON	A dangerous law against gentility!

	[Reads]

	'Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman
	within the term of three years, he shall endure such
	public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.'
	This article, my liege, yourself must break;
	For well you know here comes in embassy
	The French king's daughter with yourself to speak--
	A maid of grace and complete majesty--
	About surrender up of Aquitaine
	To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father:
	Therefore this article is made in vain,
	Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

FERDINAND	What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.

BIRON	So study evermore is overshot:
	While it doth study to have what it would
	It doth forget to do the thing it should,
	And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
	'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.

FERDINAND	We must of force dispense with this decree;
	She must lie here on mere necessity.

BIRON	Necessity will make us all forsworn
	Three thousand times within this three years' space;
	For every man with his affects is born,
	Not by might master'd but by special grace:
	If I break faith, this word shall speak for me;
	I am forsworn on 'mere necessity.'
	So to the laws at large I write my name:

	[Subscribes]

	And he that breaks them in the least degree
	Stands in attainder of eternal shame:
	Suggestions are to other as to me;
	But I believe, although I seem so loath,
	I am the last that will last keep his oath.
	But is there no quick recreation granted?

FERDINAND	Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted
	With a refined traveller of Spain;
	A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
	That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
	One whom the music of his own vain tongue
	Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
	A man of complements, whom right and wrong
	Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
	This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
	For interim to our studies shall relate
	In high-born words the worth of many a knight
	From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate.
	How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
	But, I protest, I love to hear him lie
	And I will use him for my minstrelsy.

BIRON	Armado is a most illustrious wight,
	A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight.

LONGAVILLE	Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;
	And so to study, three years is but short.

	[Enter DULL with a letter, and COSTARD]

DULL	Which is the duke's own person?

BIRON	This, fellow: what wouldst?

DULL	I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his
	grace's tharborough: but I would see his own person
	in flesh and blood.

BIRON	This is he.

DULL	Signior Arme--Arme--commends you. There's villany
	abroad: this letter will tell you more.

COSTARD	Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.

FERDINAND	A letter from the magnificent Armado.

BIRON	How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words.

LONGAVILLE	A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!

BIRON	To hear? or forbear laughing?

LONGAVILLE	To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or to
	forbear both.

BIRON	Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to
	climb in the merriness.

COSTARD	The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.
	The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.

BIRON	In what manner?

COSTARD	In manner and form following, sir; all those three:
	I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with
	her upon the form, and taken following her into the
	park; which, put together, is in manner and form
	following. Now, sir, for the manner,--it is the
	manner of a man to speak to a woman: for the form,--
	in some form.

BIRON	For the following, sir?

COSTARD	As it shall follow in my correction: and God

	MACBETH


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUNCAN	king of Scotland.


MALCOLM	|
	|  his sons.
DONALBAIN	|


MACBETH	|
	|  generals of the king's army.
BANQUO	|


MACDUFF	|
	|
LENNOX	|
	|
ROSS	|
	|  noblemen of Scotland.
MENTEITH	|
	|
ANGUS	|
	|
CAITHNESS	|


FLEANCE	son to Banquo.

SIWARD	Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces.

YOUNG SIWARD	his son.

SEYTON	an officer attending on Macbeth.

	Boy, son to Macduff. (Son:)

	An English Doctor. (Doctor:)

	A Scotch Doctor. (Doctor:)

	A Soldier.
	A Porter.

	An Old Man

LADY MACBETH:

LADY MACDUFF:

	Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. (Gentlewoman:)

HECATE:

	Three Witches.
	(First Witch:)
	(Second Witch:)
	(Third Witch:)

	Apparitions.
	(First Apparition:)
	(Second Apparition:)
	(Third Apparition:)

	Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers,
	Attendants, and Messengers. (Lord:)
	(Sergeant:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)
	(Third Murderer:)
	(Messenger:)

SCENE	Scotland: England.




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE I	A desert place.


	[Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches]

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

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

Third Witch	That will be ere the set of sun.

First Witch	Where the place?

Second Witch	                  Upon the heath.

Third Witch	There to meet with Macbeth.

First Witch	I come, Graymalkin!

Second Witch	Paddock calls.

Third Witch	Anon.

ALL	Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
	Hover through the fog and filthy air.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE II	A camp near Forres.


	[Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN,
	LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant]

DUNCAN	What bloody man is that? He can report,
	As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
	The newest state.

MALCOLM	                  This is the sergeant
	Who like a good and hardy soldier fought
	'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!
	Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
	As thou didst leave it.

Sergeant	Doubtful it stood;
	As two spent swimmers, that do cling together
	And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald--
	Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
	The multiplying 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:
	For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name--
	Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
	Which smoked with bloody execution,
	Like valour's minion carved out his passage
	Till he faced the slave;
	Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
	Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
	And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

DUNCAN	O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

Sergeant	As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
	Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,
	So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come
	Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:
	No sooner justice had with valour arm'd
	Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
	But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage,
	With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men
	Began a fresh assault.

DUNCAN	Dismay'd not this
	Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Sergeant	Yes;
	As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
	If I say sooth, I must report they were
	As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they
	Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
	Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
	Or memorise another Golgotha,
	I cannot tell.
	But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

DUNCAN	So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
	They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons.

	[Exit Sergeant, attended]

	Who comes here?

	[Enter ROSS]

MALCOLM	                  The worthy thane of Ross.

LENNOX	What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look
	That seems to speak things strange.

ROSS	God save the king!

DUNCAN	Whence camest thou, worthy thane?

ROSS	From Fife, great king;
	Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
	And fan our people cold. Norway himself,
	With terrible numbers,
	Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
	The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;
	Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
	Confronted him with self-comparisons,
	Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm.
	Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,
	The victory fell on us.

DUNCAN	Great happiness!

ROSS	That now
	Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition:
	Nor would we deign him burial of his men
	Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch
	Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

DUNCAN	No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive
	Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death,
	And with his former title greet Macbeth.

ROSS	I'll see it done.

DUNCAN	What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.

	[Exeunt]




	MACBETH


ACT I



SCENE III	A heath near Forres.


	[Thunder. Enter the three Witches]

First Witch	Where hast thou been, sister?

Second Witch	Killing swine.

Third Witch	Sister, where thou?

First Witch	A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
	And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'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'll thither sail,
	And, like a rat without a tail,
	I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

Second Witch	I'll give thee a wind.

First Witch	Thou'rt kind.

Third Witch	And I another.

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

Second Witch	Show me, show me.

First Witch	Here I have a pilot's thumb,
	Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

	[Drum within]

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

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

	[Enter MACBETH and BANQUO]

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

BANQUO	How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these
	So wither'd and so wild in their attire,
	That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
	And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
	That man may question? You seem to understand me,
	By each at once her chappy finger laying
	Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,
	And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
	That you are so.

MACBETH	                  Speak, if you can: what are you?

First Witch	All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!

Second Witch	All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!

Third Witch	All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!

BANQUO	Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear
	Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,
	Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
	Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
	You greet with present grace and great prediction
	Of noble having and of royal hope,
	That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not.
	If you can look into the seeds of time,
	And say which grain will grow and which will not,
	Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
	Your favours nor your hate.

First Witch	Hail!

Second Witch	Hail!

Third Witch	Hail!

First Witch	Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

Second Witch	Not so happy, yet much happier.

Third Witch	Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:
	So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

First Witch	Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

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

	[Witches vanish]

BANQUO	The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
	And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?

MACBETH	Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted
	As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!

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

MACBETH	Your children shall be kings.

BANQUO	You shall be king.

MACBETH	And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?

BANQUO	To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?

	[Enter ROSS and ANGUS]

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

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

ROSS	And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
	He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor:
	In which addition, hail, most worthy thane!
	For it is thine.

BANQUO	                  What, can the devil speak true?

MACBETH	The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me
	In borrow'd robes?

ANGUS	                  Who was the thane lives yet;
	But under heavy judgment bears that life
	Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined
	With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
	With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
	He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
	But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
	Have overthrown him.

MACBETH	[Aside]  Glamis, and thane of Cawdor!
	The greatest is behind.

	[To ROSS and ANGUS]

		  Thanks for your pains.

	[To BANQUO]

	Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
	When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me
	Promised no less to them?

BANQUO	That

	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


The DUKE OF VENICE. (DUKE:)


The PRINCE OF		|
MOROCCO	(MOROCCO:)	|
		|  suitors to Portia.
The PRINCE OF		|
ARRAGON	(ARRAGON:)	|


ANTONIO	a merchant of Venice.

BASSANIO	his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.


SALANIO	|
	|
SALARINO	|
	|  friends to Antonio and Bassanio.
GRATIANO	|
	|
SALERIO	|


LORENZO	in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK	a rich Jew.

TUBAL	a Jew, his friend.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO	the clown, servant to SHYLOCK. (LAUNCELOT:)

OLD GOBBO	father to Launcelot. (GOBBO:)

LEONARDO	servant to BASSANIO.


BALTHASAR	|
	|  servants to PORTIA.
STEPHANO	|


PORTIA	a rich heiress.

NERISSA	her waiting-maid.

JESSICA	daughter to SHYLOCK.

	Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,
	Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.
	(Servant:)
	(Clerk:)

SCENE	Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont,
	the seat of PORTIA, on the Continent.




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE I	Venice. A street.


	[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

ANTONIO	In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
	It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
	But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
	What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
	I am to learn;
	And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
	That I have much ado to know myself.

SALARINO	Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
	There, where your argosies with portly sail,
	Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
	Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
	Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
	That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
	As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SALANIO	Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
	The better part of my affections would
	Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
	Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
	Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
	And every object that might make me fear
	Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
	Would make me sad.

SALARINO	                  My wind cooling my broth
	Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
	What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
	I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
	But I should think of shallows and of flats,
	And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
	Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
	To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
	And see the holy edifice of stone,
	And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
	Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
	Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
	Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
	And, in a word, but even now worth this,
	And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
	To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
	That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
	But tell not me; I know, Antonio
	Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIO	Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
	My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
	Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
	Upon the fortune of this present year:
	Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

SALARINO	Why, then you are in love.

ANTONIO	Fie, fie!

SALARINO	Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
	Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
	For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
	Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
	Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
	Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
	And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
	And other of such vinegar aspect
	That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
	Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

	[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO]

SALANIO	Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
	Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
	We leave you now with better company.

SALARINO	I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
	If worthier friends had not prevented me.

ANTONIO	Your worth is very dear in my regard.
	I take it, your own business calls on you
	And you embrace the occasion to depart.

SALARINO	Good morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIO	Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
	You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

SALARINO	We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

	[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]

LORENZO	My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
	We two will leave you: but at dinner-time,
	I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

BASSANIO	I will not fail you.

GRATIANO	You look not well, Signior Antonio;
	You have too much respect upon the world:
	They lose it that do buy it with much care:
	Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

ANTONIO	I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
	A stage where every man must play a part,
	And mine a sad one.

GRATIANO	Let me play the fool:
	With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
	And let my liver rather heat with wine
	Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
	Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
	Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
	Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice
	By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio--
	I love thee, and it is my love that speaks--
	There are a sort of men whose visages
	Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
	And do a wilful stillness entertain,
	With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
	Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
	As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
	And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
	O my Antonio, I do know of these
	That therefore only are reputed wise
	For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
	If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
	Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
	I'll tell thee more of this another time:
	But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
	For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
	Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
	I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

LORENZO	Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
	I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
	For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANO	Well, keep me company but two years moe,
	Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO	Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANO	Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
	In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

	[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO]

ANTONIO	Is that any thing now?

BASSANIO	Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
	than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two
	grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you
	shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you
	have them, they are not worth the search.

ANTONIO	Well, tell me now what lady is the same
	To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
	That you to-day promised to tell me of?

BASSANIO	'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
	How much I have disabled mine estate,
	By something showing a more swelling port
	Than my faint means would grant continuance:
	Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
	From such a noble rate; but my chief care
	Is to come fairly off from the great debts
	Wherein my time something too prodigal
	Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
	I owe the most, in money and in love,
	And from your love I have a warranty
	To unburden all my plots and purposes
	How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIO	I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
	And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
	Within the eye of honour, be assured,
	My purse, my person, my extremest means,
	Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

BASSANIO	In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
	I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
	The self-same way with more advised watch,
	To find the other forth, and by adventuring both
	I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
	Because what follows is pure innocence.
	I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,
	That which I owe is lost; but if you please
	To shoot another arrow that self way
	Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
	As I will watch the aim, or to find both
	Or bring your latter hazard back again
	And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

ANTONIO	You know me well, and herein spend but time
	To wind about my love with circumstance;
	And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
	In making question of my uttermost
	Than if you had made waste of all I have:
	Then do but say to me what I should do
	That in your knowledge may by me be done,
	And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.

BASSANIO	In Belmont is a lady richly left;
	And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
	Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
	I did receive fair speechless messages:
	Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
	To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
	Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
	For the four winds blow in from every coast
	Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
	Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
	Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
	And many Jasons come in quest of her.
	O my Antonio, had I but the means
	To hold a rival place with one of them,
	I have a mind presages me such thrift,
	That I should questionless be fortunate!

ANTONIO	Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;
	Neither have I money nor commodity
	To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;
	Try what my credit can in Venice do:
	That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
	To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
	Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
	Where money is, and I no question make
	To have it of my trust or for my sake.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA	By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of
	this great world.

NERISSA	You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in
	the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and
	yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit
	with too much as they that starve with nothing. It
	is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
	mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
	competency lives longer.

PORTIA	Good sentences and well pronounced.

NERISSA	They would be better, if well followed.

PORTIA	If to do were as easy as to know what were good to
	do, chapels had been churches and poor men's
	cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that
	follows his own instructions: I can easier teach
	twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the
	twenty to follow mine o

	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


THESEUS	Duke of Athens.

EGEUS	father to Hermia.


LYSANDER	|
	|  in love with Hermia.
DEMETRIUS	|


PHILOSTRATE	master of the revels to Theseus.

QUINCE	a carpenter.

SNUG	a joiner.

BOTTOM	a weaver.

FLUTE	a bellows-mender.

SNOUT	a tinker.

STARVELING	a tailor.

HIPPOLYTA	queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus.

HERMIA	daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander.

HELENA	in love with Demetrius.

OBERON	king of the fairies.

TITANIA	queen of the fairies.

PUCK	or Robin Goodfellow.


PEASEBLOSSOM	|
	|
COBWEB	|
	|  fairies.
MOTH	|
	|
MUSTARDSEED	|


	Other fairies attending their King and Queen.

	Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.

SCENE	Athens, and a wood near it.




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT I



SCENE I	Athens. The palace of THESEUS.


	[Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and
	Attendants]

THESEUS	Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
	Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
	Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow
	This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
	Like to a step-dame or a dowager
	Long withering out a young man revenue.

HIPPOLYTA	Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
	Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
	And then the moon, like to a silver bow
	New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
	Of our solemnities.

THESEUS	Go, Philostrate,
	Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
	Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
	Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
	The pale companion is not for our pomp.

	[Exit PHILOSTRATE]

	Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
	And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
	But I will wed thee in another key,
	With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.

	[Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS]

EGEUS	Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

THESEUS	Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee?

EGEUS	Full of vexation come I, with complaint
	Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
	Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
	This man hath my consent to marry her.
	Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,
	This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;
	Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
	And interchanged love-tokens with my child:
	Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
	With feigning voice verses of feigning love,
	And stolen the impression of her fantasy
	With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
	Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers
	Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth:
	With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart,
	Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
	To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,
	Be it so she; will not here before your grace
	Consent to marry with Demetrius,
	I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,
	As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
	Which shall be either to this gentleman
	Or to her death, according to our law
	Immediately provided in that case.

THESEUS	What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:
	To you your father should be as a god;
	One that composed your beauties, yea, and one
	To whom you are but as a form in wax
	By him imprinted and within his power
	To leave the figure or disfigure it.
	Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

HERMIA	So is Lysander.

THESEUS	                  In himself he is;
	But in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
	The other must be held the worthier.

HERMIA	I would my father look'd but with my eyes.

THESEUS	Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

HERMIA	I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
	I know not by what power I am made bold,
	Nor how it may concern my modesty,
	In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
	But I beseech your grace that I may know
	The worst that may befall me in this case,
	If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

THESEUS	Either to die the death or to abjure
	For ever the society of men.
	Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
	Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
	Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
	You can endure the livery of a nun,
	For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
	To live a barren sister all your life,
	Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
	Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,
	To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
	But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
	Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
	Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

HERMIA	So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
	Ere I will my virgin patent up
	Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
	My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

THESEUS	Take time to pause; and, by the nest new moon--
	The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
	For everlasting bond of fellowship--
	Upon that day either prepare to die
	For disobedience to your father's will,
	Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;
	Or on Diana's altar to protest
	For aye austerity and single life.

DEMETRIUS	Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
	Thy crazed title to my certain right.

LYSANDER	You have her father's love, Demetrius;
	Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

EGEUS	Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,
	And what is mine my love shall render him.
	And she is mine, and all my right of her
	I do estate unto Demetrius.

LYSANDER	I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
	As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
	My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,
	If not with vantage, as Demetrius';
	And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
	I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:
	Why should not I then prosecute my right?
	Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
	Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
	And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
	Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
	Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

THESEUS	I must confess that I have heard so much,
	And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
	But, being over-full of self-affairs,
	My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;
	And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
	I have some private schooling for you both.
	For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
	To fit your fancies to your father's will;
	Or else the law of Athens yields you up--
	Which by no means we may extenuate--
	To death, or to a vow of single life.
	Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?
	Demetrius and Egeus, go along:
	I must employ you in some business
	Against our nuptial and confer with you
	Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

EGEUS	With duty and desire we follow you.

	[Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA]

LYSANDER	How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?
	How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

HERMIA	Belike for want of rain, which I could well
	Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

LYSANDER	Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
	Could ever hear by tale or history,
	The course of true love never did run smooth;
	But, either it was different in blood,--

HERMIA	O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low.

LYSANDER	Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--

HERMIA	O spite! too old to be engaged to young.

LYSANDER	Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--

HERMIA	O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.

LYSANDER	Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
	War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
	Making it momentany as a sound,
	Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
	Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
	That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
	And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
	The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
	So quick bright things come to confusion.

HERMIA	If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
	It stands as an edict in destiny:
	Then let us teach our trial patience,
	Because it is a customary cross,
	As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
	Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers.

LYSANDER	A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.
	I have a widow aunt, a dowager
	Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
	From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
	And she respects me as her only son.
	There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
	And to that place the sharp Athenian law
	Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,
	Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
	And in the wood, a league without the town,
	Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
	To do observance to a morn of May,
	There will I stay for thee.

HERMIA	My good Lysander!
	I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow,
	By his best arrow with the golden head,
	By the simplicity of Venus' doves,
	By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
	And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen,
	When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
	By all the vows that ever men have broke,
	In number more than ever women spoke,
	In that same place thou hast appointed me,
	To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

LYSANDER	Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

	[Enter HELENA]

HERMIA	God speed fair Helena! whither away?

HELENA	Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
	Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!
	Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air
	More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
	When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
	Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,
	Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
	My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
	My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
	Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
	The rest I'd give to be to you translated.
	O, teach me how you look, and with what art
	You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

HERMIA	I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

HELENA	O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

HERMIA	I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

HELENA	O that my prayers could such affection move!

HERMIA	The more I hate, the more he follows me.

HELENA	The more I love, the more he hateth me.

HERMIA	His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

HELENA	None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!

HERMIA	Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
	Lysander and myself will fly this place.
	Before the time I did Lysander see,
	Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me:
	O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
	That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!

LYSANDER	Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
	To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
	Her silver visage in the w

	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ANTIOCHUS	king of Antioch.

PERICLES	prince of Tyre.


HELICANUS	|
	|  two lords of Tyre.
ESCANES	|


SIMONIDES	king of Pentapolis.

CLEON	governor of Tarsus.

LYSIMACHUS	governor of Mytilene.

CERIMON	a lord of Ephesus.

THALIARD	a lord of Antioch.

PHILEMON	servant to Cerimon.

LEONINE	servant to Dionyza.

	Marshal. (Marshal:)

	A Pandar. (Pandar:)

BOULT	his servant.

	The Daughter of Antiochus. (Daughter:)

DIONYZA	wife to Cleon.

THAISA	daughter to Simonides.

MARINA	daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.

LYCHORIDA	nurse to Marina.

	A Bawd. (Bawd:)

	Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates,
	Fishermen, and Messengers. (Lord:)
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Third Lord:)
	(First Knight:)
	(Second Knight:)
	(Third Knight:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(First Sailor:)
	(Second Sailor:)
	(First Pirate:)
	(Second Pirate:)
	(Third Pirate:)
	(First Fisherman:)
	(Second Fisherman:)
	(Third Fisherman:)
	(Messenger:)

DIANA:

GOWER	as Chorus.



SCENE	Dispersedly in various countries.




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I


	[Enter GOWER]

	[Before the palace of Antioch]

	To sing a song that old was sung,
	From ashes ancient Gower is come;
	Assuming man's infirmities,
	To glad your ear, and please your eyes.
	It hath been sung at festivals,
	On ember-eves and holy-ales;
	And lords and ladies in their lives
	Have read it for restoratives:
	The purchase is to make men glorious;
	Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius.
	If you, born in these latter times,
	When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes.
	And that to hear an old man sing
	May to your wishes pleasure bring
	I life would wish, and that I might
	Waste it for you, like taper-light.
	This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great
	Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat:
	The fairest in all Syria,
	I tell you what mine authors say:
	This king unto him took a fere,
	Who died and left a female heir,
	So buxom, blithe, and full of face,
	As heaven had lent her all his grace;
	With whom the father liking took,
	And her to incest did provoke:
	Bad child; worse father! to entice his own
	To evil should be done by none:
	But custom what they did begin
	Was with long use account no sin.
	The beauty of this sinful dame
	Made many princes thither frame,
	To seek her as a bed-fellow,
	In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:
	Which to prevent he made a law,
	To keep her still, and men in awe,
	That whoso ask'd her for his wife,
	His riddle told not, lost his life:
	So for her many a wight did die,
	As yon grim looks do testify.
	What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye
	I give, my cause who best can justify.

	[Exit]




	PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE I	Antioch. A room in the palace.


	[Enter ANTIOCHUS, Prince PERICLES, and followers]

ANTIOCHUS	Young prince of Tyre, you have at large received
	The danger of the task you undertake.

PERICLES	I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul
	Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,
	Think death no hazard in this enterprise.

ANTIOCHUS	Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,
	For the embracements even of Jove himself;
	At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd,
	Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,
	The senate-house of planets all did sit,
	To knit in her their best perfections.

	[Music. Enter the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

PERICLES	See where she comes, apparell'd like the spring,
	Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
	Of every virtue gives renown to men!
	Her face the book of praises, where is read
	Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence
	Sorrow were ever razed and testy wrath
	Could never be her mild companion.
	You gods that made me man, and sway in love,
	That have inflamed desire in my breast
	To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,
	Or die in the adventure, be my helps,
	As I am son and servant to your will,
	To compass such a boundless happiness!

ANTIOCHUS	Prince Pericles,--

PERICLES	That would be son to great Antiochus.

ANTIOCHUS	Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,
	With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;
	For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:
	Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view
	Her countless glory, which desert must gain;
	And which, without desert, because thine eye
	Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.
	Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,
	Drawn by report, adventurous by desire,
	Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,
	That without covering, save yon field of stars,
	Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;
	And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist
	For going on death's net, whom none resist.

PERICLES	Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught
	My frail mortality to know itself,
	And by those fearful objects to prepare
	This body, like to them, to what I must;
	For death remember'd should be like a mirror,
	Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.
	I'll make my will then, and, as sick men do
	Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,
	Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;
	So I bequeath a happy peace to you
	And all good men, as every prince should do;
	My riches to the earth from whence they came;
	But my unspotted fire of love to you.

	[To the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

	Thus ready for the way of life or death,
	I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.

ANTIOCHUS	Scorning advice, read the conclusion then:
	Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed,
	As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.

Daughter	Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!
	Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness!

PERICLES	Like a bold champion, I assume the lists,
	Nor ask advice of any other thought
	But faithfulness and courage.

	[He reads the riddle]

	I am no viper, yet I feed
	On mother's flesh which did me breed.
	I sought a husband, in which labour
	I found that kindness in a father:
	He's father, son, and husband mild;
	I mother, wife, and yet his child.
	How they may be, and yet in two,
	As you will live, resolve it you.

	Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers
	That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts,
	Why cloud they not their sights perpetually,
	If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?
	Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,

	[Takes hold of the hand of the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

	Were not this glorious casket stored with ill:
	But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt
	For he's no man on whom perfections wait
	That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate.
	You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;
	Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music,
	Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to hearken:
	But being play'd upon before your time,
	Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime.
	Good sooth, I care not for you.

ANTIOCHUS	Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life.
	For that's an article within our law,
	As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expired:
	Either expound now, or receive your sentence.

PERICLES	Great king,
	Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
	'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.
	Who has a book of all that monarchs do,
	He's more secure to keep it shut than shown:
	For vice repeated is like the wandering wind.
	Blows dust in other's eyes, to spread itself;
	And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,
	The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear:
	To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts
	Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd
	By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die for't.
	Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's
	their will;
	And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?
	It is enough you know; and it is fit,
	What being more known grows worse, to smother it.
	All love the womb that their first being bred,
	Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.

ANTIOCHUS	[Aside]  Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found
	the meaning:
	But I will gloze with him.--Young prince of Tyre,
	Though by the tenor of our strict edict,
	Your exposition misinterpreting,
	We might proceed to cancel of your days;
	Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree
	As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:
	Forty days longer we do respite you;
	If by which time our secret be undone,
	This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son:
	And until then your entertain shall be
	As doth befit our honour and your worth.

	[Exeunt all but PERICLES]

PERICLES	How courtesy would seem to cover sin,
	When what is done is like an hypocrite,
	The which is good in nothing but in sight!
	If it be true that I interpret false,
	Then were it certain you were not so bad
	As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
	Where now you're both a father and a son,
	By your untimely claspings with your child,
	Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father;
	And she an eater of her mother's flesh,
	By the defiling of her parent's bed;
	And both like serpents are, who though they feed
	On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.
	Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men
	Blush not in actions blacker than the night,
	Will shun no course to keep them from the light.
	One sin, I know, another doth provoke;
	Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke:
	Poison and treason are the hands of sin,
	Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:
	Then, lest my lie be cropp'd to keep you clear,
	By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter ANTIOCHUS]

ANTIOCHUS	He hath found the meaning, for which we mean
	To have his head.
	He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,
	Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin
	In such a loathed manner;
	And therefore instantly this prince must die:
	For by his fall my honour must keep high.
	Who attends us there?

	[Enter THALIARD]

THALIARD	Doth your highness call?

ANTIOCHUS	Thaliard,
	You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes
	Her private actions to your secrecy;
	And for your faithfulness we will advance you.
	Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;
	We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:
	It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
	Because we bid it. Say, is it done?

THALIARD	My lord,
	'Tis done.

ANTIOCHUS	         Enough.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

Messenger	My lord, prince Pericles is fled.

	[Exit]

	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

FENTON	a gentleman.

SHALLOW	a country justice.

SLENDER	cousin to Shallow.


FORD	|
	|  two gentlemen dwelling at Windsor.
PAGE	|


WILLIAM PAGE	a boy, son to Page.

SIR HUGH EVANS	a Welsh parson.

DOCTOR CAIUS	a French physician.

	Host of the Garter Inn. (Host:)


BARDOLPH	|
	|
PISTOL	|  sharpers attending on Falstaff.
	|
NYM	|


ROBIN	page to Falstaff.

SIMPLE	servant to Slender.

RUGBY	servant to Doctor Caius.

MISTRESS FORD:

MISTRESS PAGE:

ANNE PAGE	her daughter.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	servant to Doctor Caius.

	Servants to Page, Ford, &c.
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)


SCENE	Windsor, and the neighbourhood.




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE I	Windsor. Before PAGE's house.


	[Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SHALLOW	Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star-
	chamber matter of it: if he were twenty Sir John
	Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.

SLENDER	In the county of Gloucester, justice of peace and
	'Coram.'

SHALLOW	Ay, cousin Slender, and 'Custalourum.

SLENDER	Ay, and 'Rato-lorum' too; and a gentleman born,
	master parson; who writes himself 'Armigero,' in any
	bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, 'Armigero.'

SHALLOW	Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three
	hundred years.

SLENDER	All his successors gone before him hath done't; and
	all his ancestors that come after him may: they may
	give the dozen white luces in their coat.

SHALLOW	It is an old coat.

SIR HUGH EVANS	The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;
	it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to
	man, and signifies love.

SHALLOW	The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old coat.

SLENDER	I may quarter, coz.

SHALLOW	You may, by marrying.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.

SHALLOW	Not a whit.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Yes, py'r lady; if he has a quarter of your coat,
	there is but three skirts for yourself, in my
	simple conjectures: but that is all one. If Sir
	John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto
	you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my
	benevolence to make atonements and compremises
	between you.

SHALLOW	The council shall bear it; it is a riot.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is not meet the council hear a riot; there is no
	fear of Got in a riot: the council, look you, shall
	desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a
	riot; take your vizaments in that.

SHALLOW	Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword
	should end it.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it:
	and there is also another device in my prain, which
	peradventure prings goot discretions with it: there
	is Anne Page, which is daughter to Master Thomas
	Page, which is pretty virginity.

SLENDER	Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and speaks
	small like a woman.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as
	you will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys,
	and gold and silver, is her grandsire upon his
	death's-bed--Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
	--give, when she is able to overtake seventeen years
	old: it were a goot motion if we leave our pribbles
	and prabbles, and desire a marriage between Master
	Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.

SLENDER	Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.

SLENDER	I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is goot gifts.

SHALLOW	Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff there?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do
	despise one that is false, or as I despise one that
	is not true. The knight, Sir John, is there; and, I
	beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will
	peat the door for Master Page.

	[Knocks]

	What, hoa! Got pless your house here!

PAGE	[Within]  Who's there?

	[Enter PAGE]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice
	Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that
	peradventures shall tell you another tale, if
	matters grow to your likings.

PAGE	I am glad to see your worships well.
	I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	Master Page, I am glad to see you: much good do it
	your good heart! I wished your venison better; it
	was ill killed. How doth good Mistress Page?--and I
	thank you always with my heart, la! with my heart.

PAGE	Sir, I thank you.

SHALLOW	Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.

PAGE	I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.

SLENDER	How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say he
	was outrun on Cotsall.

PAGE	It could not be judged, sir.

SLENDER	You'll not confess, you'll not confess.

SHALLOW	That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 'tis your fault;
	'tis a good dog.

PAGE	A cur, sir.

SHALLOW	Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog: can there be
	more said? he is good and fair. Is Sir John
	Falstaff here?

PAGE	Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good
	office between you.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.

SHALLOW	He hath wronged me, Master Page.

PAGE	Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.

SHALLOW	If it be confessed, it is not redress'd: is not that
	so, Master Page? He hath wronged me; indeed he
	hath, at a word, he hath, believe me: Robert
	Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wronged.

PAGE	Here comes Sir John.

	[Enter FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL]

FALSTAFF	Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to the king?

SHALLOW	Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and
	broke open my lodge.

FALSTAFF	But not kissed your keeper's daughter?

SHALLOW	Tut, a pin! this shall be answered.

FALSTAFF	I will answer it straight; I have done all this.
	That is now answered.

SHALLOW	The council shall know this.

FALSTAFF	'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:
	you'll be laughed at.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.

FALSTAFF	Good worts! good cabbage. Slender, I broke your
	head: what matter have you against me?

SLENDER	Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;
	and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph,
	Nym, and Pistol.

BARDOLPH	You Banbury cheese!

SLENDER	Ay, it is no matter.

PISTOL	How now, Mephostophilus!

SLENDER	Ay, it is no matter.

NYM	Slice, I say! pauca, pauca: slice! that's my humour.

SLENDER	Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is
	three umpires in this matter, as I understand; that
	is, Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is
	myself, fidelicet myself; and the three party is,
	lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter.

PAGE	We three, to hear it and end it between them.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my note-
	book; and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with
	as great discreetly as we can.

FALSTAFF	Pistol!

PISTOL	He hears with ears.

SIR HUGH EVANS	The tevil and his tam! what phrase is this, 'He
	hears with ear'? why, it is affectations.

FALSTAFF	Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse?

SLENDER	Ay, by these gloves, did he, or I would I might
	never come in mine own great chamber again else, of
	seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward
	shovel-boards, that cost me two shilling and two
	pence apiece of Yead Miller, by these gloves.

FALSTAFF	Is this true, Pistol?

SIR HUGH EVANS	No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse.

PISTOL	Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and Master mine,
	I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.
	Word of denial in thy labras here!
	Word of denial: froth and scum, thou liest!

SLENDER	By these gloves, then, 'twas he.

NYM	Be avised, sir, and pass good humours: I will say
	'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's
	humour on me; that is the very note of it.

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

FALSTAFF	What say you, Scarlet and John?

BARDOLPH	Why, sir, for my part I say the gentleman had drunk
	himself out of his five sentences.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is his five senses: fie, what the ignorance is!

BARDOLPH	And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashiered; and
	so conclusions passed the careires.

SLENDER	Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no
	matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again,
	but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick:
	if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have
	the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves.

SIR HUGH EVANS	So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.

FALSTAFF	You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen; you hear it.

	[Enter ANNE PAGE, with wine; MISTRESS FORD
	and MISTRESS PAGE, following]

PAGE	Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within.

	[Exit ANNE PAGE]

SLENDER	O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.

PAGE	How now, Mistress Ford!

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met:
	by your leave, good mistress.

	[Kisses her]

PAGE	Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a
	hot venison pasty to dinner: come, gentlemen, I hope
	we shall drink down all unkindness.

	[Exeunt all except SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SLENDER	I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of
	Songs and Sonnets here.

	[Enter SIMPLE]

	How now, Simple! where have you been? I must wait
	on myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles
	about you, have you?

SIMPLE	Book of Riddles! why, did you not lend it to Alice
	Shortcake upon All-hallowmas last, a fortnight
	afore Michaelmas?

SHALLOW	Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word with
	you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a
	tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh
	here. Do you understand me?

SLENDER	Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so,
	I shall do that that is reason.

SHALLOW	Nay, but understand me.

SLENDER	So I do, sir.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Give ear to his motions, Master Slender: I will
	description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.

SLENDER	Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says: I pray
	you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his
	country, simple though I stand here.

SIR HUGH EVANS	But that is not the question: the

	OTHELLO


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE OF VENICE:

BRABANTIO	a senator.

	Other Senators.
	(Senator:)
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)

GRATIANO	brother to Brabantio.

LODOVICO	kinsman to Brabantio.

OTHELLO	a noble Moor in the service of the Venetian state.

CASSIO	his lieutenant.

IAGO	his ancient.

RODERIGO	a Venetian gentleman.

MONTANO	Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprus.

	Clown, servant to Othello. (Clown:)

DESDEMONA	daughter to Brabantio and wife to Othello.

EMILIA	wife to Iago.

BIANCA	mistress to Cassio.

	Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Gentlemen,
	Musicians, and Attendants.
	(Sailor:)
	(First Officer:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Gentleman:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(Third Gentleman:)
	(First Musician:)


SCENE	Venice: a Sea-port in Cyprus.




	OTHELLO


ACT I



SCENE I	Venice. A street.


	[Enter RODERIGO and IAGO]

RODERIGO	Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly
	That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse
	As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.

IAGO	'Sblood, but you will not hear me:
	If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.

RODERIGO	Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.

IAGO	Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,
	In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
	Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,
	I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
	But he; as loving his own pride and purposes,
	Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
	Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
	And, in conclusion,
	Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,
	'I have already chose my officer.'
	And what was he?
	Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
	One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
	A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
	That never set a squadron in the field,
	Nor the division of a battle knows
	More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
	Wherein the toged consuls can propose
	As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise,
	Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:
	And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
	At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds
	Christian and heathen, must be 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.

RODERIGO	By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

IAGO	Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service,
	Preferment goes by letter and affection,
	And not by old gradation, where each second
	Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
	Whether I in any just term am affined
	To love the Moor.

RODERIGO	I would not follow him then.

IAGO	O, sir, content you;
	I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
	We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
	Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
	Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
	That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
	Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
	For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd:
	Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
	Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
	Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,
	And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,
	Do well thrive by them and when they have lined
	their coats
	Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;
	And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
	It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
	Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
	In following him, I follow but myself;
	Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
	But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
	For when my outward action doth demonstrate
	The native act and figure of my heart
	In 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.

RODERIGO	What a full fortune does the thicklips owe
	If he can carry't thus!

IAGO	Call up her father,
	Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,
	Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,
	And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
	Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
	Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
	As it may lose some colour.

RODERIGO	Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.

IAGO	Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell
	As when, by night and negligence, the fire
	Is spied in populous cities.

RODERIGO	What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

IAGO	Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
	Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!
	Thieves! thieves!

	[BRABANTIO appears above, at a window]

BRABANTIO	What is the reason of this terrible summons?
	What is the matter there?

RODERIGO	Signior, is all your family within?

IAGO	Are your doors lock'd?

BRABANTIO	Why, wherefore ask you this?

IAGO	'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on
	your gown;
	Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
	Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
	Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
	Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
	Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
	Arise, I say.

BRABANTIO	                  What, have you lost your wits?

RODERIGO	Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

BRABANTIO	Not I	what are you?

RODERIGO	My name is Roderigo.

BRABANTIO	The worser welcome:
	I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:
	In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
	My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
	Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
	Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
	To start my quiet.

RODERIGO	Sir, sir, sir,--

BRABANTIO	                  But thou must needs be sure
	My spirit and my place have in them power
	To make this bitter to thee.

RODERIGO	Patience, good sir.

BRABANTIO	What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;
	My house is not a grange.

RODERIGO	Most grave Brabantio,
	In simple and pure soul I come to you.

IAGO	'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not
	serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to
	do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll
	have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse;
	you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have
	coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.

BRABANTIO	What profane wretch art thou?

IAGO	I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter
	and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

BRABANTIO	Thou art a villain.

IAGO	You are--a senator.

BRABANTIO	This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.

RODERIGO	Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you,
	If't be your pleasure and most wise consent,
	As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,
	At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
	Transported, with no worse nor better guard
	But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
	To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor--
	If this be known to you and your allowance,
	We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
	But if you know not this, my manners tell me
	We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
	That, from the sense of all civility,
	I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
	Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,
	I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
	Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes
	In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
	Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:
	If she be in her chamber or your house,
	Let loose on me the justice of the state
	For thus deluding you.

BRABANTIO	Strike on the tinder, ho!
	Give me a taper! call up all my people!
	This accident is not unlike my dream:
	Belief of it oppresses me already.
	Light, I say! light!

	[Exit above]

IAGO	Farewell; for I must leave you:
	It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
	To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall--
	Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,
	However this may gall him with some cheque,
	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]

BRABANTIO	It is too true an evil: gone she is;
	And what's to come of my despised time
	Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
	Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!
	With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!
	How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me
	Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers:
	Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?

RODERIGO	Truly, I think they are.

BRABANTIO	O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!
	Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds
	By what you see them act. Is there not charms
	By which the property of youth and maidhood
	May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
	Of some such thing?

RODERIGO	Yes, sir, I have indeed.

BRABANTIO	Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!
	Some one way, some another. Do you know
	Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?

RODERIGO	I think I can discover him, if you please,
	To get good guard and go along with me.

BRABANTIO	Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call;
	I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!
	And raise some special officers of night.
	On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains.

	[Exeunt]




	OTHELLO


ACT I



SCENE II	Another street.


	[Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches]

IAGO	Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
	Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience
	To do no contrived 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.

OTHELLO	'Tis better as it is.

IAGO	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

	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DON PEDRO	prince of Arragon.

DON JOHN	his bastard brother.

CLAUDIO	a young lord of Florence.

BENEDICK	a young lord of Padua.

LEONATO	governor of Messina.

ANTONIO	his brother.

BALTHASAR	attendant on Don Pedro.


CONRADE	|
	|  followers of Don John.
BORACHIO	|


FRIAR FRANCIS:

DOGBERRY	a constable.

VERGES	a headborough.
	A Sexton.
	A Boy.

HERO	daughter to Leonato.

BEATRICE	niece to Leonato.


MARGARET	|
	|  gentlewomen attending on Hero.
URSULA	|


	Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. (Lord:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Watchman:)
	(First Watchman:)
	(Second Watchman:)


SCENE	Messina.




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT I



SCENE I	Before LEONATO'S house.


	[Enter LEONATO, HERO, and BEATRICE, with a
	Messenger]

LEONATO	I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon
	comes this night to Messina.

Messenger	He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off
	when I left him.

LEONATO	How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

Messenger	But few of any sort, and none of name.

LEONATO	A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings
	home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath
	bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.

Messenger	Much deserved on his part and equally remembered by
	Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the
	promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb,
	the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better
	bettered expectation than you must expect of me to
	tell you how.

LEONATO	He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much
	glad of it.

Messenger	I have already delivered him letters, and there
	appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could
	not show itself modest enough without a badge of
	bitterness.

LEONATO	Did he break out into tears?

Messenger	In great measure.

LEONATO	A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces
	truer than those that are so washed. How much
	better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

BEATRICE	I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the
	wars or no?

Messenger	I know none of that name, lady: there was none such
	in the army of any sort.

LEONATO	What is he that you ask for, niece?

HERO	My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

Messenger	O, he's returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.

BEATRICE	He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged
	Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's fool, reading
	the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged
	him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he
	killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath
	he killed? for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.

LEONATO	Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much;
	but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

Messenger	He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

BEATRICE	You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it:
	he is a very valiant trencherman; he hath an
	excellent stomach.

Messenger	And a good soldier too, lady.

BEATRICE	And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord?

Messenger	A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all
	honourable virtues.

BEATRICE	It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man:
	but for the stuffing,--well, we are all mortal.

LEONATO	You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a
	kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her:
	they never meet but there's a skirmish of wit
	between them.

BEATRICE	Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last
	conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and
	now is the whole man governed with one: so that if
	he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him
	bear it for a difference between himself and his
	horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left,
	to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his
	companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.

Messenger	Is't possible?

BEATRICE	Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as
	the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the
	next block.

Messenger	I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

BEATRICE	No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray
	you, who is his companion? Is there no young
	squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

Messenger	He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.

BEATRICE	O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he
	is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker
	runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if
	he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a
	thousand pound ere a' be cured.

Messenger	I will hold friends with you, lady.

BEATRICE	Do, good friend.

LEONATO	You will never run mad, niece.

BEATRICE	No, not till a hot January.

Messenger	Don Pedro is approached.

	[Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK,
	and BALTHASAR]

DON PEDRO	Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your
	trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid
	cost, and you encounter it.

LEONATO	Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of
	your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should
	remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides
	and happiness takes his leave.

DON PEDRO	You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this
	is your daughter.

LEONATO	Her mother hath many times told me so.

BENEDICK	Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?

LEONATO	Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.

DON PEDRO	You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this
	what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers
	herself. Be happy, lady; for you are like an
	honourable father.

BENEDICK	If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not
	have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as
	like him as she is.

BEATRICE	I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior
	Benedick: nobody marks you.

BENEDICK	What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?

BEATRICE	Is it possible disdain should die while she hath
	such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
	Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come
	in her presence.

BENEDICK	Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I
	am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I
	would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard
	heart; for, truly, I love none.

BEATRICE	A dear happiness to women: they would else have
	been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God
	and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I
	had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man
	swear he loves me.

BENEDICK	God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some
	gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate
	scratched face.

BEATRICE	Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such
	a face as yours were.

BENEDICK	Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

BEATRICE	A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

BENEDICK	I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and
	so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's
	name; I have done.

BEATRICE	You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old.

DON PEDRO	That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior Claudio
	and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath
	invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at
	the least a month; and he heartily prays some
	occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no
	hypocrite, but prays from his heart.

LEONATO	If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn.

	[To DON JOHN]

	Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to
	the prince your brother, I owe you all duty.

DON JOHN	I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank
	you.

LEONATO	Please it your grace lead on?

DON PEDRO	Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.

	[Exeunt all except BENEDICK and CLAUDIO]

CLAUDIO	Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?

BENEDICK	I noted her not; but I looked on her.

CLAUDIO	Is she not a modest young lady?

BENEDICK	Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for
	my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak
	after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex?

CLAUDIO	No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.

BENEDICK	Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high
	praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little
	for a great praise: only this commendation I can
	afford her, that were she other than she is, she
	were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I
	do not like her.

CLAUDIO	Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me
	truly how thou likest her.

BENEDICK	Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?

CLAUDIO	Can the world buy such a jewel?

BENEDICK	Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this
	with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack,
	to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder and Vulcan a
	rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take
	you, to go in the song?

CLAUDIO	In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I
	looked on.

BENEDICK	I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such
	matter: there's her cousin, an she were not
	possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty
	as the first of May doth the last of December. But I
	hope you have no intent to turn husband, have you?

CLAUDIO	I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the
	contrary, if Hero would be my wife.

BENEDICK	Is't come to this? In faith, hath not the world
	one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion?
	Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again?
	Go to, i' faith; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck
	into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away
	Sundays. Look Don Pedro is returned to seek you.

	[Re-enter DON PEDRO]

DON PEDRO	What secret hath held you here, that you followed
	not to Leonato's?

BENEDICK	I would your grace would constrain me to tell.

DON PEDRO	I charge thee on thy allegiance.

BENEDICK	You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb
	man; I would have you think so; but, on my
	allegiance, mark you this, on my allegiance. He is
	in love. With who? now that is your grace's part.
	Mark how short his answer is;--With Hero, Leonato's
	short daughter.

CLAUDIO	If this were so, so were it uttered.

BENEDICK	Like the old tale, my lord: 'it is not so, nor
	'twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be
	so.'

CLAUDIO	If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it
	should be otherwise.

DON PEDRO	Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.

CLAUDIO	You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.

DON PEDRO	By m

	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.


The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof
this pamphlet, without beginning, 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 RAPE OF LUCRECE


	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 kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons
and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During 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 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 Collatinus
the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus
Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' 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 treacherously stealeth
into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the
morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight,
hastily dispatcheth 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 consent
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
government changed from kings to consuls.



	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE



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' unhappily 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.

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 splendor of the sun!
An expired 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 arrived,
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
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 o'er 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, and call'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 either'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.

Their 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's shallow tongue,--
The niggard prodigal that praised 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 limed 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 something too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she, that never coped 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;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory:
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming hither,
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,
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed proposed,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond,
For 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 battle's rage;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.

So that in venturing 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 be 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 closed up mortal eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls' and wolves'

	SONNETS



TO THE ONLY BEGETTER OF
THESE INSUING SONNETS
MR. W. H. ALL HAPPINESS
AND THAT ETERNITY
PROMISED BY
OUR EVER-LIVING POET WISHETH
THE WELL-WISHING
ADVENTURER IN
SETTING FORTH
T. T.


I.

FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light'st 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, makest waste in niggarding.
  Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
  To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

II.

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed 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 deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
  This were to be new made when thou art old,
  And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

III.

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 shall 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?
  Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
  Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

V.

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 cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was:
  But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet,
  Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; 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 refigured 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 highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
  So thou, thyself out-going 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 lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
  Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
  Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.'

IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest 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 unused, the user so destroys it.
  No love toward others in that bosom sits
  That on himself such murderous shame commits.

X.

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
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 lodged 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 growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase:
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
  She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
  Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

XII.

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
  Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

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 hold 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 seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
  Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
  Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

XV.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque'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

	ROMEO AND JULIET


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ESCALUS	prince of Verona. (PRINCE:)

PARIS	a young nobleman, kinsman to the prince.


MONTAGUE	|
	|  heads of two houses at variance with each other.
CAPULET	|


	An old man, cousin to Capulet. (Second Capulet:)

ROMEO	son to Montague.

MERCUTIO	kinsman to the prince, and friend to Romeo.

BENVOLIO	nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.

TYBALT	nephew to Lady Capulet.


FRIAR LAURENCE	|
	|  Franciscans.
FRIAR JOHN	|


BALTHASAR	servant to Romeo.


SAMPSON	|
	|  servants to Capulet.
GREGORY	|


PETER	servant to Juliet's nurse.

ABRAHAM	servant to Montague.

	An Apothecary. (Apothecary:)

	Three Musicians.
	(First Musician:)
	(Second Musician:)
	(Third Musician:)

	Page to Paris; (PAGE:)  another Page; an officer.

LADY MONTAGUE	wife to Montague.

LADY CAPULET	wife to Capulet.

JULIET	daughter to Capulet.

	Nurse to Juliet. (Nurse:)

	Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women,
	relations to both houses; Maskers,
	Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.
	(First Citizen:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(First Watchman:)
	(Second Watchman:)
	(Third Watchman:)
	Chorus.


SCENE	Verona: Mantua.




	ROMEO AND JULIET

	PROLOGUE


	Two households, both alike in dignity,
	In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
	From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
	Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
	From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
	A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
	Whole misadventured piteous overthrows
	Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
	The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
	And the continuance of their parents' rage,
	Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
	Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
	The which if you with patient ears attend,
	What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.




	ROMEO AND JULIET


ACT I



SCENE I	Verona. A public place.


	[Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet,
	armed with swords and bucklers]

SAMPSON	Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

GREGORY	No, for then we should be colliers.

SAMPSON	I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.

GREGORY	Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.

SAMPSON	I strike quickly, being moved.

GREGORY	But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

SAMPSON	A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

GREGORY	To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
	therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

SAMPSON	A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will
	take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

GREGORY	That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes
	to the wall.

SAMPSON	True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
	are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push
	Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids
	to the wall.

GREGORY	The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

SAMPSON	'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I
	have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the
	maids, and cut off their heads.

GREGORY	The heads of the maids?

SAMPSON	Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
	take it in what sense thou wilt.

GREGORY	They must take it in sense that feel it.

SAMPSON	Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and
	'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

GREGORY	'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
	hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes
	two of the house of the Montagues.

SAMPSON	My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.

GREGORY	How! turn thy back and run?

SAMPSON	Fear me not.

GREGORY	No, marry; I fear thee!

SAMPSON	Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

GREGORY	I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as
	they list.

SAMPSON	Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;
	which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

	[Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR]

ABRAHAM	Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON	I do bite my thumb, sir.

ABRAHAM	Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON	[Aside to GREGORY]  Is the law of our side, if I say
	ay?

GREGORY	No.

SAMPSON	No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
	bite my thumb, sir.

GREGORY	Do you quarrel, sir?

ABRAHAM	Quarrel sir! no, sir.

SAMPSON	If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.

ABRAHAM	No better.

SAMPSON	Well, sir.

GREGORY	Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

SAMPSON	Yes, better, sir.

ABRAHAM	You lie.

SAMPSON	Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

	[They fight]

	[Enter BENVOLIO]

BENVOLIO	Part, fools!
	Put up your swords; you know not what you do.

	[Beats down their swords]

	[Enter TYBALT]

TYBALT	What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
	Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

BENVOLIO	I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
	Or manage it to part these men with me.

TYBALT	What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,
	As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
	Have at thee, coward!

	[They fight]

	[Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray;
	then enter Citizens, with clubs]

First Citizen	Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
	Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

	[Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET]

CAPULET	What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!

LADY CAPULET	A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?

CAPULET	My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
	And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

	[Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]

MONTAGUE	Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go.

LADY MONTAGUE	Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

	[Enter PRINCE, with Attendants]

PRINCE	Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
	Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--
	Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
	That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
	With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
	On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
	Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
	And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
	Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
	By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
	Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
	And made Verona's ancient citizens
	Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
	To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
	Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
	If ever you disturb our streets again,
	Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
	For this time, all the rest depart away:
	You Capulet; shall go along with me:
	And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
	To know our further pleasure in this case,
	To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
	Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

	[Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO]

MONTAGUE	Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
	Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

BENVOLIO	Here were the servants of your adversary,
	And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
	I drew to part them: in the instant came
	The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
	Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
	He swung about his head and cut the winds,
	Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:
	While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
	Came more and more and fought on part and part,
	Till the prince came, who parted either part.

LADY MONTAGUE	O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?
	Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

BENVOLIO	Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
	Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
	A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
	Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
	That westward rooteth from the city's side,
	So early walking did I see your son:
	Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
	And stole into the covert of the wood:
	I, measuring his affections by my own,
	That most are busied when they're most alone,
	Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
	And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

MONTAGUE	Many a morning hath he there been seen,
	With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.
	Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
	But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
	Should in the furthest east begin to draw
	The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
	Away from the light steals home my heavy son,
	And private in his chamber pens himself,
	Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
	And makes himself an artificial night:
	Black and portentous must this humour prove,
	Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

BENVOLIO	My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

MONTAGUE	I neither know it nor can learn of him.

BENVOLIO	Have you importuned him by any means?

MONTAGUE	Both by myself and many other friends:
	But he, his own affections' counsellor,
	Is to himself--I will not say how true--
	But to himself so secret and so close,
	So far from sounding and discovery,
	As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
	Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
	Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
	Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
	We would as willingly give cure as know.

	[Enter ROMEO]

BENVOLIO	See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
	I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

MONTAGUE	I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
	To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.

	[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]

BENVOLIO	Good-morrow, cousin.

ROMEO	Is the day so young?

BENVOLIO	But new struck nine.

ROMEO	Ay me! sad hours seem long.
	Was that my father that went hence so fast?

BENVOLIO	It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

ROMEO	Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

BENVOLIO	In love?

ROMEO	Out--

BENVOLIO	Of love?

ROMEO	Out of her favour, where I am in love.

BENVOLIO	Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
	Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

ROMEO	Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
	Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
	Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
	Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
	Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
	Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
	O any thing, of nothing first create!
	O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
	Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
	Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
	sick health!
	Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
	This love feel I, that feel no love in th

	THE TEMPEST


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ALONSO	King of Naples.

SEBASTIAN	his brother.

PROSPERO	the right Duke of Milan.

ANTONIO	his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.

FERDINAND	son to the King of Naples.

GONZALO	an honest old Counsellor.


ADRIAN	|
	|  Lords.
FRANCISCO	|


CALIBAN	a savage and deformed Slave.

TRINCULO	a Jester.

STEPHANO	a drunken Butler.

	Master of a Ship. (Master:)

	Boatswain. (Boatswain:)

	Mariners. (Mariners:)

MIRANDA	daughter to Prospero.

ARIEL	an airy Spirit.


IRIS	|
	|
CERES	|
	|
JUNO	|  presented by Spirits.
	|
Nymphs	|
	|
Reapers	|


	Other Spirits attending on Prospero.


SCENE	A ship at Sea: an island.




	THE TEMPEST


ACT I



SCENE I	On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise
	of thunder and lightning heard.


	[Enter a Master and a Boatswain]

Master	Boatswain!

Boatswain	Here, master: what cheer?

Master	Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely,
	or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

	[Exit]

	[Enter Mariners]

Boatswain	Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!
	yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the
	master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind,
	if room enough!

	[Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND,
	GONZALO, and others]

ALONSO	Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?
	Play the men.

Boatswain	I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO	Where is the master, boatswain?

Boatswain	Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your
	cabins: you do assist the storm.

GONZALO	Nay, good, be patient.

Boatswain	When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers
	for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GONZALO	Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boatswain	None that I more love than myself. You are a
	counsellor; if you can command these elements to
	silence, and work the peace of the present, we will
	not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you
	cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make
	yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of
	the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out
	of our way, I say.

	[Exit]

GONZALO	I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he
	hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is
	perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his
	hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable,
	for our own doth little advantage. If he be not
	born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter Boatswain]

Boatswain	Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring
	her to try with main-course.

	[A cry within]

	A plague upon this howling! they are louder than
	the weather or our office.

	[Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO]

	Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er
	and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN	A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
	incharitable dog!

Boatswain	Work you then.

ANTONIO	Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!
	We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

GONZALO	I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were
	no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an
	unstanched wench.

Boatswain	Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to
	sea again; lay her off.

	[Enter Mariners wet]

Mariners	All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boatswain	What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO	The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,
	For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN	I'm out of patience.

ANTONIO	We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:
	This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning
	The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO	He'll be hang'd yet,
	Though every drop of water swear against it
	And gape at widest to glut him.

	[A confused noise within:   'Mercy on us!'--
	'We split, we split!'--'Farewell, my wife and
	children!'--
	'Farewell, brother!'--'We split, we split, we split!']

ANTONIO	Let's all sink with the king.

SEBASTIAN	Let's take leave of him.

	[Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN]

GONZALO	Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
	acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any
	thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain
	die a dry death.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TEMPEST


ACT I



SCENE II	The island. Before PROSPERO'S cell.


	[Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA]

MIRANDA	If by your art, my dearest father, you have
	Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
	The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
	But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
	Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
	With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
	Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
	Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
	Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
	Had I been any god of power, I would
	Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
	It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
	The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO	Be collected:
	No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
	There's no harm done.

MIRANDA	O, woe the day!

PROSPERO	No harm.
	I have done nothing but in care of thee,
	Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
	Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
	Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
	Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
	And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA	More to know
	Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO	'Tis time
	I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
	And pluck my magic garment from me. So:

	[Lays down his mantle]

	Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
	The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
	The very virtue of compassion in thee,
	I have with such provision in mine art
	So safely ordered that there is no soul--
	No, not so much perdition as an hair
	Betid to any creature in the vessel
	Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
	For thou must now know farther.

MIRANDA	You have often
	Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
	And left me to a bootless inquisition,
	Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

PROSPERO	The hour's now come;
	The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
	Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
	A time before we came unto this cell?
	I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
	Out three years old.

MIRANDA	Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO	By what? by any other house or person?
	Of any thing the image tell me that
	Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA	'Tis far off
	And rather like a dream than an assurance
	That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
	Four or five women once that tended me?

PROSPERO	Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
	That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
	In the dark backward and abysm of time?
	If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
	How thou camest here thou mayst.

MIRANDA	But that I do not.

PROSPERO	Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
	Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
	A prince of power.

MIRANDA	                  Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO	Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
	She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
	Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir
	And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA	O the heavens!
	What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
	Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO	Both, both, my girl:
	By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
	But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA	O, my heart bleeds
	To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
	Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

PROSPERO	My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio--
	I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should
	Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself
	Of all the world I loved and to him put
	The manage of my state; as at that time
	Through all the signories it was the first
	And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
	In dignity, and for the liberal arts
	Without a parallel; those being all my study,
	The government I cast upon my brother
	And to my state grew stranger, being transported
	And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle--
	Dost thou attend me?

MIRANDA	Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO	Being once perfected how to grant suits,
	How to deny them, who to advance and who
	To trash for over-topping, new created
	The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,
	Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
	Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
	To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
	The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
	And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.

MIRANDA	O, good sir, I do.

PROSPERO	                  I pray thee, mark me.
	I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
	To closeness and the bettering of my mind
	With that which, but by being so retired,
	O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
	Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
	Like a good parent, did beget of him
	A falsehood in its contrary as great
	As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
	A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
	Not only with what my revenue yielded,
	But what my power might else exact, like one
	Who having into truth, by telling of it,
	Made such a sinner of his memory,
	To credit his own lie, he did believe
	He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution
	And executing the outward face of royalty,
	With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing--
	Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA	                  Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO	To have no screen between this part he play'd
	And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
	Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
	Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
	He thinks me now incapable; confederates--
	So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples
	To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
	Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
	The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!--
	To most ignoble stooping.

MIRANDA	O the heavens!

PROSPERO	Mark his condition and the event; then tell me
	If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA	I should sin
	To think but nobly of my grandmother:
	Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO	Now the condition.
	The King of Naples, being an enemy
	To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
	Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
	Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
	Should presently extirpate me and mine
	Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan
	With all the honours on my broth

	TIMON OF ATHENS



	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


TIMON	of Athens.


LUCIUS	|
	|
LUCULLUS	|  flattering lords.
	|
SEMPRONIUS	|


VENTIDIUS	one of Timon's false friends.

ALCIBIADES	an Athenian captain.

APEMANTUS	a churlish philosopher.

FLAVIUS	steward to Timon.

	Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. (Poet:)
	(Painter:)
	(Jeweller:)
	(Merchant:)

	An old Athenian. (Old Athenian:)


FLAMINIUS	|
	|
LUCILIUS	|  servants to Timon.
	|
SERVILIUS	|


CAPHIS	|
	|
PHILOTUS	|
	|
TITUS	|
	|  servants to Timon's creditors.
LUCIUS	|
	|
HORTENSIUS	|
	|
And others	|


	A Page. (Page:)

	A Fool. (Fool:)

	Three Strangers.
	(First Stranger:)
	(Second Stranger:)
	(Third Stranger:)


PHRYNIA	|
	|  mistresses to Alcibiades.
TIMANDRA	|


	Cupid and Amazons in the mask. (Cupid:)

	Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers,
	Banditti, and Attendants.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Third Lord:)
	(Fourth Lord:)
	(Senator:)
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)
	(Third Senator:)
	(Soldier:)
	(First Bandit:)
	(Second Bandit:)
	(Third Bandit:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Third Servant:)
	(Varro's First Servant:)
	(Varro's Second Servant:)
	(Lucilius' Servant:)


SCENE	Athens, and the neighbouring woods.




	TIMON OF ATHENS


ACT I



SCENE I	Athens. A hall in Timon's house.


	[Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and
	others, at several doors]

Poet	Good day, sir.

Painter	                  I am glad you're well.

Poet	I have not seen you long: how goes the world?

Painter	It wears, sir, as it grows.

Poet	Ay, that's well known:
	But what particular rarity? what strange,
	Which manifold record not matches? See,
	Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power
	Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.

Painter	I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.

Merchant	O, 'tis a worthy lord.

Jeweller	Nay, that's most fix'd.

Merchant	A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were,
	To an untirable and continuate goodness:
	He passes.

Jeweller:	I have a jewel here--

Merchant	O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir?

Jeweller:	If he will touch the estimate: but, for that--

Poet	[Reciting to himself]  'When we for recompense have
	praised the vile,
	It stains the glory in that happy verse
	Which aptly sings the good.'

Merchant	'Tis a good form.

	[Looking at the jewel]

Jeweller	And rich: here is a water, look ye.

Painter	You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
	To the great lord.

Poet	                  A thing slipp'd idly from me.
	Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
	From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint
	Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
	Provokes itself and like the current flies
	Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Painter	A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?

Poet	Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
	Let's see your piece.

Painter	'Tis a good piece.

Poet	So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.

Painter	Indifferent.

Poet	                  Admirable: how this grace
	Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
	This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
	Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
	One might interpret.

Painter	It is a pretty mocking of the life.
	Here is a touch; is't good?

Poet	I will say of it,
	It tutors nature: artificial strife
	Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

	[Enter certain Senators, and pass over]

Painter	How this lord is follow'd!

Poet	The senators of Athens: happy man!

Painter	Look, more!

Poet	You see this confluence, this great flood
	of visitors.
	I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,
	Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
	With amplest entertainment: my free drift
	Halts not particularly, but moves itself
	In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
	Infects one comma in the course I hold;
	But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
	Leaving no tract behind.

Painter	How shall I understand you?

Poet	I will unbolt to you.
	You see how all conditions, how all minds,
	As well of glib and slippery creatures as
	Of grave and austere quality, tender down
	Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune
	Upon his good and gracious nature hanging
	Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
	All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer
	To Apemantus, that few things loves better
	Than to abhor himself: even he drops down
	The knee before him, and returns in peace
	Most rich in Timon's nod.

Painter	I saw them speak together.

Poet	Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
	Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount
	Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
	That labour on the bosom of this sphere
	To propagate their states: amongst them all,
	Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,
	One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,
	Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
	Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
	Translates his rivals.

Painter	'Tis conceived to scope.
	This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
	With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
	Bowing his head against the sleepy mount
	To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
	In our condition.

Poet	                  Nay, sir, but hear me on.
	All those which were his fellows but of late,
	Some better than his value, on the moment
	Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
	Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
	Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
	Drink the free air.

Painter	Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet	When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
	Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants
	Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top
	Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
	Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Painter	'Tis common:
	A thousand moral paintings I can show
	That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's
	More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
	To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
	The foot above the head.

	[Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself
	courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from
	VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other
	servants following]

TIMON	Imprison'd is he, say you?

Messenger	Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt,
	His means most short, his creditors most strait:
	Your honourable letter he desires
	To those have shut him up; which failing,
	Periods his comfort.

TIMON	Noble Ventidius! Well;
	I am not of that feather to shake off
	My friend when he must need me. I do know him
	A gentleman that well deserves a help:
	Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt,
	and free him.

Messenger	Your lordship ever binds him.

TIMON	Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;
	And being enfranchised, bid him come to me.
	'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
	But to support him after. Fare you well.

Messenger	All happiness to your honour!

	[Exit]

	[Enter an old Athenian]

Old Athenian	Lord Timon, hear me speak.

TIMON	Freely, good father.

Old Athenian	Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.

TIMON	I have so: what of him?

Old Athenian	Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.

TIMON	Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!

LUCILIUS	Here, at your lordship's service.

Old Athenian	This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,
	By night frequents my house. I am a man
	That from my first have been inclined to thrift;
	And my estate deserves an heir more raised
	Than one which holds a trencher.

TIMON	Well; what further?

Old Athenian	One only daughter have I, no kin else,
	On whom I may confer what I have got:
	The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride,
	And I have bred her at my dearest cost
	In qualities of the best. This man of thine
	Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord,
	Join with me to forbid him her resort;
	Myself have spoke in vain.

TIMON	The man is honest.

Old Athenian	Therefore he will be, Timon:
	His honesty rewards him in itself;
	It must not bear my daughter.

TIMON	Does she love him?

Old Athenian	She is young and apt:
	Our own precedent passions do instruct us
	What levity's in youth.

TIMON	[To LUCILIUS]           Love you the maid?

LUCILIUS	Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.

Old Athenian	If in her marriage my consent be missing,
	I call the gods to witness, I will choose
	Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
	And dispossess her all.

TIMON	How shall she be endow'd,
	if she be mated with an equal husband?

Old Athenian	Three talents on the present; in future, all.

TIMON	This gentleman of mine hath served me long:
	To build his fortune I will strain a little,
	For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
	What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
	And make him weigh with her.

Old Athenian	Most noble lord,
	Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.

TIMON	My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.

LUCILIUS	Humbly I thank your lordship: never may
	The state or fortune fall into my keeping,
	Which is not owed to you!

	[Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian]

Poet	Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!

TIMON	I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:
	Go not away. What have you there, my friend?

Painter	A piece of painting, which I do beseech
	Your lordship to accept.

TIMON	Painting is welcome.
	The painting is almost the natural man;
	or since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
	He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are
	Even such as they give out. I like your work;
	And you shall find I like it: wait attendance
	Till you hear further from me.

Painter	The gods preserve ye!

TIMON	Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand;
	We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
	Hath suffer'd under praise.

Jeweller	What, my lord! dispraise?

TIMON	A more satiety of commendations.
	If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
	It would unclew me quite.

Jeweller	My lord, 'tis rated
	As those which sell would give: but you well know,
	Things of like value differing in the owners
	Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord,
	You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

TIMON	Well mock'd.

Merchant	No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
	Which all men speak with him.

TIMON	Look, who comes here: will you be chid?

	[Enter APEMANTUS]

Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship.

Merchant	He'll spare none.

TIMON	Good morrow

	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


	A Lord.		|
			|
CHRISTOPHER SLY	a tinker. (SLY:)		|  Persons in
			|  the Induction.
	Hostess, Page, Players,	|
	Huntsmen, and Servants.	|
	(Hostess:)
	(Page:)
	(A Player:)
	(First Huntsman:)
	(Second Huntsman:)
	(Messenger:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)
	(Third Servant:)


BAPTISTA	a rich gentleman of Padua.

VINCENTIO	an old gentleman of Pisa.

LUCENTIO	son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca.

PETRUCHIO	a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to
	Katharina.


GREMIO	|
	| suitors to Bianca.
HORTENSIO	|


TRANIO	|
	| servants to Lucentio.
BIONDELLO	|


GRUMIO	|
	|
CURTIS	|
	|
NATHANIEL	|
	|
NICHOLAS	|  servants to Petruchio.
	|
JOSEPH	|
	|
PHILIP	|
	|
PETER	|

	A Pedant.


KATHARINA the shrew,	|
		| daughters to Baptista.
BIANCA		|

	Widow.

	Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending
	on Baptista and Petruchio.
	(Tailor:)
	(Haberdasher:)
	(First Servant:)


SCENE	Padua, and Petruchio's country house.




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

	INDUCTION



SCENE I	Before an alehouse on a heath.


	[Enter Hostess and SLY]

SLY	I'll pheeze you, in faith.

Hostess	A pair of stocks, you rogue!

SLY	Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in
	the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror.
	Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa!

Hostess	You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

SLY	No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold
	bed, and warm thee.

Hostess	I know my remedy; I must go fetch the
	third--borough.

	[Exit]

SLY	Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him
	by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come,
	and kindly.

	[Falls asleep]

	[Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train]

Lord	Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:
	Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd;
	And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach.
	Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
	At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?
	I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

First Huntsman	Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
	He cried upon it at the merest loss
	And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
	Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord	Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,
	I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
	But sup them well and look unto them all:
	To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

First Huntsman	I will, my lord.

Lord	What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

Second Huntsman	He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,
	This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

Lord	O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!
	Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!
	Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
	What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
	Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
	A most delicious banquet by his bed,
	And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
	Would not the beggar then forget himself?

First Huntsman	Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

Second Huntsman	It would seem strange unto him when he waked.

Lord	Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.
	Then take him up and manage well the jest:
	Carry him gently to my fairest chamber
	And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
	Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters
	And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
	Procure me music ready when he wakes,
	To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
	And if he chance to speak, be ready straight
	And with a low submissive reverence
	Say 'What is it your honour will command?'
	Let one attend him with a silver basin
	Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers,
	Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
	And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?'
	Some one be ready with a costly suit
	And ask him what apparel he will wear;
	Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
	And that his lady mourns at his disease:
	Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;
	And when he says he is, say that he dreams,
	For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
	This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs:
	It will be pastime passing excellent,
	If it be husbanded with modesty.

First Huntsman	My lord, I warrant you we will play our part,
	As he shall think by our true diligence
	He is no less than what we say he is.

Lord	Take him up gently and to bed with him;
	And each one to his office when he wakes.

	[Some bear out SLY. A trumpet sounds]

	Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:

	[Exit Servingman]

	Belike, some noble gentleman that means,
	Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

	[Re-enter Servingman]

	How now! who is it?

Servant	An't please your honour, players
	That offer service to your lordship.

Lord	Bid them come near.

	[Enter Players]

	Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Players	We thank your honour.

Lord	Do you intend to stay with me tonight?

A Player	So please your lordship to accept our duty.

Lord	With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
	Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son:
	'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:
	I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part
	Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.

A Player	I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.

Lord	'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent.
	Well, you are come to me in a happy time;
	The rather for I have some sport in hand
	Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
	There is a lord will hear you play to-night:
	But I am doubtful of your modesties;
	Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,--
	For yet his honour never heard a play--
	You break into some merry passion
	And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,
	If you should smile he grows impatient.

A Player	Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves,
	Were he the veriest antic in the world.

Lord	Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
	And give them friendly welcome every one:
	Let them want nothing that my house affords.

	[Exit one with the Players]

	Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,
	And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:
	That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber;
	And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance.
	Tell him from me, as he will win my love,
	He bear himself with honourable action,
	Such as he hath observed in noble ladies
	Unto their lords, by them accomplished:
	Such duty to the drunkard let him do
	With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,
	And say 'What is't your honour will command,
	Wherein your lady and your humble wife
	May show her duty and make known her love?'
	And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
	And with declining head into his bosom,
	Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd
	To see her noble lord restored to health,
	Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him
	No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
	And if the boy have not a woman's gift
	To rain a shower of commanded tears,
	An onion will do well for such a shift,
	Which in a napkin being close convey'd
	Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
	See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst:
	Anon I'll give thee more instructions.

	[Exit a Servingman]

	I know the boy will well usurp the grace,
	Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman:
	I long to hear him call the drunkard husband,
	And how my men will stay themselves from laughter
	When they do homage to this simple peasant.
	I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence
	May well abate the over-merry spleen
	Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

	[Exeunt]




	THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

	INDUCTION



SCENE II	A bedchamber in the Lord's house.


	[Enter aloft SLY, with Attendants; some with apparel,
	others with basin and ewer and appurtenances; and Lord]

SLY	For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

First Servant	Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

Second Servant	Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

Third Servant	What raiment will your honour wear to-day?

SLY	I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor
	'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if
	you give me any conserves, give me conserves of
	beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I
	have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings
	than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay,
	sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my
	toes look through the over-leather.

Lord	Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
	O, that a mighty man of such descent,
	Of such possessions and so high esteem,
	Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

SLY	What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher
	Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a
	pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a
	bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker?
	Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if
	she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence
	on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the
	lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not
	bestraught: here's--

Third Servant	O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!

Second Servant	O, this is it that makes your servants droop!

Lord	Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
	As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
	O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
	Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment
	And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
	Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
	Each in his office ready at thy beck.
	Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays,

	[Music]

	And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
	Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch
	Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
	On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
	Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground:
	Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
	Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
	Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
	Above the morning lark or wilt thou hunt?
	Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
	And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

First Servant	Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
	As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

Second Servant	Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight
	Adonis painted by a running brook,
	And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
	Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
	Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord	We'll show thee Io as she was a maid,
	And how she was beguiled and surprised,
	As lively painte

	TITUS ANDRONICUS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SATURNINUS	son to the late Emperor of Rome, and afterwards
	declared Emperor.

BASSIANUS	brother to Saturninus; in love with Lavinia.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	a noble Roman, general against the Goths.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	tribune of the people, and brother to Titus.


LUCIUS	|
	|
QUINTUS	|
	|  sons to Titus Andronicus.
MARTIUS	|
	|
MUTIUS	|


Young LUCIUS	a boy, son to Lucius.

PUBLIUS	son to Marcus the Tribune.


SEMPRONIUS	|
	|
CAIUS	|  kinsmen to Titus.
	|
VALENTINE	|


AEMILIUS	a noble Roman.


ALARBUS	|
	|
DEMETRIUS	|  sons to Tamora.
	|
CHIRON	|


AARON	a Moor, beloved by Tamora.

	A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Romans.
	(Captain:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Clown:)

	Goths and Romans.
	(First Goth:)
	(Second Goth:)
	(Third Goth:)

TAMORA	Queen of the Goths.

LAVINIA	daughter of Titus Andronicus.

	A Nurse. (Nurse:)

	Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and
	Attendants.



SCENE	Rome, and the country near it.




	TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT I



SCENE I	Rome. Before the Capitol.


	[The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes
	and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side,
	SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other
	side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours]

SATURNINUS	Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
	Defend the justice of my cause with arms,
	And, countrymen, my loving followers,
	Plead my successive title with your swords:
	I am his first-born son, that was the last
	That wore the imperial diadem of Rome;
	Then let my father's honours live in me,
	Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.

BASSIANUS	Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right,
	If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,
	Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
	Keep then this passage to the Capitol
	And suffer not dishonour to approach
	The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
	To justice, continence and nobility;
	But let desert in pure election shine,
	And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.

	[Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Princes, that strive by factions and by friends
	Ambitiously for rule and empery,
	Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
	A special party, have, by common voice,
	In election for the Roman empery,
	Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius
	For many good and great deserts to Rome:
	A nobler man, a braver warrior,
	Lives not this day within the city walls:
	He by the senate is accit'd home
	From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
	That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
	Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
	Ten years are spent since first he undertook
	This cause of Rome and chastised with arms
	Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd
	Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
	In coffins from the field;
	And now at last, laden with horror's spoils,
	Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
	Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
	Let us entreat, by honour of his name,
	Whom worthily you would have now succeed.
	And in the Capitol and senate's right,
	Whom you pretend to honour and adore,
	That you withdraw you and abate your strength;
	Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should,
	Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

SATURNINUS	How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!

BASSIANUS	Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally
	In thy uprightness and integrity,
	And so I love and honour thee and thine,
	Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,
	And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
	Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
	That I will here dismiss my loving friends,
	And to my fortunes and the people's favor
	Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.

	[Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS]

SATURNINUS	Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,
	I thank you all and here dismiss you all,
	And to the love and favor of my country
	Commit myself, my person and the cause.

	[Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS]

	Rome, be as just and gracious unto me
	As I am confident and kind to thee.
	Open the gates, and let me in.

BASSIANUS	Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.

	[Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol]

	[Enter a Captain]

Captain	Romans, make way: the good Andronicus.
	Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
	Successful in the battles that he fights,
	With honour and with fortune is return'd
	From where he circumscribed with his sword,
	And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.

	[Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and
	MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin
	covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After
	them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with
	ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths,
	prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The
	Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks]

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
	Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught,
	Returns with precious jading to the bay
	From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
	Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
	To re-salute his country with his tears,
	Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.
	Thou great defender of this Capitol,
	Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!
	Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
	Half of the number that King Priam had,
	Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!
	These that survive let Rome reward with love;
	These that I bring unto their latest home,
	With burial amongst their ancestors:
	Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.
	Titus, unkind and careless of thine own,
	Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
	To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
	Make way to lay them by their brethren.

	[The tomb is opened]

	There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
	And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars!
	O sacred receptacle of my joys,
	Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
	How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
	That thou wilt never render to me more!

LUCIUS	Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
	That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
	Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
	Before this earthy prison of their bones;
	That so the shadows be not unappeased,
	Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	I give him you, the noblest that survives,
	The eldest son of this distressed queen.

TAMORA	Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror,
	Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
	A mother's tears in passion for her son:
	And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
	O, think my son to be as dear to me!
	Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome,
	To beautify thy triumphs and return,
	Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke,
	But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets,
	For valiant doings in their country's cause?
	O, if to fight for king and commonweal
	Were piety in thine, it is in these.
	Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood:
	Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
	Draw near them then in being merciful:
	Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge:
	Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
	These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld
	Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain
	Religiously they ask a sacrifice:
	To this your son is mark'd, and die he must,
	To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

LUCIUS	Away with him! and make a fire straight;
	And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
	Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.

	[Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS]

TAMORA	O cruel, irreligious piety!

CHIRON	Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

DEMETRIUS	Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
	Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
	To tremble under Titus' threatening looks.
	Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal
	The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy
	With opportunity of sharp revenge
	Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent,
	May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths--
	When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen--
	To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

	[Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with
	their swords bloody]

LUCIUS	See, lord and father, how we have perform'd
	Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,
	And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,
	Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky.
	Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren,
	And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Let it be so; and let Andronicus
	Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

	[Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb]

	In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
	Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
	Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
	Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
	Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms,
	No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:
	In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!

	[Enter LAVINIA]

LAVINIA	In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;
	My noble lord and father, live in fame!
	Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears
	I render, for my brethren's obsequies;
	And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy,
	Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome:
	O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
	Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved
	The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!
	Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,
	And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!

	[Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes;
	re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
	Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!

TITUS ANDRONICUS	Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS	And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,
	You that survive, and you that sleep in fame!
	Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all,
	That in your country's service drew your swords:
	But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,
	That hath aspired to Solon's happiness
	And triumphs over chance in honour's bed.
	Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
	Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
	Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust,
	This palliament of white and spotless hue;
	And name thee in election for the empire,
	With these our late-deceased empe

	VENUS AND ADONIS



'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.
RIGHT HONORABLE,

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
burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account
myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage 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 god-father, 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 loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced 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 shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed 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 enraged, 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 dull 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.'

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 so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forced 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,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
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 lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:
Being red, 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;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd 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
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
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!
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

'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.

'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-tempered 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 eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets 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 that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, 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?

'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning:
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 support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till 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,
His louring 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.'

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll 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'll 

	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


PRIAM	king of Troy.


HECTOR	|
	|
TROILUS	|
	|
PARIS	|  his sons.
	|
DEIPHOBUS	|
	|
HELENUS	|


MARGARELON	a bastard son of Priam.


AENEAS	|
	|  Trojan commanders.
ANTENOR	|


CALCHAS	a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks.

PANDARUS	uncle to Cressida.

AGAMEMNON	the Grecian general.

MENELAUS	his brother.


ACHILLES	|
	|
AJAX	|
	|
ULYSSES	|
	|  Grecian princes.
NESTOR	|
	|
DIOMEDES	|
	|
PATROCLUS	|


THERSITES	a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.

ALEXANDER	servant to Cressida.

	Servant to Troilus. (Boy:)

	Servant to Paris.

	Servant to Diomedes. (Servant:)

HELEN	wife to Menelaus.

ANDROMACHE	wife to Hector.

CASSANDRA	daughter to Priam, a prophetess.

CRESSIDA	daughter to Calchas.

	Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.


SCENE	Troy, and the Grecian camp before it.




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

	PROLOGUE


	In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
	The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,
	Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
	Fraught with the ministers and instruments
	Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore
	Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
	Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made
	To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
	The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
	With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
	To Tenedos they come;
	And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
	Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
	The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
	Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
	Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
	And Antenorides, with massy staples
	And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
	Sperr up the sons of Troy.
	Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
	On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
	Sets all on hazard: and hither am I come
	A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
	Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited
	In like conditions as our argument,
	To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
	Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
	Beginning in the middle, starting thence away
	To what may be digested in a play.
	Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are:
	Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE I	Troy. Before Priam's palace.


	[Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS]

TROILUS	Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again:
	Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
	That find such cruel battle here within?
	Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
	Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.

PANDARUS	Will this gear ne'er be mended?

TROILUS	The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength,
	Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness valiant;
	But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
	Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
	Less valiant than the virgin in the night
	And skilless as unpractised infancy.

PANDARUS	Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part,
	I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will
	have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

TROILUS	Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS	Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry
	the bolting.

TROILUS	Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS	Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening.

TROILUS	Still have I tarried.

PANDARUS	Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word
	'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the
	heating of the oven and the baking; nay, you must
	stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

TROILUS	Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
	Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
	At Priam's royal table do I sit;
	And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,--
	So, traitor! 'When she comes!' When is she thence?

PANDARUS	Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw
	her look, or any woman else.

TROILUS	I was about to tell thee:--when my heart,
	As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
	Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
	I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,
	Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
	But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
	Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

PANDARUS	An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's--
	well, go to--there were no more comparison between
	the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I
	would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would
	somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I
	will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but--

TROILUS	O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,--
	When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
	Reply not in how many fathoms deep
	They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
	In Cressid's love: thou answer'st 'she is fair;'
	Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
	Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,
	Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
	In whose comparison all whites are ink,
	Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
	The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense
	Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell'st me,
	As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
	But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
	Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
	The knife that made it.

PANDARUS	I speak no more than truth.

TROILUS	Thou dost not speak so much.

PANDARUS	Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is:
	if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be
	not, she has the mends in her own hands.

TROILUS	Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus!

PANDARUS	I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of
	her and ill-thought on of you; gone between and
	between, but small thanks for my labour.

TROILUS	What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

PANDARUS	Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair
	as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as
	fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care
	I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

TROILUS	Say I she is not fair?

PANDARUS	I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to
	stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so
	I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part,
	I'll meddle nor make no more i' the matter.

TROILUS	Pandarus,--

PANDARUS	Not I.

TROILUS	Sweet Pandarus,--

PANDARUS	Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I
	found it, and there an end.

	[Exit PANDARUS. An alarum]

TROILUS	Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!
	Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
	When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
	I cannot fight upon this argument;
	It is too starved a subject for my sword.
	But Pandarus,--O gods, how do you plague me!
	I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
	And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo.
	As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
	Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
	What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
	Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
	Between our Ilium and where she resides,
	Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood,
	Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
	Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.

	[Alarum. Enter AENEAS]

AENEAS	How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?

TROILUS	Because not there: this woman's answer sorts,
	For womanish it is to be from thence.
	What news, AEneas, from the field to-day?

AENEAS	That Paris is returned home and hurt.

TROILUS	By whom, AEneas?

AENEAS	                  Troilus, by Menelaus.

TROILUS	Let Paris bleed; 'tis but a scar to scorn;
	Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.

	[Alarum]

AENEAS	Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day!

TROILUS	Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'
	But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?

AENEAS	In all swift haste.

TROILUS	Come, go we then together.

	[Exeunt]




	TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE II	The Same. A street.


	[Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER]

CRESSIDA	Who were those went by?

ALEXANDER	Queen Hecuba and Helen.

CRESSIDA	And whither go they?

ALEXANDER	Up to the eastern tower,
	Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
	To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
	Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved:
	He chid Andromache and struck his armourer,
	And, like as there were husbandry in war,
	Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
	And to the field goes he; where every flower
	Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
	In Hector's wrath.

CRESSIDA	                  What was his cause of anger?

ALEXANDER	The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks
	A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
	They call him Ajax.

CRESSIDA	Good; and what of him?

ALEXANDER	They say he is a very man per se,
	And stands alone.

CRESSIDA	So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

ALEXANDER	This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their
	particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion,
	churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man
	into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his
	valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with
	discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he
	hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he
	carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without
	cause, and merry against the hair: he hath the
	joints of every thing, but everything so out of joint
	that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use,
	or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

CRESSIDA	But how should this man, that makes
	me smile, make Hector angry?

ALEXANDER	They say he yesterday coped Hector in the battle and
	struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath
	ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

CRESSIDA	Who comes here?

ALEXANDER	Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

	[Enter PANDARUS]

CRESSIDA	Hector's a gallant man.

ALEXANDER	As may be in the world, lady.

PANDARUS	What's that? what's that?

CRESSIDA	Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

PANDARUS	Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of?
	Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin? When
	were you at Ilium?

CRESSIDA	This morning, uncle.

PANDARUS	What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector
	armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not
	up, was she?

CRESSIDA	Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.

PANDARUS	Even so: Hector was stirring early.

CRESSIDA	That were we talking of, and of his anger.

PANDARUS	Was he 

	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE OF MILAN	Father to Silvia. (DUKE:)


VALENTINE	|
	|  the two Gentlemen.
PROTEUS	|


ANTONIO	Father to Proteus.

THURIO	a foolish rival to Valentine.

EGLAMOUR	Agent for Silvia in her escape.

HOST	where Julia lodges. (Host:)

OUTLAWS	with Valentine.
	(First Outlaw:)
	(Second Outlaw:)
	(Third Outlaw:)

SPEED	a clownish servant to Valentine.

LAUNCE	the like to Proteus.

PANTHINO	Servant to Antonio.

JULIA	beloved of Proteus.

SILVIA	beloved of Valentine.

LUCETTA	waiting-woman to Julia.

	Servants, Musicians.


SCENE	Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua.




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT I



SCENE I	Verona. An open place.


	[Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS]

VALENTINE	Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
	Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
	Were't not affection chains thy tender days
	To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
	I rather would entreat thy company
	To see the wonders of the world abroad,
	Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
	Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
	But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein,
	Even as I would when I to love begin.

PROTEUS	Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
	Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
	Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
	Wish me partaker in thy happiness
	When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
	If ever danger do environ thee,
	Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
	For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

VALENTINE	And on a love-book pray for my success?

PROTEUS	Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

VALENTINE	That's on some shallow story of deep love:
	How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

PROTEUS	That's a deep story of a deeper love:
	For he was more than over shoes in love.

VALENTINE	'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
	And yet you never swum the Hellespont.

PROTEUS	Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.

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

PROTEUS	What?

VALENTINE	To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
	Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth
	With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
	If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
	If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
	However, but a folly bought with wit,
	Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

PROTEUS	So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

VALENTINE	So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.

PROTEUS	'Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.

VALENTINE	Love is your master, for he masters you:
	And he that is so yoked by a fool,
	Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

PROTEUS	Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
	The eating canker dwells, so eating love
	Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

VALENTINE	And writers say, as the most forward bud
	Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
	Even so by love the young and tender wit
	Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
	Losing his verdure even in the prime
	And all the fair effects of future hopes.
	But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
	That art a votary to fond desire?
	Once more adieu! my father at the road
	Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

PROTEUS	And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

VALENTINE	Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.
	To Milan let me hear from thee by letters
	Of thy success in love, and what news else
	Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
	And likewise will visit thee with mine.

PROTEUS	All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

VALENTINE	As much to you at home! and so, farewell.

	[Exit]

PROTEUS	He after honour hunts, I after love:
	He leaves his friends to dignify them more,
	I leave myself, my friends and all, for love.
	Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me,
	Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
	War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
	Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

	[Enter SPEED]

SPEED	Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?

PROTEUS	But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.

SPEED	Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,
	And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

PROTEUS	Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
	An if the shepherd be a while away.

SPEED	You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then,
	and I a sheep?

PROTEUS	I do.

SPEED	Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

PROTEUS	A silly answer and fitting well a sheep.

SPEED	This proves me still a sheep.

PROTEUS	True; and thy master a shepherd.

SPEED	Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

PROTEUS	It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.

SPEED	The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the
	shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks
	not me: therefore I am no sheep.

PROTEUS	The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the
	shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for
	wages followest thy master; thy master for wages
	follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.

SPEED	Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'

PROTEUS	But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?

SPEED	Ay sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her,
	a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a
	lost mutton, nothing for my labour.

PROTEUS	Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

SPEED	If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.

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

SPEED	Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for
	carrying your letter.

PROTEUS	You mistake; I mean the pound,--a pinfold.

SPEED	From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,
	'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to
	your lover.

PROTEUS	But what said she?

SPEED	[First nodding]  Ay.

PROTEUS	Nod--Ay--why, that's noddy.

SPEED	You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask
	me if she did nod; and I say, 'Ay.'

PROTEUS	And that set together is noddy.

SPEED	Now you have taken the pains to set it together,
	take it for your pains.

PROTEUS	No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

SPEED	Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

PROTEUS	Why sir, how do you bear with me?

SPEED	Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing
	but the word 'noddy' for my pains.

PROTEUS	Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

SPEED	And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

PROTEUS	Come come, open the matter in brief: what said she?

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

PROTEUS	Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?

SPEED	Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

PROTEUS	Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?

SPEED	Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no,
	not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter:
	and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I
	fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your
	mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as
	hard as steel.

PROTEUS	What said she? nothing?

SPEED	No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To
	testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned
	me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your
	letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master.

PROTEUS	Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,
	Which cannot perish having thee aboard,
	Being destined to a drier death on shore.

	[Exit SPEED]

	I must go send some better messenger:
	I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
	Receiving them from such a worthless post.

	[Exit]




	THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. Garden of JULIA's house.


	[Enter JULlA and LUCETTA]

JULIA	But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
	Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?

LUCETTA	Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.

JULIA	Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
	That every day with parle encounter me,
	In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

LUCETTA	Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind
	According to my shallow simple skill.

JULIA	What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?

LUCETTA	As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine;
	But, were I you, he never should be mine.

JULIA	What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

LUCETTA	Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.

JULIA	What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?

LUCETTA	Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!

JULIA	How now! what means this passion at his name?

LUCETTA	Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame
	That I, unworthy body as I am,
	Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.

JULIA	Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?

LUCETTA	Then thus: of many good I think him best.

JULIA	Your reason?

LUCETTA	I have no other, but a woman's reason;
	I think him so because I think him so.

JULIA	And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?

LUCETTA	Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.

JULIA	Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me.

LUCETTA	Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.

JULIA	His little speaking shows his love but small.

LUCETTA	Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

JULIA	They do not love that do not show their love.

LUCETTA	O, they love least that let men know their love.

JULIA	I would I knew his mind.

LUCETTA	Peruse this paper, madam.

JULIA	'To Julia.' Say, from whom?

LUCETTA	That the contents will show.

JULIA	Say, say, who gave it thee?

LUCETTA	Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.
	He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,
	Did in your name receive it: pardon the
	fault I pray.

JULIA	Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
	Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
	To whisper and conspire against my youth?
	Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth
	And you an officer fit for the place.
	Or else return no more into my sight.

LUCETTA	To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

JULIA	Will ye be gone?

LUCETTA	                  That you may ruminate.

	[Exit]

JULIA	And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter:
	It were a shame to call her back again
	And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
	What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid,
	And would not force the letter to my view!
	Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that
	Which they would have the profferer construe 'ay.'
	Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love
	That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse
	And presently all humbled kiss the

	TWELFTH NIGHT


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ORSINO	Duke of Illyria. (DUKE ORSINO:)

SEBASTIAN	brother to Viola.

ANTONIO	a sea captain, friend to Sebastian.

	A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. (Captain:)


VALENTINE	|
	|  gentlemen attending on the Duke.
CURIO	|


SIR TOBY BELCH	uncle to Olivia.

SIR ANDREW
AGUECHEEK	(SIR ANDREW:)

MALVOLIO	steward to Olivia.


FABIAN		|
		|  servants to Olivia.
FESTE	a Clown  (Clown:)	|


OLIVIA:

VIOLA:

MARIA	Olivia's woman.

	Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians,
	and other Attendants.
	(Priest:)
	(First Officer:)
	(Second Officer:)
	(Servant:)


SCENE	A city in Illyria, and the sea-coast near it.




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE I	DUKE ORSINO's palace.


	[Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and other Lords;
	Musicians attending]

DUKE ORSINO	If music be the food of love, play on;
	Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
	The appetite may sicken, and so die.
	That strain again! it had a dying fall:
	O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
	That breathes upon a bank of violets,
	Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
	'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
	O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
	That, notwithstanding thy capacity
	Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
	Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
	But falls into abatement and low price,
	Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
	That it alone is high fantastical.

CURIO	Will you go hunt, my lord?

DUKE ORSINO	What, Curio?

CURIO	The hart.

DUKE ORSINO	        Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
	O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
	Methought she purged the air of pestilence!
	That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
	And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
	E'er since pursue me.

	[Enter VALENTINE]

		How now! what news from her?

VALENTINE	So please my lord, I might not be admitted;
	But from her handmaid do return this answer:
	The element itself, till seven years' heat,
	Shall not behold her face at ample view;
	But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk
	And water once a day her chamber round
	With eye-offending brine: all this to season
	A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
	And lasting in her sad remembrance.

DUKE ORSINO	O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
	To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
	How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
	Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
	That live in her; when liver, brain and heart,
	These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
	Her sweet perfections with one self king!
	Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:
	Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE II	The sea-coast.


	[Enter VIOLA, a Captain, and Sailors]

VIOLA	What country, friends, is this?

Captain	This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA	And what should I do in Illyria?
	My brother he is in Elysium.
	Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailors?

Captain	It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

VIOLA	O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

Captain	True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
	Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
	When you and those poor number saved with you
	Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
	Most provident in peril, bind himself,
	Courage and hope both teaching him the practise,
	To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
	Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
	I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
	So long as I could see.

VIOLA	For saying so, there's gold:
	Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
	Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
	The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Captain	Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
	Not three hours' travel from this very place.

VIOLA	Who governs here?

Captain	A noble duke, in nature as in name.

VIOLA	What is the name?

Captain	Orsino.

VIOLA	Orsino! I have heard my father name him:
	He was a bachelor then.

Captain	And so is now, or was so very late;
	For but a month ago I went from hence,
	And then 'twas fresh in murmur,--as, you know,
	What great ones do the less will prattle of,--
	That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA	What's she?

Captain	A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
	That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
	In the protection of his son, her brother,
	Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
	They say, she hath abjured the company
	And sight of men.

VIOLA	                  O that I served that lady
	And might not be delivered to the world,
	Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
	What my estate is!

Captain	That were hard to compass;
	Because she will admit no kind of suit,
	No, not the duke's.

VIOLA	There is a fair behavior in thee, captain;
	And though that nature with a beauteous wall
	Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
	I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
	With this thy fair and outward character.
	I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
	Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
	For such disguise as haply shall become
	The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
	Thou shall present me as an eunuch to him:
	It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing
	And speak to him in many sorts of music
	That will allow me very worth his service.
	What else may hap to time I will commit;
	Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Captain	Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
	When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

VIOLA	I thank thee: lead me on.

	[Exeunt]




	TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE III	OLIVIA'S house.


	[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH	What a plague means my niece, to take the death of
	her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.

MARIA	By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'
	nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great
	exceptions to your ill hours.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, let her except, before excepted.

MARIA	Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest
	limits of order.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am:
	these clothes are good enough to drink in; and so be
	these boots too: an they be not, let them hang
	themselves in their own straps.

MARIA	That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard
	my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish
	knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

MARIA	Ay, he.

SIR TOBY BELCH	He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

MARIA	What's that to the purpose?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

MARIA	Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats:
	he's a very fool and a prodigal.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the
	viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages
	word for word without book, and hath all the good
	gifts of nature.

MARIA	He hath indeed, almost natural: for besides that
	he's a fool, he's a great quarreller: and but that
	he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he
	hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent
	he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

SIR TOBY BELCH	By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
	that say so of him. Who are they?

MARIA	They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

SIR TOBY BELCH	With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to
	her as long as there is a passage in my throat and
	drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystrill
	that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn
	o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
	Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

	[Enter SIR ANDREW]

SIR ANDREW	Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Sweet Sir Andrew!

SIR ANDREW	Bless you, fair shrew.

MARIA	And you too, sir.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

SIR ANDREW	What's that?

SIR TOBY BELCH	My niece's chambermaid.

SIR ANDREW	Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

MARIA	My name is Mary, sir.

SIR ANDREW	Good Mistress Mary Accost,--

SIR TOBY BELCH	You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board
	her, woo her, assail her.

SIR ANDREW	By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
	company. Is that the meaning of 'accost'?

MARIA	Fare you well, gentlemen.

SIR TOBY BELCH	An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst
	never draw sword again.

SIR ANDREW	An you part so, mistress, I would I might never
	draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have
	fools in hand?

MARIA	Sir, I have not you by the hand.

SIR ANDREW	Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

MARIA	Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, bring
	your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.

SIR ANDREW	Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?

MARIA	It's dry, sir.

SIR ANDREW	Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
	keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

MARIA	A dry jest, sir.

SIR ANDREW	Are you full of them?

MARIA	Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: marry,
	now I let go your hand, I am barren.

	[Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH	O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
	see thee so put down?

SIR ANDREW	Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary
	put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
	than a Christian or an ordinary man has: but I am a
	great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.

SIR TOBY BELCH	No question.

SIR ANDREW	An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
	to-morrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY BELCH	Pourquoi, my dear knight?

SIR ANDREW	What is 'Pourquoi'? do or not do? I would I had
	bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
	fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O, had I but
	followed the arts!

SIR TOBY BELCH	Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

SIR ANDREW	Why, would that have mended my hair?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.

SIR ANDREW	But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

SIR TOBY BELCH	Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
	hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs
	and spin it off.

SIR ANDREW	Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece
	will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one
	she'll none of me: the count himself here hard by woos her.

SIR TOBY BELCH	She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above
	her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; 

	THE WINTER'S TALE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


LEONTES	king of Sicilia.

MAMILLIUS	young prince of Sicilia.


CAMILLO	|
	|
ANTIGONUS	|
	|  Four Lords of Sicilia.
CLEOMENES	|
	|
DION	|


POLIXENES	King of Bohemia.

FLORIZEL	Prince of Bohemia.

ARCHIDAMUS	a Lord of Bohemia.

Old Shepherd	reputed father of Perdita. (Shepherd:)

Clown	his son.

AUTOLYCUS	a rogue.

	A Mariner. (Mariner:)

	A Gaoler.  (Gaoler:)

HERMIONE	queen to Leontes.

PERDITA	daughter to Leontes and Hermione.

PAULINA	wife to Antigonus.

EMILIA	a lady attending on Hermione,


MOPSA	|
	|  Shepherdesses.
DORCAS	|


	Other Lords and Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers,
	and Servants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses.
	(First Lord:)
	(Gentleman:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(Third Gentleman:)
	(First Lady:)
	(Second Lady:)
	(Officer:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)

Time	as Chorus.


SCENE	Sicilia, and Bohemia.




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT I



SCENE I	Antechamber in LEONTES' palace.



	[Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS]

ARCHIDAMUS	If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on
	the like occasion whereon my services are now on
	foot, you shall see, as I have said, great
	difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.

CAMILLO	I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia
	means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.

ARCHIDAMUS	Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be
	justified in our loves; for indeed--

CAMILLO	Beseech you,--

ARCHIDAMUS	Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:
	we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know
	not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks,
	that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience,
	may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse
	us.

CAMILLO	You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.

ARCHIDAMUS	Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me
	and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.

CAMILLO	Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.
	They were trained together in their childhoods; and
	there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,
	which cannot choose but branch now. Since their
	more mature dignities and royal necessities made
	separation of their society, their encounters,
	though not personal, have been royally attorneyed
	with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
	embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
	though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and
	embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
	winds. The heavens continue their loves!

ARCHIDAMUS	I think there is not in the world either malice or
	matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable
	comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a
	gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came
	into my note.

CAMILLO	I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it
	is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the
	subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on
	crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to
	see him a man.

ARCHIDAMUS	Would they else be content to die?

CAMILLO	Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should
	desire to live.

ARCHIDAMUS	If the king had no son, they would desire to live
	on crutches till he had one.

	[Exeunt]




	THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT I



SCENE II	A room of state in the same.



	[Enter LEONTES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS,
	POLIXENES, CAMILLO, and Attendants]

POLIXENES	Nine changes of the watery star hath been
	The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
	Without a burthen: time as long again
	Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks;
	And yet we should, for perpetuity,
	Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,
	Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
	With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
	That go before it.

LEONTES	                  Stay your thanks a while;
	And pay them when you part.

POLIXENES	Sir, that's to-morrow.
	I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance
	Or breed upon our absence; that may blow
	No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
	'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd
	To tire your royalty.

LEONTES	We are tougher, brother,
	Than you can put us to't.

POLIXENES	No longer stay.

LEONTES	One seven-night longer.

POLIXENES	Very sooth, to-morrow.

LEONTES	We'll part the time between's then; and in that
	I'll no gainsaying.

POLIXENES	Press me not, beseech you, so.
	There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,
	So soon as yours could win me: so it should now,
	Were there necessity in your request, although
	'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
	Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder
	Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
	To you a charge and trouble: to save both,
	Farewell, our brother.

LEONTES	Tongue-tied, our queen?
	speak you.

HERMIONE	I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
	You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,
	Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure
	All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction
	The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him,
	He's beat from his best ward.

LEONTES	Well said, Hermione.

HERMIONE	To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:
	But let him say so then, and let him go;
	But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,
	We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
	Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure
	The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
	You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
	To let him there a month behind the gest
	Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes,
	I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind
	What lady-she her lord. You'll stay?

POLIXENES	No, madam.

HERMIONE	Nay, but you will?

POLIXENES	                  I may not, verily.

HERMIONE	Verily!
	You put me off with limber vows; but I,
	Though you would seek to unsphere the
	stars with oaths,
	Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
	You shall not go: a lady's 'Verily' 's
	As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?
	Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
	Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
	When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
	My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,'
	One of them you shall be.

POLIXENES	Your guest, then, madam:
	To be your prisoner should import offending;
	Which is for me less easy to commit
	Than you to punish.

HERMIONE	Not your gaoler, then,
	But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
	Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys:
	You were pretty lordings then?

POLIXENES	We were, fair queen,
	Two lads that thought there was no more behind
	But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
	And to be boy eternal.

HERMIONE	Was not my lord
	The verier wag o' the two?

POLIXENES	We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun,
	And bleat the one at the other: what we changed
	Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
	The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
	That any did. Had we pursued that life,
	And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
	With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
	Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd
	Hereditary ours.

HERMIONE	                  By this we gather
	You have tripp'd since.

POLIXENES	O my most sacred lady!
	Temptations have since then been born to's; for
	In those unfledged days was my wife a girl;
	Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
	Of my young play-fellow.

HERMIONE	Grace to boot!
	Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
	Your queen and I are devils: yet go on;
	The offences we have made you do we'll answer,
	If you first sinn'd with us and that with us
	You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not
	With any but with us.

LEONTES	Is he won yet?

HERMIONE	He'll stay my lord.

LEONTES	At my request he would not.
	Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest
	To better purpose.

HERMIONE	                                 Never?

LEONTES	Never, but once.

HERMIONE	What! have I twice said well? when was't before?
	I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
	As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless
	Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
	Our praises are our wages: you may ride's
	With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
	With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal:
	My last good deed was to entreat his stay:
	What was my first? it has an elder sister,
	Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!
	But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?
	Nay, let me have't; I long.

LEONTES	Why, that was when
	Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
	Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
	And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter
	'I am yours for ever.'

HERMIONE	'Tis grace indeed.
	Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:
	The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
	The other for some while a friend.

LEONTES	[Aside]	Too hot, too hot!
	To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
	I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;
	But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment
	May a free face put on, derive a liberty
	From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
	And well become the agent; 't may, I grant;
	But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
	As now they are, and making practised smiles,
	As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere
	The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment
	My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
	Art thou my boy?

MAMILLIUS	                           Ay, my good lord.

LEONTES	I' fecks!
	Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast
	smutch'd thy nose?
	They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
	We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:
	And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf
	Are all call'd neat.--Still virginalling
	Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf!
	Art thou my calf?

MAMILLIUS	                  Yes, if you will, my lord.

LEONTES	Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,
	To be full like me: yet they say we are
	Almost as like as eggs; women say so,
	That will say anything but were they false
	As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false
	As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
	No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true
	To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
	Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!
	Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?--may't be?--
	Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:
	Thou dost make possible things not so held,
	Communicatest with dreams;--how 

	THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM



I.

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,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.


II.

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair,
My 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 fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell;
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.


III.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
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 break an oath, to win a paradise?


IV.

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 showed him favors 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 refused to take her figured 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!


V.

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'll constant prove;
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful
thunder,
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.


VI.

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 hotter 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, bounced in, whereas he stood:
'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'


VII.

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 dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
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 outburneth;
She framed the love, and yet she foil'd the framing;
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.


VIII.

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 lovest the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.


IX.

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's good 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.


X.

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.


XI.

Venus, with young 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, so fell she to him.
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god embraced me,'
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced 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!


XII.

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,


XIII.

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's for ever lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.


XIV.

Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share:
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 tomorrow:'
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.


XV.

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 changed to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;
For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow.

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 succor flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself tomorrow.



	SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC


XVI.

IT was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.

Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practise either, alas, it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel!

But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain
That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
Alas, she could not help it!

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learn

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