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Forward; away!
3 KING HENRY VI
CLIFFORD:
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul!
My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.
Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.
EDWARD:
Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen,
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
WARWICK:
No, 'tis impossible he should escape,
For, though before his face I speak the words
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.
EDWARD:
Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?
RICHARD:
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
EDWARD:
See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently used.
RICHARD:
Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murdering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
WARWICK:
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof let this supply the room:
Measure for measure must be answered.
EDWARD:
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
WARWICK:
I think his understanding is bereft.
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.
RICHARD:
O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth:
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
GEORGE:
If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. |
Forward; away!
3 KING HENRY VI
CLIFFORD:
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul!
My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.
Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.
EDWARD:
Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen,
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
WARWICK:
No, 'tis impossible he should escape,
For, though before his face I speak the words
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.
EDWARD:
Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?
RICHARD:
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
EDWARD:
See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently used.
RICHARD:
Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murdering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
WARWICK:
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof let this supply the room:
Measure for measure must be answered.
EDWARD:
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
WARWICK:
I think his understanding is bereft.
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.
RICHARD:
O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth:
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
GEORGE:
RICHARD:
Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.
EDWARD: |
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
WARWICK:
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
GEORGE:
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
RICHARD:
Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
EDWARD:
Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee.
GEORGE:
Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?
WARWICK:
They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont.
RICHARD:
What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul,
If this right hand would buy two hour's life,
That I in all despite might rail at him,
This hand should chop it off, and with the
issuing blood
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
WARWICK:
Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's stands.
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king:
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen:
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.
First will I see the coronation;
And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
EDWARD:
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,
And never will I undertake the thing
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.
RICHARD:
Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;
For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.
WARWICK:
Tut, that's a foolish observation:
Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. |
Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.
3 KING HENRY VI
First Keeper:
Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;
For through this laund anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.
Second Keeper:
I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.
First Keeper:
That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
Second Keeper:
Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.
KING HENRY VI:
From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?
First Keeper:
Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:
This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.
KING HENRY VI:
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
For wise men say it is the wisest course.
Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.
3 KING HENRY VI
First Keeper:
Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;
For through this laund anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.
Second Keeper:
I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.
First Keeper:
That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
Second Keeper:
Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.
KING HENRY VI:
From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?
First Keeper:
Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:
This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.
KING HENRY VI:
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
Second Keeper:
Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
First Keeper:
Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.
KING HENRY VI:
My queen and son are gone to France for aid;
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister
To wife for Edward: if this news be true,
Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;
For Warwick is a subtle orator,
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
By this account then Margaret may win him;
For she's a woman to be pitied much:
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; |
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give;
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry,
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed;
He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins the king from her,
With promise of his sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!
Second Keeper:
Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?
KING HENRY VI:
More than I seem, and less than I was born to:
A man at least, for less I should not be;
And men may talk of kings, and why not I?
Second Keeper:
Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.
KING HENRY VI:
Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.
Second Keeper:
But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?
KING HENRY VI:
My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
Second Keeper:
Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,
Your crown content and you must be contented
To go along with us; for as we think,
You are the king King Edward hath deposed;
And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance
Will apprehend you as his enemy.
KING HENRY VI:
But did you never swear, and break an oath?
Second Keeper:
No, never such an oath; nor will not now.
KING HENRY VI:
Where did you dwell when I was King of England?
Second Keeper:
Here in this country, where we now remain.
KING HENRY VI:
I was anointed king at nine months old;
My father and my grandfather were kings,
And you were sworn true subjects unto me:
And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?
First Keeper:
No;
For we were subjects but while you were king.
KING HENRY VI:
Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater gust;
Such is the lightness of you common men.
But do not break your oaths; for of that sin
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;
And be you kings, command, and I'll obey.
First Keeper:
We are true subjects to the king, King Edward.
KING HENRY VI:
So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as King Edward is.
First Keeper:
We charge you, in God's name, and the king's,
To go with us unto the officers.
KING HENRY VI:
In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:
And what God will, that let your king perform;
And what he will, I humbly yield unto.
3 KING HENRY VI
KING EDWARD IV:
Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field
This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, |
His lands then seized on by the conqueror:
Her suit is now to repossess those lands;
Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
The worthy gentleman did lose his life.
GLOUCESTER:
Your highness shall do well to grant her suit;
It were dishonour to deny it her.
KING EDWARD IV:
It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.
GLOUCESTER:
CLARENCE:
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
Widow, we will consider of your suit;
And come some other time to know our mind.
LADY GREY:
Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:
May it please your highness to resolve me now;
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.
GLOUCESTER:
CLARENCE:
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.
CLARENCE:
GLOUCESTER:
LADY GREY:
Three, my most gracious lord.
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.
LADY GREY:
Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.
KING EDWARD IV:
Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit.
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?
LADY GREY:
Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.
KING EDWARD IV:
And would you not do much to do them good?
LADY GREY:
To do them good, I would sustain some harm.
KING EDWARD IV:
Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.
LADY GREY:
Therefore I came unto your majesty.
KING EDWARD IV:
I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.
LADY GREY:
So shall you bind me to your highness' service.
KING EDWARD IV:
What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?
LADY GREY:
What you command, that rests in me to do.
KING EDWARD IV:
But you will take exceptions to my boon.
LADY GREY:
No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.
KING EDWARD IV:
Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.
LADY GREY:
Why, then I will do what your grace commands.
GLOUCESTER:
CLARENCE:
LADY GREY:
Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task?
KING EDWARD IV:
An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.
LADY GREY:
That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.
KING EDWARD IV:
Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.
LADY GREY:
I take my leave with many thousand thanks.
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.
LADY GREY:
The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.
KING EDWARD IV:
Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?
LADY GREY:
My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.
KING EDWARD IV:
No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.
LADY GREY:
Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.
KING EDWARD IV:
But now you partly may perceive my mind.
LADY GREY: |
My mind will never grant what I perceive
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.
KING EDWARD IV:
To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.
LADY GREY:
To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.
KING EDWARD IV:
Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.
LADY GREY:
Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.
KING EDWARD IV:
Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.
LADY GREY:
Herein your highness wrongs both them and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit:
Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.'
KING EDWARD IV:
Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request;
No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand.
LADY GREY:
Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.
GLOUCESTER:
CLARENCE:
KING EDWARD IV:
LADY GREY:
'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord:
I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.
KING EDWARD IV:
Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee
I speak no more than what my soul intends;
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.
LADY GREY:
And that is more than I will yield unto:
I know I am too mean to be your queen,
And yet too good to be your concubine.
KING EDWARD IV:
You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen.
LADY GREY:
'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.
KING EDWARD IV:
No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,
Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.
GLOUCESTER:
CLARENCE:
KING EDWARD IV:
Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.
GLOUCESTER:
The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.
KING EDWARD IV:
You'll think it strange if I should marry her.
CLARENCE:
To whom, my lord?
KING EDWARD IV:
Why, Clarence, to myself.
GLOUCESTER:
That would be ten days' wonder at the least.
CLARENCE:
That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.
GLOUCESTER:
By so much is the wonder in extremes.
KING EDWARD IV:
Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.
Nobleman:
My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.
KING EDWARD IV:
See that he be convey'd unto the Tower:
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his apprehension.
Widow, go you along. |
Lords, use her honourably.
GLOUCESTER:
Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for!
And yet, between my soul's desire and me--
The lustful Edward's title buried--
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;
Like one that stands upon a promontory,
Lords, use her honourably.
GLOUCESTER:
Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for!
And yet, between my soul's desire and me--
The lustful Edward's title buried--
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:
So do I wish the crown, being so far off;
And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;
And so I say, I'll cut the causes off,
Flattering me with impossibilities.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miserable thought! and more unlikely
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be beloved?
O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such
As are of better person than myself,
I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,
And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,
Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head
Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives stand between me and home:
And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way and straying from the way;
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling desperately to find it out,--
Torment myself to catch the English crown:
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,
And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.
I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;
I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, |
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
I can add colours to the chameleon,
Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,
And set the murderous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.
3 KING HENRY VI
KING LEWIS XI:
Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state
And birth, that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.
QUEEN MARGARET:
No, mighty King of France: now Margaret
Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve
Where kings command. I was, I must confess,
Great Albion's queen in former golden days:
But now mischance hath trod my title down,
And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
And to my humble seat conform myself.
KING LEWIS XI:
Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?
QUEEN MARGARET:
From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.
KING LEWIS XI:
Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
And sit thee by our side:
Yield not thy neck
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
It shall be eased, if France can yield relief.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis,
That Henry, sole possessor of my love,
Is of a king become a banish'd man,
And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn;
While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York
Usurps the regal title and the seat
Of England's true-anointed lawful king.
This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,
With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir,
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;
And if thou fail us, all our hope is done:
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;
Our people and our peers are both misled,
Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight,
And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.
KING LEWIS XI:
Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm,
While we bethink a means to break it off.
QUEEN MARGARET:
The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.
KING LEWIS XI:
The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee.
QUEEN MARGARET:
O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!
KING LEWIS XI:
What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?
QUEEN MARGARET:
Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.
KING LEWIS XI:
Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?
QUEEN MARGARET:
Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
For this is he that moves both wind and tide.
WARWICK:
From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,
First, to do greetings to thy royal person;
And then to crave a league of amity;
And lastly, to confirm that amity
With a nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,
To England's king in lawful marriage.
QUEEN MARGARET:
WARWICK:
QUEEN MARGARET:
King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak,
Before you answer Warwick. |
His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
But from deceit bred by necessity;
His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
For how can tyrants safely govern home,
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,
That Henry liveth still: but were he dead,
Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.
Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour;
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.
WARWICK:
Injurious Margaret!
PRINCE EDWARD:
And why not queen?
WARWICK:
Because thy father Henry did usurp;
And thou no more are prince than she is queen.
OXFORD:
Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,
Who by his prowess conquered all France:
From these our Henry lineally descends.
WARWICK:
Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,
You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost
All that which Henry Fifth had gotten?
Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.
But for the rest, you tell a pedigree
Of threescore and two years; a silly time
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.
OXFORD:
Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,
Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years,
And not bewray thy treason with a blush?
WARWICK:
Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?
For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king.
OXFORD:
Call him my king by whose injurious doom
My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,
Was done to death? and more than so, my father,
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
When nature brought him to the door of death?
No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.
WARWICK:
And I the house of York.
KING LEWIS XI:
Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,
Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,
While I use further conference with Warwick.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not!
KING LEWIS XI:
Now Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,
Is Edward your true king? for I were loath
To link with him that were not lawful chosen.
WARWICK:
Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.
KING LEWIS XI:
But is he gracious in the people's eye?
WARWICK:
The more that Henry was unfortunate.
KING LEWIS XI:
Then further, all dissembling set aside,
Tell me for truth the measure of his love
Unto our sister Bona.
WARWICK:
Such it seems
As may beseem a monarch like himself.
Myself have often heard him say and swear
That this his love was an eternal plant,
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.
KING LEWIS XI:
Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.
BONA:
Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine:
Yet I confess that often ere this day,
When I have heard your king's desert recounted,
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.
KING LEWIS XI:
Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's; |
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
Touching the jointure that your king must make,
Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised.
Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness
That Bona shall be wife to the English king.
PRINCE EDWARD:
To Edward, but not to the English king.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device
By this alliance to make void my suit:
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend.
KING LEWIS XI:
And still is friend to him and Margaret:
But if your title to the crown be weak,
As may appear by Edward's good success,
Then 'tis but reason that I be released
From giving aid which late I promised.
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand
That your estate requires and mine can yield.
WARWICK:
Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease,
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,
You have a father able to maintain you;
And better 'twere you troubled him than France.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace,
Proud setter up and puller down of kings!
I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears,
Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold
Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love;
For both of you are birds of selfsame feather.
KING LEWIS XI:
Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.
Post:
OXFORD:
I like it well that our fair queen and mistress
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as he were nettled:
I hope all's for the best.
KING LEWIS XI:
Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen?
QUEEN MARGARET:
Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys.
WARWICK:
Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.
KING LEWIS XI:
What! has your king married the Lady Grey!
And now, to soothe your forgery and his,
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?
QUEEN MARGARET:
I told your majesty as much before:
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.
WARWICK:
King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven,
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's,
No more my king, for he dishonours me,
But most himself, if he could see his shame.
Did I forget that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death?
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece?
Did I impale him with the regal crown?
Did I put Henry from his native right?
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
Shame on himself! for my desert is honour:
And to repair my honour lost for him,
I here renounce him and return to Henry.
My noble queen, let former grudges pass,
And henceforth I am thy true servitor:
I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,
And replant Henry in his former state.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;
And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
And joy that thou becomest King Henry's friend.
WARWICK:
So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,
That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
I'll undertake to land them on our coast
And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him:
And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,
He's very likely now to fall from him, |
For matching more for wanton lust than honour,
Or than for strength and safety of our country.
BONA:
Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged
But by thy help to this distressed queen?
QUEEN MARGARET:
Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live,
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?
BONA:
My quarrel and this English queen's are one.
WARWICK:
And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.
KING LEWIS XI:
And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
Therefore at last I firmly am resolved
You shall have aid.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Let me give humble thanks for all at once.
KING LEWIS XI:
Then, England's messenger, return in post,
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
To revel it with him and his new bride:
Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal.
BONA:
Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside,
And I am ready to put armour on.
WARWICK:
Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
There's thy reward: be gone.
KING LEWIS XI:
But, Warwick,
Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men,
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle;
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt,
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?
WARWICK:
This shall assure my constant loyalty,
That if our queen and this young prince agree,
I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick;
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.
KING LEWIS XI:
Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,
And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.
I long till Edward fall by war's mischance,
For mocking marriage with a dame of France.
WARWICK:
I came from Edward as ambassador,
But I return his sworn and mortal foe:
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale but me?
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
I was the chief that raised him to the crown,
And I'll be chief to bring him down again:
Not that I pity Henry's misery,
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery.
3 KING HENRY VI
GLOUCESTER:
Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?
CLARENCE:
Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France;
How could he stay till Warwick made return?
SOMERSET:
My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king.
GLOUCESTER:
And his well-chosen bride.
CLARENCE:
I mind to tell him plainly what I think.
KING EDWARD IV:
Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice,
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?
CLARENCE:
As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick, |
Which are so weak of courage and in judgment
That they'll take no offence at our abuse.
KING EDWARD IV:
Suppose they take offence without a cause,
They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,
Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.
GLOUCESTER:
And shall have your will, because our king:
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
KING EDWARD IV:
Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?
GLOUCESTER:
Not I:
No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd
Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity
To sunder them that yoke so well together.
KING EDWARD IV:
Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,
Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey
Should not become my wife and England's queen.
And you too, Somerset and Montague,
Speak freely what you think.
CLARENCE:
Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
About the marriage of the Lady Bona.
GLOUCESTER:
And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.
KING EDWARD IV:
What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased
By such invention as I can devise?
MONTAGUE:
Yet, to have join'd with France in such alliance
Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth
'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.
HASTINGS:
Why, knows not Montague that of itself
England is safe, if true within itself?
MONTAGUE:
But the safer when 'tis back'd with France.
HASTINGS:
'Tis better using France than trusting France:
Let us be back'd with God and with the seas
Which He hath given for fence impregnable,
And with their helps only defend ourselves;
In them and in ourselves our safety lies.
CLARENCE:
For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves
To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.
KING EDWARD IV:
Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;
And for this once my will shall stand for law.
GLOUCESTER:
And yet methinks your grace hath not done well,
To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales
Unto the brother of your loving bride;
She better would have fitted me or Clarence:
But in your bride you bury brotherhood.
CLARENCE:
Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.
KING EDWARD IV:
Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife
That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.
CLARENCE:
In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment,
Which being shallow, you give me leave
To play the broker in mine own behalf;
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.
KING EDWARD IV:
Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,
And not be tied unto his brother's will.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
My lords, before it pleased his majesty
To raise my state to title of a queen,
Do me but right, and you must all confess
That I was not ignoble of descent;
And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
But as this title honours me and mine,
So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing,
Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.
KING EDWARD IV:
My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns:
What danger or what sorrow can befall thee,
So long as Edward is thy constant friend,
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey?
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;
Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, |
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
Now, messenger, what letters or what news
From France?
Post:
My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words,
But such as I, without your special pardon,
Dare not relate.
KING EDWARD IV:
Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief,
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.
What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?
Post:
At my depart, these were his very words:
'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
To revel it with him and his new bride.'
KING EDWARD IV:
Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry.
But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?
Post:
These were her words, utter'd with mad disdain:
'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.'
KING EDWARD IV:
I blame not her, she could say little less;
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?
For I have heard that she was there in place.
Post:
'Tell him,' quoth she, 'my mourning weeds are done,
And I am ready to put armour on.'
KING EDWARD IV:
Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
But what said Warwick to these injuries?
Post:
He, more incensed against your majesty
Than all the rest, discharged me with these words:
'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.'
KING EDWARD IV:
Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd:
They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?
Post:
Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in
friendship
That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.
CLARENCE:
Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,
For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
I may not prove inferior to yourself.
You that love me and Warwick, follow me.
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;
And haste is needful in this desperate case.
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf
Go levy men, and make prepare for war;
They are already, or quickly will be landed:
Myself in person will straight follow you.
But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague,
Resolve my doubt. |
You twain, of all the rest,
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance:
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?
If it be so, then both depart to him;
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends:
But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
That I may never have you in suspect.
MONTAGUE:
So God help Montague as he proves true!
HASTINGS:
And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!
KING EDWARD IV:
Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?
GLOUCESTER:
Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.
KING EDWARD IV:
Why, so! then am I sure of victory.
Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour,
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.
3 KING HENRY VI
WARWICK:
Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people by numbers swarm to us.
But see where Somerset and Clarence come!
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?
CLARENCE:
You twain, of all the rest,
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance:
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?
If it be so, then both depart to him;
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends:
But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
That I may never have you in suspect.
MONTAGUE:
So God help Montague as he proves true!
HASTINGS:
And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!
KING EDWARD IV:
Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?
GLOUCESTER:
Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.
KING EDWARD IV:
Why, so! then am I sure of victory.
Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour,
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.
3 KING HENRY VI
WARWICK:
Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people by numbers swarm to us.
But see where Somerset and Clarence come!
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?
Fear not that, my lord.
WARWICK:
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.
And now what rests but, in night's coverture,
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
And but attended by a simple guard,
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:
That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard
And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him,
For I intend but only to surprise him.
You that will follow me to this attempt,
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.
Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort:
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!
3 KING HENRY VI
First Watchman:
Come on, my masters, each man take his stand:
The king by this is set him down to sleep.
Second Watchman:
What, will he not to bed?
First Watchman:
Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow
Never to lie and take his natural rest
Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.
Second Watchman: |
To-morrow then belike shall be the day,
If Warwick be so near as men report.
Third Watchman:
But say, I pray, what nobleman is that
That with the king here resteth in his tent?
First Watchman:
'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend.
Third Watchman:
O, is it so? But why commands the king
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
While he himself keeps in the cold field?
Second Watchman:
'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.
Third Watchman:
Ay, but give me worship and quietness;
I like it better than a dangerous honour.
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.
First Watchman:
Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.
Second Watchman:
Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent,
But to defend his person from night-foes?
WARWICK:
This is his tent; and see where stand his guard.
Courage, my masters! honour now or never!
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.
First Watchman:
Who goes there?
Second Watchman:
Stay, or thou diest!
SOMERSET:
What are they that fly there?
WARWICK:
Richard and Hastings: let them go; here is The duke.
KING EDWARD IV:
The duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted,
Thou call'dst me king.
WARWICK:
Ay, but the case is alter'd:
When you disgraced me in my embassade,
Then I degraded you from being king,
And come now to create you Duke of York.
Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,
That know not how to use ambassadors,
Nor how to be contented with one wife,
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly,
Nor how to study for the people's welfare,
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?
KING EDWARD IV:
Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou here too?
Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down.
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,
Of thee thyself and all thy complices,
Edward will always bear himself as king:
Though fortune's malice overthrow my state,
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.
WARWICK:
Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king:
But Henry now shall wear the English crown,
And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow.
My Lord of Somerset, at my request,
See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd
Unto my brother, Archbishop of York.
When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
I'll follow you, and tell what answer
Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him.
Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York.
KING EDWARD IV:
What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide.
OXFORD:
What now remains, my lords, for us to do
But march to London with our soldiers?
WARWICK:
Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do;
To free King Henry from imprisonment
And see him seated in the regal throne.
3 KING HENRY VI
RIVERS:
Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Why brother Rivers, are you yet to learn
What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward?
RIVERS:
What! loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
No, but the loss of his own royal person.
RIVERS:
Then is my sovereign slain?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner,
Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard
Or by his foe surprised at unawares:
And, as I further have to understand, |
Is new committed to the Bishop of York,
Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe.
RIVERS:
These news I must confess are full of grief;
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may:
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Till then fair hope must hinder life's decay.
And I the rather wean me from despair
For love of Edward's offspring in my womb:
This is it that makes me bridle passion
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross;
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown.
RIVERS:
But, madam, where is Warwick then become?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
I am inform'd that he comes towards London,
To set the crown once more on Henry's head:
Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends must down,
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,--
For trust not him that hath once broken faith,--
I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary,
To save at least the heir of Edward's right:
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.
Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly:
If Warwick take us we are sure to die.
3 KING HENRY VI
GLOUCESTER:
Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley,
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,
Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
Thus stands the case: you know our king, my brother,
Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands
He hath good usage and great liberty,
And, often but attended with weak guard,
Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
I have advertised him by secret means
That if about this hour he make his way
Under the colour of his usual game,
He shall here find his friends with horse and men
To set him free from his captivity.
Huntsman:
This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.
KING EDWARD IV:
Nay, this way, man: see where the huntsmen stand.
Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer?
GLOUCESTER:
Brother, the time and case requireth haste:
Your horse stands ready at the park-corner.
KING EDWARD IV:
But whither shall we then?
HASTINGS:
To Lynn, my lord,
And ship from thence to Flanders.
GLOUCESTER:
Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning.
KING EDWARD IV:
Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.
GLOUCESTER:
But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk.
KING EDWARD IV:
Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along?
Huntsman:
Better do so than tarry and be hang'd.
GLOUCESTER:
Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado.
KING EDWARD IV:
Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's frown;
And pray that I may repossess the crown.
3 KING HENRY VI
KING HENRY VI:
Master lieutenant, now that God and friends
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat,
And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,
At our enlargement what are thy due fees?
Lieutenant:
Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns;
But if an humble prayer may prevail,
I then crave pardon of your majesty.
KING HENRY VI:
For what, lieutenant? for well using me?
Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness,
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure; |
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
Conceive when after many moody thoughts
At last by notes of household harmony
They quite forget their loss of liberty.
But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free,
And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee;
He was the author, thou the instrument.
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite
By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me,
And that the people of this blessed land
May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars,
Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,
I here resign my government to thee,
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.
WARWICK:
Your grace hath still been famed for virtuous;
And now may seem as wise as virtuous,
By spying and avoiding fortune's malice,
For few men rightly temper with the stars:
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace,
For choosing me when Clarence is in place.
CLARENCE:
No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,
To whom the heavens in thy nativity
Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown,
As likely to be blest in peace and war;
And therefore I yield thee my free consent.
WARWICK:
And I choose Clarence only for protector.
KING HENRY VI:
Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands:
Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,
That no dissension hinder government:
I make you both protectors of this land,
While I myself will lead a private life
And in devotion spend my latter days,
To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.
WARWICK:
What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will?
CLARENCE:
That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;
For on thy fortune I repose myself.
WARWICK:
Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content:
We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
To Henry's body, and supply his place;
I mean, in bearing weight of government,
While he enjoys the honour and his ease.
And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful
Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor,
And all his lands and goods be confiscate.
CLARENCE:
What else? and that succession be determined.
WARWICK:
Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.
KING HENRY VI:
But, with the first of all your chief affairs,
Let me entreat, for I command no more,
That Margaret your queen and my son Edward
Be sent for, to return from France with speed;
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear
My joy of liberty is half eclipsed.
CLARENCE:
It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.
KING HENRY VI:
My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,
Of whom you seem to have so tender care?
SOMERSET:
My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond.
KING HENRY VI:
Come hither, England's hope.
If secret powers
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.
His looks are full of peaceful majesty,
His head by nature framed to wear a crown,
His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself
Likely in time to bless a regal throne.
Make much of him, my lords, for this is he
Must help you more than you are hurt by me.
WARWICK:
What news, my friend?
Post:
That Edward is escaped from your brother,
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.
WARWICK:
Unsavoury news! but how made he escape?
Post:
He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester
And the Lord Hastings, who attended him
In secret ambush on the forest side
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him;
For hunting was his daily exercise.
WARWICK: |
My brother was too careless of his charge.
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
A salve for any sore that may betide.
SOMERSET:
My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's;
For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,
And we shall have more wars before 't be long.
As Henry's late presaging prophecy
Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond,
So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts
What may befall him, to his harm and ours:
Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany,
Till storms be past of civil enmity.
OXFORD:
Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,
'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.
SOMERSET:
It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.
Come, therefore, let's about it speedily.
3 KING HENRY VI
KING EDWARD IV:
Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
And says that once more I shall interchange
My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas
And brought desired help from Burgundy:
What then remains, we being thus arrived
From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York,
But that we enter, as into our dukedom?
GLOUCESTER:
The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;
For many men that stumble at the threshold
Are well foretold that danger lurks within.
KING EDWARD IV:
Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us:
By fair or foul means we must enter in,
For hither will our friends repair to us.
HASTINGS:
My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them.
Mayor:
My lords, we were forewarned of your coming,
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.
KING EDWARD IV:
But, master mayor, if Henry be your king,
Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.
Mayor:
True, my good lord; I know you for no less.
KING EDWARD IV:
Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,
As being well content with that alone.
GLOUCESTER:
HASTINGS:
Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends.
Mayor:
Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd.
GLOUCESTER:
A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!
HASTINGS:
The good old man would fain that all were well,
So 'twere not 'long of him; but being enter'd,
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
Both him and all his brothers unto reason.
KING EDWARD IV:
So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut
But in the night or in the time of war.
What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys;
For Edward will defend the town and thee,
And all those friends that deign to follow me.
GLOUCESTER:
Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived.
KING EDWARD IV:
Welcome, Sir John! But why come you in arms?
MONTAGUE:
To help King Edward in his time of storm,
As every loyal subject ought to do.
KING EDWARD IV:
Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget
Our title to the crown and only claim
Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.
MONTAGUE:
Then fare you well, for I will hence again:
I came to serve a king and not a duke.
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.
KING EDWARD IV:
Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and we'll debate |
By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.
MONTAGUE:
What talk you of debating? in few words,
If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king,
I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone
To keep them back that come to succor you:
Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?
GLOUCESTER:
Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?
KING EDWARD IV:
When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim:
Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.
HASTINGS:
Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule.
GLOUCESTER:
And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand:
The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.
KING EDWARD IV:
Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
And Henry but usurps the diadem.
MONTAGUE:
Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;
And now will I be Edward's champion.
HASTINGS:
Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd:
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.
Soldier:
Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of
England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c.
MONTAGUE:
And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's right,
By this I challenge him to single fight.
All:
Long live Edward the Fourth!
KING EDWARD IV:
Thanks, brave Montgomery; and thanks unto you all:
If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York;
And when the morning sun shall raise his car
Above the border of this horizon,
We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates;
For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.
Ah, froward Clarence! how evil it beseems thee
To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother!
Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.
Come on, brave soldiers: doubt not of the day,
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.
3 KING HENRY VI
WARWICK:
What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,
With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas,
And with his troops doth march amain to London;
And many giddy people flock to him.
KING HENRY VI:
Let's levy men, and beat him back again.
CLARENCE:
A little fire is quickly trodden out;
Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
WARWICK:
In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;
Those will I muster up: and thou, son Clarence,
Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find
Men well inclined to hear what thou command'st:
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved,
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.
My sovereign, with the loving citizens,
Like to his island girt in with the ocean,
Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs,
Shall rest in London till we come to him.
Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply.
Farewell, my sovereign.
KING HENRY VI:
Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.
CLARENCE:
In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.
KING HENRY VI:
Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!
MONTAGUE:
Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.
OXFORD: |
And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu.
KING HENRY VI:
Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
And all at once, once more a happy farewell.
WARWICK:
Farewell, sweet lords: let's meet at Coventry.
KING HENRY VI:
Here at the palace I will rest awhile.
Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?
Methinks the power that Edward hath in field
Should not be able to encounter mine.
EXETER:
The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.
KING HENRY VI:
That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;
I have not been desirous of their wealth,
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies.
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd:
Then why should they love Edward more than me?
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace:
And when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
The lamb will never cease to follow him.
EXETER:
Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?
KING EDWARD IV:
Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence;
And once again proclaim us King of England.
You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow:
Now stops thy spring; my sea sha$l suck them dry,
And swell so much the higher by their ebb.
Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.
And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course
Where peremptory Warwick now remains:
The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay,
Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.
GLOUCESTER:
Away betimes, before his forces join,
And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.
3 KING HENRY VI
WARWICK:
Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?
First Messenger:
By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.
WARWICK:
How far off is our brother Montague?
Where is the post that came from Montague?
Second Messenger:
By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.
WARWICK:
Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?
SOMERSET:
At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
And do expect him here some two hours hence.
WARWICK:
Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.
SOMERSET:
It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies:
The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.
WARWICK:
Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.
SOMERSET:
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.
KING EDWARD IV:
Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.
GLOUCESTER:
See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!
WARWICK:
O unbid spite! is sportful Edward come?
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced,
That we could hear no news of his repair?
KING EDWARD IV:
Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,
Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee,
Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy?
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.
WARWICK:
Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee own, |
Call Warwick patron and be penitent?
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.
GLOUCESTER:
I thought, at least, he would have said the king;
Or did he make the jest against his will?
WARWICK:
Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?
GLOUCESTER:
Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give:
I'll do thee service for so good a gift.
WARWICK:
'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.
KING EDWARD IV:
Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.
WARWICK:
Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.
KING EDWARD IV:
But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner:
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:
What is the body when the head is off?
GLOUCESTER:
Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
The king was slily finger'd from the deck!
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.
EDWARD:
'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.
GLOUCESTER:
Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down:
Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.
WARWICK:
I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.
KING EDWARD IV:
Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair
Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,
'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.'
WARWICK:
O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes!
OXFORD:
Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!
GLOUCESTER:
The gates are open, let us enter too.
KING EDWARD IV:
So other foes may set upon our backs.
Stand we in good array; for they no doubt
Will issue out again and bid us battle:
If not, the city being but of small defence,
We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same.
WARWICK:
O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.
MONTAGUE:
Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!
GLOUCESTER:
Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.
KING EDWARD IV:
The harder match'd, the greater victory:
My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.
SOMERSET:
Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!
GLOUCESTER:
Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the house of York;
And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold.
WARWICK:
And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle;
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
More than the nature of a brother's love!
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call.
CLARENCE:
Father of Warwick, know you what this means?
Look here, I throw my infamy at thee
I will not ruinate my father's house,
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,
And set up Lancaster. |
Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother and his lawful king?
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath:
To keep that oath were more impiety
Than Jephthah's, when he sacrificed his daughter.
Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother and his lawful king?
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath:
To keep that oath were more impiety
I am so sorry for my trespass made
That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe,
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee--
As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad--
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends:
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.
KING EDWARD IV:
Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved,
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.
GLOUCESTER:
Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike.
WARWICK:
O passing traitor, perjured and unjust!
KING EDWARD IV:
What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?
WARWICK:
Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence!
I will away towards Barnet presently,
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest.
KING EDWARD IV:
Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.
Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!
3 KING HENRY VI
KING EDWARD IV:
So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear;
For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.
Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.
WARWICK:
Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows.
That I must yield my body to the earth
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world:
The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who lived king, but I could dig his grave?
And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had.
Even now forsake me, and of all my lands
Is nothing left me but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
SOMERSET:
Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are.
We might recover all our loss again;
The queen from France hath brought a puissant power:
Even now we heard the news: ah, could'st thou fly!
WARWICK:
Why, then I would not fly. |
Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand.
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!
Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand.
Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
SOMERSET:
Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breathed his last;
And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,
And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.'
And more he would have said, and more he spoke,
Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,
That mought not be distinguished; but at last
I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
'O, farewell, Warwick!'
WARWICK:
Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves;
For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in heaven.
OXFORD:
Away, away, to meet the queen's great power!
3 KING HENRY VI
KING EDWARD IV:
Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,
And we are graced with wreaths of victory.
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious sun,
Ere he attain his easeful western bed:
I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen
Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
CLARENCE:
A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
And blow it to the source from whence it came:
The very beams will dry those vapours up,
For every cloud engenders not a storm.
GLOUCESTER:
The queen is valued thirty thousand strong,
And Somerset, with Oxford fled to her:
If she have time to breathe be well assured
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.
KING EDWARD IV:
We are advertised by our loving friends
That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury:
We, having now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;
And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along.
Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away.
3 KING HENRY VI
QUEEN MARGARET:
Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown overboard,
The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot still. |
Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad
With tearful eyes add water to the sea
And give more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have saved?
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
And Montague our topmost; what of him?
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
And Somerset another goodly mast?
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
And what is Edward but ruthless sea?
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while!
Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink:
Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad
With tearful eyes add water to the sea
And give more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have saved?
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
And Montague our topmost; what of him?
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
And Somerset another goodly mast?
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
And what is Edward but ruthless sea?
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while!
Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink:
Or else you famish; that's a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
If case some one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers
More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks.
Why, courage then! what cannot be avoided
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
Infuse his breast with magnanimity
And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this as doubting any here
For did I but suspect a fearful man
He should have leave to go away betimes,
Lest in our need he might infect another
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here--as God forbid!--
Let him depart before we need his help.
OXFORD:
Women and children of so high a courage,
And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.
O brave young prince! thy famous grandfather
Doth live again in thee: long mayst thou live
To bear his image and renew his glories!
SOMERSET:
And he that will not fight for such a hope.
Go home to bed, and like the owl by day,
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.
PRINCE EDWARD: |
And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.
Messenger:
Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand.
Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.
OXFORD:
I thought no less: it is his policy
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.
SOMERSET:
But he's deceived; we are in readiness.
QUEEN MARGARET:
This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.
OXFORD:
Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.
KING EDWARD IV:
Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,
Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength,
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
I need not add more fuel to your fire,
For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!
QUEEN MARGARET:
Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say
My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,
Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords,
Be valiant and give signal to the fight.
3 KING HENRY VI
KING EDWARD IV:
Now here a period of tumultuous broils.
Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight:
For Somerset, off with his guilty head.
Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.
OXFORD:
For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.
SOMERSET:
Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.
QUEEN MARGARET:
So part we sadly in this troublous world,
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.
KING EDWARD IV:
Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward
Shall have a high reward, and he his life?
GLOUCESTER:
It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes!
KING EDWARD IV:
Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak.
What! can so young a thorn begin to prick?
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?
PRINCE EDWARD:
Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York!
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth;
Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou,
Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee,
Which traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Ah, that thy father had been so resolved!
GLOUCESTER:
That you might still have worn the petticoat,
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Let AEsop fable in a winter's night;
His currish riddles sort not with this place.
GLOUCESTER:
By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.
GLOUCESTER:
For God's sake, take away this captive scold.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.
KING EDWARD IV:
Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.
CLARENCE:
Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.
PRINCE EDWARD:
I know my duty; you are all undutiful:
Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George,
And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all
I am your better, traitors as ye are: |
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.
KING EDWARD IV:
Take that, thou likeness of this railer here.
GLOUCESTER:
Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony.
CLARENCE:
And there's for twitting me with perjury.
QUEEN MARGARET:
O, kill me too!
GLOUCESTER:
Marry, and shall.
KING EDWARD IV:
Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much.
GLOUCESTER:
Why should she live, to fill the world with words?
KING EDWARD IV:
What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.
GLOUCESTER:
Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother;
I'll hence to London on a serious matter:
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.
CLARENCE:
What? what?
GLOUCESTER:
The Tower, the Tower.
QUEEN MARGARET:
O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!
Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!
They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all,
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
If this foul deed were by to equal it:
He was a man; this, in respect, a child:
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak:
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.
Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
You have no children, butchers! if you had,
The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse:
But if you ever chance to have a child,
Look in his youth to have him so cut off
As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!
KING EDWARD IV:
Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here,
Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death:
What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou.
CLARENCE:
By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.
CLARENCE:
Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?
QUEEN MARGARET:
Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself:
'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,
Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.
KING EDWARD IV:
Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.
QUEEN MARGARET:
So come to you and yours, as to this Prince!
KING EDWARD IV:
Where's Richard gone?
CLARENCE:
To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.
KING EDWARD IV:
He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence: discharge the common sort
With pay and thanks, and let's away to London
And see our gentle queen how well she fares:
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.
3 KING HENRY VI
GLOUCESTER:
Good day, my lord. |
What, at your book so hard?
KING HENRY VI:
Ay, my good lord:--my lord, I should say rather;
'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better:
'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike,
And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.'
What, at your book so hard?
KING HENRY VI:
Ay, my good lord:--my lord, I should say rather;
'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better:
'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike,
GLOUCESTER:
Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.
KING HENRY VI:
So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?
GLOUCESTER:
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
KING HENRY VI:
The bird that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye
Where my poor young was limed, was caught and kill'd.
GLOUCESTER:
Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl!
An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.
KING HENRY VI:
I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy
Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
Than can my ears that tragic history.
But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?
GLOUCESTER:
Think'st thou I am an executioner?
KING HENRY VI:
A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.
GLOUCESTER:
Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.
KING HENRY VI:
Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume,
Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
And many an old man's sigh and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye--
Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,
And orphans for their parents timeless death--
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth,--an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And, yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,
To wit, an indigested and deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify thou camest to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou camest--
GLOUCESTER:
I'll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech:
For this amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.
KING HENRY VI:
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!
GLOUCESTER:
What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster |
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
O, may such purple tears be alway shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house!
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither:
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd and the women cried
'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!'
And so I was; which plainly signified
That I should snarl and bite and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother;
And this word 'love,' which graybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another
And not in me: I am myself alone.
Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light:
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
For I will buz abroad such prophecies
That Edward shall be fearful of his life,
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry and the prince his son are gone:
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,
Counting myself but bad till I be best.
I'll throw thy body in another room
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.
3 KING HENRY VI
KING EDWARD IV:
Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride!
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions;
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
And made our footstool of security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night,
Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.
GLOUCESTER:
KING EDWARD IV:
Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
CLARENCE:
The duty that I owe unto your majesty
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.
GLOUCESTER:
And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
KING EDWARD IV:
Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.
CLARENCE:
What will your grace have done with Margaret?
Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.
KING EDWARD IV:
Away with her, and waft her hence to France.
And now what rests but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
Such as befits the pleasure of the court?
Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. |
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.
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
My affairs
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:
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.
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:
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,
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:
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 can this be?--
With what's unreal thou coactive art,
And fellow'st nothing: then 'tis very credent
Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost,
And that beyond commission, and I find it,
And that to the infection of my brains
And hardening of my brows.
POLIXENES:
What means Sicilia?
HERMIONE:
He something seems unsettled.
POLIXENES:
How, my lord!
What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?
HERMIONE:
You look as if you held a brow of much distraction
Are you moved, my lord?
LEONTES:
No, in good earnest.
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled,
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous:
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money?
MAMILLIUS:
No, my lord, I'll fight.
LEONTES:
You will! why, happy man be's dole! My brother,
Are you so fond of your young prince as we
Do seem to be of ours?
POLIXENES:
If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter,
Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy,
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:
He makes a July's day short as December,
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
LEONTES:
So stands this squire
Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps. |
Hermione,
How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.
HERMIONE:
If you would seek us,
We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there?
LEONTES:
To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,
Be you beneath the sky.
I am angling now,
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to!
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!
Hermione,
How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.
HERMIONE:
If you would seek us,
We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there?
LEONTES:
To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,
Be you beneath the sky.
I am angling now,
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to!
And arms her with the boldness of a wife
To her allowing husband!
Gone already!
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and
ears a fork'd one!
Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I
Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play.
There have been,
Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't
Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,
From east, west, north and south: be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly; know't;
It will let in and out the enemy
With bag and baggage: many thousand on's
Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!
MAMILLIUS:
I am like you, they say.
LEONTES:
Why that's some comfort. What, Camillo there?
CAMILLO:
Ay, my good lord.
LEONTES:
Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
CAMILLO:
You had much ado to make his anchor hold:
When you cast out, it still came home.
LEONTES:
Didst note it?
CAMILLO:
He would not stay at your petitions: made
His business more material.
LEONTES:
Didst perceive it?
They're here with me already, whispering, rounding
'Sicilia is a so-forth:' 'tis far gone,
When I shall gust it last. How came't, Camillo,
That he did stay?
CAMILLO:
At the good queen's entreaty.
LEONTES:
At the queen's be't: 'good' should be pertinent
But, so it is, it is not. |
Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks: not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures? by some severals
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes
Perchance are to this business purblind? say.
CAMILLO:
Business, my lord! I think most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.
LEONTES:
Ha!
CAMILLO:
Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks: not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures? by some severals
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes
Perchance are to this business purblind? say.
CAMILLO:
Business, my lord! I think most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.
LEONTES:
Ha!
Stays here longer.
LEONTES:
Ay, but why?
CAMILLO:
To satisfy your highness and the entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.
LEONTES:
Satisfy!
The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy!
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou
Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been
Deceived in thy integrity, deceived
In that which seems so.
CAMILLO:
Be it forbid, my lord!
LEONTES:
To bide upon't, thou art not honest, or,
If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward,
Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
From course required; or else thou must be counted
A servant grafted in my serious trust
And therein negligent; or else a fool
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
And takest it all for jest.
CAMILLO:
My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Among the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Where of the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
Is never free of. |
But, beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage: if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.
LEONTES:
Ha' not you seen, Camillo,--
But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,--or heard,--
For to a vision so apparent rumour
Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think,--
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say't and justify't.
CAMILLO:
I would not be a stander-by to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate were sin
As deep as that, though true.
LEONTES:
Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
But, beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage: if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.
LEONTES:
Ha' not you seen, Camillo,--
But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,--or heard,--
For to a vision so apparent rumour
Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think,--
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say't and justify't.
CAMILLO:
I would not be a stander-by to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate were sin
As deep as that, though true.
LEONTES:
Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Of laughing with a sigh?--a note infallible
Of breaking honesty--horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.
CAMILLO:
Good my lord, be cured
Of this diseased opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.
LEONTES:
Say it be, 'tis true.
CAMILLO:
No, no, my lord.
LEONTES:
It is; you lie, you lie:
I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.
CAMILLO:
Who does infect her?
LEONTES:
Why, he that wears her like a medal, hanging
About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that |
Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou,
His cupbearer,--whom I from meaner form
Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
How I am galled,--mightst bespice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.
CAMILLO:
Sir, my lord,
I could do this, and that with no rash potion,
But with a lingering dram that should not work
Maliciously like poison: but I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.
I have loved thee,--
LEONTES:
Make that thy question, and go rot!
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
To appoint myself in this vexation, sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets,
Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son,
Who I do think is mine and love as mine,
Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this?
Could man so blench?
CAMILLO:
I must believe you, sir:
I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
Provided that, when he's removed, your highness
Will take again your queen as yours at first,
Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
LEONTES:
Thou dost advise me
Even so as I mine own course have set down:
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
CAMILLO:
My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer:
If from me he have wholesome beverage,
Account me not your servant.
LEONTES:
This is all:
Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
CAMILLO:
I'll do't, my lord.
LEONTES:
I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me.
CAMILLO:
O miserable lady! But, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master, one
Who in rebellion with himself will have
All that are his so too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
And flourish'd after, I'ld not do't; but since
Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one,
Let villany itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!
Here comes Bohemia.
POLIXENES:
This is strange: methinks
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo.
CAMILLO:
Hail, most royal sir!
POLIXENES:
What is the news i' the court?
CAMILLO:
None rare, my lord.
POLIXENES:
The king hath on him such a countenance
As he had lost some province and a region
Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment; when he,
Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changeth thus his manners.
CAMILLO:
I dare not know, my lord.
POLIXENES:
How! dare not! do not. |
Do you know, and dare not?
Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must.
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Do you know, and dare not?
Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must.
Your changed complexions are to me a mirror
Which shows me mine changed too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with 't.
CAMILLO:
There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper, but
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
POLIXENES:
How! caught of me!
Make me not sighted like the basilisk:
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,--
As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto
Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns
Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle,--I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.
CAMILLO:
I may not answer.
POLIXENES:
A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man
Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.
CAMILLO:
Sir, I will tell you;
Since I am charged in honour and by him
That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel,
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so good night!
POLIXENES:
On, good Camillo.
CAMILLO:
I am appointed him to murder you.
POLIXENES:
By whom, Camillo?
CAMILLO:
By the king.
POLIXENES:
For what?
CAMILLO:
He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen't or been an instrument
To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.
POLIXENES:
O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly and my name
Be yoked with his that did betray the Best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard or read!
CAMILLO:
Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
As or by oath remove or counsel shake
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
Is piled upon his faith and will continue
The standing of his body.
POLIXENES:
How should this grow?
CAMILLO:
I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
That lies enclosed in this trunk which you
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night!
Your followers I will whisper to the business,
And will by twos and threes at several posterns
Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. |
Be not uncertain;
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon
His execution sworn.
Be not uncertain;
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon
POLIXENES:
I do believe thee:
I saw his heart in 's face. Give me thy hand:
Be pilot to me and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago. This jealousy
Is for a precious creature: as she's rare,
Must it be great, and as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent, and as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me:
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
I will respect thee as a father if
Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid.
CAMILLO:
It is in mine authority to command
The keys of all the posterns: please your highness
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.
HERMIONE:
Take the boy to you: he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.
First Lady:
Come, my gracious lord,
Shall I be your playfellow?
MAMILLIUS:
No, I'll none of you.
First Lady:
Why, my sweet lord?
MAMILLIUS:
You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if
I were a baby still. I love you better.
Second Lady:
And why so, my lord?
MAMILLIUS:
Not for because
Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best, so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle
Or a half-moon made with a pen.
Second Lady:
Who taught you this?
MAMILLIUS:
I learnt it out of women's faces. |
Pray now
What colour are your eyebrows?
First Lady:
Blue, my lord.
MAMILLIUS:
Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
First Lady:
Hark ye;
The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall
Present our services to a fine new prince
One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us,
If we would have you.
Second Lady:
She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!
HERMIONE:
What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,
And tell 's a tale.
MAMILLIUS:
Merry or sad shall't be?
HERMIONE:
As merry as you will.
MAMILLIUS:
A sad tale's best for winter: I have one
Of sprites and goblins.
HERMIONE:
Let's have that, good sir.
Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it.
MAMILLIUS:
There was a man--
HERMIONE:
Nay, come, sit down; then on.
MAMILLIUS:
Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly;
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
HERMIONE:
Come on, then,
And give't me in mine ear.
LEONTES:
Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
First Lord:
Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Pray now
What colour are your eyebrows?
First Lady:
Blue, my lord.
MAMILLIUS:
Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
First Lady:
Hark ye;
The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall
Present our services to a fine new prince
One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us,
If we would have you.
Second Lady:
She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!
HERMIONE:
What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,
And tell 's a tale.
MAMILLIUS:
Merry or sad shall't be?
HERMIONE:
As merry as you will.
MAMILLIUS:
A sad tale's best for winter: I have one
Of sprites and goblins.
HERMIONE:
Let's have that, good sir.
Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it.
MAMILLIUS:
There was a man--
HERMIONE:
Nay, come, sit down; then on.
MAMILLIUS:
Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly;
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
HERMIONE:
Come on, then,
And give't me in mine ear.
LEONTES:
Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
First Lord:
Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them
Even to their ships.
LEONTES:
How blest am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed
In being so blest! There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
Is not infected: but if one present
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts. |
I have drunk,
and seen the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander:
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
I have drunk,
and seen the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander:
All's true that is mistrusted: that false villain
Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him:
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will. How came the posterns
So easily open?
First Lord:
By his great authority;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
On your command.
LEONTES:
I know't too well.
Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him:
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.
HERMIONE:
What is this? sport?
LEONTES:
Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;
Away with him! and let her sport herself
With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.
HERMIONE:
But I'ld say he had not,
And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you lean to the nayward.
LEONTES:
You, my lords,
Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and
The justice of your bearts will thereto add
'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:'
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight
The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands
That calumny doth use--O, I am out--
That mercy does, for calumny will sear
Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's,
When you have said 'she's goodly,' come between
Ere you can say 'she's honest:' but be 't known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
She's an adulteress.
HERMIONE:
Should a villain say so,
The most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
Do but mistake.
LEONTES:
You have mistook, my lady,
Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing!
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
Should a like language use to all degrees
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar: I have said
She's an adulteress; I have said with whom:
More, she's a traitor and Camillo is
A federary with her, and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself
But with her most vile principal, that she's
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy
To this their late escape.
HERMIONE:
No, by my life.
Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord,
You scarce can right me throughly then to say
You did mistake.
LEONTES:
No; if I mistake
In those foundations which I build upon,
The centre is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top. Away with her! to prison!
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
But that he speaks.
HERMIONE:
There's some ill planet reigns:
I must be patient till the heavens look
With an aspect more favourable. |
Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have
That honourable grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,
Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have
That honourable grief lodged here which burns
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
The king's will be perform'd!
LEONTES:
Shall I be heard?
HERMIONE:
Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness,
My women may be with me; for you see
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress
Has deserved prison, then abound in tears
As I come out: this action I now go on
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:
I never wish'd to see you sorry; now
I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.
LEONTES:
Go, do our bidding; hence!
First Lord:
Beseech your highness, call the queen again.
ANTIGONUS:
Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice
Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer,
Yourself, your queen, your son.
First Lord:
For her, my lord,
I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir,
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless
I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean,
In this which you accuse her.
ANTIGONUS:
If it prove
She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;
Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be.
LEONTES:
Hold your peaces.
First Lord:
Good my lord,--
ANTIGONUS:
It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
You are abused and by some putter-on
That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain,
I would land-damn him. |
Be she honour-flaw'd,
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven
The second and the third, nine, and some five;
If this prove true, they'll pay for't:
by mine honour,
I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see,
To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;
And I had rather glib myself than they
Should not produce fair issue.
LEONTES:
Cease; no more.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't and feel't
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel.
ANTIGONUS:
If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty:
There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.
LEONTES:
What! lack I credit?
First Lord:
I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
Upon this ground; and more it would content me
To have her honour true than your suspicion,
Be blamed for't how you might.
LEONTES:
Why, what need we
Commune with you of this, but rather follow
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness
Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied
Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
We need no more of your advice: the matter,
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
Properly ours.
ANTIGONUS:
And I wish, my liege,
Be she honour-flaw'd,
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven
The second and the third, nine, and some five;
If this prove true, they'll pay for't:
by mine honour,
I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see,
To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;
And I had rather glib myself than they
Should not produce fair issue.
LEONTES:
Cease; no more.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't and feel't
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel.
ANTIGONUS:
If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty:
There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.
LEONTES:
What! lack I credit?
First Lord:
I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
Upon this ground; and more it would content me
To have her honour true than your suspicion,
Be blamed for't how you might.
LEONTES:
Why, what need we
Commune with you of this, but rather follow
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness
Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied
Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
We need no more of your advice: the matter,
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
Properly ours.
ANTIGONUS:
You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Without more overture.
LEONTES:
How could that be?
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. |
Camillo's flight,
Added to their familiarity,
Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding:
Yet, for a greater confirmation,
For in an act of this importance 'twere
Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency: now from the oracle
They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,
Camillo's flight,
Added to their familiarity,
Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding:
Yet, for a greater confirmation,
For in an act of this importance 'twere
Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency: now from the oracle
Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?
First Lord:
Well done, my lord.
LEONTES:
Though I am satisfied and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to the minds of others, such as he
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good
From our free person she should be confined,
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;
We are to speak in public; for this business
Will raise us all.
ANTIGONUS:
PAULINA:
The keeper of the prison, call to him;
let him have knowledge who I am.
Good lady,
No court in Europe is too good for thee;
What dost thou then in prison?
Now, good sir,
You know me, do you not?
Gaoler:
For a worthy lady
And one whom much I honour.
PAULINA:
Pray you then,
Conduct me to the queen.
Gaoler:
I may not, madam:
To the contrary I have express commandment.
PAULINA:
Here's ado,
To lock up honesty and honour from
The access of gentle visitors!
Is't lawful, pray you,
To see her women? any of them? Emilia?
Gaoler:
So please you, madam,
To put apart these your attendants, I
Shall bring Emilia forth.
PAULINA:
I pray now, call her.
Withdraw yourselves.
Gaoler:
And, madam,
I must be present at your conference.
PAULINA:
Well, be't so, prithee.
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain
As passes colouring.
Dear gentlewoman,
How fares our gracious lady?
EMILIA:
As well as one so great and so forlorn
May hold together: on her frights and griefs,
Which never tender lady hath born greater,
She is something before her time deliver'd.
PAULINA:
A boy?
EMILIA:
A daughter, and a goodly babe,
Lusty and like to live: the queen receives
Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner,
I am innocent as you.'
PAULINA:
I dare be sworn
These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king,
beshrew them!
He must be told on't, and he shall: the office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me:
If I prove honey-mouth'd let my tongue blister
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more. |
Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to the queen:
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the king and undertake to be
Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know
Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to the queen:
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the king and undertake to be
How he may soften at the sight o' the child:
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades when speaking fails.
EMILIA:
Most worthy madam,
Your honour and your goodness is so evident
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue: there is no lady living
So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer;
Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,
But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
Lest she should be denied.
PAULINA:
Tell her, Emilia.
I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from't
As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted
I shall do good.
EMILIA:
Now be you blest for it!
I'll to the queen: please you,
come something nearer.
Gaoler:
Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe,
I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
Having no warrant.
PAULINA:
You need not fear it, sir:
This child was prisoner to the womb and is
By law and process of great nature thence
Freed and enfranchised, not a party to
The anger of the king nor guilty of,
If any be, the trespass of the queen.
Gaoler:
I do believe it.
PAULINA:
Do not you fear: upon mine honour,
I will stand betwixt you and danger.
LEONTES:
Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness
To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If
The cause were not in being,--part o' the cause,
She the adulteress; for the harlot king
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she
I can hook to me: say that she were gone,
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who's there?
First Servant:
My lord?
LEONTES:
How does the boy?
First Servant:
He took good rest to-night;
'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged.
LEONTES:
To see his nobleness!
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply,
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: go,
See how he fares.
Fie, fie! no thought of him:
The thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty,
And in his parties, his alliance; let him be
Until a time may serve: for present vengeance,
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow:
They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor
Shall she within my power.
First Lord:
You must not enter.
PAULINA:
Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul,
More free than he is jealous.
ANTIGONUS:
That's enough.
Second Servant:
Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded
None should come at him.
PAULINA:
Not so hot, good sir:
I come to bring him sleep. |
'Tis such as you,
That creep like shadows by him and do sigh
At each his needless heavings, such as you
'Tis such as you,
That creep like shadows by him and do sigh
Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
Do come with words as medicinal as true,
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
That presses him from sleep.
LEONTES:
What noise there, ho?
PAULINA:
No noise, my lord; but needful conference
About some gossips for your highness.
LEONTES:
How!
Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,
I charged thee that she should not come about me:
I knew she would.
ANTIGONUS:
I told her so, my lord,
On your displeasure's peril and on mine,
She should not visit you.
LEONTES:
What, canst not rule her?
PAULINA:
From all dishonesty he can: in this,
Unless he take the course that you have done,
Commit me for committing honour, trust it,
He shall not rule me.
ANTIGONUS:
La you now, you hear:
When she will take the rein I let her run;
But she'll not stumble.
PAULINA:
Good my liege, I come;
And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare
Less appear so in comforting your evils,
Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come
From your good queen.
LEONTES:
Good queen!
PAULINA:
Good queen, my lord,
Good queen; I say good queen;
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you.
LEONTES:
Force her hence.
PAULINA:
Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes
First hand me: on mine own accord I'll off;
But first I'll do my errand. The good queen,
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.
LEONTES:
Out!
A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door:
A most intelligencing bawd!
PAULINA:
Not so:
I am as ignorant in that as you
In so entitling me, and no less honest
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.
LEONTES:
Traitors!
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.
Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted
By thy dame Partlet here. |
Take up the bastard;
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.
PAULINA:
For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Takest up the princess by that forced baseness
Which he has put upon't!
LEONTES:
He dreads his wife.
PAULINA:
So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
You'ld call your children yours.
LEONTES:
A nest of traitors!
ANTIGONUS:
I am none, by this good light.
PAULINA:
Nor I, nor any
But one that's here, and that's himself, for he
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's;
and will not--
For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't--once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten
As ever oak or stone was sound.
LEONTES:
A callat
Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband
And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;
It is the issue of Polixenes:
Hence with it, and together with the dam
Take up the bastard;
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.
PAULINA:
For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Takest up the princess by that forced baseness
Which he has put upon't!
LEONTES:
He dreads his wife.
PAULINA:
So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
You'ld call your children yours.
LEONTES:
A nest of traitors!
ANTIGONUS:
I am none, by this good light.
PAULINA:
Nor I, nor any
But one that's here, and that's himself, for he
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's;
and will not--
For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't--once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten
As ever oak or stone was sound.
LEONTES:
A callat
Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband
And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;
It is the issue of Polixenes:
Commit them to the fire!
PAULINA:
It is yours;
And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip,
The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek,
His smiles,
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's!
LEONTES:
A gross hag
And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not stay her tongue.
ANTIGONUS:
Hang all the husbands
That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
LEONTES:
Once more, take her hence.
PAULINA:
A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
LEONTES:
I'll ha' thee burnt.
PAULINA:
I care not:
It is an heretic that makes the fire,
Not she which burns in't. |
I'll not call you tyrant;
But this most cruel usage of your queen,
I'll not call you tyrant;
Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours
Of tyranny and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.
LEONTES:
On your allegiance,
Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,
Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her!
PAULINA:
I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours:
Jove send her
A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
Will never do him good, not one of you.
So, so: farewell; we are gone.
LEONTES:
Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
My child? away with't! Even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence
And see it instantly consumed with fire;
Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight:
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
For thou set'st on thy wife.
ANTIGONUS:
I did not, sir:
These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.
Lords:
We can: my royal liege,
He is not guilty of her coming hither.
LEONTES:
You're liars all.
First Lord:
Beseech your highness, give us better credit:
We have always truly served you, and beseech you
So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg,
As recompense of our dear services
Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.
LEONTES:
I am a feather for each wind that blows:
Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel
And call me father? better burn it now
Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither;
You that have been so tenderly officious
With Lady Margery, your midwife there,
To save this bastard's life,--for 'tis a bastard,
So sure as this beard's grey,
--what will you adventure
To save this brat's life?
ANTIGONUS:
Any thing, my lord,
That my ability may undergo
And nobleness impose: at least thus much:
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
To save the innocent: any thing possible.
LEONTES:
It shall be possible. Swear by this sword
Thou wilt perform my bidding.
ANTIGONUS:
I will, my lord.
LEONTES:
Mark and perform it, see'st thou! for the fail
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place quite out
Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to its own protection
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
That thou commend it strangely to some place
Where chance may nurse or end it. |
Take it up.
ANTIGONUS:
I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:
Take it up.
ANTIGONUS:
I swear to do this, though a present death
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say
Casting their savageness aside have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed does require! And blessing
Against this cruelty fight on thy side,
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss!
LEONTES:
No, I'll not rear
Another's issue.
Servant:
Please your highness, posts
From those you sent to the oracle are come
An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to the court.
First Lord:
So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.
LEONTES:
Twenty-three days
They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath
Been publicly accused, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me,
And think upon my bidding.
CLEOMENES:
The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.
DION:
I shall report,
For most it caught me, the celestial habits,
Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly
It was i' the offering!
CLEOMENES:
But of all, the burst
And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense.
That I was nothing.
DION:
If the event o' the journey
Prove as successful to the queen,--O be't so!--
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the use on't.
CLEOMENES:
Great Apollo
Turn all to the best! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.
DION:
The violent carriage of it
Will clear or end the business: when the oracle,
Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,
Shall the contents discover, something rare
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses!
And gracious be the issue!
LEONTES:
This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the party tried
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
Even to the guilt or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.
Officer:
It is his highness' pleasure that the queen
Appear in person here in court. Silence!
LEONTES:
Read the indictment.
Officer:
HERMIONE:
Since what I am to say must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation and
The testimony on my part no other
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
To say 'not guilty:' mine integrity
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
Be so received. But thus: if powers divine
Behold our human actions, as they do,
I doubt not then but innocence shall make
False accusation blush and tyranny
Tremble at patience. |
You, my lord, best know,
Who least will seem to do so, my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history can pattern, though devised
And play'd to take spectators. For behold me
You, my lord, best know,
Who least will seem to do so, my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history can pattern, though devised
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne a great king's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing
To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry fie upon my grave!
LEONTES:
I ne'er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first.
HERMIONE:
That's true enough;
Through 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
LEONTES:
You will not own it.
HERMIONE:
More than mistress of
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accused, I do confess
I loved him as in honour he required,
With such a kind of love as might become
A lady like me, with a love even such,
So and no other, as yourself commanded:
Which not to have done I think had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd
For me to try how: all I know of it
Is that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
LEONTES:
You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in's absence.
HERMIONE:
Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not:
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
LEONTES:
Your actions are my dreams;
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame,--
Those of your fact are so--so past all truth:
Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it,--which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee than it,--so thou
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.
HERMIONE:
Sir, spare your threats:
The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
To me can life be no commodity:
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went. My second joy
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barr'd, like one infectious. |
My third comfort
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder: myself on every post
Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
My third comfort
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder: myself on every post
Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life,
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,
Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
'Tis rigor and not law. |
Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge!
First Lord:
This your request
Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,
And in Apollos name, his oracle.
HERMIONE:
The Emperor of Russia was my father:
O that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!
Officer:
You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,
You have not dared to break the holy seal
Nor read the secrets in't.
CLEOMENES:
All this we swear.
LEONTES:
Break up the seals and read.
Officer:
Lords:
Now blessed be the great Apollo!
HERMIONE:
Praised!
LEONTES:
Hast thou read truth?
Officer:
Ay, my lord; even so
As it is here set down.
LEONTES:
There is no truth at all i' the oracle:
The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.
Servant:
My lord the king, the king!
LEONTES:
What is the business?
Servant:
O sir, I shall be hated to report it!
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen's speed, is gone.
LEONTES:
How! gone!
Servant:
Is dead.
LEONTES:
Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice.
How now there!
PAULINA:
This news is mortal to the queen: look down
And see what death is doing.
LEONTES:
Take her hence:
Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover:
I have too much believed mine own suspicion:
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.
Apollo, pardon
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the hazard
Of all encertainties himself commended, |
Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge!
First Lord:
This your request
Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,
And in Apollos name, his oracle.
HERMIONE:
The Emperor of Russia was my father:
O that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!
Officer:
You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,
You have not dared to break the holy seal
Nor read the secrets in't.
CLEOMENES:
All this we swear.
LEONTES:
Break up the seals and read.
Officer:
Lords:
Now blessed be the great Apollo!
HERMIONE:
Praised!
LEONTES:
Hast thou read truth?
Officer:
Ay, my lord; even so
As it is here set down.
LEONTES:
There is no truth at all i' the oracle:
The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.
Servant:
My lord the king, the king!
LEONTES:
What is the business?
Servant:
O sir, I shall be hated to report it!
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen's speed, is gone.
LEONTES:
How! gone!
Servant:
Is dead.
LEONTES:
Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice.
How now there!
PAULINA:
This news is mortal to the queen: look down
And see what death is doing.
LEONTES:
Take her hence:
Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover:
I have too much believed mine own suspicion:
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.
Apollo, pardon
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the hazard
No richer than his honour: how he glisters
Thorough my rust! and how his pity
Does my deeds make the blacker!
PAULINA:
Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too.
First Lord:
What fit is this, good lady?
PAULINA:
What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling?
In leads or oils? what old or newer torture
Must I receive, whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
Together working with thy jealousies,
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine, O, think what they have done
And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant
And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much, |
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,
To have him kill a king: poor trespasses,
More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon
The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter
To be or none or little; though a devil
Would have shed water out of fire ere done't:
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,
Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,
Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords,
When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen,
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead,
and vengeance for't
Not dropp'd down yet.
First Lord:
The higher powers forbid!
PAULINA:
I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath
Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!
Do not repent these things, for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert.
LEONTES:
Go on, go on
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved
All tongues to talk their bitterest.
First Lord:
Say no more:
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I' the boldness of your speech.
PAULINA:
I am sorry for't:
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd
To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help
Should be past grief: do not receive affliction
At my petition; I beseech you, rather
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:
The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!--
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too: take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.
LEONTES:
Thou didst speak but well
When most the truth; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen and son:
One grave shall be for both: upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there
Shall be my recreation: so long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me
Unto these sorrows.
ANTIGONUS:
Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon
The deserts of Bohemia?
Mariner:
Ay, my lord: and fear
We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly
And threaten present blusters. |
In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
And frown upon 's.
ANTIGONUS:
Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before
I call upon thee.
Mariner:
Make your best haste, and go not
Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.
ANTIGONUS:
Go thou away:
I'll follow instantly.
Mariner:
I am glad at heart
To be so rid o' the business.
In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
And frown upon 's.
ANTIGONUS:
Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before
I call upon thee.
Mariner:
Make your best haste, and go not
Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.
ANTIGONUS:
Go thou away:
I'll follow instantly.
Mariner:
I am glad at heart
ANTIGONUS:
Come, poor babe:
I have heard, but not believed,
the spirits o' the dead
May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side, some another;
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me,
And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon
Did this break-from her: 'Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, with shrieks
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself and thought
This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys:
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squared by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
There lie, and there thy character: there these;
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch,
That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed
To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
The day frowns more and more: thou'rt like to have
A lullaby too rough: I never saw
The heavens so dim by day. |
A savage clamour!
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:
I am gone for ever.
Shepherd:
I would there were no age between sixteen and
three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the
rest; for there is nothing in the between but
getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,
stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but
these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty
hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my
best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find
than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by
the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy
A savage clamour!
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:
I am gone for ever.
Shepherd:
I would there were no age between sixteen and
three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the
rest; for there is nothing in the between but
getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,
stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but
these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty
hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my
best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find
than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by
will what have we here! Mercy on 's, a barne a very
pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A
pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some 'scape:
though I am not bookish, yet I can read
waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has been
some stair-work, some trunk-work, some
behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this
than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for
pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hallooed
but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!
Clown:
Hilloa, loa!
Shepherd:
What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk
on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What
ailest thou, man?
Clown:
I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land!
but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the
sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust
a bodkin's point.
Shepherd:
Why, boy, how is it?
Clown:
I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages,
how it takes up the shore! but that's not the
point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!
sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the
ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon
swallowed with yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a
cork into a hogshead. And then for the
land-service, to see how the bear tore out his
shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said
his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an
end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned
it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the
sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared
and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than
the sea or weather.
Shepherd:
Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
Clown:
Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these
sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor
the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it
now.
Shepherd:
Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!
Clown:
I would you had been by the ship side, to have
helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.
Shepherd:
Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here,
boy. |
Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things
dying, I with things newborn. Here's a sight for
Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things
thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's
child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy;
open't. So, let's see: it was told me I should be
rich by the fairies. This is some changeling:
open't. What's within, boy?
Clown:
You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth
are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!
Shepherd:
This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up
with't, keep it close: home, home, the next way.
We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires
nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good
boy, the next way home.
Clown:
Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see
if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much
he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they
are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury
it.
Shepherd:
That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that
which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the
sight of him.
Clown:
Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground.
Shepherd:
'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't.
Time:
I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
Or what is now received: I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,
The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
That he shuts up himself, imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia, and remember well,
I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondering: what of her ensues
I list not prophecy; but let Time's news
Be known when 'tis brought forth.
A shepherd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never, yet that Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may.
POLIXENES:
I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:
'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to
grant this.
CAMILLO:
It is fifteen years since I saw my country: though
I have for the most part been aired abroad, I
desire to lay my bones there. |
Besides, the penitent
king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling
sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to
think so, which is another spur to my departure.
POLIXENES:
As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of
thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of
thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to
have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having
made me businesses which none without thee can
sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute
them thyself or take away with thee the very
Besides, the penitent
king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling
sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to
think so, which is another spur to my departure.
POLIXENES:
As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of
thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of
thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to
have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having
made me businesses which none without thee can
sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute
services thou hast done; which if I have not enough
considered, as too much I cannot, to be more
thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit
therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal
country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very
naming punishes me with the remembrance of that
penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king,
my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen
and children are even now to be afresh lamented.
Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my
son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not
being gracious, than they are in losing them when
they have approved their virtues.
CAMILLO:
Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What
his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I
have missingly noted, he is of late much retired
from court and is less frequent to his princely
exercises than formerly he hath appeared.
POLIXENES:
I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some
care; so far that I have eyes under my service which
look upon his removedness; from whom I have this
intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a
most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from
very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.
CAMILLO:
I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a
daughter of most rare note: the report of her is
extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.
POLIXENES:
That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I
fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. |
Thou
shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not
appearing what we are, have some question with the
shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not
uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither.
Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and
lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
CAMILLO:
I willingly obey your command.
POLIXENES:
My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.
AUTOLYCUS:
When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
I have served Prince Florizel and in my time
wore three-pile; but now I am out of service:
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
Thou
shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not
appearing what we are, have some question with the
shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not
uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither.
Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and
lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
CAMILLO:
I willingly obey your command.
POLIXENES:
My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.
AUTOLYCUS:
When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
I have served Prince Florizel and in my time
wore three-pile; but now I am out of service:
The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget,
Then my account I well may, give,
And in the stocks avouch it.
My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to
lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who
being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise
a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and
drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is
the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful
on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to
me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought
of it. A prize! a prize!
Clown:
Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod
yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred
shorn. what comes the wool to?
AUTOLYCUS:
Clown:
I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am
I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound
of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will
this sister of mine do with rice? But my father
hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it
on. |
She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for
the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good
ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but
one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to
She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for
the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good
ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but
horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden
pies; mace; dates?--none, that's out of my note;
nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I
may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of
raisins o' the sun.
AUTOLYCUS:
O that ever I was born!
Clown:
I' the name of me--
AUTOLYCUS:
O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and
then, death, death!
Clown:
Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay
on thee, rather than have these off.
AUTOLYCUS:
O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more
than the stripes I have received, which are mighty
ones and millions.
Clown:
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a
great matter.
AUTOLYCUS:
I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel
ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon
me.
Clown:
What, by a horseman, or a footman?
AUTOLYCUS:
A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
Clown:
Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he
has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat,
it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand,
I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.
AUTOLYCUS:
O, good sir, tenderly, O!
Clown:
Alas, poor soul!
AUTOLYCUS:
O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my
shoulder-blade is out.
Clown:
How now! canst stand?
AUTOLYCUS:
Clown:
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.
AUTOLYCUS:
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have
a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence,
unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or
any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you;
that kills my heart.
Clown:
What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
AUTOLYCUS:
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with
troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the
prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his
virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.
Clown:
His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped
out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay
there; and yet it will no more but abide.
AUTOLYCUS:
Vices, I would say, sir. |
I know this man well: he
hath been since an ape-bearer; then a
process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a
motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
wife within a mile where my land and living lies;
and, having flown over many knavish professions, he
settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.
Clown:
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts
wakes, fairs and bear-baitings.
AUTOLYCUS:
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that
put me into this apparel.
Clown:
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had
I know this man well: he
hath been since an ape-bearer; then a
process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a
motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
wife within a mile where my land and living lies;
and, having flown over many knavish professions, he
settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.
Clown:
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts
wakes, fairs and bear-baitings.
AUTOLYCUS:
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that
put me into this apparel.
Clown:
but looked big and spit at him, he'ld have run.
AUTOLYCUS:
I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am
false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant
him.
Clown:
How do you now?
AUTOLYCUS:
Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and
walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace
softly towards my kinsman's.
Clown:
Shall I bring thee on the way?
AUTOLYCUS:
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
Clown:
Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our
sheep-shearing.
AUTOLYCUS:
Prosper you, sweet sir!
Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice.
I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I
make not this cheat bring out another and the
shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name
put in the book of virtue!
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
FLORIZEL:
These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
PERDITA:
Sir, my gracious lord,
To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:
O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured
With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts
In every mess have folly and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired, sworn, I think,
To show myself a glass.
FLORIZEL:
I bless the time
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.
PERDITA:
Now Jove afford you cause!
To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
Hath not been used to fear. |
Even now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!
How would he look, to see his work so noble
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
Even now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!
How would he look, to see his work so noble
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
The sternness of his presence?
FLORIZEL:
Apprehend
Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.
PERDITA:
O, but, sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king:
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak, that you must
change this purpose,
Or I my life.
FLORIZEL:
Thou dearest Perdita,
With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not
The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,
Or not my father's. For I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance, as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial which
We two have sworn shall come.
PERDITA:
O lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious!
FLORIZEL:
See, your guests approach:
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.
Shepherd:
Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all;
Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here,
At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle;
On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire
With labour and the thing she took to quench it,
She would to each one sip. |
You are retired,
As if you were a feasted one and not
The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid
These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
PERDITA:
POLIXENES:
Shepherdess,
A fair one are you--well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
PERDITA:
Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest
flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
POLIXENES:
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
PERDITA:
For I have heard it said
There is an art which in their piedness shares
With great creating nature.
POLIXENES:
Say there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean
But nature makes that mean: so, over that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
You are retired,
As if you were a feasted one and not
The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid
These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
PERDITA:
POLIXENES:
Shepherdess,
A fair one are you--well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
PERDITA:
Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest
flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
POLIXENES:
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
PERDITA:
For I have heard it said
There is an art which in their piedness shares
With great creating nature.
POLIXENES:
Say there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean
But nature makes that mean: so, over that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race: this is an art
Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
The art itself is nature.
PERDITA:
So it is.
POLIXENES:
Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
And do not call them bastards.
PERDITA:
I'll not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;
No more than were I painted I would wish
This youth should say 'twere well and only therefore
Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer, and I think they are given
To men of middle age. |
You're very welcome.
CAMILLO:
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
PERDITA:
Out, alas!
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.
Now, my fair'st friend,
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
You're very welcome.
CAMILLO:
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
PERDITA:
Out, alas!
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.
Now, my fair'st friend,
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bight Phoebus in his strength--a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er!
FLORIZEL:
What, like a corse?
PERDITA:
No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried,
But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:
Methinks I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.
FLORIZEL:
What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet.
I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms,
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,
And own no other function: each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,
That all your acts are queens.
PERDITA:
O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood which peepeth fairly through't,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.
FLORIZEL:
I think you have
As little skill to fear as I have purpose
To put you to't. |
But come; our dance, I pray:
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,
That never mean to part.
PERDITA:
I'll swear for 'em.
POLIXENES:
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.
CAMILLO:
He tells her something
That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
Clown:
Come on, strike up!
DORCAS:
Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,
To mend her kissing with!
MOPSA:
Now, in good time!
Clown:
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
Come, strike up!
POLIXENES:
Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Which dances with your daughter?
Shepherd:
They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding: but I have it
But come; our dance, I pray:
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,
That never mean to part.
PERDITA:
I'll swear for 'em.
POLIXENES:
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.
CAMILLO:
He tells her something
That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
Clown:
Come on, strike up!
DORCAS:
Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,
To mend her kissing with!
MOPSA:
Now, in good time!
Clown:
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
Come, strike up!
POLIXENES:
Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Which dances with your daughter?
Shepherd:
They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
Upon his own report and I believe it;
He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gazed the moon
Upon the water as he'll stand and read
As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain.
I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Who loves another best.
POLIXENES:
She dances featly.
Shepherd:
So she does any thing; though I report it,
That should be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
Servant:
O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the
door, you would never dance again after a tabour and
pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings
several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he
utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's
ears grew to his tunes.
Clown:
He could never come better; he shall come in. |
I
love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful
matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing
indeed and sung lamentably.
Servant:
He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no
milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he
has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without
bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate
burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump
her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would,
as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into
the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me
no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with
'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'
POLIXENES:
This is a brave fellow.
Clown:
I
love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful
matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing
indeed and sung lamentably.
Servant:
He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no
milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he
has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without
bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate
burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump
her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would,
as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into
the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me
no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with
'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'
POLIXENES:
This is a brave fellow.
Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited
fellow. |
Has he any unbraided wares?
Servant:
He hath ribbons of an the colours i' the rainbow;
points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can
learnedly handle, though they come to him by the
gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he
sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you
would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants
to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.
Clown:
Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.
PERDITA:
Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes.
Clown:
You have of these pedlars, that have more in them
than you'ld think, sister.
PERDITA:
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
AUTOLYCUS:
Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel:
Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.
Clown:
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take
no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it
will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
MOPSA:
I was promised them against the feast; but they come
not too late now.
DORCAS:
He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.
MOPSA:
He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has
paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.
Clown:
Is there no manners left among maids? will they
wear their plackets where they should bear their
faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are
going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these |
Has he any unbraided wares?
Servant:
He hath ribbons of an the colours i' the rainbow;
points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can
learnedly handle, though they come to him by the
gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he
sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you
would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants
to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.
Clown:
Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.
PERDITA:
Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes.
Clown:
You have of these pedlars, that have more in them
than you'ld think, sister.
PERDITA:
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
AUTOLYCUS:
Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel:
Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.
Clown:
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take
no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it
will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
MOPSA:
I was promised them against the feast; but they come
not too late now.
DORCAS:
He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.
MOPSA:
He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has
paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.
Clown:
Is there no manners left among maids? will they
wear their plackets where they should bear their
faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are
secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all
our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour
your tongues, and not a word more.
MOPSA:
I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace
and a pair of sweet gloves.
Clown:
Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way
and lost all my money?
AUTOLYCUS:
And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;
therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clown:
Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.
AUTOLYCUS:
I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.
Clown:
What hast here? ballads?
MOPSA:
Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o'
life, for then we are sure they are true.
AUTOLYCUS:
Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's
wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a
burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and
toads carbonadoed.
MOPSA:
Is it true, think you?
AUTOLYCUS:
Very true, and but a month old.
DORCAS:
Bless me from marrying a usurer!
AUTOLYCUS:
Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress
Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were
present. |
Why should I carry lies abroad?
MOPSA:
Pray you now, buy it.
Clown:
Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
AUTOLYCUS:
Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon
Why should I carry lies abroad?
MOPSA:
Pray you now, buy it.
Clown:
Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
AUTOLYCUS:
the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April,
forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this
ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was
thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold
fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that
loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true.
DORCAS:
Is it true too, think you?
AUTOLYCUS:
Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than
my pack will hold.
Clown:
Lay it by too: another.
AUTOLYCUS:
This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
MOPSA:
Let's have some merry ones.
AUTOLYCUS:
Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to
the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's
scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in
request, I can tell you.
MOPSA:
We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou
shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.
DORCAS:
We had the tune on't a month ago.
AUTOLYCUS:
I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my
occupation; have at it with you.
AUTOLYCUS:
Get you hence, for I must go
Where it fits not you to know.
DORCAS:
Whither?
MOPSA:
O, whither?
DORCAS:
Whither?
MOPSA:
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell.
DORCAS:
Me too, let me go thither.
MOPSA:
Or thou goest to the orange or mill.
DORCAS:
If to either, thou dost ill.
AUTOLYCUS:
Neither.
DORCAS:
What, neither?
AUTOLYCUS:
Neither.
DORCAS:
Thou hast sworn my love to be.
MOPSA:
Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Then whither goest? say, whither?
Clown:
We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my
father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll
not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after
me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's
have the first choice. |
Follow me, girls.
AUTOLYCUS:
And you shall pay well for 'em.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a?
Come to the pedlar;
Money's a medler.
That doth utter all men's ware-a.
Servant:
Master, there is three carters, three shepherds,
three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made
themselves all men of hair, they call themselves
Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches
say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are
not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it
be not too rough for some that know little but
bowling, it will please plentifully.
Shepherd:
Away! we'll none on 't: here has been too much
homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.
Follow me, girls.
AUTOLYCUS:
And you shall pay well for 'em.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a?
Come to the pedlar;
Money's a medler.
That doth utter all men's ware-a.
Servant:
Master, there is three carters, three shepherds,
three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made
themselves all men of hair, they call themselves
Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches
say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are
not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it
be not too rough for some that know little but
bowling, it will please plentifully.
Shepherd:
Away! we'll none on 't: here has been too much
POLIXENES:
You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see
these four threes of herdsmen.
Servant:
One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath
danced before the king; and not the worst of the
three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier.
Shepherd:
Leave your prating: since these good men are
pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.
Servant:
Why, they stay at door, sir.
POLIXENES:
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.
Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.
He's simple and tells much.
How now, fair shepherd!
Your heart is full of something that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young
And handed love as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go
And nothing marted with him. If your lass
Interpretation should abuse and call this
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
For a reply, at least if you make a care
Of happy holding her.
FLORIZEL:
Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. |
O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd
snow that's bolted
By the northern blasts twice o'er.
POLIXENES:
What follows this?
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd
snow that's bolted
By the northern blasts twice o'er.
POLIXENES:
What follows this?
The hand was fair before! I have put you out:
But to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
FLORIZEL:
Do, and be witness to 't.
POLIXENES:
And this my neighbour too?
FLORIZEL:
And he, and more
Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:
That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
Without her love; for her employ them all;
Commend them and condemn them to her service
Or to their own perdition.
POLIXENES:
Fairly offer'd.
CAMILLO:
This shows a sound affection.
Shepherd:
But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
PERDITA:
I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
Shepherd:
Take hands, a bargain!
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
FLORIZEL:
O, that must be
I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Shepherd:
Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.
POLIXENES:
Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you;
Have you a father?
FLORIZEL:
I have: but what of him?
POLIXENES:
Knows he of this?
FLORIZEL:
He neither does nor shall.
POLIXENES:
Methinks a father
Is at the nuptial of his son a guest
That best becomes the table. |
Pray you once more,
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing
But what he did being childish?
FLORIZEL:
No, good sir;
He has his health and ampler strength indeed
Than most have of his age.
POLIXENES:
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: reason my son
Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason
The father, all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity, should hold some counsel
In such a business.
FLORIZEL:
I yield all this;
But for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
POLIXENES:
Let him know't.
FLORIZEL:
He shall not.
POLIXENES:
Prithee, let him.
FLORIZEL:
No, he must not.
Shepherd:
Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Pray you once more,
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing
But what he did being childish?
FLORIZEL:
No, good sir;
He has his health and ampler strength indeed
Than most have of his age.
POLIXENES:
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: reason my son
Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason
The father, all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity, should hold some counsel
In such a business.
FLORIZEL:
I yield all this;
But for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
POLIXENES:
Let him know't.
FLORIZEL:
He shall not.
POLIXENES:
Prithee, let him.
FLORIZEL:
No, he must not.
Shepherd:
Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
FLORIZEL:
Come, come, he must not.
Mark our contract.
POLIXENES:
Mark your divorce, young sir,
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor,
I am sorry that by hanging thee I can
But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
The royal fool thou copest with,--
Shepherd:
O, my heart!
POLIXENES:
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never
I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words:
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it. |
And you, enchantment.--
Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to't.
PERDITA:
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard; for once or twice
I was about to speak and tell him plainly,
And you, enchantment.--
Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to't.
PERDITA:
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard; for once or twice
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage but
Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone?
I told you what would come of this: beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,--
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes and weep.
CAMILLO:
Why, how now, father!
Speak ere thou diest.
Shepherd:
I cannot speak, nor think
Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir!
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me
Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,
That knew'st this was the prince,
and wouldst adventure
To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have lived
To die when I desire.
FLORIZEL:
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;
More straining on for plucking back, not following
My leash unwillingly.
CAMILLO:
Gracious my lord,
You know your father's temper: at this time
He will allow no speech, which I do guess
You do not purpose to him; and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.
FLORIZEL:
I not purpose it.
I think, Camillo?
CAMILLO:
Even he, my lord.
PERDITA:
How often have I told you 'twould be thus!
How often said, my dignity would last
But till 'twere known!
FLORIZEL:
It cannot fail but by
The violation of my faith; and then
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks:
From my succession wipe me, father; I
Am heir to my affection.
CAMILLO:
Be advised.
FLORIZEL:
I am, and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleased with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
CAMILLO:
This is desperate, sir.
FLORIZEL:
So call it: but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. |
Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or
The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,--cast your good counsels
Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or
The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not
Upon his passion; let myself and fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know
And so deliver, I am put to sea
With her whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And most opportune to our need I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
CAMILLO:
O my lord!
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
FLORIZEL:
Hark, Perdita
I'll hear you by and by.
CAMILLO:
He's irremoveable,
Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn,
Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.
FLORIZEL:
Now, good Camillo;
I am so fraught with curious business that
I leave out ceremony.
CAMILLO:
Sir, I think
You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
That I have borne your father?
FLORIZEL:
Very nobly
Have you deserved: it is my father's music
To speak your deeds, not little of his care
To have them recompensed as thought on.
CAMILLO:
Well, my lord,
If you may please to think I love the king
And through him what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction:
If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration, on mine honour,
I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
As shall become your highness; where you may
Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see,
There's no disjunction to be made, but by--
As heavens forefend!--your ruin; marry her,
And, with my best endeavours in your absence,
Your discontenting father strive to qualify
And bring him up to liking.
FLORIZEL:
How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done?
That I may call thee something more than man
And after that trust to thee.
CAMILLO:
Have you thought on
A place whereto you'll go?
FLORIZEL:
Not any yet:
But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do, so we profess
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies
Of every wind that blows.
CAMILLO:
Then list to me:
This follows, if you will not change your purpose
But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,
And there present yourself and your fair princess,
For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes:
She shall be habited as it becomes
The partner of your bed. |
Methinks I see
Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness,
As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
He chides to hell and bids the other grow
Faster than thought or time.
Methinks I see
Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness,
As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
He chides to hell and bids the other grow
FLORIZEL:
Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him?
CAMILLO:
Sent by the king your father
To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with
What you as from your father shall deliver,
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down:
The which shall point you forth at every sitting
What you must say; that he shall not perceive
But that you have your father's bosom there
And speak his very heart.
FLORIZEL:
I am bound to you:
There is some sap in this.
CAMILLO:
A cause more promising
Than a wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain
To miseries enough; no hope to help you,
But as you shake off one to take another;
Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
Do their best office, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know
Prosperity's the very bond of love,
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
Affliction alters.
PERDITA:
One of these is true:
I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
But not take in the mind.
CAMILLO:
Yea, say you so?
There shall not at your father's house these
seven years
Be born another such.
FLORIZEL:
My good Camillo,
She is as forward of her breeding as
She is i' the rear our birth.
CAMILLO:
I cannot say 'tis pity
She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.
PERDITA:
Your pardon, sir; for this
I'll blush you thanks.
FLORIZEL:
My prettiest Perdita!
But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,
Preserver of my father, now of me,
The medicine of our house, how shall we do?
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son,
Nor shall appear in Sicilia.
CAMILLO:
My lord,
Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes
Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed as if
The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,
That you may know you shall not want, one word.
AUTOLYCUS:
Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his
sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold
all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a
ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad,
knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring,
to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who
should buy first, as if my trinkets had been
hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer:
by which means I saw whose purse was best in
picture; and what I saw, to my good use I
remembered. |
My clown, who wants but something to
be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the
wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes
till he had both tune and words; which so drew the
rest of the herd to me that all their other senses
My clown, who wants but something to
be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the
wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes
till he had both tune and words; which so drew the
stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it
was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a
purse; I could have filed keys off that hung in
chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song,
and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this
time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their
festival purses; and had not the old man come in
with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's
son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not
left a purse alive in the whole army.
CAMILLO:
Nay, but my letters, by this means being there
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
FLORIZEL:
And those that you'll procure from King Leontes--
CAMILLO:
Shall satisfy your father.
PERDITA:
Happy be you!
All that you speak shows fair.
CAMILLO:
Who have we here?
We'll make an instrument of this, omit
Nothing may give us aid.
AUTOLYCUS:
If they have overheard me now, why, hanging.
CAMILLO:
How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear
not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.
AUTOLYCUS:
I am a poor fellow, sir.
CAMILLO:
Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from
thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must
make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly,
--thou must think there's a necessity in't,--and
change garments with this gentleman: though the
pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee,
there's some boot.
AUTOLYCUS:
I am a poor fellow, sir.
I know ye well enough.
CAMILLO:
Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half
flayed already.
AUTOLYCUS:
Are you in earnest, sir?
I smell the trick on't.
FLORIZEL:
Dispatch, I prithee.
AUTOLYCUS:
Indeed, I have had earnest: but I cannot with
conscience take it.
CAMILLO:
Unbuckle, unbuckle.
Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy
Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself
Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat
And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face,
Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken
The truth of your own seeming; that you may--
For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard
Get undescried.
PERDITA:
I see the play so lies
That I must bear a part.
CAMILLO:
No remedy.
Have you done there?
FLORIZEL:
Should I now meet my father,
He would not call me son.
CAMILLO:
Nay, you shall have no hat.
Come, lady, come. |
Farewell, my friend.
AUTOLYCUS:
Adieu, sir.
FLORIZEL:
O Perdita, what have we twain forgot!
Pray you, a word.
CAMILLO:
FLORIZEL:
Fortune speed us!
Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
CAMILLO:
The swifter speed the better.
AUTOLYCUS:
I understand the business, I hear it: to have an
open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is
Farewell, my friend.
AUTOLYCUS:
Adieu, sir.
FLORIZEL:
O Perdita, what have we twain forgot!
Pray you, a word.
CAMILLO:
FLORIZEL:
Fortune speed us!
Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
CAMILLO:
The swifter speed the better.
AUTOLYCUS:
I understand the business, I hear it: to have an
necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite
also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see
this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
What an exchange had this been without boot! What
a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do
this year connive at us, and we may do any thing
extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of
iniquity, stealing away from his father with his
clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of
honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not
do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it;
and therein am I constant to my profession.
Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain:
every lane's end, every shop, church, session,
hanging, yields a careful man work.
Clown:
See, see; what a man you are now!
There is no other way but to tell the king
she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood.
Shepherd:
Nay, but hear me.
Clown:
Nay, but hear me.
Shepherd:
Go to, then.
Clown:
She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh
and blood has not offended the king; and so your
flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show
those things you found about her, those secret
things, all but what she has with her: this being
done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you.
Shepherd:
I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his
son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man,
neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make
me the king's brother-in-law.
Clown:
Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you
could have been to him and then your blood had been
the dearer by I know how much an ounce.
AUTOLYCUS:
Shepherd:
Well, let us to the king: there is that in this
fardel will make him scratch his beard.
AUTOLYCUS:
Clown:
Pray heartily he be at palace.
AUTOLYCUS:
Shepherd:
To the palace, an it like your worship.
AUTOLYCUS:
Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition
of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your
names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any
thing that is fitting to be known, discover.
Clown:
We are but plain fellows, sir.
AUTOLYCUS:
A lie; you are rough and hairy. |
Let me have no
lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for
it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore
they do not give us the lie.
Clown:
Your worship had like to have given us one, if you
had not taken yourself with the manner.
Shepherd:
Let me have no
lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for
it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore
they do not give us the lie.
Clown:
Your worship had like to have given us one, if you
had not taken yourself with the manner.
Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?
AUTOLYCUS:
Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest
thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings?
hath not my gait in it the measure of the court?
receives not thy nose court-odor from me? reflect I
not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou,
for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy
business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier
cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck
back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to
open thy affair.
Shepherd:
My business, sir, is to the king.
AUTOLYCUS:
What advocate hast thou to him?
Shepherd:
I know not, an't like you.
Clown:
Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant: say you
have none.
Shepherd:
None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.
AUTOLYCUS:
How blessed are we that are not simple men!
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I will not disdain.
Clown:
This cannot be but a great courtier.
Shepherd:
His garments are rich, but he wears
them not handsomely.
Clown:
He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical:
a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking
on's teeth.
AUTOLYCUS:
The fardel there? what's i' the fardel?
Wherefore that box?
Shepherd:
Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box,
which none must know but the king; and which he
shall know within this hour, if I may come to the
speech of him.
AUTOLYCUS:
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Shepherd:
Why, sir?
AUTOLYCUS:
The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a
new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for,
if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must
know the king is full of grief.
Shepard:
So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have
married a shepherd's daughter.
AUTOLYCUS:
If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly:
the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall
feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.
Clown:
Think you so, sir?
AUTOLYCUS:
Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy
and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to
him, though removed fifty times, shall all come
under the hangman: which though it be great pity,
yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue a
ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into
grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death
is too soft for him, say I draw our throne into a
sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.
Clown:
Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear. |
an't
like you, sir?
AUTOLYCUS:
He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then
'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a
an't
like you, sir?
AUTOLYCUS:
He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then
wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters
and a dram dead; then recovered again with
aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as
he is, and in the hottest day prognostication
proclaims, shall be be set against a brick-wall, the
sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he
is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what
talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries
are to be smiled at, their offences being so
capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain
men, what you have to the king: being something
gently considered, I'll bring you where he is
aboard, tender your persons to his presence,
whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man
besides the king to effect your suits, here is man
shall do it.
Clown:
He seems to be of great authority: close with him,
give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn
bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show
the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand,
and no more ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed alive.'
Shepherd:
An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for
us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much
more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you.
AUTOLYCUS:
After I have done what I promised?
Shepherd:
Ay, sir.
AUTOLYCUS:
Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?
Clown:
In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful
one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.
AUTOLYCUS:
O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: hang him,
he'll be made an example.
Clown:
Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show
our strange sights: he must know 'tis none of your
daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I
will give you as much as this old man does when the
business is performed, and remain, as he says, your
pawn till it be brought you.
AUTOLYCUS:
I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side;
go on the right hand: I will but look upon the
hedge and follow you.
Clown:
We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest.
Shepherd:
Let's before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good.
AUTOLYCUS:
If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would
not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am
courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means
to do the prince my master good; which who knows how
that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring
these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he
think it fit to shore them again and that the
complaint they have to the king concerns him
nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far
officious; for I am proof against that title and
what shame else belongs to't. |
To him will I present
them: there may be matter in it.
CLEOMENES:
Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make,
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down
More penitence than done trespass: at the last,
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;
With them forgive yourself.
LEONTES:
Whilst I remember
Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them, and so still think of
The wrong I did myself; which was so much,
To him will I present
them: there may be matter in it.
CLEOMENES:
Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make,
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down
More penitence than done trespass: at the last,
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;
With them forgive yourself.
LEONTES:
Whilst I remember
Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them, and so still think of
That heirless it hath made my kingdom and
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man
Bred his hopes out of.
PAULINA:
True, too true, my lord:
If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
Or from the all that are took something good,
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd
Would be unparallel'd.
LEONTES:
I think so. Kill'd!
She I kill'd! I did so: but thou strikest me
Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue as in my thought: now, good now,
Say so but seldom.
CLEOMENES:
Not at all, good lady:
You might have spoken a thousand things that would
Have done the time more benefit and graced
Your kindness better.
PAULINA:
You are one of those
Would have him wed again.
DION:
If you would not so,
You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign name; consider little
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue,
May drop upon his kingdom and devour
Incertain lookers on. What were more holy
Than to rejoice the former queen is well?
What holier than, for royalty's repair,
For present comfort and for future good,
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to't?
PAULINA:
There is none worthy,
Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes;
For has not the divine Apollo said,
Is't not the tenor of his oracle,
That King Leontes shall not have an heir
Till his lost child be found? which that it shall,
Is all as monstrous to our human reason
As my Antigonus to break his grave
And come again to me; who, on my life,
Did perish with the infant. |
'Tis your counsel
My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
Oppose against their wills.
Care not for issue;
The crown will find an heir: great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
Was like to be the best.
LEONTES:
Good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honour, O, that ever I
Had squared me to thy counsel! then, even now,
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
Have taken treasure from her lips--
PAULINA:
And left them
More rich for what they yielded.
LEONTES:
Thou speak'st truth.
No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,
And better used, would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corpse, and on this stage,
Where we're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd,
And begin, 'Why to me?'
PAULINA:
Had she such power,
She had just cause.
LEONTES:
She had; and would incense me
'Tis your counsel
My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
Oppose against their wills.
Care not for issue;
The crown will find an heir: great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
Was like to be the best.
LEONTES:
Good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honour, O, that ever I
Had squared me to thy counsel! then, even now,
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
Have taken treasure from her lips--
PAULINA:
And left them
More rich for what they yielded.
LEONTES:
Thou speak'st truth.
No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,
And better used, would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corpse, and on this stage,
Where we're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd,
And begin, 'Why to me?'
PAULINA:
Had she such power,
She had just cause.
LEONTES:
To murder her I married.
PAULINA:
I should so.
Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'ld bid you mark
Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't
You chose her; then I'ld shriek, that even your ears
Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd
Should be 'Remember mine.'
LEONTES:
Stars, stars,
And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;
I'll have no wife, Paulina.
PAULINA:
Will you swear
Never to marry but by my free leave?
LEONTES:
Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit!
PAULINA:
Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.
CLEOMENES:
You tempt him over-much.
PAULINA:
Unless another,
As like Hermione as is her picture,
Affront his eye.
CLEOMENES:
Good madam,--
PAULINA:
I have done.
Yet, if my lord will marry,--if you will, sir,
No remedy, but you will,--give me the office
To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young
As was your former; but she shall be such
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost,
it should take joy
To see her in your arms.
LEONTES:
My true Paulina,
We shall not marry till thou bid'st us.
PAULINA:
That
Shall be when your first queen's again in breath;
Never till then.
Gentleman:
One that gives out himself Prince Florizel,
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she
The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access
To your high presence.
LEONTES:
What with him? he comes not
Like to his father's greatness: his approach,
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us |
'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced
By need and accident. What train?
Gentleman:
But few,
And those but mean.
LEONTES:
His princess, say you, with him?
Gentleman:
Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
That e'er the sun shone bright on.
PAULINA:
O Hermione,
As every present time doth boast itself
Above a better gone, so must thy grave
Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself
Have said and writ so, but your writing now
Is colder than that theme, 'She had not been,
Nor was not to be equall'd;'--thus your verse
Flow'd with her beauty once: 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
To say you have seen a better.
Gentleman:
Pardon, madam:
The one I have almost forgot,--your pardon,--
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye,
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature,
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else, make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.
PAULINA:
How! not women?
Gentleman:
Women will love her, that she is a woman
More worth than any man; men, that she is
The rarest of all women.
LEONTES:
Go, Cleomenes;
Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends,
Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis strange
He thus should steal upon us.
PAULINA:
Had our prince,
Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd
Well with this lord: there was not full a month
Between their births.
LEONTES:
Prithee, no more; cease; thou know'st
He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure,
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
Will bring me to consider that which may
Unfurnish me of reason. They are come.
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince;
For she did print your royal father off,
Conceiving you: were I but twenty-one,
Your father's image is so hit in you,
His very air, that I should call you brother,
As I did him, and speak of something wildly
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome!
And your fair princess,--goddess!--O, alas!
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth
Might thus have stood begetting wonder as
You, gracious couple, do: and then I lost--
All mine own folly--the society,
Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
Though bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look on him.
FLORIZEL:
By his command
Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from him
Give you all greetings that a king, at friend,
Can send his brother: and, but infirmity
Which waits upon worn times hath something seized
His wish'd ability, he had himself
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
Measured to look upon you; whom he loves--
He bade me say so--more than all the sceptres
And those that bear them living.
LEONTES:
O my brother,
Good gentleman! the wrongs I have done thee stir
Afresh within me, and these thy offices,
So rarely kind, are as interpreters
Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome hither,
As is the spring to the earth. |
And hath he too
Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage,
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
The adventure of her person?
FLORIZEL:
Good my lord,
She came from Libya.
LEONTES:
Where the warlike Smalus,
That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved?
FLORIZEL:
Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence,
A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd,
And hath he too
Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage,
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
The adventure of her person?
FLORIZEL:
Good my lord,
She came from Libya.
LEONTES:
Where the warlike Smalus,
That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved?
FLORIZEL:
Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence,
To execute the charge my father gave me
For visiting your highness: my best train
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
Not only my success in Libya, sir,
But my arrival and my wife's in safety
Here where we are.
LEONTES:
The blessed gods
Purge all infection from our air whilst you
Do climate here! You have a holy father,
A graceful gentleman; against whose person,
So sacred as it is, I have done sin:
For which the heavens, taking angry note,
Have left me issueless; and your father's blest,
As he from heaven merits it, with you
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been,
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on,
Such goodly things as you!
Lord:
Most noble sir,
That which I shall report will bear no credit,
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,
Bohemia greets you from himself by me;
Desires you to attach his son, who has--
His dignity and duty both cast off--
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with
A shepherd's daughter.
LEONTES:
Where's Bohemia? speak.
Lord:
Here in your city; I now came from him:
I speak amazedly; and it becomes
My marvel and my message. To your court
Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it seems,
Of this fair couple, meets he on the way
The father of this seeming lady and
Her brother, having both their country quitted
With this young prince.
FLORIZEL:
Camillo has betray'd me;
Whose honour and whose honesty till now
Endured all weathers.
Lord:
Lay't so to his charge:
He's with the king your father.
LEONTES:
Who? Camillo?
Lord:
Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I
Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;
Forswear themselves as often as they speak:
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
With divers deaths in death.
PERDITA:
O my poor father!
The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
Our contract celebrated.
LEONTES:
You are married?
FLORIZEL:
We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first:
The odds for high and low's alike.
LEONTES:
My lord,
Is this the daughter of a king?
FLORIZEL:
She is,
When once she is my wife.
LEONTES:
That 'once' I see by your good father's speed
Will come on very slowly. |
I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking
Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry
I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
That you might well enjoy her.
FLORIZEL:
Dear, look up:
Though Fortune, visible an enemy,
Should chase us with my father, power no jot
Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,
Remember since you owed no more to time
Than I do now: with thought of such affections,
Step forth mine advocate; at your request
My father will grant precious things as trifles.
LEONTES:
Would he do so, I'ld beg your precious mistress,
Which he counts but a trifle.
PAULINA:
Sir, my liege,
Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
Than what you look on now.
LEONTES:
I thought of her,
Even in these looks I made.
But your petition
Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father:
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am friend to them and you: upon which errand
I now go toward him; therefore follow me
And mark what way I make: come, good my lord.
AUTOLYCUS:
Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?
First Gentleman:
I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old
shepherd deliver the manner how he found it:
whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all
commanded out of the chamber; only this methought I
heard the shepherd say, he found the child.
AUTOLYCUS:
I would most gladly know the issue of it.
First Gentleman:
I make a broken delivery of the business; but the
changes I perceived in the king and Camillo were
very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, with
staring on one another, to tear the cases of their
eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language
in their very gesture; they looked as they had heard
of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: a notable
passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest
beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not
say if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in the
extremity of the one, it must needs be.
Here comes a gentleman that haply knows more.
The news, Rogero?
Second Gentleman:
Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled; the
king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is
broken out within this hour that ballad-makers
cannot be able to express it.
Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he can
deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? this news
which is called true is so like an old tale, that
the verity of it is in strong suspicion: has the king
found his heir?
Third Gentleman:
Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by
circumstance: that which you hear you'll swear you
see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle
of Queen Hermione's, her jewel about the neck of it,
the letters of Antigonus found with it which they
know to be his character, the majesty of the
creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection
of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding,
and many other evidences proclaim her with all
certainty to be the king's daughter. Did you see
the meeting of the two kings?
Second Gentleman:
No.
Third Gentleman:
Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen,
cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one
joy crown another, so and in such manner that it
seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their
joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes,
holding up of hands, with countenances of such
distraction that they were to be known by garment,
not by favour. |
Our king, being ready to leap out of
himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that
Our king, being ready to leap out of
joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother,
thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then
embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his
daughter with clipping her; now he thanks the old
shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten
conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such
another encounter, which lames report to follow it
and undoes description to do it.
Second Gentleman:
What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried
hence the child?
Third Gentleman:
Like an old tale still, which will have matter to
rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear
open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this
avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his
innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a
handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.
First Gentleman:
What became of his bark and his followers?
Third Gentleman:
Wrecked the same instant of their master's death and
in the view of the shepherd: so that all the
instruments which aided to expose the child were
even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble
combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in
Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of
her husband, another elevated that the oracle was
fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the earth,
and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin
her to her heart that she might no more be in danger
of losing.
First Gentleman:
The dignity of this act was worth the audience of
kings and princes; for by such was it acted.
Third Gentleman:
One of the prettiest touches of all and that which
angled for mine eyes, caught the water though not
the fish, was when, at the relation of the queen's
death, with the manner how she came to't bravely
confessed and lamented by the king, how
attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one
sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 'Alas,'
I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my
heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed
colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world
could have seen 't, the woe had been universal.
First Gentleman:
Are they returned to the court?
Third Gentleman:
No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue,
which is in the keeping of Paulina,--a piece many
years in doing and now newly performed by that rare
Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself
eternity and could put breath into his work, would
beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her
ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that
they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of
answer: thither with all greediness of affection
are they gone, and there they intend to sup.
Second Gentleman:
I thought she had some great matter there in hand;
for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever
since the death of Hermione, visited that removed
house. Shall we thither and with our company piece
the rejoicing?
First Gentleman:
Who would be thence that has the benefit of access?
every wink of an eye some new grace will be born:
our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge.
Let's along.
AUTOLYCUS:
Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me,
would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old
man and his son aboard the prince: told him I heard
them talk of a fardel and I know not what: but he
at that time, overfond of the shepherd's daughter,
so he then took her to be, who began to be much
sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of
weather continuing, this mystery remained
undiscovered. |
But 'tis all one to me; for had I
been the finder out of this secret, it would not
But 'tis all one to me; for had I
have relished among my other discredits.
Here come those I have done good to against my will,
and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune.
Shepherd:
Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and
daughters will be all gentlemen born.
Clown:
You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me
this other day, because I was no gentleman born.
See you these clothes? say you see them not and
think me still no gentleman born: you were best say
these robes are not gentlemen born: give me the
lie, do, and try whether I am not now a gentleman born.
AUTOLYCUS:
I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.
Clown:
Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.
Shepherd:
And so have I, boy.
Clown:
So you have: but I was a gentleman born before my
father; for the king's son took me by the hand, and
called me brother; and then the two kings called my
father brother; and then the prince my brother and
the princess my sister called my father father; and
so we wept, and there was the first gentleman-like
tears that ever we shed.
Shepherd:
We may live, son, to shed many more.
Clown:
Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so
preposterous estate as we are.
AUTOLYCUS:
I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the
faults I have committed to your worship and to give
me your good report to the prince my master.
Shepherd:
Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are
gentlemen.
Clown:
Thou wilt amend thy life?
AUTOLYCUS:
Ay, an it like your good worship.
Clown:
Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou
art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.
Shepherd:
You may say it, but not swear it.
Clown:
Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and
franklins say it, I'll swear it.
Shepherd:
How if it be false, son?
Clown:
If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear
it in the behalf of his friend: and I'll swear to
the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and
that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no
tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be
drunk: but I'll swear it, and I would thou wouldst
be a tall fellow of thy hands.
AUTOLYCUS:
I will prove so, sir, to my power.
Clown:
Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I do not
wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not
being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings
and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the
queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy
good masters.
LEONTES:
O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!
PAULINA:
What, sovereign sir,
I did not well I meant well. |
All my services
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsafed,
With your crown'd brother and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
LEONTES:
O Paulina,
We honour you with trouble: but we came
To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
PAULINA:
As she lived peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon
All my services
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsafed,
With your crown'd brother and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
LEONTES:
O Paulina,
We honour you with trouble: but we came
To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
PAULINA:
As she lived peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well.
I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege,
Comes it not something near?
LEONTES:
Her natural posture!
Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed
Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
So aged as this seems.
POLIXENES:
O, not by much.
PAULINA:
So much the more our carver's excellence;
Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her
As she lived now.
LEONTES:
As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, warm life,
As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her!
I am ashamed: does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it? O royal piece,
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjured to remembrance and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee.
PERDITA:
And give me leave,
And do not say 'tis superstition, that
I kneel and then implore her blessing. |
Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours to kiss.
PAULINA:
O, patience!
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry.
CAMILLO:
My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers dry; scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow
But kill'd itself much sooner.
POLIXENES:
Dear my brother,
Let him that was the cause of this have power
To take off so much grief from you as he
Will piece up in himself.
PAULINA:
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you,--for the stone is mine--
I'ld not have show'd it.
LEONTES:
Do not draw the curtain.
PAULINA:
No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
May think anon it moves.
LEONTES:
Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already--
What was he that did make it? See, my lord,
Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours to kiss.
PAULINA:
O, patience!
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry.
CAMILLO:
My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers dry; scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow
But kill'd itself much sooner.
POLIXENES:
Dear my brother,
Let him that was the cause of this have power
To take off so much grief from you as he
Will piece up in himself.
PAULINA:
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you,--for the stone is mine--
I'ld not have show'd it.
LEONTES:
Do not draw the curtain.
PAULINA:
No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
May think anon it moves.
LEONTES:
Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already--
Would you not deem it breathed? and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?
POLIXENES:
Masterly done:
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
LEONTES:
The fixture of her eye has motion in't,
As we are mock'd with art.
PAULINA:
I'll draw the curtain:
My lord's almost so far transported that
He'll think anon it lives.
LEONTES:
O sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together!
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.
PAULINA:
I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but
I could afflict you farther.
LEONTES:
Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.
PAULINA:
Good my lord, forbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
LEONTES:
No, not these twenty years.
PERDITA:
So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
PAULINA:
Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
For more amazement. |
If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed, descend
And take you by the hand; but then you'll think--
Which I protest against--I am assisted
By wicked powers.
LEONTES:
If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed, descend
And take you by the hand; but then you'll think--
Which I protest against--I am assisted
By wicked powers.
What you can make her do,
I am content to look on: what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak as move.
PAULINA:
It is required
You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
On: those that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
LEONTES:
Proceed:
No foot shall stir.
PAULINA:
Music, awake her; strike!
'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come,
I'll fill your grave up: stir, nay, come away,
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs:
Start not; her actions shall be holy as
You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her
Until you see her die again; for then
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand:
When she was young you woo'd her; now in age
Is she become the suitor?
LEONTES:
O, she's warm!
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.
POLIXENES:
She embraces him.
CAMILLO:
She hangs about his neck:
If she pertain to life let her speak too.
POLIXENES:
Ay, and make't manifest where she has lived,
Or how stolen from the dead.
PAULINA:
That she is living,
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale: but it appears she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.
Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel
And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady;
Our Perdita is found.
HERMIONE:
You gods, look down
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own.
Where hast thou been preserved? where lived? how found
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I,
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved
Myself to see the issue.
PAULINA:
There's time enough for that;
Lest they desire upon this push to trouble
Your joys with like relation. Go together,
You precious winners all; your exultation
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.
LEONTES:
O, peace, Paulina!
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine a wife: this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine;
But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her,
As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many
A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far--
For him, I partly know his mind--to find thee
An honourable husband. Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty
Is richly noted and here justified
By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place.
What! look upon my brother: both your pardons,
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion. This is your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, who, heavens directing,
Is troth-plight to your daughter. |
Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
Each one demand an answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first
Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
Each one demand an answer to his part
We were dissever'd: hastily lead away.
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.
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.
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!
Once more, fare you well.
ANGELO:
ESCALUS:
Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!
DUKE:
I thank you. Fare you well.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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:
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.
MISTRESS OVERDONE:
Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what
with the gallows and what with poverty, I am
custom-shrunk.
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,
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:
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.
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.
LUCIO:
Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint?
CLAUDIO:
From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
As surfeit is the father of much fast,
So every scope by the immoderate use
Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,
Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,
A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.
LUCIO:
If could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would
send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say
the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom
as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy
offence, Claudio?
CLAUDIO:
What but to speak of would offend again.
LUCIO:
What, is't murder?
CLAUDIO:
No.
LUCIO:
Lechery?
CLAUDIO:
Call it so.
Provost:
Away, sir! you must go.
CLAUDIO:
One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.
LUCIO:
A hundred, if they'll do you any good.
Is lechery so look'd after?
CLAUDIO:
Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract
I got possession of Julietta's bed:
You know the lady; she is fast my wife,
Save that we do the denunciation lack
Of outward order: this we came not to,
Only for propagation of a dower
Remaining in the coffer of her friends,
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love
Till time had made them for us. |
But it chances
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment
With character too gross is writ on Juliet.
LUCIO:
With child, perhaps?
CLAUDIO:
Unhappily, even so.
And the new deputy now for the duke--
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,
Or whether that the body public be
A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
But it chances
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment
With character too gross is writ on Juliet.
LUCIO:
With child, perhaps?
CLAUDIO:
Unhappily, even so.
And the new deputy now for the duke--
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,
Or whether that the body public be
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;
Whether the tyranny be in his place,
Or in his emmence that fills it up,
I stagger in:--but this new governor
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties
Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round
And none of them been worn; and, for a name,
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
Freshly on me: 'tis surely for a name.
LUCIO:
I warrant it is: and thy head stands so tickle on
thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love,
may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to
him.
CLAUDIO:
I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
This day my sister should the cloister enter
And there receive her approbation:
Acquaint her with the danger of my state:
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him:
I have great hope in that; for in her youth
There is a prone and speechless dialect,
Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art
When she will play with reason and discourse,
And well she can persuade.
LUCIO:
I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the
like, which else would stand under grievous
imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I
would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a
game of tick-tack. I'll to her.
CLAUDIO:
I thank you, good friend Lucio.
LUCIO:
Within two hours.
CLAUDIO:
Come, officer, away!
DUKE VINCENTIO:
No, holy father; throw away that thought;
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
Of burning youth.
FRIAR THOMAS:
May your grace speak of it?
DUKE VINCENTIO:
My holy sir, none better knows than you
How I have ever loved the life removed
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,
A man of stricture and firm abstinence,
My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
And so it is received. Now, pious sir,
You will demand of me why I do this?
FRIAR THOMAS:
Gladly, my lord.
DUKE VINCENTIO:
We have strict statutes and most biting laws.
The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds,
Which for this nineteen years we have let slip;
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
That goes not out to prey. |
Now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
Only to stick it in their children's sight
For terror, not to use, in time the rod
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,
Now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
Only to stick it in their children's sight
For terror, not to use, in time the rod
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.
FRIAR THOMAS:
It rested in your grace
To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased:
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd
Than in Lord Angelo.
DUKE VINCENTIO:
I do fear, too dreadful:
Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done,
When evil deeds have their permissive pass
And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, my father,
I have on Angelo imposed the office;
Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
And yet my nature never in the fight
To do in slander. And to behold his sway,
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee,
Supply me with the habit and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear me
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action
At our more leisure shall I render you;
Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,
If power change purpose, what our seemers be.
ISABELLA:
And have you nuns no farther privileges?
FRANCISCA:
Are not these large enough?
ISABELLA:
Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more;
But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.
LUCIO:
ISABELLA:
Who's that which calls?
FRANCISCA:
It is a man's voice. |
Gentle Isabella,
Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men
But in the presence of the prioress:
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again; I pray you, answer him.
ISABELLA:
Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls
LUCIO:
Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio?
ISABELLA:
Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask,
The rather for I now must make you know
I am that Isabella and his sister.
LUCIO:
Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.
ISABELLA:
Woe me! for what?
LUCIO:
For that which, if myself might be his judge,
He should receive his punishment in thanks:
He hath got his friend with child.
ISABELLA:
Sir, make me not your story.
LUCIO:
It is true.
I would not--though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,
Tongue far from heart--play with all virgins so:
I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.
By your renouncement an immortal spirit,
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a saint.
Gentle Isabella,
Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men
But in the presence of the prioress:
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again; I pray you, answer him.
ISABELLA:
Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls
LUCIO:
Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio?
ISABELLA:
Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask,
The rather for I now must make you know
I am that Isabella and his sister.
LUCIO:
Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.
ISABELLA:
Woe me! for what?
LUCIO:
For that which, if myself might be his judge,
He should receive his punishment in thanks:
He hath got his friend with child.
ISABELLA:
Sir, make me not your story.
LUCIO:
It is true.
I would not--though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,
Tongue far from heart--play with all virgins so:
I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.
By your renouncement an immortal spirit,
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a saint.
ISABELLA:
You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.
LUCIO:
Do not believe it. |
Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
Your brother and his lover have embraced:
As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.
ISABELLA:
Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?
LUCIO:
Is she your cousin?
ISABELLA:
Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names
Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
Your brother and his lover have embraced:
As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.
ISABELLA:
Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?
LUCIO:
Is she your cousin?
ISABELLA:
By vain though apt affection.
LUCIO:
She it is.
ISABELLA:
O, let him marry her.
LUCIO:
This is the point.
The duke is very strangely gone from hence;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
In hand and hope of action: but we do learn
By those that know the very nerves of state,
His givings-out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority,
Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense,
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
He--to give fear to use and liberty,
Which have for long run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions--hath pick'd out an act,
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
And follows close the rigour of the statute,
To make him an example. All hope is gone,
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business
'Twixt you and your poor brother.
ISABELLA:
Doth he so seek his life?
LUCIO:
Has censured him
Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for his execution.
ISABELLA:
Alas! what poor ability's in me
To do him good?
LUCIO:
Assay the power you have.
ISABELLA:
My power? Alas, I doubt--
LUCIO:
Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,
All their petitions are as freely theirs
As they themselves would owe them.
ISABELLA:
I'll see what I can do.
LUCIO:
But speedily.
ISABELLA:
I will about it straight;
No longer staying but to give the mother
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
Commend me to my brother: soon at night
I'll send him certain word of my success.
LUCIO:
I take my leave of you.
ISABELLA:
Good sir, adieu.
ANGELO:
We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch and not their terror.
ESCALUS:
Ay, but yet
Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
Than fall, and bruise to death. |
Alas, this gentleman
Whom I would save, had a most noble father!
Let but your honour know,
Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,
That, in the working of your own affections,
Had time cohered with place or place with wishing,
Or that the resolute acting of your blood
Alas, this gentleman
Whom I would save, had a most noble father!
Let but your honour know,
Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,
That, in the working of your own affections,
Had time cohered with place or place with wishing,
Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose,
Whether you had not sometime in your life
Err'd in this point which now you censure him,
And pull'd the law upon you.
ANGELO:
'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny,
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice,
That justice seizes: what know the laws
That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant,
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't
Because we see it; but what we do not see
We tread upon, and never think of it.
You may not so extenuate his offence
For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,
When I, that censure him, do so offend,
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
And nothing come in partial. |
Sir, he must die.
ESCALUS:
Be it as your wisdom will.
ANGELO:
Where is the provost?
Provost:
Here, if it like your honour.
ANGELO:
See that Claudio
Be executed by nine to-morrow morning:
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared;
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.
ESCALUS:
ELBOW:
Come, bring them away: if these be good people in
a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in
common houses, I know no law: bring them away.
ANGELO:
How now, sir! What's your name? and what's the matter?
ELBOW:
If it Please your honour, I am the poor duke's
constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon
justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good
honour two notorious benefactors.
ANGELO:
Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? are
they not malefactors?
ELBOW:
If it? please your honour, I know not well what they
are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure
of; and void of all profanation in the world that
good Christians ought to have.
ESCALUS:
This comes off well; here's a wise officer.
ANGELO:
Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your
name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow?
POMPEY:
He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.
ANGELO:
What are you, sir?
ELBOW:
He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that
serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they
say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she
professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too.
ESCALUS:
How know you that?
ELBOW:
My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,--
ESCALUS:
How? thy wife?
ELBOW:
Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,--
ESCALUS:
Dost thou detest her therefore?
ELBOW:
I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as
she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house,
it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.
ESCALUS:
How dost thou know that, constable? |
Sir, he must die.
ESCALUS:
Be it as your wisdom will.
ANGELO:
Where is the provost?
Provost:
Here, if it like your honour.
ANGELO:
See that Claudio
Be executed by nine to-morrow morning:
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared;
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.
ESCALUS:
ELBOW:
Come, bring them away: if these be good people in
a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in
common houses, I know no law: bring them away.
ANGELO:
How now, sir! What's your name? and what's the matter?
ELBOW:
If it Please your honour, I am the poor duke's
constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon
justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good
honour two notorious benefactors.
ANGELO:
Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? are
they not malefactors?
ELBOW:
If it? please your honour, I know not well what they
are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure
of; and void of all profanation in the world that
good Christians ought to have.
ESCALUS:
This comes off well; here's a wise officer.
ANGELO:
Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your
name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow?
POMPEY:
He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.
ANGELO:
What are you, sir?
ELBOW:
He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that
serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they
say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she
professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too.
ESCALUS:
How know you that?
ELBOW:
My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,--
ESCALUS:
How? thy wife?
ELBOW:
Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,--
ESCALUS:
Dost thou detest her therefore?
ELBOW:
I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as
she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house,
it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.
ESCALUS:
ELBOW:
Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman
cardinally given, might have been accused in
fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there.
ESCALUS:
By the woman's means?
ELBOW:
Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means: but as she
spit in his face, so she defied him.
POMPEY:
Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.
ELBOW:
Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable
man; prove it.
ESCALUS:
Do you hear how he misplaces?
POMPEY:
Sir, she came in great with child; and longing,
saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes;
sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very
distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a
dish of some three-pence; your honours have seen
such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very
good dishes,--
ESCALUS:
Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir.
POMPEY:
No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in
the right: but to the point. |