ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING OF FRANCE	(KING:)

DUKE OF FLORENCE	(DUKE:)

BERTRAM	Count of Rousillon.

LAFEU	an old lord.

PAROLLES	a follower of Bertram.


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


	A Page. (Page:)

COUNTESS OF
ROUSILLON	mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)

HELENA	a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.

	An old Widow of Florence. (Widow:)

DIANA	daughter to the Widow.


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


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



SCENE	Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE I	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LAFEU	A fistula, my lord.

BERTRAM	I heard not of it before.

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

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

LAFEU	Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

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

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

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

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

BERTRAM	Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

LAFEU	How understand we that?

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

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

COUNTESS	Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

	[Exit]

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

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

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]

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

	[Enter PAROLLES]

	[Aside]

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

PAROLLES	Save you, fair queen!

HELENA	And you, monarch!

PAROLLES	No.

HELENA	And no.

PAROLLES	Are you meditating on virginity?

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

PAROLLES	Keep him out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PAROLLES	What one, i' faith?

HELENA	That I wish well. 'Tis pity--

PAROLLES	What's pity?

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

	[Enter Page]

Page	Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

	[Exit]

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

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

PAROLLES	Under Mars, I.

HELENA	I especially think, under Mars.

PAROLLES	Why under Mars?

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

PAROLLES	When he was predominant.

HELENA	When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

PAROLLES	Why think you so?

HELENA	You go so much backward when you fight.

PAROLLES	That's for advantage.

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

PAROLLES	I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee
	acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the
	which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize
	thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's
	counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon
	thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and
	thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When
	thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast
	none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband,
	and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell.

	[Exit]

HELENA	Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
	Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
	Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull
	Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
	What power is it which mounts my love so high,
	That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
	The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
	To join like likes and kiss like native things.
	Impossible be strange attempts to those
	That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose
	What hath been cannot be: who ever strove
	So show her merit, that did miss her love?
	The king's disease--my project may deceive me,
	But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE II	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France,
	with letters, and divers Attendants]

KING	The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
	Have fought with equal fortune and continue
	A braving war.

First Lord	                  So 'tis reported, sir.

KING	Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it
	A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
	With caution that the Florentine will move us
	For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
	Prejudicates the business and would seem
	To have us make denial.

First Lord	His love and wisdom,
	Approved so to your majesty, may plead
	For amplest credence.

KING	He hath arm'd our answer,
	And Florence is denied before he comes:
	Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
	The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
	To stand on either part.

Second Lord	It well may serve
	A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
	For breathing and exploit.

KING	What's he comes here?

	[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

First Lord	It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
	Young Bertram.

KING	                  Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
	Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
	Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts
	Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

BERTRAM	My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

KING	I would I had that corporal soundness now,
	As when thy father and myself in friendship
	First tried our soldiership! He did look far
	Into the service of the time and was
	Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
	But on us both did haggish age steal on
	And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
	To talk of your good father. In his youth
	He had the wit which I can well observe
	To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
	Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
	Ere they can hide their levity in honour;
	So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
	Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
	His equal had awaked them, and his honour,
	Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
	Exception bid him speak, and at this time
	His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
	He used as creatures of another place
	And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
	Making them proud of his humility,
	In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
	Might be a copy to these younger times;
	Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
	But goers backward.

BERTRAM	His good remembrance, sir,
	Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
	So in approof lives not his epitaph
	As in your royal speech.

KING	Would I were with him! He would always say--
	Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
	He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
	To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'--
	This his good melancholy oft began,
	On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
	When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he,
	'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
	Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
	All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
	Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
	Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd;
	I after him do after him wish too,
	Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
	I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
	To give some labourers room.

Second Lord	You are loved, sir:
	They that least lend it you shall lack you first.

KING	I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,
	Since the physician at your father's died?
	He was much famed.

BERTRAM	                  Some six months since, my lord.

KING	If he were living, I would try him yet.
	Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out
	With several applications; nature and sickness
	Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
	My son's no dearer.

BERTRAM	Thank your majesty.

	[Exeunt. Flourish]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE III	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]

COUNTESS	I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?

Steward	Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I
	wish might be found in the calendar of my past
	endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make
	foul the clearness of our deservings, when of
	ourselves we publish them.

COUNTESS	What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
	the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
	believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
	you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
	enough to make such knaveries yours.

Clown	'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

COUNTESS	Well, sir.

Clown	No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though
	many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have
	your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
	the woman and I will do as we may.

COUNTESS	Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clown	I do beg your good will in this case.

COUNTESS	In what case?

Clown	In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no
	heritage: and I think I shall never have the
	blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for
	they say barnes are blessings.

COUNTESS	Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clown	My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
	by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

COUNTESS	Is this all your worship's reason?

Clown	Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
	are.

COUNTESS	May the world know them?

Clown	I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
	all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
	that I may repent.

COUNTESS	Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clown	I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
	friends for my wife's sake.

COUNTESS	Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clown	You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
	knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.
	He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
	leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my
	drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher
	of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
	and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my
	flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
	my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
	be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
	for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
	Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in
	religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
	horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

COUNTESS	Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clown	A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next
	way:
	For I the ballad will repeat,
	Which men full true shall find;
	Your marriage comes by destiny,
	Your cuckoo sings by kind.

COUNTESS	Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.

Steward	May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
	you: of her I am to speak.

COUNTESS	Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
	Helen, I mean.

Clown	     Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
	Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
	Fond done, done fond,
	Was this King Priam's joy?
	With that she sighed as she stood,
	With that she sighed as she stood,
	And gave this sentence then;
	Among nine bad if one be good,
	Among nine bad if one be good,
	There's yet one good in ten.

COUNTESS	What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clown	One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
	o' the song: would God would serve the world so all
	the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
	if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
	might have a good woman born but one every blazing
	star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
	well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck
	one.

COUNTESS	You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.

Clown	That man should be at woman's command, and yet no
	hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it
	will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of
	humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
	going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.

	[Exit]

COUNTESS	Well, now.

Steward	I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

COUNTESS	Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
	she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
	make title to as much love as she finds: there is
	more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
	her than she'll demand.

Steward	Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
	she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
	to herself her own words to her own ears; she
	thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any
	stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
	Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
	such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
	god, that would not extend his might, only where
	qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that
	would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
	rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
	This she delivered in the most bitter touch of
	sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I
	held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;
	sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
	you something to know it.

COUNTESS	You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
	yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
	before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
	I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
	leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
	for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.

	[Exit Steward]

	[Enter HELENA]

	Even so it was with me when I was young:
	If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
	Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
	Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
	It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
	Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
	By our remembrances of days foregone,
	Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
	Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.

HELENA	What is your pleasure, madam?

COUNTESS	You know, Helen,
	I am a mother to you.

HELENA	Mine honourable mistress.

COUNTESS	Nay, a mother:
	Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
	Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
	That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
	And put you in the catalogue of those
	That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
	Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
	A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
	You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
	Yet I express to you a mother's care:
	God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
	To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
	That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
	The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
	Why? that you are my daughter?

HELENA	That I am not.

COUNTESS	I say, I am your mother.

HELENA	Pardon, madam;
	The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
	I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
	No note upon my parents, his all noble:
	My master, my dear lord he is; and I
	His servant live, and will his vassal die:
	He must not be my brother.

COUNTESS	Nor I your mother?

HELENA	You are my mother, madam; would you were,--
	So that my lord your son were not my brother,--
	Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,
	I care no more for than I do for heaven,
	So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
	But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

COUNTESS	Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
	God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
	So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
	My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
	The mystery of your loneliness, and find
	Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
	You love my son; invention is ashamed,
	Against the proclamation of thy passion,
	To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
	But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks
	Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
	See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
	That in their kind they speak it: only sin
	And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
	That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
	If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
	If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
	As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
	Tell me truly.

HELENA	                  Good madam, pardon me!

COUNTESS	Do you love my son?

HELENA	Your pardon, noble mistress!

COUNTESS	Love you my son?

HELENA	                  Do not you love him, madam?

COUNTESS	Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
	Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
	The state of your affection; for your passions
	Have to the full appeach'd.

HELENA	Then, I confess,
	Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
	That before you, and next unto high heaven,
	I love your son.
	My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
	Be not offended; for it hurts not him
	That he is loved of me: I follow him not
	By any token of presumptuous suit;
	Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
	Yet never know how that desert should be.
	I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
	Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
	I still pour in the waters of my love
	And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
	Religious in mine error, I adore
	The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
	But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
	Let not your hate encounter with my love
	For loving where you do: but if yourself,
	Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
	Did ever in so true a flame of liking
	Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
	Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity
	To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
	But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
	That seeks not to find that her search implies,
	But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

COUNTESS	Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--
	To go to Paris?

HELENA	                  Madam, I had.

COUNTESS	Wherefore? tell true.

HELENA	I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
	You know my father left me some prescriptions
	Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
	And manifest experience had collected
	For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
	In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
	As notes whose faculties inclusive were
	More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
	There is a remedy, approved, set down,
	To cure the desperate languishings whereof
	The king is render'd lost.

COUNTESS	This was your motive
	For Paris, was it? speak.

HELENA	My lord your son made me to think of this;
	Else Paris and the medicine and the king
	Had from the conversation of my thoughts
	Haply been absent then.

COUNTESS	But think you, Helen,
	If you should tender your supposed aid,
	He would receive it? he and his physicians
	Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
	They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
	A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
	Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
	The danger to itself?

HELENA	There's something in't,
	More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
	Of his profession, that his good receipt
	Shall for my legacy be sanctified
	By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
	But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
	The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
	By such a day and hour.

COUNTESS	Dost thou believe't?

HELENA	Ay, madam, knowingly.

COUNTESS	Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
	Means and attendants and my loving greetings
	To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
	And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
	Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
	What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE I	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended
	with divers young Lords taking leave for the
	Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES]

KING	Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles
	Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:
	Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all
	The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received,
	And is enough for both.

First Lord	'Tis our hope, sir,
	After well enter'd soldiers, to return
	And find your grace in health.

KING	No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
	Will not confess he owes the malady
	That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
	Whether I live or die, be you the sons
	Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,--
	Those bated that inherit but the fall
	Of the last monarchy,--see that you come
	Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
	The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
	That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

Second Lord	Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!

KING	Those girls of Italy, take heed of them:
	They say, our French lack language to deny,
	If they demand: beware of being captives,
	Before you serve.

Both	                  Our hearts receive your warnings.

KING	Farewell. Come hither to me.

	[Exit, attended]

First Lord	O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

PAROLLES	'Tis not his fault, the spark.

Second Lord	O, 'tis brave wars!

PAROLLES	Most admirable: I have seen those wars.

BERTRAM	I am commanded here, and kept a coil with
	'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.'

PAROLLES	An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely.

BERTRAM	I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
	Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,
	Till honour be bought up and no sword worn
	But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away.

First Lord	There's honour in the theft.

PAROLLES	Commit it, count.

Second Lord	I am your accessary; and so, farewell.

BERTRAM	I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

First Lord	Farewell, captain.

Second Lord	Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

PAROLLES	Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good
	sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall
	find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain
	Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here
	on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword
	entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his
	reports for me.

First Lord	We shall, noble captain.

	[Exeunt Lords]

PAROLLES	Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do?

BERTRAM	Stay: the king.

	[Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire]

PAROLLES	[To BERTRAM]  Use a more spacious ceremony to the
	noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the
	list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to
	them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the
	time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and
	move under the influence of the most received star;
	and though the devil lead the measure, such are to
	be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BERTRAM	And I will do so.

PAROLLES	Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES]

	[Enter LAFEU]

LAFEU	[Kneeling]  Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.

KING	I'll fee thee to stand up.

LAFEU	Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon.
	I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy,
	And that at my bidding you could so stand up.

KING	I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
	And ask'd thee mercy for't.

LAFEU	Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus;
	Will you be cured of your infirmity?

KING	No.

LAFEU	O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
	Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if
	My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine
	That's able to breathe life into a stone,
	Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
	With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch,
	Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,
	To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand,
	And write to her a love-line.

KING	What 'her' is this?

LAFEU	Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived,
	If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour,
	If seriously I may convey my thoughts
	In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
	With one that, in her sex, her years, profession,
	Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more
	Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her
	For that is her demand, and know her business?
	That done, laugh well at me.

KING	Now, good Lafeu,
	Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
	May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
	By wondering how thou took'st it.

LAFEU	Nay, I'll fit you,
	And not be all day neither.

	[Exit]

KING	Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

	[Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA]

LAFEU	Nay, come your ways.

KING	This haste hath wings indeed.

LAFEU	Nay, come your ways:
	This is his majesty; say your mind to him:
	A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
	His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle,
	That dare leave two together; fare you well.

	[Exit]

KING	Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

HELENA	Ay, my good lord.
	Gerard de Narbon was my father;
	In what he did profess, well found.

KING	I knew him.

HELENA	The rather will I spare my praises towards him:
	Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death
	Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one.
	Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,
	And of his old experience the oily darling,
	He bade me store up, as a triple eye,
	Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so;
	And hearing your high majesty is touch'd
	With that malignant cause wherein the honour
	Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
	I come to tender it and my appliance
	With all bound humbleness.

KING	We thank you, maiden;
	But may not be so credulous of cure,
	When our most learned doctors leave us and
	The congregated college have concluded
	That labouring art can never ransom nature
	From her inaidible estate; I say we must not
	So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
	To prostitute our past-cure malady
	To empirics, or to dissever so
	Our great self and our credit, to esteem
	A senseless help when help past sense we deem.

HELENA	My duty then shall pay me for my pains:
	I will no more enforce mine office on you.
	Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
	A modest one, to bear me back a again.

KING	I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:
	Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give
	As one near death to those that wish him live:
	But what at full I know, thou know'st no part,
	I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

HELENA	What I can do can do no hurt to try,
	Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.
	He that of greatest works is finisher
	Oft does them by the weakest minister:
	So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
	When judges have been babes; great floods have flown
	From simple sources, and great seas have dried
	When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
	Oft expectation fails and most oft there
	Where most it promises, and oft it hits
	Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

KING	I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;
	Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid:
	Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

HELENA	Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
	It is not so with Him that all things knows
	As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;
	But most it is presumption in us when
	The help of heaven we count the act of men.
	Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
	Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
	I am not an impostor that proclaim
	Myself against the level of mine aim;
	But know I think and think I know most sure
	My art is not past power nor you past cure.

KING	Are thou so confident? within what space
	Hopest thou my cure?

HELENA	The great'st grace lending grace
	Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
	Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,
	Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
	Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp,
	Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
	Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
	What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
	Health shall live free and sickness freely die.

KING	Upon thy certainty and confidence
	What darest thou venture?

HELENA	Tax of impudence,
	A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame
	Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name
	Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended
	With vilest torture let my life be ended.

KING	Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak
	His powerful sound within an organ weak:
	And what impossibility would slay
	In common sense, sense saves another way.
	Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate
	Worth name of life in thee hath estimate,
	Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all
	That happiness and prime can happy call:
	Thou this to hazard needs must intimate
	Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.
	Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,
	That ministers thine own death if I die.

HELENA	If I break time, or flinch in property
	Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,
	And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee;
	But, if I help, what do you promise me?

KING	Make thy demand.

HELENA	                  But will you make it even?

KING	Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.

HELENA	Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand
	What husband in thy power I will command:
	Exempted be from me the arrogance
	To choose from forth the royal blood of France,
	My low and humble name to propagate
	With any branch or image of thy state;
	But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
	Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

KING	Here is my hand; the premises observed,
	Thy will by my performance shall be served:
	So make the choice of thy own time, for I,
	Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely.
	More should I question thee, and more I must,
	Though more to know could not be more to trust,
	From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest
	Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.
	Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed
	As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE II	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS	Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
	your breeding.

Clown	I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I
	know my business is but to the court.

COUNTESS	To the court! why, what place make you special,
	when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clown	Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he
	may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make
	a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing,
	has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed
	such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the
	court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all
	men.

COUNTESS	Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all
	questions.

Clown	It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks,
	the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn
	buttock, or any buttock.

COUNTESS	Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clown	As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
	as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's
	rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove
	Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his
	hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen
	to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the
	friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

COUNTESS	Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
	questions?

Clown	From below your duke to beneath your constable, it
	will fit any question.

COUNTESS	It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
	must fit all demands.

Clown	But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
	should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that
	belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall
	do you no harm to learn.

COUNTESS	To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
	question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I
	pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clown	O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More,
	more, a hundred of them.

COUNTESS	Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.

Clown	O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me.

COUNTESS	I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.

Clown	O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.

COUNTESS	You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.

Clown	O Lord, sir! spare not me.

COUNTESS	Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and
	'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very
	sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well
	to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.

Clown	I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord,
	sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

COUNTESS	I play the noble housewife with the time
	To entertain't so merrily with a fool.

Clown	O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again.

COUNTESS	An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
	And urge her to a present answer back:
	Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:
	This is not much.

Clown	Not much commendation to them.

COUNTESS	Not much employment for you: you understand me?

Clown	Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.

COUNTESS	Haste you again.

	[Exeunt severally]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE III	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

LAFEU	They say miracles are past; and we have our
	philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar,
	things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that
	we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves
	into seeming knowledge, when we should submit
	ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAROLLES	Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath
	shot out in our latter times.

BERTRAM	And so 'tis.

LAFEU	To be relinquish'd of the artists,--

PAROLLES	So I say.

LAFEU	Both of Galen and Paracelsus.

PAROLLES	So I say.

LAFEU	Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES	Right; so I say.

LAFEU	That gave him out incurable,--

PAROLLES	Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

LAFEU	Not to be helped,--

PAROLLES	Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a--

LAFEU	Uncertain life, and sure death.

PAROLLES	Just, you say well; so would I have said.

LAFEU	I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

PAROLLES	It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you
	shall read it in--what do you call there?

LAFEU	A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.

PAROLLES	That's it; I would have said the very same.

LAFEU	Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me,
	I speak in respect--

PAROLLES	Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the
	brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most
	facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the--

LAFEU	Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES	Ay, so I say.

LAFEU	In a most weak--

	[pausing]

	and debile minister, great power, great
	transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a
	further use to be made than alone the recovery of
	the king, as to be--

	[pausing]

	generally thankful.

PAROLLES	I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king.

	[Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and
	PAROLLES retire]

LAFEU	Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the
	better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's
	able to lead her a coranto.

PAROLLES	Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

LAFEU	'Fore God, I think so.

KING	Go, call before me all the lords in court.
	Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
	And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
	Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
	The confirmation of my promised gift,
	Which but attends thy naming.

	[Enter three or four Lords]

	Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
	Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
	O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
	I have to use: thy frank election make;
	Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

HELENA	To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
	Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one!

LAFEU	I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture,
	My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
	And writ as little beard.

KING	Peruse them well:
	Not one of those but had a noble father.

HELENA	Gentlemen,
	Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.

All	We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

HELENA	I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest,
	That I protest I simply am a maid.
	Please it your majesty, I have done already:
	The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
	'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused,
	Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;
	We'll ne'er come there again.'

KING	Make choice; and, see,
	Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

HELENA	Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,
	And to imperial Love, that god most high,
	Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?

First Lord	And grant it.

HELENA	                  Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAFEU	I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace
	for my life.

HELENA	The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
	Before I speak, too threateningly replies:
	Love make your fortunes twenty times above
	Her that so wishes and her humble love!

Second Lord	No better, if you please.

HELENA	My wish receive,
	Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave.

LAFEU	Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine,
	I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the
	Turk, to make eunuchs of.

HELENA	Be not afraid that I your hand should take;
	I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
	Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
	Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

LAFEU	These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her:
	sure, they are bastards to the English; the French
	ne'er got 'em.

HELENA	You are too young, too happy, and too good,
	To make yourself a son out of my blood.

Fourth Lord	Fair one, I think not so.

LAFEU	There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk
	wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth
	of fourteen; I have known thee already.

HELENA	[To BERTRAM]  I dare not say I take you; but I give
	Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
	Into your guiding power. This is the man.

KING	Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife.

BERTRAM	My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,
	In such a business give me leave to use
	The help of mine own eyes.

KING	Know'st thou not, Bertram,
	What she has done for me?

BERTRAM	Yes, my good lord;
	But never hope to know why I should marry her.

KING	Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed.

BERTRAM	But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
	Must answer for your raising? I know her well:
	She had her breeding at my father's charge.
	A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain
	Rather corrupt me ever!

KING	'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
	I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
	Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
	Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
	In differences so mighty. If she be
	All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
	A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest
	Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
	From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
	The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
	Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,
	It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
	Is good without a name. Vileness is so:
	The property by what it is should go,
	Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
	In these to nature she's immediate heir,
	And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
	Which challenges itself as honour's born
	And is not like the sire: honours thrive,
	When rather from our acts we them derive
	Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave
	Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave
	A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb
	Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
	Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
	If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
	I can create the rest: virtue and she
	Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.

BERTRAM	I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

KING	Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

HELENA	That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad:
	Let the rest go.

KING	My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
	I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
	Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
	That dost in vile misprision shackle up
	My love and her desert; that canst not dream,
	We, poising us in her defective scale,
	Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
	It is in us to plant thine honour where
	We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt:
	Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
	Believe not thy disdain, but presently
	Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
	Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;
	Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
	Into the staggers and the careless lapse
	Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate
	Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice,
	Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.

BERTRAM	Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
	My fancy to your eyes: when I consider
	What great creation and what dole of honour
	Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late
	Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
	The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
	Is as 'twere born so.

KING	Take her by the hand,
	And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise
	A counterpoise, if not to thy estate
	A balance more replete.

BERTRAM	I take her hand.

KING	Good fortune and the favour of the king
	Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
	Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
	And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast
	Shall more attend upon the coming space,
	Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,
	Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

	[Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES]

LAFEU	[Advancing]  Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.

PAROLLES	Your pleasure, sir?

LAFEU	Your lord and master did well to make his
	recantation.

PAROLLES	Recantation! My lord! my master!

LAFEU	Ay; is it not a language I speak?

PAROLLES	A most harsh one, and not to be understood without
	bloody succeeding. My master!

LAFEU	Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

PAROLLES	To any count, to all counts, to what is man.

LAFEU	To what is count's man: count's master is of
	another style.

PAROLLES	You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

LAFEU	I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which
	title age cannot bring thee.

PAROLLES	What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

LAFEU	I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty
	wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy
	travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the
	bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from
	believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I
	have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care
	not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and
	that thou't scarce worth.

PAROLLES	Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,--

LAFEU	Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou
	hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee
	for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee
	well: thy casement I need not open, for I look
	through thee. Give me thy hand.

PAROLLES	My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

LAFEU	Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

PAROLLES	I have not, my lord, deserved it.

LAFEU	Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not
	bate thee a scruple.

PAROLLES	Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU	Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at
	a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound
	in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is
	to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold
	my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge,
	that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

PAROLLES	My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU	I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor
	doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by
	thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off
	me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must
	be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
	I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with
	any convenience, an he were double and double a
	lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I
	would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

	[Re-enter LAFEU]

LAFEU	Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news
	for you: you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES	I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make
	some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good
	lord: whom I serve above is my master.

LAFEU	Who? God?

PAROLLES	Ay, sir.

LAFEU	The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou
	garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of
	sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set
	thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine
	honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat
	thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and
	every man should beat thee: I think thou wast
	created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES	This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU	Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a
	kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and
	no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords
	and honourable personages than the commission of your
	birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not
	worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;
	let it be concealed awhile.

	[Re-enter BERTRAM]

BERTRAM	Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES	What's the matter, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM	Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
	I will not bed her.

PAROLLES	What, what, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM	O my Parolles, they have married me!
	I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES	France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
	The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!

BERTRAM	There's letters from my mother: what the import is,
	I know not yet.

PAROLLES	Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
	He wears his honour in a box unseen,
	That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,
	Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
	Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
	Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions
	France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;
	Therefore, to the war!

BERTRAM	It shall be so: I'll send her to my house,
	Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
	And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
	That which I durst not speak; his present gift
	Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
	Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife
	To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES	Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure?

BERTRAM	Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
	I'll send her straight away: to-morrow
	I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES	Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:
	A young man married is a man that's marr'd:
	Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
	The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE IV	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter HELENA and Clown]

HELENA	My mother greets me kindly; is she well?

Clown	She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's
	very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be
	given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the
	world; but yet she is not well.

HELENA	If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's
	not very well?

Clown	Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.

HELENA	What two things?

Clown	One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her
	quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence
	God send her quickly!

	[Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES	Bless you, my fortunate lady!

HELENA	I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own
	good fortunes.

PAROLLES	You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them
	on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clown	So that you had her wrinkles and I her money,
	I would she did as you say.

PAROLLES	Why, I say nothing.

Clown	Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's
	tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say
	nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have
	nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which
	is within a very little of nothing.

PAROLLES	Away! thou'rt a knave.

Clown	You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a
	knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had
	been truth, sir.

PAROLLES	Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

Clown	Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you
	taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;
	and much fool may you find in you, even to the
	world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLLES	A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
	Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
	A very serious business calls on him.
	The great prerogative and rite of love,
	Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
	But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;
	Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,
	Which they distil now in the curbed time,
	To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
	And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA	What's his will else?

PAROLLES	That you will take your instant leave o' the king
	And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
	Strengthen'd with what apology you think
	May make it probable need.

HELENA	What more commands he?

PAROLLES	That, having this obtain'd, you presently
	Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA	In every thing I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES	I shall report it so.

HELENA	I pray you.

	[Exit PAROLLES]

	Come, sirrah.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE V	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM]

LAFEU	But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

BERTRAM	Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

LAFEU	You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM	And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU	Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.

BERTRAM	I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
	knowledge and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU	I have then sinned against his experience and
	transgressed against his valour; and my state that
	way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my
	heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make
	us friends; I will pursue the amity.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES	[To BERTRAM]  These things shall be done, sir.

LAFEU	Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

PAROLLES	Sir?

LAFEU	O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good
	workman, a very good tailor.

BERTRAM	[Aside to PAROLLES]  Is she gone to the king?

PAROLLES	She is.

BERTRAM	Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES	As you'll have her.

BERTRAM	I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
	Given order for our horses; and to-night,
	When I should take possession of the bride,
	End ere I do begin.

LAFEU	A good traveller is something at the latter end of a
	dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a
	known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should
	be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain.

BERTRAM	Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

PAROLLES	I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's
	displeasure.

LAFEU	You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs
	and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and
	out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer
	question for your residence.

BERTRAM	It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

LAFEU	And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's
	prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this
	of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the
	soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in
	matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them
	tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur:
	I have spoken better of you than you have or will to
	deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	An idle lord. I swear.

BERTRAM	I think so.

PAROLLES	Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM	Yes, I do know him well, and common speech
	Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

	[Enter HELENA]

HELENA	I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
	Spoke with the king and have procured his leave
	For present parting; only he desires
	Some private speech with you.

BERTRAM	I shall obey his will.
	You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
	Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
	The ministration and required office
	On my particular. Prepared I was not
	For such a business; therefore am I found
	So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you
	That presently you take our way for home;
	And rather muse than ask why I entreat you,
	For my respects are better than they seem
	And my appointments have in them a need
	Greater than shows itself at the first view
	To you that know them not. This to my mother:

	[Giving a letter]

	'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so
	I leave you to your wisdom.

HELENA	Sir, I can nothing say,
	But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM	Come, come, no more of that.

HELENA	And ever shall
	With true observance seek to eke out that
	Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
	To equal my great fortune.

BERTRAM	Let that go:
	My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.

HELENA	Pray, sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM	Well, what would you say?

HELENA	I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
	Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is;
	But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
	What law does vouch mine own.

BERTRAM	What would you have?

HELENA	Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed.
	I would not tell you what I would, my lord:
	Faith yes;
	Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.

BERTRAM	I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

HELENA	I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

BERTRAM	Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.

	[Exit HELENA]

	Go thou toward home; where I will never come
	Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.
	Away, and for our flight.

PAROLLES	Bravely, coragio!

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE I	Florence. The DUKE's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended;
	the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers.

DUKE	So that from point to point now have you heard
	The fundamental reasons of this war,
	Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
	And more thirsts after.

First Lord	Holy seems the quarrel
	Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
	On the opposer.

DUKE	Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
	Would in so just a business shut his bosom
	Against our borrowing prayers.

Second Lord	Good my lord,
	The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
	But like a common and an outward man,
	That the great figure of a council frames
	By self-unable motion: therefore dare not
	Say what I think of it, since I have found
	Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
	As often as I guess'd.

DUKE	Be it his pleasure.

First Lord	But I am sure the younger of our nature,
	That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
	Come here for physic.

DUKE	Welcome shall they be;
	And all the honours that can fly from us
	Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
	When better fall, for your avails they fell:
	To-morrow to the field.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE II	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS	It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
	that he comes not along with her.

Clown	By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
	melancholy man.

COUNTESS	By what observance, I pray you?

Clown	Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
	ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
	teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
	melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

COUNTESS	Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

	[Opening a letter]

Clown	I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
	old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
	like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
	the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
	love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

COUNTESS	What have we here?

Clown	E'en that you have there.

	[Exit]

COUNTESS	[Reads]  I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
	recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded
	her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'
	eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it
	before the report come. If there be breadth enough
	in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty
	to you.	Your unfortunate son,
			     BERTRAM.
	This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
	To fly the favours of so good a king;
	To pluck his indignation on thy head
	By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
	For the contempt of empire.

	[Re-enter Clown]

Clown	O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two
	soldiers and my young lady!

COUNTESS	What is the matter?

Clown	Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
	comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I
	thought he would.

COUNTESS	Why should he be killed?

Clown	So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does:
	the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of
	men, though it be the getting of children. Here
	they come will tell you more: for my part, I only
	hear your son was run away.

	[Exit]

	[Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman	Save you, good madam.

HELENA	Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

Second Gentleman	Do not say so.

COUNTESS	Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
	I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
	That the first face of neither, on the start,
	Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

Second Gentleman	Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
	We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
	And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
	Thither we bend again.

HELENA	Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.

	[Reads]

	When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
	never shall come off, and show me a child begotten
	of thy body that I am father to, then call me
	husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'
	This is a dreadful sentence.

COUNTESS	Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

First Gentleman	Ay, madam;
	And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

COUNTESS	I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
	If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
	Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
	But I do wash his name out of my blood,
	And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

Second Gentleman	Ay, madam.

COUNTESS	         And to be a soldier?

Second Gentleman	Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,
	The duke will lay upon him all the honour
	That good convenience claims.

COUNTESS	Return you thither?

First Gentleman	Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

HELENA	[Reads]  Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
	'Tis bitter.

COUNTESS	                  Find you that there?

HELENA	Ay, madam.

First Gentleman	'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his
	heart was not consenting to.

COUNTESS	Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
	There's nothing here that is too good for him
	But only she; and she deserves a lord
	That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
	And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

First Gentleman	A servant only, and a gentleman
	Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS	Parolles, was it not?

First Gentleman	Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS	A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
	My son corrupts a well-derived nature
	With his inducement.

First Gentleman	Indeed, good lady,
	The fellow has a deal of that too much,
	Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS	You're welcome, gentlemen.
	I will entreat you, when you see my son,
	To tell him that his sword can never win
	The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
	Written to bear along.

Second Gentleman	We serve you, madam,
	In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS	Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
	Will you draw near!

	[Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen]

HELENA	'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
	Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
	Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;
	Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
	That chase thee from thy country and expose
	Those tender limbs of thine to the event
	Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
	That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
	Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
	Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
	That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
	Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
	That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
	Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
	Whoever charges on his forward breast,
	I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
	And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
	His death was so effected: better 'twere
	I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
	With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
	That all the miseries which nature owes
	Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,
	Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
	As oft it loses all: I will be gone;
	My being here it is that holds thee hence:
	Shall I stay here to do't?  no, no, although
	The air of paradise did fan the house
	And angels officed all: I will be gone,
	That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
	To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
	For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE III	Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM,
	PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets]

DUKE	The general of our horse thou art; and we,
	Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
	Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM	Sir, it is
	A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
	We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
	To the extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE	Then go thou forth;
	And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
	As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM	This very day,
	Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
	Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
	A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE IV	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS and Steward]

COUNTESS	Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
	Might you not know she would do as she has done,
	By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Steward	[Reads]

	I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
	Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
	That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,
	With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
	Write, write, that from the bloody course of war
	My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:
	Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
	His name with zealous fervor sanctify:
	His taken labours bid him me forgive;
	I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
	From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
	Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:
	He is too good and fair for death and me:
	Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

COUNTESS	Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
	Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
	As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,
	I could have well diverted her intents,
	Which thus she hath prevented.

Steward	Pardon me, madam:
	If I had given you this at over-night,
	She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,
	Pursuit would be but vain.

COUNTESS	What angel shall
	Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
	Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
	And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
	Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
	To this unworthy husband of his wife;
	Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
	That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.
	Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
	Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
	When haply he shall hear that she is gone,
	He will return; and hope I may that she,
	Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
	Led hither by pure love: which of them both
	Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense
	To make distinction: provide this messenger:
	My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
	Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE V	Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off.


	[Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA,
	and MARIANA, with other Citizens]

Widow	Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we
	shall lose all the sight.

DIANA	They say the French count has done most honourable service.

Widow	It is reported that he has taken their greatest
	commander; and that with his own hand he slew the
	duke's brother.

	[Tucket]

	We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary
	way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

MARIANA	Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with
	the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this
	French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and
	no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Widow	I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited
	by a gentleman his companion.

MARIANA	I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a
	filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the
	young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises,
	enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
	lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid
	hath been seduced by them; and the misery is,
	example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of
	maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession,
	but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten
	them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but
	I hope your own grace will keep you where you are,
	though there were no further danger known but the
	modesty which is so lost.

DIANA	You shall not need to fear me.

Widow	I hope so.

	[Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim]

	Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at
	my house; thither they send one another: I'll
	question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

HELENA	To Saint Jaques le Grand.
	Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Widow	At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

HELENA	Is this the way?

Widow	Ay, marry, is't.

	[A march afar]

	Hark you! they come this way.
	If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,
	But till the troops come by,
	I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;
	The rather, for I think I know your hostess
	As ample as myself.

HELENA	Is it yourself?

Widow	If you shall please so, pilgrim.

HELENA	I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

Widow	You came, I think, from France?

HELENA	I did so.

Widow	Here you shall see a countryman of yours
	That has done worthy service.

HELENA	His name, I pray you.

DIANA	The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

HELENA	But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:
	His face I know not.

DIANA	Whatsome'er he is,
	He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
	As 'tis reported, for the king had married him
	Against his liking: think you it is so?

HELENA	Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady.

DIANA	There is a gentleman that serves the count
	Reports but coarsely of her.

HELENA	What's his name?

DIANA	Monsieur Parolles.

HELENA	                  O, I believe with him,
	In argument of praise, or to the worth
	Of the great count himself, she is too mean
	To have her name repeated: all her deserving
	Is a reserved honesty, and that
	I have not heard examined.

DIANA	Alas, poor lady!
	'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
	Of a detesting lord.

Widow	I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is,
	Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
	A shrewd turn, if she pleased.

HELENA	How do you mean?
	May be the amorous count solicits her
	In the unlawful purpose.

Widow	He does indeed;
	And brokes with all that can in such a suit
	Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
	But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard
	In honestest defence.

MARIANA	The gods forbid else!

Widow	So, now they come:

	[Drum and Colours]

	[Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army]

	That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
	That, Escalus.

HELENA	                  Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA	He;
	That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow.
	I would he loved his wife: if he were honester
	He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman?

HELENA	I like him well.

DIANA	'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave
	That leads him to these places: were I his lady,
	I would Poison that vile rascal.

HELENA	Which is he?

DIANA	That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy?

HELENA	Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.

PAROLLES	Lose our drum! well.

MARIANA	He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us.

Widow	Marry, hang you!

MARIANA	And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

	[Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army]

Widow	The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
	Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
	There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
	Already at my house.

HELENA	I humbly thank you:
	Please it this matron and this gentle maid
	To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking
	Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
	I will bestow some precepts of this virgin
	Worthy the note.

BOTH	                  We'll take your offer kindly.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VI	Camp before Florence.


	[Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords]

Second Lord	Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his
	way.

First Lord	If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no
	more in your respect.

Second Lord	On my life, my lord, a bubble.

BERTRAM	Do you think I am so far deceived in him?

Second Lord	Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge,
	without any malice, but to speak of him as my
	kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and
	endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner
	of no one good quality worthy your lordship's
	entertainment.

First Lord	It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in
	his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some
	great and trusty business in a main danger fail you.

BERTRAM	I would I knew in what particular action to try him.

First Lord	None better than to let him fetch off his drum,
	which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

Second Lord	I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
	surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he
	knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink
	him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he
	is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when
	we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship
	present at his examination: if he do not, for the
	promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of
	base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the
	intelligence in his power against you, and that with
	the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never
	trust my judgment in any thing.

First Lord	O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum;
	he says he has a stratagem for't: when your
	lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to
	what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be
	melted, if you give him not John Drum's
	entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed.
	Here he comes.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

Second Lord	[Aside to BERTRAM]  O, for the love of laughter,
	hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch
	off his drum in any hand.

BERTRAM	How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your
	disposition.

First Lord	A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.

PAROLLES	'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost!
	There was excellent command,--to charge in with our
	horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers!

First Lord	That was not to be blamed in the command of the
	service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar
	himself could not have prevented, if he had been
	there to command.

BERTRAM	Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some
	dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is
	not to be recovered.

PAROLLES	It might have been recovered.

BERTRAM	It might; but it is not now.

PAROLLES	It is to be recovered: but that the merit of
	service is seldom attributed to the true and exact
	performer, I would have that drum or another, or
	'hic jacet.'

BERTRAM	Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you
	think your mystery in stratagem can bring this
	instrument of honour again into his native quarter,
	be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will
	grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you
	speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it.
	and extend to you what further becomes his
	greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your
	worthiness.

PAROLLES	By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

BERTRAM	But you must not now slumber in it.

PAROLLES	I'll about it this evening: and I will presently
	pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my
	certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation;
	and by midnight look to hear further from me.

BERTRAM	May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it?

PAROLLES	I know not what the success will be, my lord; but
	the attempt I vow.

BERTRAM	I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of
	thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

PAROLLES	I love not many words.

	[Exit]

Second Lord	No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a
	strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems
	to undertake this business, which he knows is not to
	be done; damns himself to do and dares better be
	damned than to do't?

First Lord	You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it
	is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and
	for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but
	when you find him out, you have him ever after.

BERTRAM	Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of
	this that so seriously he does address himself unto?

Second Lord	None in the world; but return with an invention and
	clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we
	have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall
	to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect.

First Lord	We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case
	him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu:
	when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a
	sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this
	very night.

Second Lord	I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught.

BERTRAM	Your brother he shall go along with me.

Second Lord	As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.

	[Exit]

BERTRAM	Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
	The lass I spoke of.

First Lord	But you say she's honest.

BERTRAM	That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once
	And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
	By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind,
	Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
	And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature:
	Will you go see her?

First Lord	With all my heart, my lord.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VII	Florence. The Widow's house.


	[Enter HELENA and Widow]

HELENA	If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
	I know not how I shall assure you further,
	But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.

Widow	Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
	Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
	And would not put my reputation now
	In any staining act.

HELENA	Nor would I wish you.
	First, give me trust, the count he is my husband,
	And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken
	Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,
	By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
	Err in bestowing it.

Widow	I should believe you:
	For you have show'd me that which well approves
	You're great in fortune.

HELENA	Take this purse of gold,
	And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
	Which I will over-pay and pay again
	When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter,
	Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
	Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent,
	As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
	Now his important blood will nought deny
	That she'll demand: a ring the county wears,
	That downward hath succeeded in his house
	From son to son, some four or five descents
	Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds
	In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,
	To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
	Howe'er repented after.

Widow	Now I see
	The bottom of your purpose.

HELENA	You see it lawful, then: it is no more,
	But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
	Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
	In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
	Herself most chastely absent: after this,
	To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
	To what is passed already.

Widow	I have yielded:
	Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
	That time and place with this deceit so lawful
	May prove coherent. Every night he comes
	With musics of all sorts and songs composed
	To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us
	To chide him from our eaves; for he persists
	As if his life lay on't.

HELENA	Why then to-night
	Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
	Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed
	And lawful meaning in a lawful act,
	Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
	But let's about it.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE I	Without the Florentine camp.


	[Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other
	Soldiers in ambush]

Second Lord	He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner.
	When you sally upon him, speak what terrible
	language you will: though you understand it not
	yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to
	understand him, unless some one among us whom we
	must produce for an interpreter.

First Soldier	Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

Second Lord	Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

First Soldier	No, sir, I warrant you.

Second Lord	But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again?

First Soldier	E'en such as you speak to me.

Second Lord	He must think us some band of strangers i' the
	adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of
	all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every
	one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we
	speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to
	know straight our purpose: choughs' language,
	gabble enough, and good enough. As for you,
	interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch,
	ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep,
	and then to return and swear the lies he forges.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES	Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be
	time enough to go home. What shall I say I have
	done? It must be a very plausive invention that
	carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces
	have of late knocked too often at my door. I find
	my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the
	fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not
	daring the reports of my tongue.

Second Lord	This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue
	was guilty of.

PAROLLES	What the devil should move me to undertake the
	recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the
	impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I
	must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in
	exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they
	will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great
	ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the
	instance? Tongue, I must put you into a
	butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of
	Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils.

Second Lord	Is it possible he should know what he is, and be
	that he is?

PAROLLES	I would the cutting of my garments would serve the
	turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

Second Lord	We cannot afford you so.

PAROLLES	Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in
	stratagem.

Second Lord	'Twould not do.

PAROLLES	Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.

Second Lord	Hardly serve.

PAROLLES	Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel.

Second Lord	How deep?

PAROLLES	Thirty fathom.

Second Lord	Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

PAROLLES	I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear
	I recovered it.

Second Lord	You shall hear one anon.

PAROLLES	A drum now of the enemy's,--

	[Alarum within]

Second Lord	Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

All	Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.

PAROLLES	O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes.

	[They seize and blindfold him]

First Soldier	Boskos thromuldo boskos.

PAROLLES	I know you are the Muskos' regiment:
	And I shall lose my life for want of language;
	If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
	Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll
	Discover that which shall undo the Florentine.

First Soldier	Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak
	thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy
	faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.

PAROLLES	O!

First Soldier	O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche.

Second Lord	Oscorbidulchos volivorco.

First Soldier	The general is content to spare thee yet;
	And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
	To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform
	Something to save thy life.

PAROLLES	O, let me live!
	And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,
	Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that
	Which you will wonder at.

First Soldier	But wilt thou faithfully?

PAROLLES	If I do not, damn me.

First Soldier	Acordo linta.
	Come on; thou art granted space.

	[Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within]

Second Lord	Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother,
	We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
	Till we do hear from them.

Second Soldier	Captain, I will.

Second Lord	A' will betray us all unto ourselves:
	Inform on that.

Second Soldier	                  So I will, sir.

Second Lord	Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE II	Florence. The Widow's house.


	[Enter BERTRAM and DIANA]

BERTRAM	They told me that your name was Fontibell.

DIANA	No, my good lord, Diana.

BERTRAM	Titled goddess;
	And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
	In your fine frame hath love no quality?
	If quick fire of youth light not your mind,
	You are no maiden, but a monument:
	When you are dead, you should be such a one
	As you are now, for you are cold and stem;
	And now you should be as your mother was
	When your sweet self was got.

DIANA	She then was honest.

BERTRAM	So should you be.

DIANA	No:
	My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
	As you owe to your wife.

BERTRAM	No more o' that;
	I prithee, do not strive against my vows:
	I was compell'd to her; but I love thee
	By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
	Do thee all rights of service.

DIANA	Ay, so you serve us
	Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,
	You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves
	And mock us with our bareness.

BERTRAM	How have I sworn!

DIANA	'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
	But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.
	What is not holy, that we swear not by,
	But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me,
	If I should swear by God's great attributes,
	I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
	When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
	To swear by him whom I protest to love,
	That I will work against him: therefore your oaths
	Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd,
	At least in my opinion.

BERTRAM	Change it, change it;
	Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy;
	And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts
	That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,
	But give thyself unto my sick desires,
	Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever
	My love as it begins shall so persever.

DIANA	I see that men make ropes in such a scarre
	That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

BERTRAM	I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power
	To give it from me.

DIANA	Will you not, my lord?

BERTRAM	It is an honour 'longing to our house,
	Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
	Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world
	In me to lose.

DIANA	                  Mine honour's such a ring:
	My chastity's the jewel of our house,
	Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
	Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world
	In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom
	Brings in the champion Honour on my part,
	Against your vain assault.

BERTRAM	Here, take my ring:
	My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,
	And I'll be bid by thee.

DIANA	When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window:
	I'll order take my mother shall not hear.
	Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
	When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
	Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
	My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them
	When back again this ring shall be deliver'd:
	And on your finger in the night I'll put
	Another ring, that what in time proceeds
	May token to the future our past deeds.
	Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won
	A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

BERTRAM	A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

	[Exit]

DIANA	For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
	You may so in the end.
	My mother told me just how he would woo,
	As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men
	Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me
	When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
	When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
	Marry that will, I live and die a maid:
	Only in this disguise I think't no sin
	To cozen him that would unjustly win.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE III	The Florentine camp.


	[Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers]

First Lord	You have not given him his mother's letter?

Second Lord	I have delivered it an hour since: there is
	something in't that stings his nature; for on the
	reading it he changed almost into another man.

First Lord	He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking
	off so good a wife and so sweet a lady.

Second Lord	Especially he hath incurred the everlasting
	displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his
	bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a
	thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

First Lord	When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the
	grave of it.

Second Lord	He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in
	Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he
	fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath
	given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself
	made in the unchaste composition.

First Lord	Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves,
	what things are we!

Second Lord	Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course
	of all treasons, we still see them reveal
	themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends,
	so he that in this action contrives against his own
	nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

First Lord	Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of
	our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his
	company to-night?

Second Lord	Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

First Lord	That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see
	his company anatomized, that he might take a measure
	of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had
	set this counterfeit.

Second Lord	We will not meddle with him till he come; for his
	presence must be the whip of the other.

First Lord	In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?

Second Lord	I hear there is an overture of peace.

First Lord	Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.

Second Lord	What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel
	higher, or return again into France?

First Lord	I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether
	of his council.

Second Lord	Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal
	of his act.

First Lord	Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his
	house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques
	le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere
	sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the
	tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her
	grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and
	now she sings in heaven.

Second Lord	How is this justified?

First Lord	The stronger part of it by her own letters, which
	makes her story true, even to the point of her
	death: her death itself, which could not be her
	office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by
	the rector of the place.

Second Lord	Hath the count all this intelligence?

First Lord	Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from
	point, so to the full arming of the verity.

Second Lord	I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.

First Lord	How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!

Second Lord	And how mightily some other times we drown our gain
	in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath
	here acquired for him shall at home be encountered
	with a shame as ample.

First Lord	The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and
	ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our
	faults whipped them not; and our crimes would
	despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	How now! where's your master?

Servant	He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath
	taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next
	morning for France. The duke hath offered him
	letters of commendations to the king.

Second Lord	They shall be no more than needful there, if they
	were more than they can commend.

First Lord	They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness.
	Here's his lordship now.

	[Enter BERTRAM]

	How now, my lord! is't not after midnight?

BERTRAM	I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a
	month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success:
	I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his
	nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my
	lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy;
	and between these main parcels of dispatch effected
	many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but
	that I have not ended yet.

Second Lord	If the business be of any difficulty, and this
	morning your departure hence, it requires haste of
	your lordship.

BERTRAM	I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to
	hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this
	dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come,
	bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived
	me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

Second Lord	Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night,
	poor gallant knave.

BERTRAM	No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping
	his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

Second Lord	I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry
	him. But to answer you as you would be understood;
	he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he
	hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes
	to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to
	this very instant disaster of his setting i' the
	stocks: and what think you he hath confessed?

BERTRAM	Nothing of me, has a'?

Second Lord	His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his
	face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you
	are, you must have the patience to hear it.

	[Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier]

BERTRAM	A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of
	me: hush, hush!

First Lord	Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa

First Soldier	He calls for the tortures: what will you say
	without 'em?

PAROLLES	I will confess what I know without constraint: if
	ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.

First Soldier	Bosko chimurcho.

First Lord	Boblibindo chicurmurco.

First Soldier	You are a merciful general. Our general bids you
	answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.

PAROLLES	And truly, as I hope to live.

First Soldier	[Reads]  'First demand of him how many horse the
	duke is strong.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES	Five or six thousand; but very weak and
	unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and
	the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation
	and credit and as I hope to live.

First Soldier	Shall I set down your answer so?

PAROLLES	Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will.

BERTRAM	All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!

First Lord	You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur
	Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own
	phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the
	knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of
	his dagger.

Second Lord	I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword
	clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him
	by wearing his apparel neatly.

First Soldier	Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES	Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say
	true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth.

First Lord	He's very near the truth in this.

BERTRAM	But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he
	delivers it.

PAROLLES	Poor rogues, I pray you, say.

First Soldier	Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES	I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the
	rogues are marvellous poor.

First Soldier	[Reads]  'Demand of him, of what strength they are
	a-foot.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES	By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present
	hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a
	hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so
	many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick,
	and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own
	company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and
	fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and
	sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand
	poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off
	their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.

BERTRAM	What shall be done to him?

First Lord	Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my
	condition, and what credit I have with the duke.

First Soldier	Well, that's set down.

	[Reads]

	'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain
	be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is
	with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and
	expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not
	possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to
	corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what
	do you know of it?

PAROLLES	I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of
	the inter'gatories: demand them singly.

First Soldier	Do you know this Captain Dumain?

PAROLLES	I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris,
	from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's
	fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not
	say him nay.

BERTRAM	Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know
	his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.

First Soldier	Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp?

PAROLLES	Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.

First Lord	Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your
	lordship anon.

First Soldier	What is his reputation with the duke?

PAROLLES	The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer
	of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him
	out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket.

First Soldier	Marry, we'll search.

PAROLLES	In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there,
	or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters
	in my tent.

First Soldier	Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you?

PAROLLES	I do not know if it be it or no.

BERTRAM	Our interpreter does it well.

First Lord	Excellently.

First Soldier	[Reads]  'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'--

PAROLLES	That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an
	advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one
	Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count
	Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very
	ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.

First Soldier	Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

PAROLLES	My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the
	behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be
	a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to
	virginity and devours up all the fry it finds.

BERTRAM	Damnable both-sides rogue!

First Soldier	[Reads]  'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
	After he scores, he never pays the score:
	Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;
	He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before;
	And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
	Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:
	For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it,
	Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
	Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear,
			  PAROLLES.'

BERTRAM	He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme
	in's forehead.

Second Lord	This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold
	linguist and the armipotent soldier.

BERTRAM	I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now
	he's a cat to me.

First Soldier	I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be
	fain to hang you.

PAROLLES	My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to
	die; but that, my offences being many, I would
	repent out the remainder of nature: let me live,
	sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live.

First Soldier	We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely;
	therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you
	have answered to his reputation with the duke and to
	his valour: what is his honesty?

PAROLLES	He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for
	rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he
	professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he
	is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with
	such volubility, that you would think truth were a
	fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will
	be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little
	harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they
	know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but
	little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has
	every thing that an honest man should not have; what
	an honest man should have, he has nothing.

First Lord	I begin to love him for this.

BERTRAM	For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon
	him for me, he's more and more a cat.

First Soldier	What say you to his expertness in war?

PAROLLES	Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English
	tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of
	his soldiership I know not; except, in that country
	he had the honour to be the officer at a place there
	called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of
	files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of
	this I am not certain.

First Lord	He hath out-villained villany so far, that the
	rarity redeems him.

BERTRAM	A pox on him, he's a cat still.

First Soldier	His qualities being at this poor price, I need not
	to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.

PAROLLES	Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple
	of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the
	entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
	succession for it perpetually.

First Soldier	What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?

Second Lord	Why does be ask him of me?

First Soldier	What's he?

PAROLLES	E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so
	great as the first in goodness, but greater a great
	deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward,
	yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is:
	in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming
	on he has the cramp.

First Soldier	If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray
	the Florentine?

PAROLLES	Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon.

First Soldier	I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.

PAROLLES	[Aside]  I'll no more drumming; a plague of all
	drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to
	beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy
	the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who
	would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?

First Soldier	There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the
	general says, you that have so traitorously
	discovered the secrets of your army and made such
	pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can
	serve the world for no honest use; therefore you
	must die. Come, headsman, off with his head.

PAROLLES	O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!

First Lord	That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends.

	[Unblinding him]

	So, look about you: know you any here?

BERTRAM	Good morrow, noble captain.

Second Lord	God bless you, Captain Parolles.

First Lord	God save you, noble captain.

Second Lord	Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu?
	I am for France.

First Lord	Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet
	you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon?
	an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you:
	but fare you well.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords]

First Soldier	You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that
	has a knot on't yet

PAROLLES	Who cannot be crushed with a plot?

First Soldier	If you could find out a country where but women were
	that had received so much shame, you might begin an
	impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France
	too: we shall speak of you there.

	[Exit with Soldiers]

PAROLLES	Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,
	'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more;
	But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
	As captain shall: simply the thing I am
	Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
	Let him fear this, for it will come to pass
	that every braggart shall be found an ass.
	Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live
	Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive!
	There's place and means for every man alive.
	I'll after them.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Florence. The Widow's house.


	[Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA]

HELENA	That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you,
	One of the greatest in the Christian world
	Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful,
	Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:
	Time was, I did him a desired office,
	Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
	Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,
	And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd
	His grace is at Marseilles; to which place
	We have convenient convoy. You must know
	I am supposed dead: the army breaking,
	My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
	And by the leave of my good lord the king,
	We'll be before our welcome.

Widow	Gentle madam,
	You never had a servant to whose trust
	Your business was more welcome.

HELENA	Nor you, mistress,
	Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour
	To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven
	Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,
	As it hath fated her to be my motive
	And helper to a husband. But, O strange men!
	That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
	When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
	Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play
	With what it loathes for that which is away.
	But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,
	Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
	Something in my behalf.

DIANA	Let death and honesty
	Go with your impositions, I am yours
	Upon your will to suffer.

HELENA	Yet, I pray you:
	But with the word the time will bring on summer,
	When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,
	And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
	Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us:
	All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown;
	Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE V	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown]

LAFEU	No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta
	fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have
	made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in
	his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at
	this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced
	by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.

COUNTESS	I would I had not known him; it was the death of the
	most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had
	praise for creating. If she had partaken of my
	flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
	could not have owed her a more rooted love.

LAFEU	'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a
	thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.

Clown	Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the
	salad, or rather, the herb of grace.

LAFEU	They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.

Clown	I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much
	skill in grass.

LAFEU	Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool?

Clown	A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.

LAFEU	Your distinction?

Clown	I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service.

LAFEU	So you were a knave at his service, indeed.

Clown	And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.

LAFEU	I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool.

Clown	At your service.

LAFEU	No, no, no.

Clown	Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as
	great a prince as you are.

LAFEU	Who's that? a Frenchman?

Clown	Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy
	is more hotter in France than there.

LAFEU	What prince is that?

Clown	The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of
	darkness; alias, the devil.

LAFEU	Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this
	to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of;
	serve him still.

Clown	I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a
	great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a
	good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the
	world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for
	the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be
	too little for pomp to enter: some that humble
	themselves may; but the many will be too chill and
	tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that
	leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

LAFEU	Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I
	tell thee so before, because I would not fall out
	with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well
	looked to, without any tricks.

Clown	If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be
	jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature.

	[Exit]

LAFEU	A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

COUNTESS	So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much
	sport out of him: by his authority he remains here,
	which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,
	indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

LAFEU	I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to
	tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and
	that my lord your son was upon his return home, I
	moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of
	my daughter; which, in the minority of them both,
	his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did
	first propose: his highness hath promised me to do
	it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath
	conceived against your son, there is no fitter
	matter. How does your ladyship like it?

COUNTESS	With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
	happily effected.

LAFEU	His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able
	body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here
	to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such
	intelligence hath seldom failed.

COUNTESS	It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
	die. I have letters that my son will be here
	to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain
	with me till they meet together.

LAFEU	Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might
	safely be admitted.

COUNTESS	You need but plead your honourable privilege.

LAFEU	Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I
	thank my God it holds yet.

	[Re-enter Clown]

Clown	O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of
	velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't
	or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of
	velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a
	half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

LAFEU	A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery
	of honour; so belike is that.

Clown	But it is your carbonadoed face.

LAFEU	Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk
	with the young noble soldier.

Clown	Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine
	hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head
	and nod at every man.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V


SCENE I	Marseilles. A street.


	[Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two
	Attendants]

HELENA	But this exceeding posting day and night
	Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it:
	But since you have made the days and nights as one,
	To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
	Be bold you do so grow in my requital
	As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;

	[Enter a Gentleman]

	This man may help me to his majesty's ear,
	If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.

Gentleman	And you.

HELENA	Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.

Gentleman	I have been sometimes there.

HELENA	I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
	From the report that goes upon your goodness;
	An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
	Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
	The use of your own virtues, for the which
	I shall continue thankful.

Gentleman	What's your will?

HELENA	That it will please you
	To give this poor petition to the king,
	And aid me with that store of power you have
	To come into his presence.

Gentleman	The king's not here.

HELENA	Not here, sir!

Gentleman	Not, indeed:
	He hence removed last night and with more haste
	Than is his use.

Widow	                  Lord, how we lose our pains!

HELENA	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet,
	Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.
	I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

Gentleman	Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
	Whither I am going.

HELENA	I do beseech you, sir,
	Since you are like to see the king before me,
	Commend the paper to his gracious hand,
	Which I presume shall render you no blame
	But rather make you thank your pains for it.
	I will come after you with what good speed
	Our means will make us means.

Gentleman	This I'll do for you.

HELENA	And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
	Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again.
	Go, go, provide.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE II	Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace.


	[Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following]

PAROLLES	Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this
	letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to
	you, when I have held familiarity with fresher
	clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's
	mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong
	displeasure.

Clown	Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it
	smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will
	henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering.
	Prithee, allow the wind.

PAROLLES	Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake
	but by a metaphor.

Clown	Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my
	nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get
	thee further.

PAROLLES	Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

Clown	Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's
	close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he
	comes himself.

	[Enter LAFEU]

	Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's
	cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the
	unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he
	says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the
	carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,
	ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his
	distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to
	your lordship.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly
	scratched.

LAFEU	And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to
	pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the
	knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who
	of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves
	thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for
	you: let the justices make you and fortune friends:
	I am for other business.

PAROLLES	I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.

LAFEU	You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't;
	save your word.

PAROLLES	My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

LAFEU	You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion!
	give me your hand. How does your drum?

PAROLLES	O my good lord, you were the first that found me!

LAFEU	Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.

PAROLLES	It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace,
	for you did bring me out.

LAFEU	Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once
	both the office of God and the devil? One brings
	thee in grace and the other brings thee out.

	[Trumpets sound]

	The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah,
	inquire further after me; I had talk of you last
	night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall
	eat; go to, follow.

PAROLLES	I praise God for you.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE III	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two
	French Lords, with Attendants]

KING	We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem
	Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
	As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
	Her estimation home.

COUNTESS	'Tis past, my liege;
	And I beseech your majesty to make it
	Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;
	When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
	O'erbears it and burns on.

KING	My honour'd lady,
	I have forgiven and forgotten all;
	Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
	And watch'd the time to shoot.

LAFEU	This I must say,
	But first I beg my pardon, the young lord
	Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady
	Offence of mighty note; but to himself
	The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
	Whose beauty did astonish the survey
	Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
	Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve
	Humbly call'd mistress.

KING	Praising what is lost
	Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
	We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill
	All repetition: let him not ask our pardon;
	The nature of his great offence is dead,
	And deeper than oblivion we do bury
	The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
	A stranger, no offender; and inform him
	So 'tis our will he should.

Gentleman	I shall, my liege.

	[Exit]

KING	What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

LAFEU	All that he is hath reference to your highness.

KING	Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
	That set him high in fame.

	[Enter BERTRAM]

LAFEU	He looks well on't.

KING	I am not a day of season,
	For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
	In me at once: but to the brightest beams
	Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;
	The time is fair again.

BERTRAM	My high-repented blames,
	Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

KING	All is whole;
	Not one word more of the consumed time.
	Let's take the instant by the forward top;
	For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
	The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
	Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
	The daughter of this lord?

BERTRAM	Admiringly, my liege, at first
	I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
	Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue
	Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
	Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
	Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
	Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen;
	Extended or contracted all proportions
	To a most hideous object: thence it came
	That she whom all men praised and whom myself,
	Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
	The dust that did offend it.

KING	Well excused:
	That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
	From the great compt: but love that comes too late,
	Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
	To the great sender turns a sour offence,
	Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults
	Make trivial price of serious things we have,
	Not knowing them until we know their grave:
	Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
	Destroy our friends and after weep their dust
	Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
	While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon.
	Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
	Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
	The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
	To see our widower's second marriage-day.

COUNTESS	Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
	Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

LAFEU	Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
	Must be digested, give a favour from you
	To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
	That she may quickly come.

	[BERTRAM gives a ring]

		     By my old beard,
	And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
	Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this,
	The last that e'er I took her at court,
	I saw upon her finger.

BERTRAM	Hers it was not.

KING	Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,
	While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
	This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
	I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
	Necessitied to help, that by this token
	I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave
	her
	Of what should stead her most?

BERTRAM	My gracious sovereign,
	Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
	The ring was never hers.

COUNTESS	Son, on my life,
	I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
	At her life's rate.

LAFEU	I am sure I saw her wear it.

BERTRAM	You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it:
	In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
	Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
	Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
	I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed
	To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully
	I could not answer in that course of honour
	As she had made the overture, she ceased
	In heavy satisfaction and would never
	Receive the ring again.

KING	Plutus himself,
	That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
	Hath not in nature's mystery more science
	Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
	Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
	That you are well acquainted with yourself,
	Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
	You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety
	That she would never put it from her finger,
	Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
	Where you have never come, or sent it us
	Upon her great disaster.

BERTRAM	She never saw it.

KING	Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
	And makest conjectural fears to come into me
	Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
	That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;--
	And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,
	And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
	Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
	More than to see this ring. Take him away.

	[Guards seize BERTRAM]

	My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
	Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
	Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him!
	We'll sift this matter further.

BERTRAM	If you shall prove
	This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
	Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
	Where yet she never was.

	[Exit, guarded]

KING	I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

	[Enter a Gentleman]

Gentleman	Gracious sovereign,
	Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:
	Here's a petition from a Florentine,
	Who hath for four or five removes come short
	To tender it herself. I undertook it,
	Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
	Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know
	Is here attending: her business looks in her
	With an importing visage; and she told me,
	In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
	Your highness with herself.

KING	[Reads]  Upon his many protestations to marry me
	when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won
	me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows
	are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He
	stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow
	him to his country for justice: grant it me, O
	king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer
	flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
		                  DIANA CAPILET.

LAFEU	I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for
	this: I'll none of him.

KING	The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu,
	To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
	Go speedily and bring again the count.
	I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
	Was foully snatch'd.

COUNTESS	Now, justice on the doers!

	[Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded]

KING	I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,
	And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
	Yet you desire to marry.

	[Enter Widow and DIANA]

		   What woman's that?

DIANA	I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
	Derived from the ancient Capilet:
	My suit, as I do understand, you know,
	And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Widow	I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
	Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
	And both shall cease, without your remedy.

KING	Come hither, count; do you know these women?

BERTRAM	My lord, I neither can nor will deny
	But that I know them: do they charge me further?

DIANA	Why do you look so strange upon your wife?

BERTRAM	She's none of mine, my lord.

DIANA	If you shall marry,
	You give away this hand, and that is mine;
	You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
	You give away myself, which is known mine;
	For I by vow am so embodied yours,
	That she which marries you must marry me,
	Either both or none.

LAFEU	Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you
	are no husband for her.

BERTRAM	My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
	Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness
	Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
	Than for to think that I would sink it here.

KING	Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
	Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour
	Than in my thought it lies.

DIANA	Good my lord,
	Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
	He had not my virginity.

KING	What say'st thou to her?

BERTRAM	She's impudent, my lord,
	And was a common gamester to the camp.

DIANA	He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,
	He might have bought me at a common price:
	Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,
	Whose high respect and rich validity
	Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
	He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
	If I be one.

COUNTESS	                  He blushes, and 'tis it:
	Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
	Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
	Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
	That ring's a thousand proofs.

KING	Methought you said
	You saw one here in court could witness it.

DIANA	I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
	So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles.

LAFEU	I saw the man to-day, if man he be.

KING	Find him, and bring him hither.

	[Exit an Attendant]

BERTRAM	What of him?
	He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
	With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd;
	Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
	Am I or that or this for what he'll utter,
	That will speak any thing?

KING	She hath that ring of yours.

BERTRAM	I think she has: certain it is I liked her,
	And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth:
	She knew her distance and did angle for me,
	Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
	As all impediments in fancy's course
	Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
	Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace,
	Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;
	And I had that which any inferior might
	At market-price have bought.

DIANA	I must be patient:
	You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife,
	May justly diet me. I pray you yet;
	Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband;
	Send for your ring, I will return it home,
	And give me mine again.

BERTRAM	I have it not.

KING	What ring was yours, I pray you?

DIANA	Sir, much like
	The same upon your finger.

KING	Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.

DIANA	And this was it I gave him, being abed.

KING	The story then goes false, you threw it him
	Out of a casement.

DIANA	                  I have spoke the truth.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

BERTRAM	My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

KING	You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you.
	Is this the man you speak of?

DIANA	Ay, my lord.

KING	Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,
	Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
	Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off,
	By him and by this woman here what know you?

PAROLLES	So please your majesty, my master hath been an
	honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him,
	which gentlemen have.

KING	Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?

PAROLLES	Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?

KING	How, I pray you?

PAROLLES	He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.

KING	How is that?

PAROLLES	He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

KING	As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an
	equivocal companion is this!

PAROLLES	I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.

LAFEU	He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.

DIANA	Do you know he promised me marriage?

PAROLLES	Faith, I know more than I'll speak.

KING	But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?

PAROLLES	Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them,
	as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for
	indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and
	of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I
	was in that credit with them at that time that I
	knew of their going to bed, and of other motions,
	as promising her marriage, and things which would
	derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not
	speak what I know.

KING	Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say
	they are married: but thou art too fine in thy
	evidence; therefore stand aside.
	This ring, you say, was yours?

DIANA	Ay, my good lord.

KING	Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?

DIANA	It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

KING	Who lent it you?

DIANA	                  It was not lent me neither.

KING	Where did you find it, then?

DIANA	I found it not.

KING	If it were yours by none of all these ways,
	How could you give it him?

DIANA	I never gave it him.

LAFEU	This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off
	and on at pleasure.

KING	This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife.

DIANA	It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.

KING	Take her away; I do not like her now;
	To prison with her: and away with him.
	Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
	Thou diest within this hour.

DIANA	I'll never tell you.

KING	Take her away.

DIANA	                  I'll put in bail, my liege.

KING	I think thee now some common customer.

DIANA	By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.

KING	Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while?

DIANA	Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty:
	He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't;
	I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
	Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
	I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.

KING	She does abuse our ears: to prison with her.

DIANA	Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir:

	[Exit Widow]

	The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
	And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
	Who hath abused me, as he knows himself,
	Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
	He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;
	And at that time he got his wife with child:
	Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick:
	So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick:
	And now behold the meaning.

	[Re-enter Widow, with HELENA]

KING	Is there no exorcist
	Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
	Is't real that I see?

HELENA	No, my good lord;
	'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
	The name and not the thing.

BERTRAM	Both, both. O, pardon!

HELENA	O my good lord, when I was like this maid,
	I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring;
	And, look you, here's your letter; this it says:
	'When from my finger you can get this ring
	And are by me with child,' &c. This is done:
	Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?

BERTRAM	If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
	I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.

HELENA	If it appear not plain and prove untrue,
	Deadly divorce step between me and you!
	O my dear mother, do I see you living?

LAFEU	Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon:

	[To PAROLLES]

	Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so,
	I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee:
	Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.

KING	Let us from point to point this story know,
	To make the even truth in pleasure flow.

	[To DIANA]

	If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower,
	Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
	For I can guess that by thy honest aid
	Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
	Of that and all the progress, more or less,
	Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
	All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
	The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

	[Flourish]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

	EPILOGUE


KING	The king's a beggar, now the play is done:
	All is well ended, if this suit be won,
	That you express content; which we will pay,
	With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
	Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
	Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

	[Exeunt]
	AS YOU LIKE IT


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE SENIOR	living in banishment.

DUKE FREDERICK	his brother, an usurper of his dominions.


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


LE BEAU	a courtier attending upon Frederick.

CHARLES	wrestler to Frederick.


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


ADAM	|
	|  servants to Oliver.
DENNIS	|


TOUCHSTONE	a clown.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	a vicar.


CORIN	|
	|  shepherds.
SILVIUS	|


WILLIAM	a country fellow in love with Audrey.

	A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)

ROSALIND	daughter to the banished duke.

CELIA	daughter to Frederick.

PHEBE	a shepherdess.

AUDREY	a country wench.

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


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




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE I	Orchard of Oliver's house.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

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

ADAM	Yonder comes my master, your brother.

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

	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER	Now, sir! what make you here?

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

OLIVER	What mar you then, sir?

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

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

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

OLIVER	Know you where your are, sir?

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

OLIVER	Know you before whom, sir?

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

OLIVER	What, boy!

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

OLIVER	Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

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

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

OLIVER	Let me go, I say.

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

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

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

OLIVER	Get you with him, you old dog.

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

	[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]

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

	[Enter DENNIS]

DENNIS	Calls your worship?

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

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

OLIVER	Call him in.

	[Exit DENNIS]

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

	[Enter CHARLES]

CHARLES	Good morrow to your worship.

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

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

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

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

OLIVER	Where will the old duke live?

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

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

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

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

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

OLIVER	Farewell, good Charles.

	[Exit CHARLES]

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

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE II	Lawn before the Duke's palace.


	[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

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

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

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

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

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

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

CELIA	Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but
	love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport
	neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst
	in honour come off again.

ROSALIND	What shall be our sport, then?

CELIA	Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from
	her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

ROSALIND	I would we could do so, for her benefits are
	mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
	doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

CELIA	'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce
	makes honest, and those that she makes honest she
	makes very ill-favouredly.

ROSALIND	Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to
	Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world,
	not in the lineaments of Nature.

	[Enter TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA	No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she
	not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature
	hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not
	Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

ROSALIND	Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
	Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of
	Nature's wit.

CELIA	Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
	Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull
	to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this
	natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of
	the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now,
	wit! whither wander you?

TOUCHSTONE	Mistress, you must come away to your father.

CELIA	Were you made the messenger?

TOUCHSTONE	No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.

ROSALIND	Where learned you that oath, fool?

TOUCHSTONE	Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they
	were good pancakes and swore by his honour the
	mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the
	pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and
	yet was not the knight forsworn.

CELIA	How prove you that, in the great heap of your
	knowledge?

ROSALIND	Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

TOUCHSTONE	Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and
	swear by your beards that I am a knave.

CELIA	By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

TOUCHSTONE	By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you
	swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
	more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he
	never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away
	before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

CELIA	Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

TOUCHSTONE	One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

CELIA	My father's love is enough to honour him: enough!
	speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation
	one of these days.

TOUCHSTONE	The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what
	wise men do foolishly.

CELIA	By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little
	wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery
	that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes
	Monsieur Le Beau.

ROSALIND	With his mouth full of news.

CELIA	Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

ROSALIND	Then shall we be news-crammed.

CELIA	All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

	[Enter LE BEAU]

	Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?

LE BEAU	Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

CELIA	Sport! of what colour?

LE BEAU	What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?

ROSALIND	As wit and fortune will.

TOUCHSTONE	Or as the Destinies decree.

CELIA	Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.

TOUCHSTONE	Nay, if I keep not my rank,--

ROSALIND	Thou losest thy old smell.

LE BEAU	You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good
	wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

ROSALIND	You tell us the manner of the wrestling.

LE BEAU	I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please
	your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is
	yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming
	to perform it.

CELIA	Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

LE BEAU	There comes an old man and his three sons,--

CELIA	I could match this beginning with an old tale.

LE BEAU	Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.

ROSALIND	With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men
	by these presents.'

LE BEAU	The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the
	duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him
	and broke three of his ribs, that there is little
	hope of life in him: so he served the second, and
	so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
	their father, making such pitiful dole over them
	that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

ROSALIND	Alas!

TOUCHSTONE	But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies
	have lost?

LE BEAU	Why, this that I speak of.

TOUCHSTONE	Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first
	time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport
	for ladies.

CELIA	Or I, I promise thee.

ROSALIND	But is there any else longs to see this broken music
	in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon
	rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

LE BEAU	You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
	appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to
	perform it.

CELIA	Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it.

	[Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO,
	CHARLES, and Attendants]

DUKE FREDERICK	Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his
	own peril on his forwardness.

ROSALIND	Is yonder the man?

LE BEAU	Even he, madam.

CELIA	Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully.

DUKE FREDERICK	How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither
	to see the wrestling?

ROSALIND	Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.

DUKE FREDERICK	You will take little delight in it, I can tell you;
	there is such odds in the man. In pity of the
	challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he
	will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
	you can move him.

CELIA	Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

DUKE FREDERICK	Do so: I'll not be by.

LE BEAU	Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

ORLANDO	I attend them with all respect and duty.

ROSALIND	Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?

ORLANDO	No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I
	come but in, as others do, to try with him the
	strength of my youth.

CELIA	Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your
	years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's
	strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or
	knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your
	adventure would counsel you to a more equal
	enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to
	embrace your own safety and give over this attempt.

ROSALIND	Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore
	be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke
	that the wrestling might not go forward.

ORLANDO	I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
	thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
	so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let
	your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my
	trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
	shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one
	dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my
	friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
	world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in
	the world I fill up a place, which may be better
	supplied when I have made it empty.

ROSALIND	The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

CELIA	And mine, to eke out hers.

ROSALIND	Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you!

CELIA	Your heart's desires be with you!

CHARLES	Come, where is this young gallant that is so
	desirous to lie with his mother earth?

ORLANDO	Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

DUKE FREDERICK	You shall try but one fall.

CHARLES	No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him
	to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him
	from a first.

ORLANDO	An you mean to mock me after, you should not have
	mocked me before: but come your ways.

ROSALIND	Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

CELIA	I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
	fellow by the leg.

	[They wrestle]

ROSALIND	O excellent young man!

CELIA	If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
	should down.

	[Shout. CHARLES is thrown]

DUKE FREDERICK	No more, no more.

ORLANDO	Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.

DUKE FREDERICK	How dost thou, Charles?

LE BEAU	He cannot speak, my lord.

DUKE FREDERICK	Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

ORLANDO	Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

DUKE FREDERICK	I would thou hadst been son to some man else:
	The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
	But I did find him still mine enemy:
	Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed,
	Hadst thou descended from another house.
	But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth:
	I would thou hadst told me of another father.

	[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU]

CELIA	Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

ORLANDO	I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
	His youngest son; and would not change that calling,
	To be adopted heir to Frederick.

ROSALIND	My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
	And all the world was of my father's mind:
	Had I before known this young man his son,
	I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
	Ere he should thus have ventured.

CELIA	Gentle cousin,
	Let us go thank him and encourage him:
	My father's rough and envious disposition
	Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved:
	If you do keep your promises in love
	But justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
	Your mistress shall be happy.

ROSALIND	Gentleman,

	[Giving him a chain from her neck]

	Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
	That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
	Shall we go, coz?

CELIA	                  Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.

ORLANDO	Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
	Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
	Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.

ROSALIND	He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes;
	I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
	Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown
	More than your enemies.

CELIA	Will you go, coz?

ROSALIND	Have with you. Fare you well.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

ORLANDO	What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
	I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference.
	O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!
	Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.

	[Re-enter LE BEAU]

LE BEAU	Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
	To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved
	High commendation, true applause and love,
	Yet such is now the duke's condition
	That he misconstrues all that you have done.
	The duke is humorous; what he is indeed,
	More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.

ORLANDO	I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this:
	Which of the two was daughter of the duke
	That here was at the wrestling?

LE BEAU	Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
	But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter
	The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
	And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
	To keep his daughter company; whose loves
	Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
	But I can tell you that of late this duke
	Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
	Grounded upon no other argument
	But that the people praise her for her virtues
	And pity her for her good father's sake;
	And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
	Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well:
	Hereafter, in a better world than this,
	I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

ORLANDO	I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.

	[Exit LE BEAU]

	Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
	From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:
	But heavenly Rosalind!

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in the palace.


	[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

CELIA	Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?

ROSALIND	Not one to throw at a dog.

CELIA	No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon
	curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

ROSALIND	Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one
	should be lamed with reasons and the other mad
	without any.

CELIA	But is all this for your father?

ROSALIND	No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how
	full of briers is this working-day world!

CELIA	They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in
	holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden
	paths our very petticoats will catch them.

ROSALIND	I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.

CELIA	Hem them away.

ROSALIND	I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.

CELIA	Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

ROSALIND	O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!

CELIA	O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in
	despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of
	service, let us talk in good earnest: is it
	possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so
	strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?

ROSALIND	The duke my father loved his father dearly.

CELIA	Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son
	dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him,
	for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate
	not Orlando.

ROSALIND	No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.

CELIA	Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

ROSALIND	Let me love him for that, and do you love him
	because I do. Look, here comes the duke.

CELIA	With his eyes full of anger.

	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK	Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste
	And get you from our court.

ROSALIND	Me, uncle?

DUKE FREDERICK	You, cousin
	Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
	So near our public court as twenty miles,
	Thou diest for it.

ROSALIND	                  I do beseech your grace,
	Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
	If with myself I hold intelligence
	Or have acquaintance with mine own desires,
	If that I do not dream or be not frantic,--
	As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle,
	Never so much as in a thought unborn
	Did I offend your highness.

DUKE FREDERICK	Thus do all traitors:
	If their purgation did consist in words,
	They are as innocent as grace itself:
	Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.

ROSALIND	Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
	Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

DUKE FREDERICK	Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.

ROSALIND	So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
	So was I when your highness banish'd him:
	Treason is not inherited, my lord;
	Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
	What's that to me? my father was no traitor:
	Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
	To think my poverty is treacherous.

CELIA	Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

DUKE FREDERICK	Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
	Else had she with her father ranged along.

CELIA	I did not then entreat to have her stay;
	It was your pleasure and your own remorse:
	I was too young that time to value her;
	But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
	Why so am I; we still have slept together,
	Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
	And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans,
	Still we went coupled and inseparable.

DUKE FREDERICK	She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
	Her very silence and her patience
	Speak to the people, and they pity her.
	Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
	And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
	When she is gone. Then open not thy lips:
	Firm and irrevocable is my doom
	Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

CELIA	Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:
	I cannot live out of her company.

DUKE FREDERICK	You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
	If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
	And in the greatness of my word, you die.

	[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords]

CELIA	O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
	Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
	I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.

ROSALIND	I have more cause.

CELIA	                  Thou hast not, cousin;
	Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
	Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

ROSALIND	That he hath not.

CELIA	No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
	Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
	Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
	No: let my father seek another heir.
	Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
	Whither to go and what to bear with us;
	And do not seek to take your change upon you,
	To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out;
	For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
	Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

ROSALIND	Why, whither shall we go?

CELIA	To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

ROSALIND	Alas, what danger will it be to us,
	Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
	Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

CELIA	I'll put myself in poor and mean attire
	And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
	The like do you: so shall we pass along
	And never stir assailants.

ROSALIND	Were it not better,
	Because that I am more than common tall,
	That I did suit me all points like a man?
	A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
	A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart
	Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will--
	We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
	As many other mannish cowards have
	That do outface it with their semblances.

CELIA	What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

ROSALIND	I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page;
	And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
	But what will you be call'd?

CELIA	Something that hath a reference to my state
	No longer Celia, but Aliena.

ROSALIND	But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
	The clownish fool out of your father's court?
	Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

CELIA	He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
	Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
	And get our jewels and our wealth together,
	Devise the fittest time and safest way
	To hide us from pursuit that will be made
	After my flight. Now go we in content
	To liberty and not to banishment.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE I	The Forest of Arden.


	[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords,
	like foresters]

DUKE SENIOR	Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
	Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
	Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
	More free from peril than the envious court?
	Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
	The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
	And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
	Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
	Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
	'This is no flattery: these are counsellors
	That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
	Sweet are the uses of adversity,
	Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
	Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
	And this our life exempt from public haunt
	Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
	Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
	I would not change it.

AMIENS	Happy is your grace,
	That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
	Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

DUKE SENIOR	Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
	And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
	Being native burghers of this desert city,
	Should in their own confines with forked heads
	Have their round haunches gored.

First Lord	Indeed, my lord,
	The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
	And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
	Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
	To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
	Did steal behind him as he lay along
	Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
	Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
	To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
	That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
	Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,
	The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
	That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
	Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
	Coursed one another down his innocent nose
	In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool
	Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
	Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
	Augmenting it with tears.

DUKE SENIOR	But what said Jaques?
	Did he not moralize this spectacle?

First Lord	O, yes, into a thousand similes.
	First, for his weeping into the needless stream;
	'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament
	As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
	To that which had too much:' then, being there alone,
	Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
	''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
	The flux of company:' anon a careless herd,
	Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
	And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
	'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
	'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
	Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
	Thus most invectively he pierceth through
	The body of the country, city, court,
	Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
	Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
	To fright the animals and to kill them up
	In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

DUKE SENIOR	And did you leave him in this contemplation?

Second Lord	We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
	Upon the sobbing deer.

DUKE SENIOR	Show me the place:
	I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
	For then he's full of matter.

First Lord	I'll bring you to him straight.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE II	A room in the palace.


	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK	Can it be possible that no man saw them?
	It cannot be: some villains of my court
	Are of consent and sufferance in this.

First Lord	I cannot hear of any that did see her.
	The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
	Saw her abed, and in the morning early
	They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

Second Lord	My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
	Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
	Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
	Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
	Your daughter and her cousin much commend
	The parts and graces of the wrestler
	That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
	And she believes, wherever they are gone,
	That youth is surely in their company.

DUKE FREDERICK	Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;
	If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
	I'll make him find him: do this suddenly,
	And let not search and inquisition quail
	To bring again these foolish runaways.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE III	Before OLIVER'S house.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting]

ORLANDO	Who's there?

ADAM	What, my young master? O, my gentle master!
	O my sweet master! O you memory
	Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
	Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?
	And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
	Why would you be so fond to overcome
	The bonny priser of the humorous duke?
	Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
	Know you not, master, to some kind of men
	Their graces serve them but as enemies?
	No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
	Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
	O, what a world is this, when what is comely
	Envenoms him that bears it!

ORLANDO	Why, what's the matter?

ADAM	O unhappy youth!
	Come not within these doors; within this roof
	The enemy of all your graces lives:
	Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son--
	Yet not the son, I will not call him son
	Of him I was about to call his father--
	Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
	To burn the lodging where you use to lie
	And you within it: if he fail of that,
	He will have other means to cut you off.
	I overheard him and his practises.
	This is no place; this house is but a butchery:
	Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

ORLANDO	Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

ADAM	No matter whither, so you come not here.

ORLANDO	What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
	Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
	A thievish living on the common road?
	This I must do, or know not what to do:
	Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
	I rather will subject me to the malice
	Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

ADAM	But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
	The thrifty hire I saved under your father,
	Which I did store to be my foster-nurse
	When service should in my old limbs lie lame
	And unregarded age in corners thrown:
	Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
	Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
	Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
	And all this I give you. Let me be your servant:
	Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
	For in my youth I never did apply
	Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
	Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
	The means of weakness and debility;
	Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
	Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
	I'll do the service of a younger man
	In all your business and necessities.

ORLANDO	O good old man, how well in thee appears
	The constant service of the antique world,
	When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
	Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
	Where none will sweat but for promotion,
	And having that, do choke their service up
	Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
	But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
	That cannot so much as a blossom yield
	In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry
	But come thy ways; well go along together,
	And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
	We'll light upon some settled low content.

ADAM	Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
	To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
	From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
	Here lived I, but now live here no more.
	At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
	But at fourscore it is too late a week:
	Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
	Than to die well and not my master's debtor.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE IV	The Forest of Arden.


	[Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena,
	and TOUCHSTONE]

ROSALIND	O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

TOUCHSTONE	I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

ROSALIND	I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's
	apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort
	the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show
	itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage,
	good Aliena!

CELIA	I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.

TOUCHSTONE	For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear
	you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you,
	for I think you have no money in your purse.

ROSALIND	Well, this is the forest of Arden.

TOUCHSTONE	Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was
	at home, I was in a better place: but travellers
	must be content.

ROSALIND	Ay, be so, good Touchstone.

	[Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]

	Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in
	solemn talk.

CORIN	That is the way to make her scorn you still.

SILVIUS	O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

CORIN	I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

SILVIUS	No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
	Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
	As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
	But if thy love were ever like to mine--
	As sure I think did never man love so--
	How many actions most ridiculous
	Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN	Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS	O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
	If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
	That ever love did make thee run into,
	Thou hast not loved:
	Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
	Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
	Thou hast not loved:
	Or if thou hast not broke from company
	Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
	Thou hast not loved.
	O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

	[Exit]

ROSALIND	Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
	I have by hard adventure found mine own.

TOUCHSTONE	And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke
	my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for
	coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the
	kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her
	pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the
	wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took
	two cods and, giving her them again, said with
	weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are
	true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is
	mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

ROSALIND	Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

TOUCHSTONE	Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I
	break my shins against it.

ROSALIND	Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
	Is much upon my fashion.

TOUCHSTONE	And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA	I pray you, one of you question yond man
	If he for gold will give us any food:
	I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE	Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND	Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.

CORIN	Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE	Your betters, sir.

CORIN	                  Else are they very wretched.

ROSALIND	Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.

CORIN	And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND	I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
	Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
	Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
	Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
	And faints for succor.

CORIN	Fair sir, I pity her
	And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
	My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
	But I am shepherd to another man
	And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
	My master is of churlish disposition
	And little recks to find the way to heaven
	By doing deeds of hospitality:
	Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
	Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,
	By reason of his absence, there is nothing
	That you will feed on; but what is, come see.
	And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

ROSALIND	What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN	That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
	That little cares for buying any thing.

ROSALIND	I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
	Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock,
	And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA	And we will mend thy wages. I like this place.
	And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN	Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
	Go with me: if you like upon report
	The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
	I will your very faithful feeder be
	And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE V	The Forest.


	[Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others]
	
	SONG.
AMIENS	Under the greenwood tree
	Who loves to lie with me,
	And turn his merry note
	Unto the sweet bird's throat,
	Come hither, come hither, come hither:
	Here shall he see No enemy
	But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES	More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS	It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES	I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck
	melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.
	More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS	My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES	I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to
	sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos?

AMIENS	What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES	Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me
	nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS	More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES	Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you;
	but that they call compliment is like the encounter
	of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily,
	methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me
	the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will
	not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS	Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the
	duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all
	this day to look you.

JAQUES	And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is
	too disputable for my company: I think of as many
	matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no
	boast of them. Come, warble, come.
	
	SONG.
	Who doth ambition shun

	[All together here]

	And loves to live i' the sun,
	Seeking the food he eats
	And pleased with what he gets,
	Come hither, come hither, come hither:
	Here shall he see No enemy
	But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES	I'll give you a verse to this note that I made
	yesterday in despite of my invention.

AMIENS	And I'll sing it.

JAQUES	Thus it goes:--

	If it do come to pass
	That any man turn ass,
	Leaving his wealth and ease,
	A stubborn will to please,
	Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:
	Here shall he see
	Gross fools as he,
	An if he will come to me.

AMIENS	What's that 'ducdame'?

JAQUES	'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a
	circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll
	rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS	And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared.

	[Exeunt severally]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VI	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ADAM	Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food!
	Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell,
	kind master.

ORLANDO	Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live
	a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
	If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I
	will either be food for it or bring it for food to
	thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers.
	For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at
	the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently;
	and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will
	give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I
	come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
	thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly.
	Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear
	thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for
	lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this
	desert. Cheerly, good Adam!

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VII	The forest.


	[A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and
	Lords like outlaws]

DUKE SENIOR	I think he be transform'd into a beast;
	For I can no where find him like a man.

First Lord	My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
	Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

DUKE SENIOR	If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
	We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
	Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.

	[Enter JAQUES]

First Lord	He saves my labour by his own approach.

DUKE SENIOR	Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
	That your poor friends must woo your company?
	What, you look merrily!

JAQUES	A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
	A motley fool; a miserable world!
	As I do live by food, I met a fool
	Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
	And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
	In good set terms and yet a motley fool.
	'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he,
	'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
	And then he drew a dial from his poke,
	And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
	Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
	Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
	'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
	And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
	And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
	And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
	And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
	The motley fool thus moral on the time,
	My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
	That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
	And I did laugh sans intermission
	An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
	A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

DUKE SENIOR	What fool is this?

JAQUES	O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
	And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
	They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
	Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
	After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
	With observation, the which he vents
	In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
	I am ambitious for a motley coat.

DUKE SENIOR	Thou shalt have one.

JAQUES	It is my only suit;
	Provided that you weed your better judgments
	Of all opinion that grows rank in them
	That I am wise. I must have liberty
	Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
	To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
	And they that are most galled with my folly,
	They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
	The 'why' is plain as way to parish church:
	He that a fool doth very wisely hit
	Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
	Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
	The wise man's folly is anatomized
	Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
	Invest me in my motley; give me leave
	To speak my mind, and I will through and through
	Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
	If they will patiently receive my medicine.

DUKE SENIOR	Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

JAQUES	What, for a counter, would I do but good?

DUKE SENIOR	Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
	For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
	As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
	And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
	That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
	Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

JAQUES	Why, who cries out on pride,
	That can therein tax any private party?
	Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
	Till that the weary very means do ebb?
	What woman in the city do I name,
	When that I say the city-woman bears
	The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
	Who can come in and say that I mean her,
	When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
	Or what is he of basest function
	That says his bravery is not of my cost,
	Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
	His folly to the mettle of my speech?
	There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
	My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
	Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
	Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
	Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

	[Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]

ORLANDO	Forbear, and eat no more.

JAQUES	Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO	Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

JAQUES	Of what kind should this cock come of?

DUKE SENIOR	Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress,
	Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
	That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

ORLANDO	You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
	Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
	Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
	And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:
	He dies that touches any of this fruit
	Till I and my affairs are answered.

JAQUES	An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

DUKE SENIOR	What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
	More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO	I almost die for food; and let me have it.

DUKE SENIOR	Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO	Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
	I thought that all things had been savage here;
	And therefore put I on the countenance
	Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
	That in this desert inaccessible,
	Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
	Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time
	If ever you have look'd on better days,
	If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
	If ever sat at any good man's feast,
	If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
	And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
	Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
	In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

DUKE SENIOR	True is it that we have seen better days,
	And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church
	And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
	Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
	And therefore sit you down in gentleness
	And take upon command what help we have
	That to your wanting may be minister'd.

ORLANDO	Then but forbear your food a little while,
	Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
	And give it food. There is an old poor man,
	Who after me hath many a weary step
	Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
	Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
	I will not touch a bit.

DUKE SENIOR	Go find him out,
	And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDO	I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!

	[Exit]

DUKE SENIOR	Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
	This wide and universal theatre
	Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
	Wherein we play in.

JAQUES	All the world's a stage,
	And all the men and women merely players:
	They have their exits and their entrances;
	And one man in his time plays many parts,
	His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
	Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
	And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
	And shining morning face, creeping like snail
	Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
	Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
	Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
	Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
	Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
	Seeking the bubble reputation
	Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
	In fair round belly with good capon lined,
	With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
	Full of wise saws and modern instances;
	And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
	Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
	With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
	His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
	For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
	Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
	And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
	That ends this strange eventful history,
	Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
	Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

	[Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
	And let him feed.

ORLANDO	I thank you most for him.

ADAM	So had you need:
	I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
	As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
	Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
	
	SONG.
AMIENS	Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
	Thou art not so unkind
	As man's ingratitude;
	Thy tooth is not so keen,
	Because thou art not seen,
	Although thy breath be rude.
	Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
	Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
	Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
	This life is most jolly.
	Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
	That dost not bite so nigh
	As benefits forgot:
	Though thou the waters warp,
	Thy sting is not so sharp
	As friend remember'd not.
	Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR	If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
	As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
	And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
	Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
	Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
	That loved your father: the residue of your fortune,
	Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
	Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
	Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
	And let me all your fortunes understand.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE I	A room in the palace.


	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]

DUKE FREDERICK	Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
	But were I not the better part made mercy,
	I should not seek an absent argument
	Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
	Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
	Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
	Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
	To seek a living in our territory.
	Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
	Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
	Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth
	Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER	O that your highness knew my heart in this!
	I never loved my brother in my life.

DUKE FREDERICK	More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
	And let my officers of such a nature
	Make an extent upon his house and lands:
	Do this expediently and turn him going.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]

ORLANDO	Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
	And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
	With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
	Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
	O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
	And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
	That every eye which in this forest looks
	Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
	Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
	The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CORIN	And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
	life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
	it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
	like it very well; but in respect that it is
	private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it
	is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
	respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As
	is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
	but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
	against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

CORIN	No more but that I know the more one sickens the
	worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
	means and content is without three good friends;
	that the property of rain is to wet and fire to
	burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a
	great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that
	he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
	complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

TOUCHSTONE	Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
	court, shepherd?

CORIN	No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE	Then thou art damned.

CORIN	Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
	on one side.

CORIN	For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE	Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
	good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
	then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
	sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
	state, shepherd.

CORIN	Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
	at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the
	behavior of the country is most mockable at the
	court. You told me you salute not at the court, but
	you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be
	uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE	Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN	Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
	fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE	Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
	the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
	a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

CORIN	Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE	Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
	A more sounder instance, come.

CORIN	And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
	our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
	courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

TOUCHSTONE	Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
	good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
	perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
	very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

CORIN	You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE	Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
	God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

CORIN	Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
	that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
	happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my
	harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
	graze and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE	That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
	and the rams together and to offer to get your
	living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
	bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a
	twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
	out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not
	damned for this, the devil himself will have no
	shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst
	'scape.

CORIN	Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

	[Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]

ROSALIND	     From the east to western Ind,
	No jewel is like Rosalind.
	Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
	Through all the world bears Rosalind.
	All the pictures fairest lined
	Are but black to Rosalind.
	Let no fair be kept in mind
	But the fair of Rosalind.

TOUCHSTONE	I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and
	suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the
	right butter-women's rank to market.

ROSALIND	Out, fool!

TOUCHSTONE	For a taste:
	If a hart do lack a hind,
	Let him seek out Rosalind.
	If the cat will after kind,
	So be sure will Rosalind.
	Winter garments must be lined,
	So must slender Rosalind.
	They that reap must sheaf and bind;
	Then to cart with Rosalind.
	Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
	Such a nut is Rosalind.
	He that sweetest rose will find
	Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
	This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you
	infect yourself with them?

ROSALIND	Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

ROSALIND	I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
	with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit
	i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half
	ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE	You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the
	forest judge.

	[Enter CELIA, with a writing]

ROSALIND	Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

CELIA	[Reads]

	Why should this a desert be?
	For it is unpeopled? No:
	Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
	That shall civil sayings show:
	Some, how brief the life of man
	Runs his erring pilgrimage,
	That the stretching of a span
	Buckles in his sum of age;
	Some, of violated vows
	'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
	But upon the fairest boughs,
	Or at every sentence end,
	Will I Rosalinda write,
	Teaching all that read to know
	The quintessence of every sprite
	Heaven would in little show.
	Therefore Heaven Nature charged
	That one body should be fill'd
	With all graces wide-enlarged:
	Nature presently distill'd
	Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
	Cleopatra's majesty,
	Atalanta's better part,
	Sad Lucretia's modesty.
	Thus Rosalind of many parts
	By heavenly synod was devised,
	Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
	To have the touches dearest prized.
	Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
	And I to live and die her slave.

ROSALIND	O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
	have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
	cried 'Have patience, good people!'

CELIA	How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
	Go with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE	Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
	though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

	[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA	Didst thou hear these verses?

ROSALIND	O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of
	them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

CELIA	That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses.

ROSALIND	Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
	themselves without the verse and therefore stood
	lamely in the verse.

CELIA	But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
	should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

ROSALIND	I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
	before you came; for look here what I found on a
	palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since
	Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
	can hardly remember.

CELIA	Trow you who hath done this?

ROSALIND	Is it a man?

CELIA	And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
	Change you colour?

ROSALIND	I prithee, who?

CELIA	O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
	meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
	and so encounter.

ROSALIND	Nay, but who is it?

CELIA	Is it possible?

ROSALIND	Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
	tell me who it is.

CELIA	O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
	wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
	out of all hooping!

ROSALIND	Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
	caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
	my disposition? One inch of delay more is a
	South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
	quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst
	stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man
	out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
	mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
	all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
	may drink thy tidings.

CELIA	So you may put a man in your belly.

ROSALIND	Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
	head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

CELIA	Nay, he hath but a little beard.

ROSALIND	Why, God will send more, if the man will be
	thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if
	thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

CELIA	It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
	heels and your heart both in an instant.

ROSALIND	Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
	true maid.

CELIA	I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

ROSALIND	Orlando?

CELIA	Orlando.

ROSALIND	Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
	hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
	he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
	him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
	How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see
	him again? Answer me in one word.

CELIA	You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
	word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To
	say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
	answer in a catechism.

ROSALIND	But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
	man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
	day he wrestled?

CELIA	It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
	propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my
	finding him, and relish it with good observance.
	I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

ROSALIND	It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
	forth such fruit.

CELIA	Give me audience, good madam.

ROSALIND	Proceed.

CELIA	There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

ROSALIND	Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
	becomes the ground.

CELIA	Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
	unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

ROSALIND	O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

CELIA	I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
	me out of tune.

ROSALIND	Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
	speak. Sweet, say on.

CELIA	You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

	[Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]

ROSALIND	'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

JAQUES	I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
	as lief have been myself alone.

ORLANDO	And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
	too for your society.

JAQUES	God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.

ORLANDO	I do desire we may be better strangers.

JAQUES	I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
	love-songs in their barks.

ORLANDO	I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
	them ill-favouredly.

JAQUES	Rosalind is your love's name?

ORLANDO	Yes, just.

JAQUES	I do not like her name.

ORLANDO	There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
	christened.

JAQUES	What stature is she of?

ORLANDO	Just as high as my heart.

JAQUES	You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
	acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
	out of rings?

ORLANDO	Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
	whence you have studied your questions.

JAQUES	You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
	Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and
	we two will rail against our mistress the world and
	all our misery.

ORLANDO	I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
	against whom I know most faults.

JAQUES	The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO	'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
	I am weary of you.

JAQUES	By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found
	you.

ORLANDO	He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
	shall see him.

JAQUES	There I shall see mine own figure.

ORLANDO	Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

JAQUES	I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
	Signior Love.

ORLANDO	I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
	Melancholy.

	[Exit JAQUES]

ROSALIND	[Aside to CELIA]  I will speak to him, like a saucy
	lackey and under that habit play the knave with him.
	Do you hear, forester?

ORLANDO	Very well: what would you?

ROSALIND	I pray you, what is't o'clock?

ORLANDO	You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock
	in the forest.

ROSALIND	Then there is no true lover in the forest; else
	sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
	detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.

ORLANDO	And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that
	been as proper?

ROSALIND	By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with
	divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles
	withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops
	withal and who he stands still withal.

ORLANDO	I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

ROSALIND	Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
	contract of her marriage and the day it is
	solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight,
	Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of
	seven year.

ORLANDO	Who ambles Time withal?

ROSALIND	With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that
	hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because
	he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because
	he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean
	and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden
	of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal.

ORLANDO	Who doth he gallop withal?

ROSALIND	With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as
	softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

ORLANDO	Who stays it still withal?

ROSALIND	With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between
	term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves.

ORLANDO	Where dwell you, pretty youth?

ROSALIND	With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
	skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

ORLANDO	Are you native of this place?

ROSALIND	As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.

ORLANDO	Your accent is something finer than you could
	purchase in so removed a dwelling.

ROSALIND	I have been told so of many: but indeed an old
	religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was
	in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship
	too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard
	him read many lectures against it, and I thank God
	I am not a woman, to be touched with so many
	giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their
	whole sex withal.

ORLANDO	Can you remember any of the principal evils that he
	laid to the charge of women?

ROSALIND	There were none principal; they were all like one
	another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming
	monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.

ORLANDO	I prithee, recount some of them.

ROSALIND	No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that
	are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that
	abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on
	their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies
	on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of
	Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would
	give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the
	quotidian of love upon him.

ORLANDO	I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me
	your remedy.

ROSALIND	There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he
	taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage
	of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

ORLANDO	What were his marks?

ROSALIND	A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and
	sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable
	spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected,
	which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for
	simply your having in beard is a younger brother's
	revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your
	bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe
	untied and every thing about you demonstrating a
	careless desolation; but you are no such man; you
	are rather point-device in your accoutrements as
	loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

ORLANDO	Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

ROSALIND	Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you
	love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to
	do than to confess she does: that is one of the
	points in the which women still give the lie to
	their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he
	that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind
	is so admired?

ORLANDO	I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
	Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

ROSALIND	But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

ORLANDO	Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

ROSALIND	Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
	as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
	the reason why they are not so punished and cured
	is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
	are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

ORLANDO	Did you ever cure any so?

ROSALIND	Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me
	his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to
	woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish
	youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing
	and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
	inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every
	passion something and for no passion truly any
	thing, as boys and women are for the most part
	cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe
	him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep
	for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor
	from his mad humour of love to a living humour of
	madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of
	the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic.
	And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon
	me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's
	heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

ORLANDO	I would not be cured, youth.

ROSALIND	I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
	and come every day to my cote and woo me.

ORLANDO	Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
	where it is.

ROSALIND	Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way
	you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
	Will you go?

ORLANDO	With all my heart, good youth.

ROSALIND	Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind]

TOUCHSTONE	Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
	goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
	doth my simple feature content you?

AUDREY	Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!

TOUCHSTONE	I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
	capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQUES	[Aside]  O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
	in a thatched house!

TOUCHSTONE	When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a
	man's good wit seconded with the forward child
	Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a
	great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would
	the gods had made thee poetical.

AUDREY	I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
	deed and word? is it a true thing?

TOUCHSTONE	No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
	feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what
	they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.

AUDREY	Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?

TOUCHSTONE	I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
	honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some
	hope thou didst feign.

AUDREY	Would you not have me honest?

TOUCHSTONE	No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
	honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

JAQUES	[Aside]  A material fool!

AUDREY	 Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
	make me honest.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
	were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

AUDREY	I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

TOUCHSTONE	Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness!
	sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may
	be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been
	with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next
	village, who hath promised to meet me in this place
	of the forest and to couple us.

JAQUES	[Aside]  I would fain see this meeting.

AUDREY	Well, the gods give us joy!

TOUCHSTONE	Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
	stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple
	but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what
	though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are
	necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of
	his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and
	knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of
	his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
	Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer
	hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
	therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more
	worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a
	married man more honourable than the bare brow of a
	bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
	skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to
	want. Here comes Sir Oliver.

	[Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT]

	Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
	dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go
	with you to your chapel?

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	Is there none here to give the woman?

TOUCHSTONE	I will not take her on gift of any man.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

JAQUES	[Advancing]

	Proceed, proceed	I'll give her.

TOUCHSTONE	Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you,
	sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your
	last company: I am very glad to see you: even a
	toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.

JAQUES	Will you be married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE	As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and
	the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and
	as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

JAQUES	And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
	married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
	church, and have a good priest that can tell you
	what marriage is: this fellow will but join you
	together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
	prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp.

TOUCHSTONE	[Aside]  I am not in the mind but I were better to be
	married of him than of another: for he is not like
	to marry me well; and not being well married, it
	will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

JAQUES	Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

TOUCHSTONE	'Come, sweet Audrey:
	We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
	Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,--
	O sweet Oliver,
	O brave Oliver,
	Leave me not behind thee: but,--
	Wind away,
	Begone, I say,
	I will not to wedding with thee.

	[Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
	all shall flout me out of my calling.

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE IV	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND	Never talk to me; I will weep.

CELIA	Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
	that tears do not become a man.

ROSALIND	But have I not cause to weep?

CELIA	As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

ROSALIND	His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

CELIA	Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are
	Judas's own children.

ROSALIND	I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

CELIA	An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

ROSALIND	And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
	of holy bread.

CELIA	He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun
	of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
	the very ice of chastity is in them.

ROSALIND	But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
	comes not?

CELIA	Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

ROSALIND	Do you think so?

CELIA	Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
	horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do
	think him as concave as a covered goblet or a
	worm-eaten nut.

ROSALIND	Not true in love?

CELIA	Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

ROSALIND	You have heard him swear downright he was.

CELIA	'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is
	no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are
	both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends
	here in the forest on the duke your father.

ROSALIND	I met the duke yesterday and had much question with
	him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told
	him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go.
	But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a
	man as Orlando?

CELIA	O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses,
	speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks
	them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of
	his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse
	but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble
	goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly
	guides. Who comes here?

	[Enter CORIN]

CORIN	Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
	After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
	Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
	Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
	That was his mistress.

CELIA	Well, and what of him?

CORIN	If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
	Between the pale complexion of true love
	And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
	Go hence a little and I shall conduct you,
	If you will mark it.

ROSALIND	O, come, let us remove:
	The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
	Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
	I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE V	Another part of the forest.


	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
	Say that you love me not, but say not so
	In bitterness. The common executioner,
	Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
	Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
	But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
	Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

	[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]

PHEBE	I would not be thy executioner:
	I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
	Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
	'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
	That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
	Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
	Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
	Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
	And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
	Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
	Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
	Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
	Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
	Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
	Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
	The cicatrice and capable impressure
	Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
	Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
	Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
	That can do hurt.

SILVIUS	                  O dear Phebe,
	If ever,--as that ever may be near,--
	You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
	Then shall you know the wounds invisible
	That love's keen arrows make.

PHEBE	But till that time
	Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,
	Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
	As till that time I shall not pity thee.

ROSALIND	And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
	That you insult, exult, and all at once,
	Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,--
	As, by my faith, I see no more in you
	Than without candle may go dark to bed--
	Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
	Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
	I see no more in you than in the ordinary
	Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
	I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
	No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
	'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
	Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
	That can entame my spirits to your worship.
	You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
	Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
	You are a thousand times a properer man
	Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you
	That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children:
	'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
	And out of you she sees herself more proper
	Than any of her lineaments can show her.
	But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
	And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
	For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
	Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:
	Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
	Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
	So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.

PHEBE	Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
	I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

ROSALIND	He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll
	fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as
	she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her
	with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?

PHEBE	For no ill will I bear you.

ROSALIND	I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
	For I am falser than vows made in wine:
	Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
	'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
	Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
	Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
	And be not proud: though all the world could see,
	None could be so abused in sight as he.
	Come, to our flock.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN]

PHEBE	Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
	'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe,--

PHEBE	                  Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe, pity me.

PHEBE	Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

SILVIUS	Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
	If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
	By giving love your sorrow and my grief
	Were both extermined.

PHEBE	Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

SILVIUS	I would have you.

PHEBE	                  Why, that were covetousness.
	Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
	And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
	But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
	Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
	I will endure, and I'll employ thee too:
	But do not look for further recompense
	Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.

SILVIUS	So holy and so perfect is my love,
	And I in such a poverty of grace,
	That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
	To glean the broken ears after the man
	That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
	A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

PHEBE	Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

SILVIUS	Not very well, but I have met him oft;
	And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
	That the old carlot once was master of.

PHEBE	Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
	'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
	But what care I for words? yet words do well
	When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
	It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
	But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
	He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
	Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
	Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
	He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
	His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well:
	There was a pretty redness in his lip,
	A little riper and more lusty red
	Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
	Between the constant red and mingled damask.
	There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
	In parcels as I did, would have gone near
	To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
	I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
	I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
	For what had he to do to chide at me?
	He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
	And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
	I marvel why I answer'd not again:
	But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
	I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
	And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS	Phebe, with all my heart.

PHEBE	I'll write it straight;
	The matter's in my head and in my heart:
	I will be bitter with him and passing short.
	Go with me, Silvius.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE I	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES]

JAQUES	I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
	with thee.

ROSALIND	They say you are a melancholy fellow.

JAQUES	I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

ROSALIND	Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
	fellows and betray themselves to every modern
	censure worse than drunkards.

JAQUES	Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

ROSALIND	Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

JAQUES	I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
	emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical,
	nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the
	soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,
	which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor
	the lover's, which is all these: but it is a
	melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples,
	extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
	contemplation of my travels, in which my often
	rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness.

ROSALIND	A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
	be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see
	other men's; then, to have seen much and to have
	nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

JAQUES	Yes, I have gained my experience.

ROSALIND	And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
	a fool to make me merry than experience to make me
	sad; and to travel for it too!

	[Enter ORLANDO]

ORLANDO	Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

JAQUES	Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.

	[Exit]

ROSALIND	Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and
	wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your
	own country, be out of love with your nativity and
	almost chide God for making you that countenance you
	are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a
	gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been
	all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such
	another trick, never come in my sight more.

ORLANDO	My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

ROSALIND	Break an hour's promise in love! He that will
	divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but
	a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the
	affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid
	hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant
	him heart-whole.

ORLANDO	Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

ROSALIND	Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I
	had as lief be wooed of a snail.

ORLANDO	Of a snail?

ROSALIND	Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he
	carries his house on his head; a better jointure,
	I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings
	his destiny with him.

ORLANDO	What's that?

ROSALIND	Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
	beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in
	his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.

ORLANDO	Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

ROSALIND	And I am your Rosalind.

CELIA	It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
	Rosalind of a better leer than you.

ROSALIND	Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday
	humour and like enough to consent. What would you
	say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I would kiss before I spoke.

ROSALIND	Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were
	gravelled for lack of matter, you might take
	occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are
	out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God
	warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

ORLANDO	How if the kiss be denied?

ROSALIND	Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

ORLANDO	Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

ROSALIND	Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or
	I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

ORLANDO	What, of my suit?

ROSALIND	Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
	Am not I your Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I take some joy to say you are, because I would be
	talking of her.

ROSALIND	Well in her person I say I will not have you.

ORLANDO	Then in mine own person I die.

ROSALIND	No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
	almost six thousand years old, and in all this time
	there was not any man died in his own person,
	videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains
	dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he
	could to die before, and he is one of the patterns
	of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair
	year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been
	for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went
	but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being
	taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish
	coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.'
	But these are all lies: men have died from time to
	time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

ORLANDO	I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind,
	for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

ROSALIND	By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now
	I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on
	disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant
	it.

ORLANDO	Then love me, Rosalind.

ROSALIND	Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.

ORLANDO	And wilt thou have me?

ROSALIND	Ay, and twenty such.

ORLANDO	What sayest thou?

ROSALIND	Are you not good?

ORLANDO	I hope so.

ROSALIND	Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
	Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.
	Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?

ORLANDO	Pray thee, marry us.

CELIA	I cannot say the words.

ROSALIND	You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--'

CELIA	Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I will.

ROSALIND	Ay, but when?

ORLANDO	Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

ROSALIND	Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'

ORLANDO	I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

ROSALIND	I might ask you for your commission; but I do take
	thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes
	before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought
	runs before her actions.

ORLANDO	So do all thoughts; they are winged.

ROSALIND	Now tell me how long you would have her after you
	have possessed her.

ORLANDO	For ever and a day.

ROSALIND	Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando;
	men are April when they woo, December when they wed:
	maids are May when they are maids, but the sky
	changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous
	of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
	more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more
	new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires
	than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana
	in the fountain, and I will do that when you are
	disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and
	that when thou art inclined to sleep.

ORLANDO	But will my Rosalind do so?

ROSALIND	By my life, she will do as I do.

ORLANDO	O, but she is wise.

ROSALIND	Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
	wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's
	wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and
	'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly
	with the smoke out at the chimney.

ORLANDO	A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say
	'Wit, whither wilt?'

ROSALIND	Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met
	your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

ORLANDO	And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

ROSALIND	Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall
	never take her without her answer, unless you take
	her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot
	make her fault her husband's occasion, let her
	never nurse her child herself, for she will breed
	it like a fool!

ORLANDO	For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

ROSALIND	Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

ORLANDO	I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I
	will be with thee again.

ROSALIND	Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you
	would prove: my friends told me as much, and I
	thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours
	won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come,
	death! Two o'clock is your hour?

ORLANDO	Ay, sweet Rosalind.

ROSALIND	By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend
	me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
	if you break one jot of your promise or come one
	minute behind your hour, I will think you the most
	pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover
	and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that
	may be chosen out of the gross band of the
	unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep
	your promise.

ORLANDO	With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
	Rosalind: so adieu.

ROSALIND	Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
	offenders, and let Time try: adieu.

	[Exit ORLANDO]

CELIA	You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate:
	we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your
	head, and show the world what the bird hath done to
	her own nest.

ROSALIND	O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
	didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But
	it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown
	bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

CELIA	Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour
	affection in, it runs out.

ROSALIND	No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot
	of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness,
	that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes
	because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I
	am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out
	of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and
	sigh till he come.

CELIA	And I'll sleep.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]

JAQUES	Which is he that killed the deer?

A Lord	Sir, it was I.

JAQUES	Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman
	conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's
	horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have
	you no song, forester, for this purpose?

Forester	Yes, sir.

JAQUES	Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
	make noise enough.
	
	SONG.
Forester	What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
	His leather skin and horns to wear.
	Then sing him home;

	[The rest shall bear this burden]

	Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
	It was a crest ere thou wast born:
	Thy father's father wore it,
	And thy father bore it:
	The horn, the horn, the lusty horn
	Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND	How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
	here much Orlando!

CELIA	I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he
	hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
	sleep. Look, who comes here.

	[Enter SILVIUS]

SILVIUS	My errand is to you, fair youth;
	My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
	I know not the contents; but, as I guess
	By the stern brow and waspish action
	Which she did use as she was writing of it,
	It bears an angry tenor: pardon me:
	I am but as a guiltless messenger.

ROSALIND	Patience herself would startle at this letter
	And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
	She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;
	She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
	Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will!
	Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
	Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
	This is a letter of your own device.

SILVIUS	No, I protest, I know not the contents:
	Phebe did write it.

ROSALIND	Come, come, you are a fool
	And turn'd into the extremity of love.
	I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand.
	A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
	That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
	She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
	I say she never did invent this letter;
	This is a man's invention and his hand.

SILVIUS	Sure, it is hers.

ROSALIND	Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.
	A style for-challengers; why, she defies me,
	Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain
	Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention
	Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
	Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

SILVIUS	So please you, for I never heard it yet;
	Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

ROSALIND	She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

	[Reads]

	Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
	That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
	Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS	Call you this railing?

ROSALIND	[Reads]

	Why, thy godhead laid apart,
	Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
	Did you ever hear such railing?
	Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
	That could do no vengeance to me.
	Meaning me a beast.
	If the scorn of your bright eyne
	Have power to raise such love in mine,
	Alack, in me what strange effect
	Would they work in mild aspect!
	Whiles you chid me, I did love;
	How then might your prayers move!
	He that brings this love to thee
	Little knows this love in me:
	And by him seal up thy mind;
	Whether that thy youth and kind
	Will the faithful offer take
	Of me and all that I can make;
	Or else by him my love deny,
	And then I'll study how to die.

SILVIUS	Call you this chiding?

CELIA	Alas, poor shepherd!

ROSALIND	Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt
	thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an
	instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to
	be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see
	love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to
	her: that if she love me, I charge her to love
	thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless
	thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover,
	hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

	[Exit SILVIUS]

	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER	Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
	Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
	A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?

CELIA	West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
	The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
	Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
	But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
	There's none within.

OLIVER	If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
	Then should I know you by description;
	Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
	Of female favour, and bestows himself
	Like a ripe sister: the woman low
	And browner than her brother.' Are not you
	The owner of the house I did inquire for?

CELIA	It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.

OLIVER	Orlando doth commend him to you both,
	And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
	He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

ROSALIND	I am: what must we understand by this?

OLIVER	Some of my shame; if you will know of me
	What man I am, and how, and why, and where
	This handkercher was stain'd.

CELIA	I pray you, tell it.

OLIVER	When last the young Orlando parted from you
	He left a promise to return again
	Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,
	Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
	Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside,
	And mark what object did present itself:
	Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
	And high top bald with dry antiquity,
	A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
	Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
	A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
	Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
	The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
	Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
	And with indented glides did slip away
	Into a bush: under which bush's shade
	A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
	Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
	When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
	The royal disposition of that beast
	To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
	This seen, Orlando did approach the man
	And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

CELIA	O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
	And he did render him the most unnatural
	That lived amongst men.

OLIVER	And well he might so do,
	For well I know he was unnatural.

ROSALIND	But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
	Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

OLIVER	Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
	But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
	And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
	Made him give battle to the lioness,
	Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling
	From miserable slumber I awaked.

CELIA	Are you his brother?

ROSALIND	Wast you he rescued?

CELIA	Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

OLIVER	'Twas I; but 'tis not I	I do not shame
	To tell you what I was, since my conversion
	So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

ROSALIND	But, for the bloody napkin?

OLIVER	By and by.
	When from the first to last betwixt us two
	Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed,
	As how I came into that desert place:--
	In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
	Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
	Committing me unto my brother's love;
	Who led me instantly unto his cave,
	There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
	The lioness had torn some flesh away,
	Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted
	And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
	Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound;
	And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
	He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
	To tell this story, that you might excuse
	His broken promise, and to give this napkin
	Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth
	That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

	[ROSALIND swoons]

CELIA	Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

OLIVER	Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

CELIA	There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

OLIVER	Look, he recovers.

ROSALIND	I would I were at home.

CELIA	We'll lead you thither.
	I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

OLIVER	Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a
	man's heart.

ROSALIND	I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would
	think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell
	your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!

OLIVER	This was not counterfeit: there is too great
	testimony in your complexion that it was a passion
	of earnest.

ROSALIND	Counterfeit, I assure you.

OLIVER	Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.

ROSALIND	So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.

CELIA	Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
	homewards. Good sir, go with us.

OLIVER	That will I, for I must bear answer back
	How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

ROSALIND	I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
	my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE I	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

TOUCHSTONE	We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.

AUDREY	Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
	gentleman's saying.

TOUCHSTONE	A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile
	Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the
	forest lays claim to you.

AUDREY	Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in
	the world: here comes the man you mean.

TOUCHSTONE	It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my
	troth, we that have good wits have much to answer
	for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

	[Enter WILLIAM]

WILLIAM	Good even, Audrey.

AUDREY	God ye good even, William.

WILLIAM	And good even to you, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy
	head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?

WILLIAM	Five and twenty, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	A ripe age. Is thy name William?

WILLIAM	William, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here?

WILLIAM	Ay, sir, I thank God.

TOUCHSTONE	'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich?

WILLIAM	Faith, sir, so so.

TOUCHSTONE	'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and
	yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?

WILLIAM	Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

TOUCHSTONE	Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying,
	'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man
	knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen
	philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape,
	would open his lips when he put it into his mouth;
	meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and
	lips to open. You do love this maid?

WILLIAM	I do, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	Give me your hand. Art thou learned?

WILLIAM	No, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it
	is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out
	of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty
	the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse
	is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he.

WILLIAM	Which he, sir?

TOUCHSTONE	He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you
	clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the
	society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this
	female,--which in the common is woman; which
	together is, abandon the society of this female, or,
	clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better
	understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make
	thee away, translate thy life into death, thy
	liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with
	thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy
	with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with
	policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways:
	therefore tremble and depart.

AUDREY	Do, good William.

WILLIAM	God rest you merry, sir.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CORIN]

CORIN	Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!

TOUCHSTONE	Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER]

ORLANDO	Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you
	should like her? that but seeing you should love
	her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should
	grant? and will you persever to enjoy her?

OLIVER	Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the
	poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden
	wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me,
	I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me;
	consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it
	shall be to your good; for my father's house and all
	the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I
	estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

ORLANDO	You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
	thither will I invite the duke and all's contented
	followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look
	you, here comes my Rosalind.

	[Enter ROSALIND]

ROSALIND	God save you, brother.

OLIVER	And you, fair sister.

	[Exit]

ROSALIND	O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee
	wear thy heart in a scarf!

ORLANDO	It is my arm.

ROSALIND	I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws
	of a lion.

ORLANDO	Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

ROSALIND	Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
	swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?

ORLANDO	Ay, and greater wonders than that.

ROSALIND	O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was
	never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams
	and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and
	overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner
	met but they looked, no sooner looked but they
	loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner
	sighed but they asked one another the reason, no
	sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy;
	and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs
	to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or
	else be incontinent before marriage: they are in
	the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs
	cannot part them.

ORLANDO	They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the
	duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it
	is to look into happiness through another man's
	eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at
	the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall
	think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.

ROSALIND	Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I can live no longer by thinking.

ROSALIND	I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
	Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose,
	that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I
	speak not this that you should bear a good opinion
	of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are;
	neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in
	some little measure draw a belief from you, to do
	yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if
	you please, that I can do strange things: I have,
	since I was three year old, conversed with a
	magician, most profound in his art and yet not
	damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart
	as your gesture cries it out, when your brother
	marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into
	what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is
	not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient
	to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human
	as she is and without any danger.

ORLANDO	Speakest thou in sober meanings?

ROSALIND	By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I
	say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your
	best array: bid your friends; for if you will be
	married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will.

	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

	Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.

PHEBE	Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,
	To show the letter that I writ to you.

ROSALIND	I care not if I have: it is my study
	To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
	You are there followed by a faithful shepherd;
	Look upon him, love him; he worships you.

PHEBE	Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of faith and service;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of fantasy,
	All made of passion and all made of wishes,
	All adoration, duty, and observance,
	All humbleness, all patience and impatience,
	All purity, all trial, all observance;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And so am I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And so am I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And so am I for no woman.

PHEBE	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

SILVIUS	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ORLANDO	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ROSALIND	Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?'

ORLANDO	To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.

ROSALIND	Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling
	of Irish wolves against the moon.

	[To SILVIUS]

	I will help you, if I can:

	[To PHEBE]

	I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together.

	[To PHEBE]

	I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be
	married to-morrow:

	[To ORLANDO]

	I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
	shall be married to-morrow:

	[To SILVIUS]

	I will content you, if what pleases you contents
	you, and you shall be married to-morrow.

	[To ORLANDO]

	As you love Rosalind, meet:

	[To SILVIUS]

	as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
	I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands.

SILVIUS	I'll not fail, if I live.

PHEBE	Nor I.

ORLANDO	Nor I.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

TOUCHSTONE	To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will
	we be married.

AUDREY	I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is
	no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the
	world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages.

	[Enter two Pages]

First Page	Well met, honest gentleman.

TOUCHSTONE	By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.

Second Page	We are for you: sit i' the middle.

First Page	Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or
	spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only
	prologues to a bad voice?

Second Page	I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
	gipsies on a horse.
	
	SONG.
	It was a lover and his lass,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
	That o'er the green corn-field did pass
	In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
	When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
	Sweet lovers love the spring.

	Between the acres of the rye,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino
	These pretty country folks would lie,
	In spring time, &c.

	This carol they began that hour,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
	How that a life was but a flower
	In spring time, &c.

	And therefore take the present time,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
	For love is crowned with the prime
	In spring time, &c.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great
	matter in the ditty, yet the note was very
	untuneable.

First Page	You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time.

TOUCHSTONE	By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear
	such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend
	your voices! Come, Audrey.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE IV	The forest.


	[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER,
	and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR	Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
	Can do all this that he hath promised?

ORLANDO	I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
	As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.

	[Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE]

ROSALIND	Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged:
	You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
	You will bestow her on Orlando here?

DUKE SENIOR	That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

ROSALIND	And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?

ORLANDO	That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.

ROSALIND	You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?

PHEBE	That will I, should I die the hour after.

ROSALIND	But if you do refuse to marry me,
	You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

PHEBE	So is the bargain.

ROSALIND	You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?

SILVIUS	Though to have her and death were both one thing.

ROSALIND	I have promised to make all this matter even.
	Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter;
	You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:
	Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
	Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
	Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
	If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
	To make these doubts all even.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR	I do remember in this shepherd boy
	Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

ORLANDO	My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
	Methought he was a brother to your daughter:
	But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,
	And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
	Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
	Whom he reports to be a great magician,
	Obscured in the circle of this forest.

	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

JAQUES	There is, sure, another flood toward, and these
	couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of
	very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

TOUCHSTONE	Salutation and greeting to you all!

JAQUES	Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the
	motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in
	the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

TOUCHSTONE	If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
	purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered
	a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth
	with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have
	had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

JAQUES	And how was that ta'en up?

TOUCHSTONE	Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
	seventh cause.

JAQUES	How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

DUKE SENIOR	I like him very well.

TOUCHSTONE	God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
	press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
	copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as
	marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
	sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
	humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else
	will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
	poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.

DUKE SENIOR	By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

TOUCHSTONE	According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

JAQUES	But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
	quarrel on the seventh cause?

TOUCHSTONE	Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more
	seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the
	cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word,
	if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the
	mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous.
	If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he
	would send me word, he cut it to please himself:
	this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was
	not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is
	called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not
	well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this
	is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not
	well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the
	Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie
	Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.

JAQUES	And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

TOUCHSTONE	I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial,
	nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
	measured swords and parted.

JAQUES	Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

TOUCHSTONE	O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have
	books for good manners: I will name you the degrees.
	The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the
	Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the
	fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
	Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with
	Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All
	these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may
	avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven
	justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the
	parties were met themselves, one of them thought but
	of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and
	they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the
	only peacemaker; much virtue in If.

JAQUES	Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at
	any thing and yet a fool.

DUKE SENIOR	He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
	the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

	[Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA]

	[Still Music]

HYMEN	        Then is there mirth in heaven,
	When earthly things made even
	Atone together.
	Good duke, receive thy daughter
	Hymen from heaven brought her,
	Yea, brought her hither,
	That thou mightst join her hand with his
	Whose heart within his bosom is.

ROSALIND	[To DUKE SENIOR]  To you I give myself, for I am yours.

	[To ORLANDO]

	To you I give myself, for I am yours.

DUKE SENIOR	If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

ORLANDO	If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

PHEBE	If sight and shape be true,
	Why then, my love adieu!

ROSALIND	I'll have no father, if you be not he:
	I'll have no husband, if you be not he:
	Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.

HYMEN	        Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
	'Tis I must make conclusion
	Of these most strange events:
	Here's eight that must take hands
	To join in Hymen's bands,
	If truth holds true contents.
	You and you no cross shall part:
	You and you are heart in heart
	You to his love must accord,
	Or have a woman to your lord:
	You and you are sure together,
	As the winter to foul weather.
	Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
	Feed yourselves with questioning;
	That reason wonder may diminish,
	How thus we met, and these things finish.
	
	SONG.
	Wedding is great Juno's crown:
	O blessed bond of board and bed!
	'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
	High wedlock then be honoured:
	Honour, high honour and renown,
	To Hymen, god of every town!

DUKE SENIOR	O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
	Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.

PHEBE	I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
	Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

	[Enter JAQUES DE BOYS]

JAQUES DE BOYS	Let me have audience for a word or two:
	I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
	That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
	Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
	Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
	Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
	In his own conduct, purposely to take
	His brother here and put him to the sword:
	And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
	Where meeting with an old religious man,
	After some question with him, was converted
	Both from his enterprise and from the world,
	His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
	And all their lands restored to them again
	That were with him exiled. This to be true,
	I do engage my life.

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome, young man;
	Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
	To one his lands withheld, and to the other
	A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
	First, in this forest, let us do those ends
	That here were well begun and well begot:
	And after, every of this happy number
	That have endured shrewd days and nights with us
	Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
	According to the measure of their states.
	Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity
	And fall into our rustic revelry.
	Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
	With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.

JAQUES	Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
	The duke hath put on a religious life
	And thrown into neglect the pompous court?

JAQUES DE BOYS	He hath.

JAQUES	To him will I : out of these convertites
	There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.

	[To DUKE SENIOR]

	You to your former honour I bequeath;
	Your patience and your virtue well deserves it:

	[To ORLANDO]

	You to a love that your true faith doth merit:

	[To OLIVER]

	You to your land and love and great allies:

	[To SILVIUS]

	You to a long and well-deserved bed:

	[To TOUCHSTONE]

	And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
	Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures:
	I am for other than for dancing measures.

DUKE SENIOR	Stay, Jaques, stay.

JAQUES	To see no pastime I	what you would have
	I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave.

	[Exit]

DUKE SENIOR	Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
	As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.

	[A dance]




	AS YOU LIKE IT

	EPILOGUE


ROSALIND	It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
	but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord
	the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs
	no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no
	epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes,
	and good plays prove the better by the help of good
	epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am
	neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with
	you in the behalf of a good play! I am not
	furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not
	become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin
	with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love
	you bear to men, to like as much of this play as
	please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love
	you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering,
	none of you hates them--that between you and the
	women the play may please. If I were a woman I
	would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased
	me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I
	defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good
	beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my
	kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.

	[Exeunt]
	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SOLINUS	Duke of Ephesus. (DUKE SOLINUS:)

AEGEON	a merchant of Syracuse.


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


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


BALTHAZAR	a merchant

ANGELO	a goldsmith.

First Merchant	friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.

Second Merchant	to whom Angelo is a debtor.

PINCH	a schoolmaster.

AEMILIA	wife to AEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus.

ADRIANA	wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.

LUCIANA	her sister.

LUCE	servant to Adriana.

	A Courtezan.

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

SCENE	Ephesus.




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT I



SCENE I	A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gaoler	I will, my lord.

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

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT I



SCENE II	The Mart.


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

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

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

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

	[Exit]

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

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

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

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

	[Exit]

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

	[Enter DROMIO of Ephesus]

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

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

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray:
	Where have you left the money that I gave you?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	O,--sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last
	To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?
	The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I am not in a sportive humour now:
	Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
	We being strangers here, how darest thou trust
	So great a charge from thine own custody?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I pray you, air, as you sit at dinner:
	I from my mistress come to you in post;
	If I return, I shall be post indeed,
	For she will score your fault upon my pate.
	Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,
	And strike you home without a messenger.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;
	Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
	Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,
	And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	My charge was but to fetch you from the mart
	Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner:
	My mistress and her sister stays for you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	In what safe place you have bestow'd my money,
	Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours
	That stands on tricks when I am undisposed:
	Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
	Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,
	But not a thousand marks between you both.
	If I should pay your worship those again,
	Perchance you will not bear them patiently.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?


DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;
	She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
	And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
	Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands!
	Nay, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Upon my life, by some device or other
	The villain is o'er-raught of all my money.
	They say this town is full of cozenage,
	As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
	Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
	Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
	Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
	And many such-like liberties of sin:
	If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
	I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:
	I greatly fear my money is not safe.

	[Exit]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT II



SCENE I	The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.


	[Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA]

ADRIANA	Neither my husband nor the slave return'd,
	That in such haste I sent to seek his master!
	Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

LUCIANA	Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,
	And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.
	Good sister, let us dine and never fret:
	A man is master of his liberty:
	Time is their master, and, when they see time,
	They'll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.

ADRIANA	Why should their liberty than ours be more?

LUCIANA	Because their business still lies out o' door.

ADRIANA	Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.

LUCIANA	O, know he is the bridle of your will.

ADRIANA	There's none but asses will be bridled so.

LUCIANA	Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
	There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
	But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
	The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
	Are their males' subjects and at their controls:
	Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
	Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,
	Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
	Of more preeminence than fish and fowls,
	Are masters to their females, and their lords:
	Then let your will attend on their accords.

ADRIANA	This servitude makes you to keep unwed.

LUCIANA	Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.

ADRIANA	But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.

LUCIANA	Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.

ADRIANA	How if your husband start some other where?

LUCIANA	Till he come home again, I would forbear.

ADRIANA	Patience unmoved! no marvel though she pause;
	They can be meek that have no other cause.
	A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
	We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
	But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
	As much or more would we ourselves complain:
	So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
	With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me,
	But, if thou live to see like right bereft,
	This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

LUCIANA	Well, I will marry one day, but to try.
	Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh.

	[Enter DROMIO of Ephesus]

ADRIANA	Say, is your tardy master now at hand?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears
	can witness.

ADRIANA	Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear:
	Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

LUCIANA	Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his
	blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce
	understand them.

ADRIANA	But say, I prithee, is he coming home? It seems he
	hath great care to please his wife.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.

ADRIANA	Horn-mad, thou villain!

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I mean not cuckold-mad;
	But, sure, he is stark mad.
	When I desired him to come home to dinner,
	He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
	''Tis dinner-time,' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he;
	'Your meat doth burn,' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he:
	'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.
	'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?'
	'The pig,' quoth I, 'is burn'd;' 'My gold!' quoth he:
	'My mistress, sir' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress!
	I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!'

LUCIANA	Quoth who?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Quoth my master:
	'I know,' quoth he, 'no house, no wife, no mistress.'
	So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
	I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;
	For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

ADRIANA	Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Go back again, and be new beaten home?
	For God's sake, send some other messenger.

ADRIANA	Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	And he will bless that cross with other beating:
	Between you I shall have a holy head.

ADRIANA	Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Am I so round with you as you with me,
	That like a football you do spurn me thus?
	You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither:
	If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.

	[Exit]

LUCIANA	Fie, how impatience loureth in your face!

ADRIANA	His company must do his minions grace,
	Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
	Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
	From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:
	Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?
	If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
	Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard:
	Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
	That's not my fault: he's master of my state:
	What ruins are in me that can be found,
	By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground
	Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
	A sunny look of his would soon repair
	But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale
	And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.

LUCIANA	Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence!

ADRIANA	Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.
	I know his eye doth homage otherwhere,
	Or else what lets it but he would be here?
	Sister, you know he promised me a chain;
	Would that alone, alone he would detain,
	So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
	I see the jewel best enamelled
	Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still,
	That others touch, and often touching will
	Wear gold: and no man that hath a name,
	By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
	Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
	I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.

LUCIANA	How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT II



SCENE II	A public place.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
	Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
	Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out
	By computation and mine host's report.
	I could not speak with Dromio since at first
	I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse]

	How now sir! is your merry humour alter'd?
	As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
	You know no Centaur? you received no gold?
	Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
	My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,
	That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Even now, even here, not half an hour since.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I did not see you since you sent me hence,
	Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt,
	And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;
	For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I am glad to see you in this merry vein:
	What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?
	Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.

	[Beating him]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your jest is earnest:
	Upon what bargain do you give it me?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Because that I familiarly sometimes
	Do use you for my fool and chat with you,
	Your sauciness will jest upon my love
	And make a common of my serious hours.
	When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,
	But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
	If you will jest with me, know my aspect,
	And fashion your demeanor to my looks,
	Or I will beat this method in your sconce.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Sconce call you it? so you would leave battering, I
	had rather have it a head: an you use these blows
	long, I must get a sconce for my head and ensconce
	it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders.
	But, I pray, sir why am I beaten?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Dost thou not know?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Shall I tell you why?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say every why hath
	a wherefore.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why, first,--for flouting me; and then, wherefore--
	For urging it the second time to me.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,
	When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme
	nor reason?
	Well, sir, I thank you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thank me, sir, for what?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for
	something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	In good time, sir; what's that?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Basting.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Your reason?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Lest it make you choleric and purchase me another
	dry basting.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there's a
	time for all things.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	By what rule, sir?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald
	pate of father Time himself.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Let's hear it.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	There's no time for a man to recover his hair that
	grows bald by nature.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	May he not do it by fine and recovery?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and recover the
	lost hair of another man.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is,
	so plentiful an excrement?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts;
	and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he loseth
	it in a kind of jollity.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	For what reason?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	For two; and sound ones too.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Nay, not sound, I pray you.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Sure ones, then.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Certain ones then.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Name them.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	The one, to save the money that he spends in
	trimming; the other, that at dinner they should not
	drop in his porridge.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	You would all this time have proved there is no
	time for all things.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair
	lost by nature.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	But your reason was not substantial, why there is no
	time to recover.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald and therefore
	to the world's end will have bald followers.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion:
	But, soft! who wafts us yonder?

	[Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA]

ADRIANA	Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown:
	Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;
	I am not Adriana nor thy wife.
	The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow
	That never words were music to thine ear,
	That never object pleasing in thine eye,
	That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
	That never meat sweet-savor'd in thy taste,
	Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee.
	How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,
	That thou art thus estranged from thyself?
	Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
	That, undividable, incorporate,
	Am better than thy dear self's better part.
	Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!
	For know, my love, as easy mayest thou fall
	A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
	And take unmingled that same drop again,
	Without addition or diminishing,
	As take from me thyself and not me too.
	How dearly would it touch me to the quick,
	Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious
	And that this body, consecrate to thee,
	By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
	Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me
	And hurl the name of husband in my face
	And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow
	And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring
	And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
	I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it.
	I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
	My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:
	For if we too be one and thou play false,
	I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
	Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
	Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed;
	I live unstain'd, thou undishonoured.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:
	In Ephesus I am but two hours old,
	As strange unto your town as to your talk;
	Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd,
	Want wit in all one word to understand.

LUCIANA	Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you!
	When were you wont to use my sister thus?
	She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	By Dromio?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	By me?

ADRIANA	By thee; and this thou didst return from him,
	That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,
	Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?
	What is the course and drift of your compact?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I, sir? I never saw her till this time.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Villain, thou liest; for even her very words
	Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I never spake with her in all my life.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	How can she thus then call us by our names,
	Unless it be by inspiration.

ADRIANA	How ill agrees it with your gravity
	To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
	Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!
	Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,
	But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
	Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
	Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
	Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
	Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
	If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
	Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;
	Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
	Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:
	What, was I married to her in my dream?
	Or sleep I now and think I hear all this?
	What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
	Until I know this sure uncertainty,
	I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

LUCIANA	Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.
	This is the fairy land: O spite of spites!
	We talk with goblins, owls and sprites:
	If we obey them not, this will ensue,
	They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

LUCIANA	Why pratest thou to thyself and answer'st not?
	Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I am transformed, master, am I not?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I think thou art in mind, and so am I.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thou hast thine own form.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, I am an ape.

LUCIANA	If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	'Tis true; she rides me and I long for grass.
	'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be
	But I should know her as well as she knows me.

ADRIANA	Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
	To put the finger in the eye and weep,
	Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn.
	Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.
	Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day
	And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.
	Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
	Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.
	Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
	Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised?
	Known unto these, and to myself disguised!
	I'll say as they say and persever so,
	And in this mist at all adventures go.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, shall I be porter at the gate?

ADRIANA	Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.

LUCIANA	Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT III



SCENE I	Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus,
	ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;
	My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours:
	Say that I linger'd with you at your shop
	To see the making of her carcanet,
	And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
	But here's a villain that would face me down
	He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,
	And charged him with a thousand marks in gold,
	And that I did deny my wife and house.
	Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know;
	That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:
	If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,
	Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I think thou art an ass.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Marry, so it doth appear
	By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.
	I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,
	You would keep from my heels and beware of an ass.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You're sad, Signior Balthazar: pray God our cheer
	May answer my good will and your good welcome here.

BALTHAZAR	I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your
	welcome dear.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
	A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish.

BALTHAZAR	Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.

BALTHAZAR	Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:
	But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
	Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.
	But, soft! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicel, Gillian, Ginn!

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb,
	idiot, patch!
	Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch.
	Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st
	for such store,
	When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	What patch is made our porter? My master stays in
	the street.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  Let him walk from whence he came, lest he
	catch cold on's feet.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Who talks within there? ho, open the door!

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell
	me wherefore.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  Nor to-day here you must not; come again
	when you may.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  The porter for this time, sir, and my name
	is Dromio.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	O villain! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name.
	The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
	If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,
	Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy
	name for an ass.

LUCE	[Within]  What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those
	at the gate?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Let my master in, Luce.

LUCE	[Within]  Faith, no; he comes too late;
	And so tell your master.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	O Lord, I must laugh!
	Have at you with a proverb--Shall I set in my staff?

LUCE	[Within]  Have at you with another; that's--When?
	can you tell?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast
	answered him well.

ANTIPHOLUS	Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope?
OF EPHESUS

LUCE	[Within]  I thought to have asked you.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  And you said no.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	So, come, help: well struck! there was blow for blow.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Thou baggage, let me in.

LUCE	[Within]  Can you tell for whose sake?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Master, knock the door hard.

LUCE	[Within]  Let him knock till it ache.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

LUCE	[Within]  What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

ADRIANA	[Within]  Who is that at the door that keeps all
	this noise?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  By my troth, your town is troubled with
	unruly boys.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Are you there, wife? you might have come before.

ADRIANA	[Within]  Your wife, sir knave! go get you from the door.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	If you went in pain, master, this 'knave' would go sore.

ANGELO	Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: we would
	fain have either.

BALTHAZAR	In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.
	Your cake there is warm within; you stand here in the cold:
	It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Go fetch me something: I'll break ope the gate.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  Break any breaking here, and I'll break your
	knave's pate.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind,
	Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  It seems thou want'st breaking: out upon
	thee, hind!

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Here's too much 'out upon thee!' I pray thee,
	let me in.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	[Within]  Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Well, I'll break in: go borrow me a crow.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	A crow without feather? Master, mean you so?
	For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather;
	If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Go get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow.

BALTHAZAR	Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so!
	Herein you war against your reputation
	And draw within the compass of suspect
	The unviolated honour of your wife.
	Once this,--your long experience of her wisdom,
	Her sober virtue, years and modesty,
	Plead on her part some cause to you unknown:
	And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
	Why at this time the doors are made against you.
	Be ruled by me: depart in patience,
	And let us to the Tiger all to dinner,
	And about evening come yourself alone
	To know the reason of this strange restraint.
	If by strong hand you offer to break in
	Now in the stirring passage of the day,
	A vulgar comment will be made of it,
	And that supposed by the common rout
	Against your yet ungalled estimation
	That may with foul intrusion enter in
	And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;
	For slander lives upon succession,
	For ever housed where it gets possession.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You have prevailed: I will depart in quiet,
	And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
	I know a wench of excellent discourse,
	Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle:
	There will we dine. This woman that I mean,
	My wife--but, I protest, without desert--
	Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal:
	To her will we to dinner.

	[To Angelo]

		    Get you home
	And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made:
	Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;
	For there's the house: that chain will I bestow--
	Be it for nothing but to spite my wife--
	Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste.
	Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
	I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

ANGELO	I'll meet you at that place some hour hence.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT III



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse]

LUCIANA	And may it be that you have quite forgot
	A husband's office? shall, Antipholus.
	Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
	Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?
	If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
	Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness:
	Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
	Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:
	Let not my sister read it in your eye;
	Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
	Look sweet, be fair, become disloyalty;
	Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;
	Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
	Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;
	Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted?
	What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
	'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed
	And let her read it in thy looks at board:
	Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
	Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
	Alas, poor women! make us but believe,
	Being compact of credit, that you love us;
	Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;
	We in your motion turn and you may move us.
	Then, gentle brother, get you in again;
	Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife:
	'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,
	When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Sweet mistress--what your name is else, I know not,
	Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,--
	Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
	Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine.
	Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
	Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,
	Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
	The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
	Against my soul's pure truth why labour you
	To make it wander in an unknown field?
	Are you a god? would you create me new?
	Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.
	But if that I am I, then well I know
	Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
	Nor to her bed no homage do I owe
	Far more, far more to you do I decline.
	O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
	To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears:
	Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote:
	Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
	And as a bed I'll take them and there lie,
	And in that glorious supposition think
	He gains by death that hath such means to die:
	Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!

LUCIANA	What, are you mad, that you do reason so?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.

LUCIANA	It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.

LUCIANA	Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.


LUCIANA	Why call you me love? call my sister so.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thy sister's sister.


LUCIANA	That's my sister.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	No;
	It is thyself, mine own self's better part,
	Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,
	My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's aim,
	My sole earth's heaven and my heaven's claim.

LUCIANA	All this my sister is, or else should be.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee.
	Thee will I love and with thee lead my life:
	Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife.
	Give me thy hand.

LUCIANA	                  O, soft, air! hold you still:
	I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.

	[Exit]

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why, how now, Dromio! where runn'st thou so fast?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man?
	am I myself?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I am an ass, I am a woman's man and besides myself.

ANTIPHOLUS	What woman's man? and how besides thyself? besides thyself?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one
	that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What claim lays she to thee?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry sir, such claim as you would lay to your
	horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I
	being a beast, she would have me; but that she,
	being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What is she?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may
	not speak of without he say 'Sir-reverence.' I have
	but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a
	wondrous fat marriage.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	How dost thou mean a fat marriage?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, sir, she's the kitchen wench and all grease;
	and I know not what use to put her to but to make a
	lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I
	warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn a
	Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday,
	she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What complexion is she of?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing half so
	clean kept: for why, she sweats; a man may go over
	shoes in the grime of it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	That's a fault that water will mend.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What's her name?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that's
	an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from
	hip to hip.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Then she bears some breadth?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip:
	she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out
	countries in her.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	In what part of her body stands Ireland?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, in her buttocks: I found it out by the bogs.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where Scotland?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I found it by the barrenness; hard in the palm of the hand.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where France?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war
	against her heir.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where England?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no
	whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her chin,
	by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where Spain?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where America, the Indies?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Oh, sir, upon her nose all o'er embellished with
	rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich
	aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole
	armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this
	drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me, call'd me
	Dromio; swore I was assured to her; told me what
	privy marks I had about me, as, the mark of my
	shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my
	left arm, that I amazed ran from her as a witch:
	And, I think, if my breast had not been made of
	faith and my heart of steel,
	She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and made
	me turn i' the wheel.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Go hie thee presently, post to the road:
	An if the wind blow any way from shore,
	I will not harbour in this town to-night:
	If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
	Where I will walk till thou return to me.
	If every one knows us and we know none,
	'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	As from a bear a man would run for life,
	So fly I from her that would be my wife.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	There's none but witches do inhabit here;
	And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
	She that doth call me husband, even my soul
	Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,
	Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
	Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
	Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
	But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
	I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.

	[Enter ANGELO with the chain]

ANGELO	Master Antipholus,--

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Ay, that's my name.

ANGELO	I know it well, sir, lo, here is the chain.
	I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine:
	The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What is your will that I shall do with this?

ANGELO	What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.

ANGELO	Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.
	Go home with it and please your wife withal;
	And soon at supper-time I'll visit you
	And then receive my money for the chain.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
	For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.

ANGELO	You are a merry man, sir: fare you well.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What I should think of this, I cannot tell:
	But this I think, there's no man is so vain
	That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
	I see a man here needs not live by shifts,
	When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.
	I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay
	If any ship put out, then straight away.

	[Exit]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE I	A public place.


	[Enter Second Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer]

Second Merchant	You know since Pentecost the sum is due,
	And since I have not much importuned you;
	Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
	To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage:
	Therefore make present satisfaction,
	Or I'll attach you by this officer.

ANGELO	Even just the sum that I do owe to you
	Is growing to me by Antipholus,
	And in the instant that I met with you
	He had of me a chain: at five o'clock
	I shall receive the money for the same.
	Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
	I will discharge my bond and thank you too.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus and DROMIO of Ephesus
	from the courtezan's]

Officer	That labour may you save: see where he comes.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou
	And buy a rope's end: that will I bestow
	Among my wife and her confederates,
	For locking me out of my doors by day.
	But, soft! I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone;
	Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I buy a thousand pound a year: I buy a rope.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	A man is well holp up that trusts to you:
	I promised your presence and the chain;
	But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.
	Belike you thought our love would last too long,
	If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not.

ANGELO	Saving your merry humour, here's the note
	How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
	The fineness of the gold and chargeful fashion.
	Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
	Than I stand debted to this gentleman:
	I pray you, see him presently discharged,
	For he is bound to sea and stays but for it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I am not furnish'd with the present money;
	Besides, I have some business in the town.
	Good signior, take the stranger to my house
	And with you take the chain and bid my wife
	Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof:
	Perchance I will be there as soon as you.

ANGELO	Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.

ANGELO	Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;
	Or else you may return without your money.

ANGELO	Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain:
	Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
	And I, to blame, have held him here too long.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Good Lord! you use this dalliance to excuse
	Your breach of promise to the Porpentine.
	I should have chid you for not bringing it,
	But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.

Second Merchant	The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch.

ANGELO	You hear how he importunes me;--the chain!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Why, give it to my wife and fetch your money.

ANGELO	Come, come, you know I gave it you even now.
	Either send the chain or send me by some token.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Fie, now you run this humour out of breath,
	where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

Second Merchant	My business cannot brook this dalliance.
	Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no:
	If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I answer you! what should I answer you?

ANGELO	The money that you owe me for the chain.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I owe you none till I receive the chain.

ANGELO	You know I gave it you half an hour since.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You gave me none: you wrong me much to say so.

ANGELO	You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
	Consider how it stands upon my credit.

Second Merchant	Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.

Officer	I do; and charge you in the duke's name to obey me.

ANGELO	This touches me in reputation.
	Either consent to pay this sum for me
	Or I attach you by this officer.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Consent to pay thee that I never had!
	Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest.

ANGELO	Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer,
	I would not spare my brother in this case,
	If he should scorn me so apparently.

Officer	I do arrest you, sir: you hear the suit.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I do obey thee till I give thee bail.
	But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
	As all the metal in your shop will answer.

ANGELO	Sir, sir, I will have law in Ephesus,
	To your notorious shame; I doubt it not.

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse, from the bay]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum
	That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
	And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,
	I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought
	The oil, the balsamum and aqua-vitae.
	The ship is in her trim; the merry wind
	Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all
	But for their owner, master, and yourself.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	How now! a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep,
	What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope;
	And told thee to what purpose and what end.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	You sent me for a rope's end as soon:
	You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I will debate this matter at more leisure
	And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
	To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight:
	Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk
	That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry,
	There is a purse of ducats; let her send it:
	Tell her I am arrested in the street
	And that shall bail me; hie thee, slave, be gone!
	On, officer, to prison till it come.

	[Exeunt Second Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and
	Antipholus of Ephesus]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	To Adriana! that is where we dined,
	Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband:
	She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
	Thither I must, although against my will,
	For servants must their masters' minds fulfil.

	[Exit]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE II	The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.


	[Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA]

ADRIANA	Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
	Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye
	That he did plead in earnest? yea or no?
	Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?
	What observation madest thou in this case
	Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?

LUCIANA	First he denied you had in him no right.

ADRIANA	He meant he did me none; the more my spite.

LUCIANA	Then swore he that he was a stranger here.

ADRIANA	And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.

LUCIANA	Then pleaded I for you.

ADRIANA	And what said he?

LUCIANA	That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me.

ADRIANA	With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?

LUCIANA	With words that in an honest suit might move.
	First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.

ADRIANA	Didst speak him fair?

LUCIANA	Have patience, I beseech.

ADRIANA	I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
	My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
	He is deformed, crooked, old and sere,
	Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere;
	Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
	Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.

LUCIANA	Who would be jealous then of such a one?
	No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.

ADRIANA	Ah, but I think him better than I say,
	And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.
	Far from her nest the lapwing cries away:
	My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Here! go; the desk, the purse! sweet, now, make haste.

LUCIANA	How hast thou lost thy breath?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	By running fast.

ADRIANA	Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.
	A devil in an everlasting garment hath him;
	One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
	A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough;
	A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
	A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that
	countermands
	The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow lands;
	A hound that runs counter and yet draws dryfoot well;
	One that before the judgement carries poor souls to hell.

ADRIANA	Why, man, what is the matter?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case.

ADRIANA	What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I know not at whose suit he is arrested well;
	But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell.
	Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk?

ADRIANA	Go fetch it, sister.

	[Exit Luciana]

		This I wonder at,
	That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.
	Tell me, was he arrested on a band?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;
	A chain, a chain! Do you not hear it ring?

ADRIANA	What, the chain?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, no, the bell: 'tis time that I were gone:
	It was two ere I left him, and now the clock
	strikes one.

ADRIANA	The hours come back! that did I never hear.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	O, yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, a' turns back for
	very fear.

ADRIANA	As if Time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason!

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's
	worth, to season.
	Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say
	That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
	If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,
	Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

	[Re-enter LUCIANA with a purse]

ADRIANA	Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it straight;
	And bring thy master home immediately.
	Come, sister: I am press'd down with conceit--
	Conceit, my comfort and my injury.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE III	A public place.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	There's not a man I meet but doth salute me
	As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
	And every one doth call me by my name.
	Some tender money to me; some invite me;
	Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
	Some offer me commodities to buy:
	Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop
	And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
	And therewithal took measure of my body.
	Sure, these are but imaginary wiles
	And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

	[Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, here's the gold you sent me for. What, have
	you got the picture of old Adam new-apparelled?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What gold is this? what Adam dost thou mean?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Not that Adam that kept the Paradise but that Adam
	that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calf's
	skin that was killed for the Prodigal; he that came
	behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you
	forsake your liberty.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I understand thee not.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went, like a
	bass-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir,
	that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob
	and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed
	men and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up
	his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a
	morris-pike.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What, thou meanest an officer?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band, he that brings
	any man to answer it that breaks his band; one that
	thinks a man always going to bed, and says, 'God
	give you good rest!'

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the
	bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were
	you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy
	Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to
	deliver you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	The fellow is distract, and so am I;
	And here we wander in illusions:
	Some blessed power deliver us from hence!

	[Enter a Courtezan]

Courtezan	Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
	I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:
	Is that the chain you promised me to-day?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, is this Mistress Satan?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	It is the devil.


DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here
	she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof
	comes that the wenches say 'God damn me;' that's as
	much to say 'God make me a light wench.' It is
	written, they appear to men like angels of light:
	light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn;
	ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her.

Courtezan	Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir.
	Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat; or bespeak a
	long spoon.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why, Dromio?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with
	the devil.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping?
	Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress:
	I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.

Courtezan	Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,
	Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,
	And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,
	A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
	A nut, a cherry-stone;
	But she, more covetous, would have a chain.
	Master, be wise: an if you give it her,
	The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it.

Courtezan	I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain:
	I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	'Fly pride,' says the peacock: mistress, that you know.

	[Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse]

Courtezan	Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad,
	Else would he never so demean himself.
	A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
	And for the same he promised me a chain:
	Both one and other he denies me now.
	The reason that I gather he is mad,
	Besides this present instance of his rage,
	Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner,
	Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.
	Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,
	On purpose shut the doors against his way.
	My way is now to hie home to his house,
	And tell his wife that, being lunatic,
	He rush'd into my house and took perforce
	My ring away. This course I fittest choose;
	For forty ducats is too much to lose.

	[Exit]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE IV	A street.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus and the Officer]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Fear me not, man; I will not break away:
	I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,
	To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
	My wife is in a wayward mood to-day,
	And will not lightly trust the messenger
	That I should be attach'd in Ephesus,
	I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.

	[Enter DROMIO of Ephesus with a rope's-end]

	Here comes my man; I think he brings the money.
	How now, sir! have you that I sent you for?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	But where's the money?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I returned.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.

	[Beating him]

Officer	Good sir, be patient.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity.

Officer	Good, now, hold thy tongue.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Thou whoreson, senseless villain!

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel
	your blows.

ANTIPHOLUS	Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an
	ass.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by my long
	ears. I have served him from the hour of my
	nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his
	hands for my service but blows. When I am cold, he
	heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me
	with beating; I am waked with it when I sleep;
	raised with it when I sit; driven out of doors with
	it when I go from home; welcomed home with it when
	I return; nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a
	beggar wont her brat; and, I think when he hath
	lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.

	[Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the Courtezan, and PINCH]

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or
	rather, the prophecy like the parrot, 'beware the
	rope's-end.'

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Wilt thou still talk?

	[Beating him]

Courtezan	How say you now? is not your husband mad?

ADRIANA	His incivility confirms no less.
	Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;
	Establish him in his true sense again,
	And I will please you what you will demand.

LUCIANA	Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!

Courtezan	Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy!

PINCH	Give me your hand and let me feel your pulse.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.

	[Striking him]

PINCH	I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
	To yield possession to my holy prayers
	And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight:
	I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad.

ADRIANA	O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You minion, you, are these your customers?
	Did this companion with the saffron face
	Revel and feast it at my house to-day,
	Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut
	And I denied to enter in my house?

ADRIANA	O husband, God doth know you dined at home;
	Where would you had remain'd until this time,
	Free from these slanders and this open shame!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Dined at home! Thou villain, what sayest thou?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Were not my doors lock'd up and I shut out?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Perdie, your doors were lock'd and you shut out.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And did not she herself revile me there?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Sans fable, she herself reviled you there.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And did not I in rage depart from thence?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	In verity you did; my bones bear witness,
	That since have felt the vigour of his rage.

ADRIANA	Is't good to soothe him in these contraries?

PINCH	It is no shame: the fellow finds his vein,
	And yielding to him humours well his frenzy.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me.

ADRIANA	Alas, I sent you money to redeem you,
	By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Money by me! heart and goodwill you might;
	But surely master, not a rag of money.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats?

ADRIANA	He came to me and I deliver'd it.

LUCIANA	And I am witness with her that she did.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	God and the rope-maker bear me witness
	That I was sent for nothing but a rope!

PINCH	Mistress, both man and master is possess'd;
	I know it by their pale and deadly looks:
	They must be bound and laid in some dark room.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day?
	And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?

ADRIANA	I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	And, gentle master, I received no gold;
	But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.

ADRIANA	Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all;
	And art confederate with a damned pack
	To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:
	But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes
	That would behold in me this shameful sport.

	[Enter three or four, and offer to bind him.
	He strives]

ADRIANA	O, bind him, bind him! let him not come near me.

PINCH	More company! The fiend is strong within him.

LUCIANA	Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou,
	I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them
	To make a rescue?

Officer	                  Masters, let him go
	He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

PINCH	Go bind this man, for he is frantic too.

	[They offer to bind Dromio of Ephesus]

ADRIANA	What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
	Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
	Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

Officer	He is my prisoner: if I let him go,
	The debt he owes will be required of me.

ADRIANA	I will discharge thee ere I go from thee:
	Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,
	And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.
	Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd
	Home to my house. O most unhappy day!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	O most unhappy strumpet!

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Master, I am here entered in bond for you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, good master:
	cry 'The devil!'

LUCIANA	God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!

ADRIANA	Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.

	[Exeunt all but Adriana, Luciana, Officer and
	Courtezan]

	Say now, whose suit is he arrested at?

Officer	One Angelo, a goldsmith: do you know him?

ADRIANA	I know the man. What is the sum he owes?

Officer	Two hundred ducats.

ADRIANA	Say, how grows it due?

Officer	Due for a chain your husband had of him.

ADRIANA	He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.

Courtezan	When as your husband all in rage to-day
	Came to my house and took away my ring--
	The ring I saw upon his finger now--
	Straight after did I meet him with a chain.

ADRIANA	It may be so, but I did never see it.
	Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is:
	I long to know the truth hereof at large.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse with his rapier drawn,
	and DROMIO of Syracuse]

LUCIANA	God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.

ADRIANA	And come with naked swords.
	Let's call more help to have them bound again.

Officer	Away! they'll kill us.

	[Exeunt all but Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio
	of Syracuse]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I see these witches are afraid of swords.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	She that would be your wife now ran from you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence:
	I long that we were safe and sound aboard.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Faith, stay here this night; they will surely do us
	no harm: you saw they speak us fair, give us gold:
	methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for
	the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of
	me, I could find in my heart to stay here still and
	turn witch.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I will not stay to-night for all the town;
	Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT V



SCENE I	A street before a Priory.


	[Enter Second Merchant and ANGELO]

ANGELO	I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you;
	But, I protest, he had the chain of me,
	Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.

Second Merchant	How is the man esteemed here in the city?

ANGELO	Of very reverend reputation, sir,
	Of credit infinite, highly beloved,
	Second to none that lives here in the city:
	His word might bear my wealth at any time.

Second Merchant	Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and DROMIO of Syracuse]

ANGELO	'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck
	Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
	Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him.
	Signior Antipholus, I wonder much
	That you would put me to this shame and trouble;
	And, not without some scandal to yourself,
	With circumstance and oaths so to deny
	This chain which now you wear so openly:
	Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
	You have done wrong to this my honest friend,
	Who, but for staying on our controversy,
	Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day:
	This chain you had of me; can you deny it?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I think I had; I never did deny it.

Second Merchant	Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?

Second Merchant	These ears of mine, thou know'st did hear thee.
	Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou livest
	To walk where any honest man resort.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thou art a villain to impeach me thus:
	I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty
	Against thee presently, if thou darest stand.

Second Merchant	I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.

	[They draw]

	[Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the Courtezan, and others]

ADRIANA	Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake! he is mad.
	Some get within him, take his sword away:
	Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Run, master, run; for God's sake, take a house!
	This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd!

	[Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse
	to the Priory]

	[Enter the Lady Abbess, AEMILIA]

AEMELIA	Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?

ADRIANA	To fetch my poor distracted husband hence.
	Let us come in, that we may bind him fast
	And bear him home for his recovery.

ANGELO	I knew he was not in his perfect wits.

Second Merchant	I am sorry now that I did draw on him.

AEMELIA	How long hath this possession held the man?

ADRIANA	This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,
	And much different from the man he was;
	But till this afternoon his passion
	Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.

AEMELIA	Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea?
	Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye
	Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?
	A sin prevailing much in youthful men,
	Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
	Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

ADRIANA	To none of these, except it be the last;
	Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.

AEMELIA	You should for that have reprehended him.

ADRIANA	Why, so I did.

AEMELIA	                  Ay, but not rough enough.

ADRIANA	As roughly as my modesty would let me.

AEMELIA	Haply, in private.

ADRIANA	And in assemblies too.

AEMELIA	Ay, but not enough.

ADRIANA	It was the copy of our conference:
	In bed he slept not for my urging it;
	At board he fed not for my urging it;
	Alone, it was the subject of my theme;
	In company I often glanced it;
	Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

AEMELIA	And thereof came it that the man was mad.
	The venom clamours of a jealous woman
	Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
	It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing,
	And therefore comes it that his head is light.
	Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings:
	Unquiet meals make ill digestions;
	Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;
	And what's a fever but a fit of madness?
	Thou say'st his sports were hinderd by thy brawls:
	Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue
	But moody and dull melancholy,
	Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,
	And at her heels a huge infectious troop
	Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?
	In food, in sport and life-preserving rest
	To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast:
	The consequence is then thy jealous fits
	Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.

LUCIANA	She never reprehended him but mildly,
	When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly.
	Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?

ADRIANA	She did betray me to my own reproof.
	Good people enter and lay hold on him.

AEMELIA	No, not a creature enters in my house.

ADRIANA	Then let your servants bring my husband forth.

AEMELIA	Neither: he took this place for sanctuary,
	And it shall privilege him from your hands
	Till I have brought him to his wits again,
	Or lose my labour in assaying it.

ADRIANA	I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
	Diet his sickness, for it is my office,
	And will have no attorney but myself;
	And therefore let me have him home with me.

AEMELIA	Be patient; for I will not let him stir
	Till I have used the approved means I have,
	With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers,
	To make of him a formal man again:
	It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
	A charitable duty of my order.
	Therefore depart and leave him here with me.

ADRIANA	I will not hence and leave my husband here:
	And ill it doth beseem your holiness
	To separate the husband and the wife.

AEMELIA	Be quiet and depart: thou shalt not have him.

	[Exit]

LUCIANA	Complain unto the duke of this indignity.

ADRIANA	Come, go: I will fall prostrate at his feet
	And never rise until my tears and prayers
	Have won his grace to come in person hither
	And take perforce my husband from the abbess.

Second Merchant	By this, I think, the dial points at five:
	Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person
	Comes this way to the melancholy vale,
	The place of death and sorry execution,
	Behind the ditches of the abbey here.

ANGELO	Upon what cause?

Second Merchant	To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,
	Who put unluckily into this bay
	Against the laws and statutes of this town,
	Beheaded publicly for his offence.

ANGELO	See where they come: we will behold his death.

LUCIANA	Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey.

	[Enter DUKE SOLINUS, attended; AEGEON bareheaded; with the
	Headsman and other Officers]

DUKE SOLINUS	Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
	If any friend will pay the sum for him,
	He shall not die; so much we tender him.

ADRIANA	Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess!

DUKE SOLINUS	She is a virtuous and a reverend lady:
	It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.

ADRIANA	May it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband,
	Whom I made lord of me and all I had,
	At your important letters,--this ill day
	A most outrageous fit of madness took him;
	That desperately he hurried through the street,
	With him his bondman, all as mad as he--
	Doing displeasure to the citizens
	By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
	Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
	Once did I get him bound and sent him home,
	Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,
	That here and there his fury had committed.
	Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
	He broke from those that had the guard of him;
	And with his mad attendant and himself,
	Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,
	Met us again and madly bent on us,
	Chased us away; till, raising of more aid,
	We came again to bind them. Then they fled
	Into this abbey, whither we pursued them:
	And here the abbess shuts the gates on us
	And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
	Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.
	Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command
	Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help.

DUKE SOLINUS	Long since thy husband served me in my wars,
	And I to thee engaged a prince's word,
	When thou didst make him master of thy bed,
	To do him all the grace and good I could.
	Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate
	And bid the lady abbess come to me.
	I will determine this before I stir.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!
	My master and his man are both broke loose,
	Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor
	Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire;
	And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him
	Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair:
	My master preaches patience to him and the while
	His man with scissors nicks him like a fool,
	And sure, unless you send some present help,
	Between them they will kill the conjurer.

ADRIANA	Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here,
	And that is false thou dost report to us.

Servant	Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
	I have not breathed almost since I did see it.
	He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,
	To scorch your face and to disfigure you.

	[Cry within]

	Hark, hark! I hear him, mistress. fly, be gone!

DUKE SOLINUS	Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds!

ADRIANA	Ay me, it is my husband! Witness you,
	That he is borne about invisible:
	Even now we housed him in the abbey here;
	And now he's there, past thought of human reason.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus and DROMIO of Ephesus]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant me justice!
	Even for the service that long since I did thee,
	When I bestrid thee in the wars and took
	Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood
	That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.

AEGEON	Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
	I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there!
	She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife,
	That hath abused and dishonour'd me
	Even in the strength and height of injury!
	Beyond imagination is the wrong
	That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.

DUKE SOLINUS	Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me,
	While she with harlots feasted in my house.

DUKE SOLINUS	A grievous fault! Say, woman, didst thou so?

ADRIANA	No, my good lord: myself, he and my sister
	To-day did dine together. So befall my soul
	As this is false he burdens me withal!

LUCIANA	Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night,
	But she tells to your highness simple truth!

ANGELO	O perjured woman! They are both forsworn:
	In this the madman justly chargeth them.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	My liege, I am advised what I say,
	Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,
	Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire,
	Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
	This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner:
	That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
	Could witness it, for he was with me then;
	Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
	Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,
	Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
	Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
	I went to seek him: in the street I met him
	And in his company that gentleman.
	There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down
	That I this day of him received the chain,
	Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which
	He did arrest me with an officer.
	I did obey, and sent my peasant home
	For certain ducats: he with none return'd
	Then fairly I bespoke the officer
	To go in person with me to my house.
	By the way we met
	My wife, her sister, and a rabble more
	Of vile confederates. Along with them
	They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain,
	A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
	A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller,
	A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,
	A dead-looking man: this pernicious slave,
	Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
	And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
	And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
	Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together
	They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence
	And in a dark and dankish vault at home
	There left me and my man, both bound together;
	Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
	I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
	Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
	To give me ample satisfaction
	For these deep shames and great indignities.

ANGELO	My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,
	That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.

DUKE SOLINUS	But had he such a chain of thee or no?

ANGELO	He had, my lord: and when he ran in here,
	These people saw the chain about his neck.

Second Merchant	Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine
	Heard you confess you had the chain of him
	After you first forswore it on the mart:
	And thereupon I drew my sword on you;
	And then you fled into this abbey here,
	From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I never came within these abbey-walls,
	Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:
	I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!
	And this is false you burden me withal.

DUKE SOLINUS	Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
	I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
	If here you housed him, here he would have been;
	If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:
	You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here
	Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine.

Courtezan	He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.

DUKE SOLINUS	Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

Courtezan	As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.

DUKE SOLINUS	Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither.
	I think you are all mated or stark mad.

	[Exit one to Abbess]

AEGEON	Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:
	Haply I see a friend will save my life
	And pay the sum that may deliver me.

DUKE SOLINUS	Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.

AEGEON	Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?
	And is not that your bondman, Dromio?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Within this hour I was his bondman sir,
	But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords:
	Now am I Dromio and his man unbound.

AEGEON	I am sure you both of you remember me.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you;
	For lately we were bound, as you are now
	You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?

AEGEON	Why look you strange on me? you know me well.

ANTIPHOLUS	I never saw you in my life till now.

AEGEON	O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
	And careful hours with time's deformed hand
	Have written strange defeatures in my face:
	But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Neither.

AEGEON	Dromio, nor thou?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	                  No, trust me, sir, nor I.

AEGEON	I am sure thou dost.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a
	man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

AEGEON	Not know my voice! O time's extremity,
	Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue
	In seven short years, that here my only son
	Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares?
	Though now this grained face of mine be hid
	In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
	And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
	Yet hath my night of life some memory,
	My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,
	My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
	All these old witnesses--I cannot err--
	Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I never saw my father in my life.

AEGEON	But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,
	Thou know'st we parted: but perhaps, my son,
	Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	The duke and all that know me in the city
	Can witness with me that it is not so
	I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

DUKE SOLINUS	I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years
	Have I been patron to Antipholus,
	During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa:
	I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.

	[Re-enter AEMILIA, with ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and
	DROMIO of Syracuse]

AEMELIA	Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd.

	[All gather to see them]

ADRIANA	I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.

DUKE SOLINUS	One of these men is Genius to the other;
	And so of these. Which is the natural man,
	And which the spirit? who deciphers them?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	AEgeon art thou not? or else his ghost?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	O, my old master! who hath bound him here?

AEMELIA	Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds
	And gain a husband by his liberty.
	Speak, old AEgeon, if thou be'st the man
	That hadst a wife once call'd AEmilia
	That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:
	O, if thou be'st the same AEgeon, speak,
	And speak unto the same AEmilia!

AEGEON	If I dream not, thou art AEmilia:
	If thou art she, tell me where is that son
	That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

AEMELIA	By men of Epidamnum he and I
	And the twin Dromio all were taken up;
	But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
	By force took Dromio and my son from them
	And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
	What then became of them I cannot tell
	I to this fortune that you see me in.

DUKE SOLINUS	Why, here begins his morning story right;
	These two Antipholuses, these two so like,
	And these two Dromios, one in semblance,--
	Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,--
	These are the parents to these children,
	Which accidentally are met together.
	Antipholus, thou camest from Corinth first?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.

DUKE SOLINUS	Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord,--

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	And I with him.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Brought to this town by that most famous warrior,
	Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

ADRIANA	Which of you two did dine with me to-day?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I, gentle mistress.

ADRIANA	And are not you my husband?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	No; I say nay to that.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	And so do I; yet did she call me so:
	And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
	Did call me brother.

	[To Luciana]

		What I told you then,
	I hope I shall have leisure to make good;
	If this be not a dream I see and hear.

ANGELO	That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I think it be, sir; I deny it not.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.

ANGELO	I think I did, sir; I deny it not.

ADRIANA	I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
	By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	No, none by me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	This purse of ducats I received from you,
	And Dromio, my man, did bring them me.
	I see we still did meet each other's man,
	And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,
	And thereupon these errors are arose.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	These ducats pawn I for my father here.

DUKE SOLINUS	It shall not need; thy father hath his life.

Courtezan	Sir, I must have that diamond from you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer.

AEMELIA	Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
	To go with us into the abbey here
	And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:
	And all that are assembled in this place,
	That by this sympathized one day's error
	Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company,
	And we shall make full satisfaction.
	Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
	Of you, my sons; and till this present hour
	My heavy burden ne'er delivered.
	The duke, my husband and my children both,
	And you the calendars of their nativity,
	Go to a gossips' feast and go with me;
	After so long grief, such festivity!

DUKE SOLINUS	With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.

	[Exeunt all but Antipholus of Syracuse, Antipholus
	of Ephesus, Dromio of Syracuse and Dromio of Ephesus]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	He speaks to me. I am your master, Dromio:
	Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon:
	Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.

	[Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Antipholus of Ephesus]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	There is a fat friend at your master's house,
	That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner:
	She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother:
	I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
	Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Not I, sir; you are my elder.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	That's a question: how shall we try it?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then lead thou first.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, then, thus:
	We came into the world like brother and brother;
	And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

	[Exeunt]
	CYMBELINE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CYMBELINE	king of Britain.

CLOTEN	son to the Queen by a former husband.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	a gentleman, husband to Imogen.

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


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


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


CAIUS LUCIUS	general of the Roman forces.

PISANIO	servant to Posthumus.

CORNELIUS	a physician.

	A Roman Captain. (Captain:)

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

	A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
	(Frenchman:)

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

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

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

QUEEN	wife to Cymbeline.

IMOGEN	daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen.

HELEN	a lady attending on Imogen.

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

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

SCENE	Britain; Rome.




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



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


	[Enter two Gentlemen]

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

Second Gentleman	But what's the matter?

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

Second Gentleman	None but the king?

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

Second Gentleman	And why so?

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

Second Gentleman	You speak him far.

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

Second Gentleman	                  What's his name and birth?

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

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

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

Second Gentleman	How long is this ago?

First Gentleman	Some twenty years.

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

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

Second Gentleman	I do well believe you.

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

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN]

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

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

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

	[Exit]

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

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

	[Re-enter QUEEN]

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

	[Aside]

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

	[Exit]

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

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

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

	[Putting on the ring]

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

	[Putting a bracelet upon her arm]

IMOGEN	O the gods!
	When shall we see again?

	[Enter CYMBELINE and Lords]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Alack, the king!

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

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

	[Exit]

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

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

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

CYMBELINE	Past grace? obedience?

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

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

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

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

IMOGEN	No; I rather added
	A lustre to it.

CYMBELINE	                  O thou vile one!

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

CYMBELINE	What, art thou mad?

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

CYMBELINE	Thou foolish thing!

	[Re-enter QUEEN]

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

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

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

	[Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords]

QUEEN	                  Fie! you must give way.

	[Enter PISANIO]

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

PISANIO	My lord your son drew on my master.

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

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

QUEEN	I am very glad on't.

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

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

QUEEN	This hath been
	Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour
	He will remain so.

PISANIO	                  I humbly thank your highness.

QUEEN	Pray, walk awhile.

IMOGEN	                  About some half-hour hence,
	I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least
	Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. A public place.


	[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]

First Lord	Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the
	violence of action hath made you reek as a
	sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:
	there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

CLOTEN	If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?

Second Lord	[Aside]  No, 'faith; not so much as his patience.

First Lord	Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass, if he be
	not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

Second Lord	[Aside]  His steel was in debt; it went o' the
	backside the town.

CLOTEN	The villain would not stand me.

Second Lord	[Aside]  No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

First Lord	Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but
	he added to your having; gave you some ground.

Second Lord	[Aside]  As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!

CLOTEN	I would they had not come between us.

Second Lord	[Aside]  So would I, till you had measured how long
	a fool you were upon the ground.

CLOTEN	And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!

Second Lord	[Aside]  If it be a sin to make a true election, she
	is damned.

First Lord	Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain
	go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen
	small reflection of her wit.

Second Lord	[Aside]  She shines not upon fools, lest the
	reflection should hurt her.

CLOTEN	Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some
	hurt done!

Second Lord	[Aside]  I wish not so; unless it had been the fall
	of an ass, which is no great hurt.

CLOTEN	You'll go with us?

First Lord	I'll attend your lordship.

CLOTEN	Nay, come, let's go together.

Second Lord	Well, my lord.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO]

IMOGEN	I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,
	And question'dst every sail: if he should write
	And not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
	As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
	That he spake to thee?

PISANIO	It was his queen, his queen!

IMOGEN	Then waved his handkerchief?

PISANIO	And kiss'd it, madam.

IMOGEN	Senseless Linen! happier therein than I!
	And that was all?

PISANIO	                  No, madam; for so long
	As he could make me with this eye or ear
	Distinguish him from others, he did keep
	The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
	Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind
	Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
	How swift his ship.

IMOGEN	Thou shouldst have made him
	As little as a crow, or less, ere left
	To after-eye him.

PISANIO	                  Madam, so I did.

IMOGEN	I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
	To look upon him, till the diminution
	Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
	Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
	The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
	Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
	When shall we hear from him?

PISANIO	Be assured, madam,
	With his next vantage.

IMOGEN	I did not take my leave of him, but had
	Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him
	How I would think on him at certain hours
	Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear
	The shes of Italy should not betray
	Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,
	At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
	To encounter me with orisons, for then
	I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
	Give him that parting kiss which I had set
	Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father
	And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
	Shakes all our buds from growing.

	[Enter a Lady]

Lady	The queen, madam,
	Desires your highness' company.

IMOGEN	Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
	I will attend the queen.

PISANIO	Madam, I shall.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE IV	Rome. Philario's house.


	[Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a
	Dutchman, and a Spaniard]

IACHIMO	Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain: he was
	then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy
	as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I
	could then have looked on him without the help of
	admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments
	had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.

PHILARIO	You speak of him when he was less furnished than now
	he is with that which makes him both without and within.

Frenchman	I have seen him in France: we had very many there
	could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.

IACHIMO	This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein
	he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,
	words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.

Frenchman	And then his banishment.

IACHIMO	Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this
	lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully
	to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment,
	which else an easy battery might lay flat, for
	taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes
	it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps
	acquaintance?

PHILARIO	His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I
	have been often bound for no less than my life.
	Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained
	amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your
	knowing, to a stranger of his quality.

	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

	I beseech you all, be better known to this
	gentleman; whom I commend to you as a noble friend
	of mine: how worthy he is I will leave to appear
	hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.

Frenchman	Sir, we have known together in Orleans.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,
	which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.

Frenchman	Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I was glad I
	did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity
	you should have been put together with so mortal a
	purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so
	slight and trivial a nature.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller;
	rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in
	my every action to be guided by others' experiences:
	but upon my mended judgment--if I offend not to say
	it is mended--my quarrel was not altogether slight.

Frenchman	'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords,
	and by such two that would by all likelihood have
	confounded one the other, or have fallen both.

IACHIMO	Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?

Frenchman	Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in public,
	which may, without contradiction, suffer the report.
	It was much like an argument that fell out last
	night, where each of us fell in praise of our
	country mistresses; this gentleman at that time
	vouching--and upon warrant of bloody
	affirmation--his to be more fair, virtuous, wise,
	chaste, constant-qualified and less attemptable
	than any the rarest of our ladies in France.

IACHIMO	That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's
	opinion by this worn out.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	She holds her virtue still and I my mind.

IACHIMO	You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would
	abate her nothing, though I profess myself her
	adorer, not her friend.

IACHIMO	As fair and as good--a kind of hand-in-hand
	comparison--had been something too fair and too good
	for any lady in Britain. If she went before others
	I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres
	many I have beheld. I could not but believe she
	excelled many: but I have not seen the most
	precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I praised her as I rated her: so do I my stone.

IACHIMO	What do you esteem it at?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	More than the world enjoys.

IACHIMO	Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's
	outprized by a trifle.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or given, if
	there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit
	for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale,
	and only the gift of the gods.

IACHIMO	Which the gods have given you?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Which, by their graces, I will keep.

IACHIMO	You may wear her in title yours: but, you know,
	strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your
	ring may be stolen too: so your brace of unprizable
	estimations; the one is but frail and the other
	casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished
	courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier
	to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the
	holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do
	nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
	notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.

PHILARIO	Let us leave here, gentlemen.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I
	thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.

IACHIMO	With five times so much conversation, I should get
	ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even
	to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	No, no.

IACHIMO	I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to
	your ring; which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it
	something: but I make my wager rather against your
	confidence than her reputation: and, to bar your
	offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
	lady in the world.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	You are a great deal abused in too bold a
	persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're
	worthy of by your attempt.

IACHIMO	What's that?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	A repulse: though your attempt, as you call it,
	deserve more; a punishment too.

PHILARIO	Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly;
	let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be
	better acquainted.

IACHIMO	Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on the
	approbation of what I have spoke!

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	What lady would you choose to assail?

IACHIMO	Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe.
	I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring,
	that, commend me to the court where your lady is,
	with no more advantage than the opportunity of a
	second conference, and I will bring from thence
	that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring
	I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it.

IACHIMO	You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy
	ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot
	preserve it from tainting: but I see you have some
	religion in you, that you fear.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a
	graver purpose, I hope.

IACHIMO	I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo
	what's spoken, I swear.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your
	return: let there be covenants drawn between's: my
	mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your
	unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: here's my ring.

PHILARIO	I will have it no lay.

IACHIMO	By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no
	sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest
	bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats
	are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off,
	and leave her in such honour as you have trust in,
	she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are
	yours: provided I have your commendation for my more
	free entertainment.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I embrace these conditions; let us have articles
	betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if
	you make your voyage upon her and give me directly
	to understand you have prevailed, I am no further
	your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she
	remain unseduced, you not making it appear
	otherwise, for your ill opinion and the assault you
	have made to her chastity you shall answer me with
	your sword.

IACHIMO	Your hand; a covenant: we will have these things set
	down by lawful counsel, and straight away for
	Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and
	starve: I will fetch my gold and have our two
	wagers recorded.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Agreed.

	[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and IACHIMO]

Frenchman	Will this hold, think you?

PHILARIO	Signior Iachimo will not from it.
	Pray, let us follow 'em.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE V	Britain. A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS]

QUEEN	Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;
	Make haste: who has the note of them?

First Lady	I, madam.

QUEEN	Dispatch.

	[Exeunt Ladies]

	Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?

CORNELIUS	Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam:

	[Presenting a small box]

	But I beseech your grace, without offence,--
	My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have
	Commanded of me those most poisonous compounds,
	Which are the movers of a languishing death;
	But though slow, deadly?

QUEEN	I wonder, doctor,
	Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
	Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
	To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
	That our great king himself doth woo me oft
	For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,--
	Unless thou think'st me devilish--is't not meet
	That I did amplify my judgment in
	Other conclusions? I will try the forces
	Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
	We count not worth the hanging, but none human,
	To try the vigour of them and apply
	Allayments to their act, and by them gather
	Their several virtues and effects.

CORNELIUS	Your highness
	Shall from this practise but make hard your heart:
	Besides, the seeing these effects will be
	Both noisome and infectious.

QUEEN	O, content thee.

	[Enter PISANIO]

	[Aside]

	Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
	Will I first work: he's for his master,
	An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!
	Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
	Take your own way.

CORNELIUS	[Aside]          I do suspect you, madam;
	But you shall do no harm.

QUEEN	[To PISANIO]            Hark thee, a word.

CORNELIUS	[Aside]  I do not like her. She doth think she has
	Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit,
	And will not trust one of her malice with
	A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
	Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile;
	Which first, perchance, she'll prove on
	cats and dogs,
	Then afterward up higher: but there is
	No danger in what show of death it makes,
	More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
	To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
	With a most false effect; and I the truer,
	So to be false with her.

QUEEN	No further service, doctor,
	Until I send for thee.

CORNELIUS	I humbly take my leave.

	[Exit]

QUEEN	Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
	She will not quench and let instructions enter
	Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:
	When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
	I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
	As great as is thy master, greater, for
	His fortunes all lie speechless and his name
	Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor
	Continue where he is: to shift his being
	Is to exchange one misery with another,
	And every day that comes comes to decay
	A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
	To be depender on a thing that leans,
	Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,
	So much as but to prop him?

	[The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up]

		      Thou takest up
	Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:
	It is a thing I made, which hath the king
	Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know
	What is more cordial. Nay, I prethee, take it;
	It is an earnest of a further good
	That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
	The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
	Think what a chance thou changest on, but think
	Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,
	Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king
	To any shape of thy preferment such
	As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
	That set thee on to this desert, am bound
	To load thy merit richly. Call my women:
	Think on my words.

	[Exit PISANIO]

		A sly and constant knave,
	Not to be shaked; the agent for his master
	And the remembrancer of her to hold
	The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
	Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
	Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,
	Except she bend her humour, shall be assured
	To taste of too.

	[Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies]

	So, so: well done, well done:
	The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
	Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
	Think on my words.

	[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies]

PISANIO	And shall do:
	But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
	I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE VI	The same. Another room in the palace.


	[Enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
	A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
	That hath her husband banish'd;--O, that husband!
	My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
	Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
	As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
	Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,
	How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
	Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!

	[Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO]

PISANIO	Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
	Comes from my lord with letters.

IACHIMO	Change you, madam?
	The worthy Leonatus is in safety
	And greets your highness dearly.

	[Presents a letter]

IMOGEN	Thanks, good sir:
	You're kindly welcome.

IACHIMO	[Aside]  All of her that is out of door most rich!
	If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
	She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
	Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
	Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
	Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
	Rather directly fly.

IMOGEN	[Reads]  'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
	kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon
	him accordingly, as you value your trust--
			 LEONATUS.'
	So far I read aloud:
	But even the very middle of my heart
	Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
	You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
	Have words to bid you, and shall find it so
	In all that I can do.

IACHIMO	Thanks, fairest lady.
	What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
	To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
	Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
	The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
	Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
	Partition make with spectacles so precious
	'Twixt fair and foul?

IMOGEN	What makes your admiration?

IACHIMO	It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys
	'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
	Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgment,
	For idiots in this case of favour would
	Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
	Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed
	Should make desire vomit emptiness,
	Not so allured to feed.

IMOGEN	What is the matter, trow?

IACHIMO	The cloyed will,
	That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
	Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb
	Longs after for the garbage.

IMOGEN	What, dear sir,
	Thus raps you? Are you well?

IACHIMO	Thanks, madam; well.

	[To PISANIO]

		 Beseech you, sir, desire
	My man's abode where I did leave him: he
	Is strange and peevish.

PISANIO	I was going, sir,
	To give him welcome.

	[Exit]

IMOGEN	Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

IACHIMO	Well, madam.

IMOGEN	Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.

IACHIMO	Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
	So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
	The Briton reveller.

IMOGEN	When he was here,
	He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
	Not knowing why.

IACHIMO	                  I never saw him sad.
	There is a Frenchman his companion, one
	An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
	A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
	The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton--
	Your lord, I mean--laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,
	Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
	By history, report, or his own proof,
	What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
	But must be, will his free hours languish for
	Assured bondage?'

IMOGEN	                  Will my lord say so?

IACHIMO	Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:
	It is a recreation to be by
	And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,
	Some men are much to blame.

IMOGEN	Not he, I hope.

IACHIMO	Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
	Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
	In you, which I account his beyond all talents,
	Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
	To pity too.

IMOGEN	                  What do you pity, sir?

IACHIMO	Two creatures heartily.

IMOGEN	Am I one, sir?
	You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
	Deserves your pity?

IACHIMO	Lamentable! What,
	To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
	I' the dungeon by a snuff?

IMOGEN	I pray you, sir,
	Deliver with more openness your answers
	To my demands. Why do you pity me?

IACHIMO	That others do--
	I was about to say--enjoy your--But
	It is an office of the gods to venge it,
	Not mine to speak on 't.

IMOGEN	You do seem to know
	Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,--
	Since doubling things go ill often hurts more
	Than to be sure they do; for certainties
	Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
	The remedy then born--discover to me
	What both you spur and stop.

IACHIMO	Had I this cheek
	To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
	Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
	To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
	Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
	Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
	Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
	That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
	Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood, as
	With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
	Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
	That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
	That all the plagues of hell should at one time
	Encounter such revolt.

IMOGEN	My lord, I fear,
	Has forgot Britain.

IACHIMO	And himself. Not I,
	Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
	The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
	That from pay mutest conscience to my tongue
	Charms this report out.

IMOGEN	Let me hear no more.

IACHIMO	O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
	With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
	So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
	Would make the great'st king double,--to be partner'd
	With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition
	Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
	That play with all infirmities for gold
	Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
	As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
	Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
	Recoil from your great stock.

IMOGEN	Revenged!
	How should I be revenged? If this be true,--
	As I have such a heart that both mine ears
	Must not in haste abuse--if it be true,
	How should I be revenged?

IACHIMO	Should he make me
	Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
	Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
	In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
	I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
	More noble than that runagate to your bed,
	And will continue fast to your affection,
	Still close as sure.

IMOGEN	What, ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO	Let me my service tender on your lips.

IMOGEN	Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
	So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
	Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
	For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange.
	Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
	From thy report as thou from honour, and
	Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
	Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
	The king my father shall be made acquainted
	Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
	A saucy stranger in his court to mart
	As in a Romish stew and to expound
	His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
	He little cares for and a daughter who
	He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO	O happy Leonatus! I may say
	The credit that thy lady hath of thee
	Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
	Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!
	A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
	Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
	For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
	I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
	Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
	That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
	The truest manner'd; such a holy witch
	That he enchants societies into him;
	Half all men's hearts are his.

IMOGEN	You make amends.

IACHIMO	He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
	He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
	More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
	Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
	To try your taking a false report; which hath
	Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
	In the election of a sir so rare,
	Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him
	Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,
	Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

IMOGEN	All's well, sir: take my power i' the court
	for yours.

IACHIMO	My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
	To entreat your grace but in a small request,
	And yet of moment to, for it concerns
	Your lord; myself and other noble friends,
	Are partners in the business.

IMOGEN	Pray, what is't?

IACHIMO	Some dozen Romans of us and your lord--
	The best feather of our wing--have mingled sums
	To buy a present for the emperor
	Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
	In France: 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
	Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
	And I am something curious, being strange,
	To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
	To take them in protection?

IMOGEN	Willingly;
	And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
	My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
	In my bedchamber.

IACHIMO	They are in a trunk,
	Attended by my men: I will make bold
	To send them to you, only for this night;
	I must aboard to-morrow.

IMOGEN	O, no, no.

IACHIMO	Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
	By lengthening my return. From Gallia
	I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
	To see your grace.

IMOGEN	I thank you for your pains:
	But not away to-morrow!

IACHIMO	O, I must, madam:
	Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
	To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
	I have outstood my time; which is material
	To the tender of our present.

IMOGEN	I will write.
	Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
	And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE I	Britain. Before Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]

CLOTEN	Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
	jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a
	hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes
	must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine
	oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.

First Lord	What got he by that? You have broke his pate with
	your bowl.

Second Lord	[Aside]  If his wit had been like him that broke it,
	it would have run all out.

CLOTEN	When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for
	any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?

Second Lord	No my lord;

	[Aside]

	nor crop the ears of them.

CLOTEN	Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
	Would he had been one of my rank!

Second Lord	[Aside]  To have smelt like a fool.

CLOTEN	I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a
	pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am;
	they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my
	mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of
	fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
	nobody can match.

Second Lord	[Aside]  You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
	cock, with your comb on.

CLOTEN	Sayest thou?

Second Lord	It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
	companion that you give offence to.

CLOTEN	No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
	offence to my inferiors.

Second Lord	Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

CLOTEN	Why, so I say.

First Lord	Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?

CLOTEN	A stranger, and I not know on't!

Second Lord	[Aside]  He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
	not.

First Lord	There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of
	Leonatus' friends.

CLOTEN	Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
	whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

First Lord	One of your lordship's pages.

CLOTEN	Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
	derogation in't?

Second Lord	You cannot derogate, my lord.

CLOTEN	Not easily, I think.

Second Lord	[Aside]  You are a fool granted; therefore your
	issues, being foolish, do not derogate.

CLOTEN	Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
	to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.

Second Lord	I'll attend your lordship.

	[Exeunt CLOTEN and First Lord]

	That such a crafty devil as is his mother
	Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
	Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
	Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
	And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
	Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
	Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
	A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
	More hateful than the foul expulsion is
	Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
	Of the divorce he'ld make! The heavens hold firm
	The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
	That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
	To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE II	Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace:
	a trunk in one corner of it.


	[IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending]

IMOGEN	Who's there? my woman Helen?

Lady	Please you, madam

IMOGEN	What hour is it?

Lady	                  Almost midnight, madam.

IMOGEN	I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
	Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
	Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
	And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
	I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly

	[Exit Lady]

	To your protection I commend me, gods.
	From fairies and the tempters of the night
	Guard me, beseech ye.

	[Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk]

IACHIMO	The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
	Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
	Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
	The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
	How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
	And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
	But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
	How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
	Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
	Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
	To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
	Under these windows, white and azure laced
	With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
	To note the chamber: I will write all down:
	Such and such pictures; there the window; such
	The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
	Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
	Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
	Above ten thousand meaner moveables
	Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
	O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
	And be her sense but as a monument,
	Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:

	[Taking off her bracelet]

	As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
	'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
	As strongly as the conscience does within,
	To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
	A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
	I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
	Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
	Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
	The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
	Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
	Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
	The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
	Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
	To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
	Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
	May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
	Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

	[Clock strikes]

	One, two, three: time, time!

	[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE III	An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartments.


	[Enter CLOTEN and Lords]

First Lord	Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the
	most coldest that ever turned up ace.

CLOTEN	It would make any man cold to lose.

First Lord	But not every man patient after the noble temper of
	your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.

CLOTEN	Winning will put any man into courage. If I could
	get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough.
	It's almost morning, is't not?

First Lord	Day, my lord.

CLOTEN	I would this music would come: I am advised to give
	her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.

	[Enter Musicians]

	Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your
	fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
	will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
	First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;
	after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich
	words to it: and then let her consider.
	[SONG]

	Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
	And Phoebus 'gins arise,
	His steeds to water at those springs
	On chaliced flowers that lies;
	And winking Mary-buds begin
	To ope their golden eyes:
	With every thing that pretty is,
	My lady sweet, arise:
	Arise, arise.

CLOTEN	So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will
	consider your music the better: if it do not, it is
	a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and
	calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
	boot, can never amend.

	[Exeunt Musicians]

Second Lord	Here comes the king.

CLOTEN	I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I
	was up so early: he cannot choose but take this
	service I have done fatherly.

	[Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN]

	Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.

CYMBELINE	Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
	Will she not forth?

CLOTEN	I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.

CYMBELINE	The exile of her minion is too new;
	She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
	Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
	And then she's yours.

QUEEN	You are most bound to the king,
	Who lets go by no vantages that may
	Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
	To orderly soliciting, and be friended
	With aptness of the season; make denials
	Increase your services; so seem as if
	You were inspired to do those duties which
	You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
	Save when command to your dismission tends,
	And therein you are senseless.

CLOTEN	Senseless! not so.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
	The one is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE	A worthy fellow,
	Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
	But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
	According to the honour of his sender;
	And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
	We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
	When you have given good morning to your mistress,
	Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
	To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.

	[Exeunt all but CLOTEN]

CLOTEN	If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
	Let her lie still and dream.

	[Knocks]

		       By your leave, ho!
	I Know her women are about her: what
	If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
	Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
	Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
	Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
	Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
	Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what
	Can it not do and undo? I will make
	One of her women lawyer to me, for
	I yet not understand the case myself.

	[Knocks]

	By your leave.

	[Enter a Lady]

Lady	Who's there that knocks?

CLOTEN	A gentleman.

Lady	No more?

CLOTEN	Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady	That's more
	Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
	Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?

CLOTEN	Your lady's person: is she ready?

Lady	Ay,
	To keep her chamber.

CLOTEN	There is gold for you;
	Sell me your good report.

Lady	How! my good name? or to report of you
	What I shall think is good?--The princess!

	[Enter IMOGEN]

CLOTEN	Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.

	[Exit Lady]

IMOGEN	Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
	For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
	Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
	And scarce can spare them.

CLOTEN	Still, I swear I love you.

IMOGEN	If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
	If you swear still, your recompense is still
	That I regard it not.

CLOTEN	This is no answer.

IMOGEN	But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
	I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
	I shall unfold equal discourtesy
	To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
	Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

CLOTEN	To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
	I will not.

IMOGEN	          Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN	Do you call me fool?

IMOGEN	As I am mad, I do:
	If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
	That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
	You put me to forget a lady's manners,
	By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
	That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
	By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
	And am so near the lack of charity--
	To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather
	You felt than make't my boast.

CLOTEN	You sin against
	Obedience, which you owe your father. For
	The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
	One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
	With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
	And though it be allow'd in meaner parties--
	Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls,
	On whom there is no more dependency
	But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;
	Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
	The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
	The precious note of it with a base slave.
	A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
	A pantler, not so eminent.

IMOGEN	Profane fellow
	Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more
	But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
	To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
	Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
	Comparative for your virtues, to be styled
	The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
	For being preferred so well.

CLOTEN	The south-fog rot him!

IMOGEN	He never can meet more mischance than come
	To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,
	That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
	In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
	Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!

	[Enter PISANIO]

CLOTEN	'His garment!' Now the devil--

IMOGEN	To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--

CLOTEN	'His garment!'

IMOGEN	                  I am sprited with a fool.
	Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman
	Search for a jewel that too casually
	Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
	If I would lose it for a revenue
	Of any king's in Europe. I do think
	I saw't this morning: confident I am
	Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
	I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
	That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO	'Twill not be lost.

IMOGEN	I hope so: go and search.

	[Exit PISANIO]

CLOTEN	You have abused me:
	'His meanest garment!'

IMOGEN	Ay, I said so, sir:
	If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

CLOTEN	I will inform your father.

IMOGEN	Your mother too:
	She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
	But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,
	To the worst of discontent.

	[Exit]

CLOTEN	I'll be revenged:
	'His meanest garment!' Well.

	[Exit]



CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE IV	Rome. Philario's house.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure
	To win the king as I am bold her honour
	Will remain hers.

PHILARIO	                  What means do you make to him?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Not any, but abide the change of time,
	Quake in the present winter's state and wish
	That warmer days would come: in these sear'd hopes,
	I barely gratify your love; they failing,
	I must die much your debtor.

PHILARIO	Your very goodness and your company
	O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
	Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
	Will do's commission throughly: and I think
	He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
	Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
	Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I do believe,
	Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
	That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
	The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
	In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
	Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
	Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar
	Smiled at their lack of skill, but found
	their courage
	Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,
	Now mingled with their courages, will make known
	To their approvers they are people such
	That mend upon the world.

	[Enter IACHIMO]

PHILARIO	See! Iachimo!

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	The swiftest harts have posted you by land;
	And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
	To make your vessel nimble.

PHILARIO	Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I hope the briefness of your answer made
	The speediness of your return.

IACHIMO	Your lady
	Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
	Look through a casement to allure false hearts
	And be false with them.

IACHIMO	Here are letters for you.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Their tenor good, I trust.

IACHIMO	'Tis very like.

PHILARIO	Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
	When you were there?

IACHIMO	He was expected then,
	But not approach'd.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	All is well yet.
	Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
	Too dull for your good wearing?

IACHIMO	If I had lost it,
	I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
	I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
	A second night of such sweet shortness which
	Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	The stone's too hard to come by.

IACHIMO	Not a whit,
	Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Make not, sir,
	Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we
	Must not continue friends.

IACHIMO	Good sir, we must,
	If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
	The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
	We were to question further: but I now
	Profess myself the winner of her honour,
	Together with your ring; and not the wronger
	Of her or you, having proceeded but
	By both your wills.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	If you can make't apparent
	That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
	And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion
	You had of her pure honour gains or loses
	Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
	To who shall find them.

IACHIMO	Sir, my circumstances,
	Being so near the truth as I will make them,
	Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
	I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
	You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
	You need it not.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	                  Proceed.

IACHIMO	First, her bedchamber,--
	Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
	Had that was well worth watching--it was hang'd
	With tapesty of silk and silver; the story
	Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
	And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
	The press of boats or pride: a piece of work
	So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
	In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd
	Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
	Since the true life on't was--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is true;
	And this you might have heard of here, by me,
	Or by some other.

IACHIMO	More particulars
	Must justify my knowledge.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	So they must,
	Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO	The chimney
	Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
	Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures
	So likely to report themselves: the cutter
	Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
	Motion and breath left out.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is a thing
	Which you might from relation likewise reap,
	Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO	The roof o' the chamber
	With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons--
	I had forgot them--were two winking Cupids
	Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
	Depending on their brands.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is her honour!
	Let it be granted you have seen all this--and praise
	Be given to your remembrance--the description
	Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
	The wager you have laid.

IACHIMO	Then, if you can,

	[Showing the bracelet]

	Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!
	And now 'tis up again: it must be married
	To that your diamond; I'll keep them.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Jove!
	Once more let me behold it: is it that
	Which I left with her?

IACHIMO	Sir--I thank her--that:
	She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
	Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
	And yet enrich'd it too: she gave it me, and said
	She prized it once.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	May be she pluck'd it off
	To send it me.

IACHIMO	She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;

	[Gives the ring]

	It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
	Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour
	Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
	Where there's another man: the vows of women
	Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
	Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing.
	O, above measure false!

PHILARIO	Have patience, sir,
	And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
	It may be probable she lost it; or
	Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
	Hath stol'n it from her?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Very true;
	And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring:
	Render to me some corporal sign about her,
	More evident than this; for this was stolen.

IACHIMO	By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
	'Tis true:--nay, keep the ring--'tis true: I am sure
	She would not lose it: her attendants are
	All sworn and honourable:--they induced to steal it!
	And by a stranger!--No, he hath enjoyed her:
	The cognizance of her incontinency
	Is this: she hath bought the name of whore
	thus dearly.
	There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
	Divide themselves between you!

PHILARIO	Sir, be patient:
	This is not strong enough to be believed
	Of one persuaded well of--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Never talk on't;
	She hath been colted by him.

IACHIMO	If you seek
	For further satisfying, under her breast--
	Worthy the pressing--lies a mole, right proud
	Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,
	I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
	To feed again, though full. You do remember
	This stain upon her?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Ay, and it doth confirm
	Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
	Were there no more but it.

IACHIMO	Will you hear more?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns;
	Once, and a million!

IACHIMO	I'll be sworn--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	No swearing.
	If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
	And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
	Thou'st made me cuckold.

IACHIMO	I'll deny nothing.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
	I will go there and do't, i' the court, before
	Her father. I'll do something--

	[Exit]

PHILARIO	Quite besides
	The government of patience! You have won:
	Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
	He hath against himself.

IACHIMO	With an my heart.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE V	Another room in Philario's house.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Is there no way for men to be but women
	Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
	And that most venerable man which I
	Did call my father, was I know not where
	When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
	Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
	The Dian of that time so doth my wife
	The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
	Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
	And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
	A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't
	Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
	As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
	This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--
	Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,
	Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
	Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
	But what he look'd for should oppose and she
	Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
	The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
	That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
	It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
	The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
	Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
	Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
	Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
	All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
	Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
	For even to vice
	They are not constant but are changing still
	One vice, but of a minute old, for one
	Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
	Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
	In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
	The very devils cannot plague them better.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE I	Britain. A hall in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN,
	and Lords at one door, and at another,
	CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

CAIUS LUCIUS	When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet
	Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues
	Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain
	And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,--
	Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less
	Than in his feats deserving it--for him
	And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
	Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
	Is left untender'd.

QUEEN	And, to kill the marvel,
	Shall be so ever.

CLOTEN	There be many Caesars,
	Ere such another Julius. Britain is
	A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
	For wearing our own noses.

QUEEN	That opportunity
	Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
	We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
	The kings your ancestors, together with
	The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
	As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
	With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
	With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
	But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
	Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
	Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
	That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried
	From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--
	Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,
	Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
	As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
	The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--
	O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword,
	Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
	And Britons strut with courage.

CLOTEN	Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our
	kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and,
	as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of
	them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
	straight arms, none.

CYMBELINE	Son, let your mother end.

CLOTEN	We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as
	Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a
	hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If
	Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or
	put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute
	for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

CYMBELINE	You must know,
	Till the injurious Romans did extort
	This tribute from us, we were free:
	Caesar's ambition,
	Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
	The sides o' the world, against all colour here
	Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
	Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
	Ourselves to be.

CLOTEN	|
	|                We do.
Lords	|

CYMBELINE	Say, then, to Caesar,
	Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
	Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
	Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
	Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
	Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws,
	Who was the first of Britain which did put
	His brows within a golden crown and call'd
	Himself a king.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  I am sorry, Cymbeline,
	That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar--
	Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
	Thyself domestic officers--thine enemy:
	Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
	In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
	For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
	I thank thee for myself.

CYMBELINE	Thou art welcome, Caius.
	Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
	Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
	Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
	Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
	That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
	Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent
	Which not to read would show the Britons cold:
	So Caesar shall not find them.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Let proof speak.

CLOTEN	His majesty bids you welcome. Make
	pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if
	you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
	shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you
	beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in
	the adventure, our crows shall fare the better
	for you; and there's an end.

CAIUS LUCIUS	So, sir.

CYMBELINE	I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
	All the remain is 'Welcome!'

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE II	Another room in the palace.


	[Enter PISANIO, with a letter]

PISANIO	How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
	What monster's her accuser? Leonatus,
	O master! what a strange infection
	Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,
	As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd
	On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:
	She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
	More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
	As would take in some virtue. O my master!
	Thy mind to her is now as low as were
	Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
	Upon the love and truth and vows which I
	Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?
	If it be so to do good service, never
	Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
	That I should seem to lack humanity
	so much as this fact comes to?

	[Reading]

		'Do't: the letter
	that I have sent her, by her own command
	Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper!
	Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
	Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
	So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
	I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

	[Enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	How now, Pisanio!

PISANIO	Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

IMOGEN	Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!
	O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
	That knew the stars as I his characters;
	He'ld lay the future open. You good gods,
	Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
	Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
	That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:
	Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
	For it doth physic love: of his content,
	All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
	You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
	And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:
	Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
	You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!

	[Reads]

	'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me
	in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as
	you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me
	with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,
	at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of
	this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all
	happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,
	increasing in love,
		        LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'
	O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
	He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
	How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
	May plod it in a week, why may not I
	Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,--
	Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,--
	let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st,
	But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me;
	For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick;
	Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
	To the smothering of the sense--how far it is
	To this same blessed Milford: and by the way
	Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
	To inherit such a haven: but first of all,
	How we may steal from hence, and for the gap
	That we shall make in time, from our hence-going
	And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:
	Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
	We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
	How many score of miles may we well ride
	'Twixt hour and hour?

PISANIO	One score 'twixt sun and sun,
	Madam, 's enough for you:

	[Aside]

		     and too much too.

IMOGEN	Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
	Could never go so slow: I have heard of
	riding wagers,
	Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
	That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:
	Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
	She'll home to her father: and provide me presently
	A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
	A franklin's housewife.

PISANIO	Madam, you're best consider.

IMOGEN	I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,
	Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
	That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
	Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say,
	Accessible is none but Milford way.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE III	Wales: a mountainous country with a cave.


	[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS; GUIDERIUS,
	and ARVIRAGUS following]

BELARIUS	A goodly day not to keep house, with such
	Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
	Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows you
	To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
	Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
	And keep their impious turbans on, without
	Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
	We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
	As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS	Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS	Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS	Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill;
	Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
	When you above perceive me like a crow,
	That it is place which lessens and sets off;
	And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
	Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
	This service is not service, so being done,
	But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
	Draws us a profit from all things we see;
	And often, to our comfort, shall we find
	The sharded beetle in a safer hold
	Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
	Is nobler than attending for a cheque,
	Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
	Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
	Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
	Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.

GUIDERIUS	Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
	Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
	What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
	If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
	That have a sharper known; well corresponding
	With your stiff age: but unto us it is
	A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
	A prison for a debtor, that not dares
	To stride a limit.

ARVIRAGUS	                  What should we speak of
	When we are old as you? when we shall hear
	The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
	In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
	The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
	We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,
	Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat;
	Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
	We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
	And sing our bondage freely.

BELARIUS	How you speak!
	Did you but know the city's usuries
	And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
	As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
	Is certain falling, or so slippery that
	The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
	A pain that only seems to seek out danger
	I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
	the search,
	And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
	As record of fair act; nay, many times,
	Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
	Must court'sy at the censure:--O boys, this story
	The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
	With Roman swords, and my report was once
	First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me,
	And when a soldier was the theme, my name
	Was not far off: then was I as a tree
	Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
	A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
	Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
	And left me bare to weather.

GUIDERIUS	Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS	My fault being nothing--as I have told you oft--
	But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
	Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
	I was confederate with the Romans: so
	Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
	This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
	Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
	More pious debts to heaven than in all
	The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
	This is not hunters' language: he that strikes
	The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
	To him the other two shall minister;
	And we will fear no poison, which attends
	In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.

	[Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

	How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
	These boys know little they are sons to the king;
	Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
	They think they are mine; and though train'd
	up thus meanly
	I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
	The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
	In simple and low things to prince it much
	Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
	The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
	The king his father call'd Guiderius,--Jove!
	When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
	The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
	Into my story: say 'Thus, mine enemy fell,
	And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then
	The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
	Strains his young nerves and puts himself in posture
	That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
	Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,
	Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
	His own conceiving.--Hark, the game is roused!
	O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
	Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
	At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
	Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
	Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
	Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for
	their mother,
	And every day do honour to her grave:
	Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
	They take for natural father. The game is up.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE IV	Country near Milford-Haven.


	[Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
	Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so
	To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man!
	Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
	That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
	From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
	Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
	Beyond self-explication: put thyself
	Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness
	Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
	Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
	A look untender? If't be summer news,
	Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
	But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand!
	That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
	And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue
	May take off some extremity, which to read
	Would be even mortal to me.

PISANIO	Please you, read;
	And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
	The most disdain'd of fortune.

IMOGEN	[Reads]  'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
	strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie
	bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,
	but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain
	as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio,
	must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with
	the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away
	her life: I shall give thee opportunity at
	Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose
	where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain
	it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and
	equally to me disloyal.'

PISANIO	What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
	Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
	Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
	Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
	Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
	All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,
	Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
	This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?

IMOGEN	False to his bed! What is it to be false?
	To lie in watch there and to think on him?
	To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep
	charge nature,
	To break it with a fearful dream of him
	And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it?

PISANIO	Alas, good lady!

IMOGEN	I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo,
	Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
	Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks
	Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy
	Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
	Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
	And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
	I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O,
	Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
	By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
	Put on for villany; not born where't grows,
	But worn a bait for ladies.

PISANIO	Good madam, hear me.

IMOGEN	True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
	Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping
	Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
	From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
	Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
	Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
	From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:
	Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him,
	A little witness my obedience: look!
	I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
	The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;
	Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief;
	Thy master is not there, who was indeed
	The riches of it: do his bidding; strike
	Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
	But now thou seem'st a coward.

PISANIO	Hence, vile instrument!
	Thou shalt not damn my hand.

IMOGEN	Why, I must die;
	And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
	No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
	There is a prohibition so divine
	That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
	Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence;
	Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
	The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
	All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
	Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
	Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
	Believe false teachers: though those that
	are betray'd
	Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
	Stands in worse case of woe.
	And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
	My disobedience 'gainst the king my father
	And make me put into contempt the suits
	Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
	It is no act of common passage, but
	A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself
	To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
	That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
	Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch:
	The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
	Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
	When I desire it too.

PISANIO	O gracious lady,
	Since I received command to do this business
	I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN	Do't, and to bed then.

PISANIO	I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.

IMOGEN	Wherefore then
	Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
	So many miles with a pretence? this place?
	Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
	The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
	For my being absent? whereunto I never
	Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far,
	To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
	The elected deer before thee?

PISANIO	But to win time
	To lose so bad employment; in the which
	I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
	Hear me with patience.

IMOGEN	Talk thy tongue weary; speak
	I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear
	Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
	Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

PISANIO	Then, madam,
	I thought you would not back again.

IMOGEN	Most like;
	Bringing me here to kill me.

PISANIO	Not so, neither:
	But if I were as wise as honest, then
	My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
	But that my master is abused:
	Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
	Hath done you both this cursed injury.

IMOGEN	Some Roman courtezan.

PISANIO	No, on my life.
	I'll give but notice you are dead and send him
	Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
	I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
	And that will well confirm it.

IMOGEN	Why good fellow,
	What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?
	Or in my life what comfort, when I am
	Dead to my husband?

PISANIO	If you'll back to the court--

IMOGEN	No court, no father; nor no more ado
	With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
	That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
	As fearful as a siege.

PISANIO	If not at court,
	Then not in Britain must you bide.

IMOGEN	Where then
	Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
	Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
	Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
	In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
	There's livers out of Britain.

PISANIO	I am most glad
	You think of other place. The ambassador,
	Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
	To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
	Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
	That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
	But by self-danger, you should tread a course
	Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near
	The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least
	That though his actions were not visible, yet
	Report should render him hourly to your ear
	As truly as he moves.

IMOGEN	O, for such means!
	Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
	I would adventure.

PISANIO	Well, then, here's the point:
	You must forget to be a woman; change
	Command into obedience: fear and niceness--
	The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
	Woman its pretty self--into a waggish courage:
	Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and
	As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
	Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
	Exposing it--but, O, the harder heart!
	Alack, no remedy!--to the greedy touch
	Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
	Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
	You made great Juno angry.

IMOGEN	Nay, be brief
	I see into thy end, and am almost
	A man already.

PISANIO	First, make yourself but like one.
	Fore-thinking this, I have already fit--
	'Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all
	That answer to them: would you in their serving,
	And with what imitation you can borrow
	From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
	Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
	wherein you're happy,--which you'll make him know,
	If that his head have ear in music,--doubtless
	With joy he will embrace you, for he's honourable
	And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,
	You have me, rich; and I will never fail
	Beginning nor supplyment.

IMOGEN	Thou art all the comfort
	The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:
	There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
	All that good time will give us: this attempt
	I am soldier to, and will abide it with
	A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO	Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
	Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
	Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
	Here is a box; I had it from the queen:
	What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
	Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
	Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
	And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
	Direct you to the best!

IMOGEN	Amen: I thank thee.

	[Exeunt, severally]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE V	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS,
	Lords, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Thus far; and so farewell.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Thanks, royal sir.
	My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
	And am right sorry that I must report ye
	My master's enemy.

CYMBELINE	                  Our subjects, sir,
	Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
	To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
	Appear unkinglike.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  So, sir: I desire of you
	A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.
	Madam, all joy befal your grace!

QUEEN	And you!

CYMBELINE	My lords, you are appointed for that office;
	The due of honour in no point omit.
	So farewell, noble Lucius.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Your hand, my lord.

CLOTEN	Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
	I wear it as your enemy.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Sir, the event
	Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.

CYMBELINE	Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
	Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!

	[Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords]

QUEEN	He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
	That we have given him cause.

CLOTEN	'Tis all the better;
	Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

CYMBELINE	Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
	How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
	Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
	The powers that he already hath in Gallia
	Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
	His war for Britain.

QUEEN	'Tis not sleepy business;
	But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.

CYMBELINE	Our expectation that it would be thus
	Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
	Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
	Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
	The duty of the day: she looks us like
	A thing more made of malice than of duty:
	We have noted it. Call her before us; for
	We have been too slight in sufferance.

	[Exit an Attendant]

QUEEN	Royal sir,
	Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
	Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
	'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
	Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
	So tender of rebukes that words are strokes
	And strokes death to her.

	[Re-enter Attendant]

CYMBELINE	Where is she, sir? How
	Can her contempt be answer'd?

Attendant	Please you, sir,
	Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
	That will be given to the loudest noise we make.

QUEEN	My lord, when last I went to visit her,
	She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
	Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
	She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
	Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
	She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
	Made me to blame in memory.

CYMBELINE	Her doors lock'd?
	Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
	Prove false!

	[Exit]

QUEEN	Son, I say, follow the king.

CLOTEN	That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
	have not seen these two days.

QUEEN	Go, look after.

	[Exit CLOTEN]

	Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!
	He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence
	Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
	It is a thing most precious. But for her,
	Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,
	Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
	To her desired Posthumus: gone she is
	To death or to dishonour; and my end
	Can make good use of either: she being down,
	I have the placing of the British crown.

	[Re-enter CLOTEN]

	How now, my son!

CLOTEN	'Tis certain she is fled.
	Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
	Dare come about him.

QUEEN	[Aside]            All the better: may
	This night forestall him of the coming day!

	[Exit]

CLOTEN	I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
	And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
	Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
	The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
	Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
	Disdaining me and throwing favours on
	The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
	That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
	I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
	To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--

	[Enter PISANIO]

	Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
	Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
	Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
	Thou art straightway with the fiends.

PISANIO	O, good my lord!

CLOTEN	Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--
	I will not ask again. Close villain,
	I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
	Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
	From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
	A dram of worth be drawn.

PISANIO	Alas, my lord,
	How can she be with him? When was she missed?
	He is in Rome.

CLOTEN	                  Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
	No further halting: satisfy me home
	What is become of her.

PISANIO	O, my all-worthy lord!

CLOTEN	All-worthy villain!
	Discover where thy mistress is at once,
	At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!'
	Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
	Thy condemnation and thy death.

PISANIO	Then, sir,
	This paper is the history of my knowledge
	Touching her flight.

	[Presenting a letter]

CLOTEN	Let's see't. I will pursue her
	Even to Augustus' throne.

PISANIO	[Aside]                 Or this, or perish.
	She's far enough; and what he learns by this
	May prove his travel, not her danger.

CLOTEN	Hum!

PISANIO	[Aside]  I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
	Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!

CLOTEN	Sirrah, is this letter true?

PISANIO	Sir, as I think.

CLOTEN	It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
	wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
	undergo those employments wherein I should have
	cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
	what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it
	directly and truly, I would think thee an honest
	man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy
	relief nor my voice for thy preferment.

PISANIO	Well, my good lord.

CLOTEN	Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
	constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
	that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
	course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
	mine: wilt thou serve me?

PISANIO	Sir, I will.

CLOTEN	Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy
	late master's garments in thy possession?

PISANIO	I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he
	wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

CLOTEN	The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
	hither: let it be thy lint service; go.

PISANIO	I shall, my lord.

	[Exit]

CLOTEN	Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one
	thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou
	villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
	garments were come. She said upon a time--the
	bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she
	held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
	than my noble and natural person together with the
	adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
	back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her
	eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then
	be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my
	speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and
	when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex
	her I will execute in the clothes that she so
	praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot
	her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
	and I'll be merry in my revenge.

	[Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes]

	Be those the garments?

PISANIO	Ay, my noble lord.

CLOTEN	How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?

PISANIO	She can scarce be there yet.

CLOTEN	Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second
	thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,
	that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be
	but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
	to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
	wings to follow it! Come, and be true.

	[Exit]

PISANIO	Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee
	Were to prove false, which I will never be,
	To him that is most true. To Milford go,
	And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
	You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
	Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VI	Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes]

IMOGEN	I see a man's life is a tedious one:
	I have tired myself, and for two nights together
	Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
	But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
	When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
	Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think
	Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
	Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me
	I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
	That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
	A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
	When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
	Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
	Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
	Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
	My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
	At point to sink for food. But what is this?
	Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold:
	I were best not to call; I dare not call:
	yet famine,
	Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant,
	Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever
	Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
	If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
	Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
	Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy
	But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
	Such a foe, good heavens!

	[Exit, to the cave]

	[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	You, Polydote, have proved best woodman and
	Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I
	Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
	The sweat of industry would dry and die,
	But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
	Will make what's homely savoury: weariness
	Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
	Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
	Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

GUIDERIUS	I am thoroughly weary.

ARVIRAGUS	I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

GUIDERIUS	There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll browse on that,
	Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.

BELARIUS	[Looking into the cave]

	Stay; come not in.
	But that it eats our victuals, I should think
	Here were a fairy.

GUIDERIUS	What's the matter, sir?

BELARIUS	By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
	An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
	No elder than a boy!

	[Re-enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	Good masters, harm me not:
	Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
	To have begg'd or bought what I have took:
	good troth,
	I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had found
	Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my meat:
	I would have left it on the board so soon
	As I had made my meal, and parted
	With prayers for the provider.

GUIDERIUS	Money, youth?

ARVIRAGUS	All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
	As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
	Who worship dirty gods.

IMOGEN	I see you're angry:
	Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
	Have died had I not made it.

BELARIUS	Whither bound?

IMOGEN	To Milford-Haven.

BELARIUS	What's your name?

IMOGEN	Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
	Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford;
	To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
	I am fall'n in this offence.

BELARIUS	Prithee, fair youth,
	Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
	By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
	'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
	Ere you depart: and thanks to stay and eat it.
	Boys, bid him welcome.

GUIDERIUS	Were you a woman, youth,
	I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,
	I bid for you as I'd buy.

ARVIRAGUS	I'll make't my comfort
	He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:
	And such a welcome as I'd give to him
	After long absence, such is yours: most welcome!
	Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

IMOGEN	'Mongst friends,
	If brothers.

	[Aside]

	Would it had been so, that they
	Had been my father's sons! then had my prize
	Been less, and so more equal ballasting
	To thee, Posthumus.

BELARIUS	He wrings at some distress.

GUIDERIUS	Would I could free't!

ARVIRAGUS	Or I, whate'er it be,
	What pain it cost, what danger. God's!

BELARIUS	Hark, boys.

	[Whispering]

IMOGEN	Great men,
	That had a court no bigger than this cave,
	That did attend themselves and had the virtue
	Which their own conscience seal'd them--laying by
	That nothing-gift of differing multitudes--
	Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
	I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
	Since Leonatus's false.

BELARIUS	It shall be so.
	Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in:
	Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
	We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
	So far as thou wilt speak it.

GUIDERIUS	Pray, draw near.

ARVIRAGUS	The night to the owl and morn to the lark
	less welcome.

IMOGEN	Thanks, sir.

ARVIRAGUS	I pray, draw near.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VII	Rome. A public place.


	[Enter two Senators and Tribunes]

First Senator	This is the tenor of the emperor's writ:
	That since the common men are now in action
	'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
	And that the legions now in Gallia are
	Full weak to undertake our wars against
	The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
	The gentry to this business. He creates
	Lucius preconsul: and to you the tribunes,
	For this immediate levy, he commends
	His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!

First Tribune	Is Lucius general of the forces?

Second Senator	Ay.

First Tribune	Remaining now in Gallia?

First Senator	With those legions
	Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
	Must be supplyant: the words of your commission
	Will tie you to the numbers and the time
	Of their dispatch.

First Tribune	                  We will discharge our duty.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE I	Wales: near the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN	I am near to the place where they should meet, if
	Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments
	serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by
	him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the
	rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said
	a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must
	play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it
	is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer
	in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are
	as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,
	not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the
	advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike
	conversant in general services, and more remarkable
	in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant
	thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
	Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy
	shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy
	mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before
	thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her
	father; who may haply be a little angry for my so
	rough usage; but my mother, having power of his
	testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My
	horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore
	purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is
	the very description of their meeting-place; and
	the fellow dares not deceive me.

	[Exit]



	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE II	Before the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS,
	ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN]

BELARIUS	[To IMOGEN]  You are not well: remain here in the cave;
	We'll come to you after hunting.

ARVIRAGUS	[To IMOGEN]	Brother, stay here
	Are we not brothers?

IMOGEN	So man and man should be;
	But clay and clay differs in dignity,
	Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

GUIDERIUS	Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.

IMOGEN	So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
	But not so citizen a wanton as
	To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me;
	Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
	Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
	Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
	To one not sociable: I am not very sick,
	Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:
	I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
	Stealing so poorly.

GUIDERIUS	I love thee; I have spoke it
	How much the quantity, the weight as much,
	As I do love my father.

BELARIUS	What! how! how!

ARVIRAGUS	If it be sin to say so, I yoke me
	In my good brother's fault: I know not why
	I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
	Love's reason's without reason: the bier at door,
	And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
	'My father, not this youth.'

BELARIUS	[Aside]	O noble strain!
	O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
	Cowards father cowards and base things sire base:
	Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
	I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
	Doth miracle itself, loved before me.
	'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.

ARVIRAGUS	Brother, farewell.

IMOGEN	I wish ye sport.

ARVIRAGUS	                  You health. So please you, sir.

IMOGEN	[Aside]  These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies
	I have heard!
	Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
	Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
	The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish
	Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
	I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
	I'll now taste of thy drug.

	[Swallows some]

GUIDERIUS	I could not stir him:
	He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
	Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

ARVIRAGUS	Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter
	I might know more.

BELARIUS	To the field, to the field!
	We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest.

ARVIRAGUS	We'll not be long away.

BELARIUS	Pray, be not sick,
	For you must be our housewife.

IMOGEN	Well or ill,
	I am bound to you.

BELARIUS	And shalt be ever.

	[Exit IMOGEN, to the cave]

	This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath had
	Good ancestors.

ARVIRAGUS	                  How angel-like he sings!

GUIDERIUS	But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
	In characters,
	And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
	And he her dieter.

ARVIRAGUS	Nobly he yokes
	A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
	Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
	The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
	From so divine a temple, to commix
	With winds that sailors rail at.

GUIDERIUS	I do note
	That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
	Mingle their spurs together.

ARVIRAGUS	Grow, patience!
	And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
	His perishing root with the increasing vine!

BELARIUS	It is great morning. Come, away!--
	Who's there?

	[Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN	I cannot find those runagates; that villain
	Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

BELARIUS	'Those runagates!'
	Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis
	Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
	I saw him not these many years, and yet
	I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!

GUIDERIUS	He is but one: you and my brother search
	What companies are near: pray you, away;
	Let me alone with him.

	[Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

CLOTEN	                  Soft! What are you
	That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
	I have heard of such. What slave art thou?

GUIDERIUS	A thing
	More slavish did I ne'er than answering
	A slave without a knock.

CLOTEN	Thou art a robber,
	A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.

GUIDERIUS	To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I
	An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
	Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
	My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
	Why I should yield to thee?

CLOTEN	Thou villain base,
	Know'st me not by my clothes?

GUIDERIUS	No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
	Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
	Which, as it seems, make thee.

CLOTEN	Thou precious varlet,
	My tailor made them not.

GUIDERIUS	Hence, then, and thank
	The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
	I am loath to beat thee.

CLOTEN	Thou injurious thief,
	Hear but my name, and tremble.

GUIDERIUS	What's thy name?

CLOTEN	Cloten, thou villain.

GUIDERIUS	Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
	I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or
	Adder, Spider,
	'Twould move me sooner.

CLOTEN	To thy further fear,
	Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
	I am son to the queen.

GUIDERIUS	I am sorry for 't; not seeming
	So worthy as thy birth.

CLOTEN	Art not afeard?

GUIDERIUS	Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:
	At fools I laugh, not fear them.

CLOTEN	Die the death:
	When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
	I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
	And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
	Yield, rustic mountaineer.

	[Exeunt, fighting]

	[Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	No companies abroad?

ARVIRAGUS	None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.

BELARIUS	I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
	But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
	Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
	And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute
	'Twas very Cloten.

ARVIRAGUS	                  In this place we left them:
	I wish my brother make good time with him,
	You say he is so fell.

BELARIUS	Being scarce made up,
	I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
	Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
	Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.

	[Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head]

GUIDERIUS	This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
	There was no money in't: not Hercules
	Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
	Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
	My head as I do his.

BELARIUS	What hast thou done?

GUIDERIUS	I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,
	Son to the queen, after his own report;
	Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
	With his own single hand he'ld take us in
	Displace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow,
	And set them on Lud's-town.

BELARIUS	We are all undone.

GUIDERIUS	Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
	But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
	Protects not us: then why should we be tender
	To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
	Play judge and executioner all himself,
	For we do fear the law? What company
	Discover you abroad?

BELARIUS	No single soul
	Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
	He must have some attendants. Though his humour
	Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
	From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
	Absolute madness could so far have raved
	To bring him here alone; although perhaps
	It may be heard at court that such as we
	Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
	May make some stronger head; the which he hearing--
	As it is like him--might break out, and swear
	He'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probable
	To come alone, either he so undertaking,
	Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,
	If we do fear this body hath a tail
	More perilous than the head.

ARVIRAGUS	Let ordinance
	Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
	My brother hath done well.

BELARIUS	I had no mind
	To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
	Did make my way long forth.

GUIDERIUS	With his own sword,
	Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
	His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
	Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
	And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
	That's all I reck.

	[Exit]

BELARIUS	I fear 'twill be revenged:
	Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valour
	Becomes thee well enough.

ARVIRAGUS	Would I had done't
	So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,
	I love thee brotherly, but envy much
	Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,
	That possible strength might meet, would seek us through
	And put us to our answer.

BELARIUS	Well, 'tis done:
	We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
	Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
	You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
	Till hasty Polydote return, and bring him
	To dinner presently.

ARVIRAGUS	Poor sick Fidele!
	I'll weringly to him: to gain his colour
	I'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
	And praise myself for charity.

	[Exit]

BELARIUS	O thou goddess,
	Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
	In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
	As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
	Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
	Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
	That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
	And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
	That an invisible instinct should frame them
	To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
	Civility not seen from other, valour
	That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
	As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
	What Cloten's being here to us portends,
	Or what his death will bring us.

	[Re-enter GUIDERIUS]

GUIDERIUS	Where's my brother?
	I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
	In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage
	For his return.

	[Solemn music]

BELARIUS	                  My ingenious instrument!
	Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
	Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

GUIDERIUS	Is he at home?

BELARIUS	                  He went hence even now.

GUIDERIUS	What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother
	it did not speak before. All solemn things
	Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
	Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
	Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
	Is Cadwal mad?

BELARIUS	                  Look, here he comes,
	And brings the dire occasion in his arms
	Of what we blame him for.

	[Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead,
	bearing her in his arms]

ARVIRAGUS	The bird is dead
	That we have made so much on. I had rather
	Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
	To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
	Than have seen this.

GUIDERIUS	O sweetest, fairest lily!
	My brother wears thee not the one half so well
	As when thou grew'st thyself.

BELARIUS	O melancholy!
	Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
	The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
	Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
	Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
	Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
	How found you him?

ARVIRAGUS	Stark, as you see:
	Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber,
	Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his
	right cheek
	Reposing on a cushion.

GUIDERIUS	Where?

ARVIRAGUS	O' the floor;
	His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put
	My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
	Answer'd my steps too loud.

GUIDERIUS	Why, he but sleeps:
	If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
	With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
	And worms will not come to thee.

ARVIRAGUS	With fairest flowers
	Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
	I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
	The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
	The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
	The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
	Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
	With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming
	Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
	Without a monument!--bring thee all this;
	Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
	To winter-ground thy corse.

GUIDERIUS	Prithee, have done;
	And do not play in wench-like words with that
	Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
	And not protract with admiration what
	Is now due debt. To the grave!

ARVIRAGUS	Say, where shall's lay him?

GUIDERIUS	By good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS	Be't so:
	And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
	Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
	As once our mother; use like note and words,
	Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

GUIDERIUS	Cadwal,
	I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
	For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
	Than priests and fanes that lie.

ARVIRAGUS	We'll speak it, then.

BELARIUS	Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten
	Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
	And though he came our enemy, remember
	He was paid for that: though mean and
	mighty, rotting
	Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
	That angel of the world, doth make distinction
	Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
	And though you took his life, as being our foe,
	Yet bury him as a prince.

GUIDERIUS	Pray You, fetch him hither.
	Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
	When neither are alive.

ARVIRAGUS	If you'll go fetch him,
	We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

	[Exit BELARIUS]

GUIDERIUS	Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
	My father hath a reason for't.

ARVIRAGUS	'Tis true.

GUIDERIUS	Come on then, and remove him.

ARVIRAGUS	So. Begin.
	[SONG]

GUIDERIUS	     Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
	Nor the furious winter's rages;
	Thou thy worldly task hast done,
	Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
	Golden lads and girls all must,
	As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

ARVIRAGUS	     Fear no more the frown o' the great;
	Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
	Care no more to clothe and eat;
	To thee the reed is as the oak:
	The sceptre, learning, physic, must
	All follow this, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS	     Fear no more the lightning flash,

ARVIRAGUS	        Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS	     Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS	        Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:


GUIDERIUS	|
	|  All lovers young, all lovers must
ARVIRAGUS	|   Consign to thee, and come to dust.


GUIDERIUS	     No exorciser harm thee!

ARVIRAGUS	        Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

GUIDERIUS	     Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

ARVIRAGUS	        Nothing ill come near thee!


GUIDERIUS	|
	|   Quiet consummation have;
ARVIRAGUS	|    And renowned be thy grave!


	[Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN]

GUIDERIUS	We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.

BELARIUS	Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more:
	The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
	Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
	You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
	These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.
	Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
	The ground that gave them first has them again:
	Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

	[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

IMOGEN	[Awaking]  Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is
	the way?--
	I thank you.--By yond bush?--Pray, how far thither?
	'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?--
	I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
	But, soft! no bedfellow!--O gods and goddesses!

	[Seeing the body of CLOTEN]

	These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
	This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
	For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
	And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so;
	'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
	Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes
	Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
	I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be
	Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
	As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
	The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
	Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.
	A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
	I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand;
	His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
	The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
	Murder in heaven?--How!--'Tis gone. Pisanio,
	All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
	And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
	Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
	Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
	Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
	Hath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio--
	From this most bravest vessel of the world
	Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,
	Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me!
	where's that?
	Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
	And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
	'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
	Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
	The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
	And cordial to me, have I not found it
	Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
	This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
	Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
	That we the horrider may seem to those
	Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

	[Falls on the body]

	[Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers,
	and a Soothsayer]

Captain	To them the legions garrison'd in Gailia,
	After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
	You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
	They are in readiness.

CAIUS LUCIUS	But what from Rome?

Captain	The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
	And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
	That promise noble service: and they come
	Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
	Syenna's brother.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  When expect you them?

Captain	With the next benefit o' the wind.

CAIUS LUCIUS	This forwardness
	Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
	Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
	What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?

Soothsayer	Last night the very gods show'd me a vision--
	I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus:
	I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
	From the spongy south to this part of the west,
	There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends--
	Unless my sins abuse my divination--
	Success to the Roman host.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Dream often so,
	And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
	Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
	It was a worthy building. How! a page!
	Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather;
	For nature doth abhor to make his bed
	With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
	Let's see the boy's face.

Captain	He's alive, my lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS	He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
	Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
	They crave to be demanded. Who is this
	Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
	That, otherwise than noble nature did,
	Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
	In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
	What art thou?

IMOGEN	                  I am nothing: or if not,
	Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
	A very valiant Briton and a good,
	That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!
	There is no more such masters: I may wander
	From east to occident, cry out for service,
	Try many, all good, serve truly, never
	Find such another master.

CAIUS LUCIUS	'Lack, good youth!
	Thou movest no less with thy complaining than
	Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

IMOGEN	Richard du Champ.

	[Aside]

	If I do lie and do
	No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
	They'll pardon it.--Say you, sir?

CAIUS LUCIUS	Thy name?

IMOGEN	Fidele, sir.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
	Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
	Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
	Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,
	No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,
	Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
	Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

IMOGEN	I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
	I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
	As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
	With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
	And on it said a century of prayers,
	Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
	And leaving so his service, follow you,
	So please you entertain me.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Ay, good youth!
	And rather father thee than master thee.
	My friends,
	The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
	Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
	And make him with our pikes and partisans
	A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
	By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
	As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes
	Some falls are means the happier to arise.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE III	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	A fever with the absence of her son,
	A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
	How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
	The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
	Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
	When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
	So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
	The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
	Who needs must know of her departure and
	Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
	By a sharp torture.

PISANIO	Sir, my life is yours;
	I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
	I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
	Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
	Hold me your loyal servant.

First Lord	Good my liege,
	The day that she was missing he was here:
	I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
	All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
	There wants no diligence in seeking him,
	And will, no doubt, be found.

CYMBELINE	The time is troublesome.

	[To PISANIO]

	We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
	Does yet depend.

First Lord	                  So please your majesty,
	The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
	Are landed on your coast, with a supply
	Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.

CYMBELINE	Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
	I am amazed with matter.

First Lord	Good my liege,
	Your preparation can affront no less
	Than what you hear of: come more, for more
	you're ready:
	The want is but to put those powers in motion
	That long to move.

CYMBELINE	                  I thank you. Let's withdraw;
	And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
	What can from Italy annoy us; but
	We grieve at chances here. Away!

	[Exeunt all but PISANIO]

PISANIO	I heard no letter from my master since
	I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange:
	Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise
	To yield me often tidings: neither know I
	What is betid to Cloten; but remain
	Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
	Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
	These present wars shall find I love my country,
	Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
	All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
	Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Wales: before the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

GUIDERIUS	The noise is round about us.

BELARIUS	Let us from it.

ARVIRAGUS	What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
	From action and adventure?

GUIDERIUS	Nay, what hope
	Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
	Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
	For barbarous and unnatural revolts
	During their use, and slay us after.

BELARIUS	Sons,
	We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
	To the king's party there's no going: newness
	Of Cloten's death--we being not known, not muster'd
	Among the bands--may drive us to a render
	Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
	Which we have done, whose answer would be death
	Drawn on with torture.

GUIDERIUS	This is, sir, a doubt
	In such a time nothing becoming you,
	Nor satisfying us.

ARVIRAGUS	                  It is not likely
	That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
	Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
	And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
	That they will waste their time upon our note,
	To know from whence we are.

BELARIUS	O, I am known
	Of many in the army: many years,
	Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
	From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
	Hath not deserved my service nor your loves;
	Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
	The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
	To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
	But to be still hot summer's tamings and
	The shrinking slaves of winter.

GUIDERIUS	Than be so
	Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
	I and my brother are not known; yourself
	So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
	Cannot be question'd.

ARVIRAGUS	By this sun that shines,
	I'll thither: what thing is it that I never
	Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood,
	But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
	Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
	A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
	Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
	To look upon the holy sun, to have
	The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
	So long a poor unknown.

GUIDERIUS	By heavens, I'll go:
	If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
	I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
	The hazard therefore due fall on me by
	The hands of Romans!

ARVIRAGUS	So say I	amen.

BELARIUS	No reason I, since of your lives you set
	So slight a valuation, should reserve
	My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
	If in your country wars you chance to die,
	That is my bed too, lads, an there I'll lie:
	Lead, lead.

	[Aside]

	The time seems long; their blood
	thinks scorn,
	Till it fly out and show them princes born.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE I	Britain. The Roman camp.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
	Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
	If each of you should take this course, how many
	Must murder wives much better than themselves
	For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
	Every good servant does not all commands:
	No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
	Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
	Had lived to put on this: so had you saved
	The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
	Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
	You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
	To have them fall no more: you some permit
	To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
	And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
	But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,
	And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
	Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
	Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
	That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
	I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
	Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
	Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
	As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
	Against the part I come with; so I'll die
	For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
	Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown,
	Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
	Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
	More valour in me than my habits show.
	Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
	To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
	The fashion, less without and more within.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE II	Field of battle between the British and Roman camps.


	[Enter, from one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and
	the Roman Army: from the other side, the
	British Army; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS following,
	like a poor soldier. They march over and go
	out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO
	and POSTHUMUS LEONATUS he vanquisheth and disarmeth
	IACHIMO, and then leaves him]

IACHIMO	The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
	Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
	The princess of this country, and the air on't
	Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
	A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me
	In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
	As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
	If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
	This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
	Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.

	[Exit]

	[The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is
	taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS,
	GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;
	The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
	The villany of our fears.


GUIDERIUS	|
	|  Stand, stand, and fight!
ARVIRAGUS	|


	[Re-enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and seconds the
	Britons: they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then
	re-enter LUCIUS, and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN]

CAIUS LUCIUS	Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
	For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
	As war were hoodwink'd.

IACHIMO	'Tis their fresh supplies.

CAIUS LUCIUS	It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
	Let's reinforce, or fly.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE III	Another part of the field.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord]

Lord	Camest thou from where they made the stand?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I did.
	Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

Lord	I did.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
	But that the heavens fought: the king himself
	Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
	And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
	Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
	Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
	More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
	Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
	Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd
	With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
	To die with lengthen'd shame.

Lord	Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf;
	Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
	An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
	So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
	In doing this for's country: athwart the lane,
	He, with two striplings-lads more like to run
	The country base than to commit such slaughter
	With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
	Than those for preservation cased, or shame--
	Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
	'Our Britain s harts die flying, not our men:
	To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand;
	Or we are Romans and will give you that
	Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save,
	But to look back in frown: stand, stand.'
	These three,
	Three thousand confident, in act as many--
	For three performers are the file when all
	The rest do nothing--with this word 'Stand, stand,'
	Accommodated by the place, more charming
	With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd
	A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
	Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some,
	turn'd coward
	But by example--O, a sin in war,
	Damn'd in the first beginners!--gan to look
	The way that they did, and to grin like lions
	Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
	A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon
	A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly
	Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
	The strides they victors made: and now our cowards,
	Like fragments in hard voyages, became
	The life o' the need: having found the backdoor open
	Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
	Some slain before; some dying; some their friends
	O'er borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,
	Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
	Those that would die or ere resist are grown
	The mortal bugs o' the field.

Lord	This was strange chance
	A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made
	Rather to wonder at the things you hear
	Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
	And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
	'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
	Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'

Lord	Nay, be not angry, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	'Lack, to what end?
	Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
	For if he'll do as he is made to do,
	I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
	You have put me into rhyme.

Lord	Farewell; you're angry.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Still going?

	[Exit Lord]

	This is a lord! O noble misery,
	To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me!
	To-day how many would have given their honours
	To have saved their carcasses! took heel to do't,
	And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
	Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
	Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,
	'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
	Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
	That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him
	For being now a favourer to the Briton,
	No more a Briton, I have resumed again
	The part I came in: fight I will no more,
	But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
	Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
	Here made by the Roman; great the answer be
	Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death;
	On either side I come to spend my breath;
	Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again,
	But end it by some means for Imogen.

	[Enter two British Captains and Soldiers]

First Captain	Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken.
	'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

Second Captain	There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
	That gave the affront with them.

First Captain	So 'tis reported:
	But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	A Roman,
	Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
	Had answer'd him.

Second Captain	                  Lay hands on him; a dog!
	A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
	What crows have peck'd them here. He brags
	his service
	As if he were of note: bring him to the king.

	[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
	PISANIO, Soldiers, Attendants, and Roman Captives.
	The Captains present POSTHUMUS LEONATUS to
	CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler:
	then exeunt omnes]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE IV	A British prison.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and two Gaolers]

First Gaoler	You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you;
	So graze as you find pasture.

Second Gaoler	Ay, or a stomach.

	[Exeunt Gaolers]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away,
	think, to liberty: yet am I better
	Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather
	Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
	By the sure physician, death, who is the key
	To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
	More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me
	The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
	Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
	So children temporal fathers do appease;
	Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
	I cannot do it better than in gyves,
	Desired more than constrain'd: to satisfy,
	If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
	No stricter render of me than my all.
	I know you are more clement than vile men,
	Who of their broken debtors take a third,
	A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
	On their abatement: that's not my desire:
	For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
	'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it:
	'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
	Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
	You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers,
	If you will take this audit, take this life,
	And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
	I'll speak to thee in silence.

	[Sleeps]

	[Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition,
	SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to Posthumus Leonatus,
	an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in
	his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother
	to Posthumus Leonatus, with music before them:
	then, after other music, follow the two young
	Leonati, brothers to Posthumus Leonatus, with
	wounds as they died in the wars. They circle
	Posthumus Leonatus round, as he lies sleeping]

Sicilius Leonatus	No more, thou thunder-master, show
	Thy spite on mortal flies:
	With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
	That thy adulteries
	Rates and revenges.
	Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
	Whose face I never saw?
	I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
	Attending nature's law:
	Whose father then, as men report
	Thou orphans' father art,
	Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
	From this earth-vexing smart.

Mother	Lucina lent not me her aid,
	But took me in my throes;
	That from me was Posthumus ript,
	Came crying 'mongst his foes,
	A thing of pity!

Sicilius Leonatus	Great nature, like his ancestry,
	Moulded the stuff so fair,
	That he deserved the praise o' the world,
	As great Sicilius' heir.

First Brother	When once he was mature for man,
	In Britain where was he
	That could stand up his parallel;
	Or fruitful object be
	In eye of Imogen, that best
	Could deem his dignity?

Mother	With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
	To be exiled, and thrown
	From Leonati seat, and cast
	From her his dearest one,
	Sweet Imogen?

Sicilius Leonatus	Why did you suffer Iachimo,
	Slight thing of Italy,
	To taint his nobler heart and brain
	With needless jealosy;
	And to become the geck and scorn
	O' th' other's villany?

Second Brother	For this from stiller seats we came,
	Our parents and us twain,
	That striking in our country's cause
	Fell bravely and were slain,
	Our fealty and Tenantius' right
	With honour to maintain.

First Brother	Like hardiment Posthumus hath
	To Cymbeline perform'd:
	Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
	Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
	The graces for his merits due,
	Being all to dolours turn'd?

Sicilius Leonatus	Thy crystal window ope; look out;
	No longer exercise
	Upon a valiant race thy harsh
	And potent injuries.

Mother	Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
	Take off his miseries.

Sicilius Leonatus	Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
	Or we poor ghosts will cry
	To the shining synod of the rest
	Against thy deity.


First Brother	|   Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
	|   And from thy justice fly.
Second Brother	|


	[Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
	upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The
	Apparitions fall on their knees]

Jupiter	No more, you petty spirits of region low,
	Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts
	Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,
	Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts?
	Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest
	Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
	Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
	No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours.
	Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
	The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
	Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
	His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
	Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
	Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
	He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
	And happier much by his affliction made.
	This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
	Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine:
	and so, away: no further with your din
	Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
	Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

	[Ascends]

Sicilius Leonatus	He came in thunder; his celestial breath
	Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
	Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is
	More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird
	Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,
	As when his god is pleased.

All	Thanks, Jupiter!

Sicilius Leonatus	The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
	His radiant root. Away! and, to be blest,
	Let us with care perform his great behest.

	[The Apparitions vanish]

Posthumus Leonatus	[Waking]  Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
	A father to me; and thou hast created
	A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn!
	Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:
	And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend
	On greatness' favour dream as I have done,
	Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:
	Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
	And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I,
	That have this golden chance and know not why.
	What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!
	Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
	Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects
	So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
	As good as promise.

	[Reads]

	'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown,
	without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of
	tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
	lopped branches, which, being dead many years,
	shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and
	freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
	Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
	'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
	Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
	Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
	As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
	The action of my life is like it, which
	I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

	[Re-enter First Gaoler]

First Gaoler	Come, sir, are you ready for death?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

First Gaoler	Hanging is the word, sir: if
	you be ready for that, you are well cooked.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	So, if I prove a good repast to the
	spectators, the dish pays the shot.

First Gaoler	A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is,
	you shall be called to no more payments, fear no
	more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of
	parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in
	flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too
	much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and
	sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain
	both empty; the brain the heavier for being too
	light, the purse too light, being drawn of
	heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be
	quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up
	thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and
	creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
	the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and
	counters; so the acquittance follows.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

First Gaoler	Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
	tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your
	sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he
	would change places with his officer; for, look you,
	sir, you know not which way you shall go.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Yes, indeed do I, fellow.

First Gaoler	Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen
	him so pictured: you must either be directed by
	some that take upon them to know, or do take upon
	yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or
	jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and how
	you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll
	never return to tell one.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to
	direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and
	will not use them.

First Gaoler	What an infinite mock is this, that a man should
	have the best use of eyes to see the way of
	blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Thou bring'st good news; I am called to be made free.

First Gaoler	I'll be hang'd then.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.

	[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and Messenger]

First Gaoler	Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young
	gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my
	conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live,
	for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them
	too that die against their wills; so should I, if I
	were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one
	mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and
	gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but
	my wish hath a preferment in 't.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE V	Cymbeline's tent.


	[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
	PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
	Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
	That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
	Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
	Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found:
	He shall be happy that can find him, if
	Our grace can make him so.

BELARIUS	I never saw
	Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
	Such precious deeds in one that promises nought
	But beggary and poor looks.

CYMBELINE	No tidings of him?

PISANIO	He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
	But no trace of him.

CYMBELINE	To my grief, I am
	The heir of his reward;

	[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

		    which I will add
	To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain,
	By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
	To ask of whence you are. Report it.

BELARIUS	Sir,
	In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
	Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
	Unless I add, we are honest.

CYMBELINE	Bow your knees.
	Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you
	Companions to our person and will fit you
	With dignities becoming your estates.

	[Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies]

	There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
	Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
	And not o' the court of Britain.

CORNELIUS	Hail, great king!
	To sour your happiness, I must report
	The queen is dead.

CYMBELINE	Who worse than a physician
	Would this report become? But I consider,
	By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
	Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

CORNELIUS	With horror, madly dying, like her life,
	Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
	Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
	I will report, so please you: these her women
	Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
	Were present when she finish'd.

CYMBELINE	Prithee, say.

CORNELIUS	First, she confess'd she never loved you, only
	Affected greatness got by you, not you:
	Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
	Abhorr'd your person.

CYMBELINE	She alone knew this;
	And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
	Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

CORNELIUS	Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
	With such integrity, she did confess
	Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
	But that her flight prevented it, she had
	Ta'en off by poison.

CYMBELINE	O most delicate fiend!
	Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more?

CORNELIUS	More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
	For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
	Should by the minute feed on life and lingering
	By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,
	By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
	O'ercome you with her show, and in time,
	When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
	Her son into the adoption of the crown:
	But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
	Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
	Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
	The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so
	Despairing died.

CYMBELINE	                  Heard you all this, her women?

First Lady	We did, so please your highness.

CYMBELINE	Mine eyes
	Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
	Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
	That thought her like her seeming; it had
	been vicious
	To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
	That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
	And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

	[Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other
	Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
	behind, and IMOGEN]

	Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that
	The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
	Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
	That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
	Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
	So think of your estate.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
	Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
	We should not, when the blood was cool,
	have threaten'd
	Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
	Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
	May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth
	A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
	Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
	For my peculiar care. This one thing only
	I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
	Let him be ransom'd: never master had
	A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
	So tender over his occasions, true,
	So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
	With my request, which I make bold your highness
	Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
	Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir,
	And spare no blood beside.

CYMBELINE	I have surely seen him:
	His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
	Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
	And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,
	To say 'live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master; live:
	And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
	Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
	Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
	The noblest ta'en.

IMOGEN	                  I humbly thank your highness.

CAIUS LUCIUS	I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
	And yet I know thou wilt.

IMOGEN	No, no: alack,
	There's other work in hand: I see a thing
	Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
	Must shuffle for itself.

CAIUS LUCIUS	The boy disdains me,
	He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys
	That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
	Why stands he so perplex'd?

CYMBELINE	What wouldst thou, boy?
	I love thee more and more: think more and more
	What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
	Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?

IMOGEN	He is a Roman; no more kin to me
	Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
	Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE	Wherefore eyest him so?

IMOGEN	I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
	To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE	Ay, with all my heart,
	And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

IMOGEN	Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE	                  Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
	I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.

	[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]

BELARIUS	Is not this boy revived from death?

ARVIRAGUS	One sand another
	Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
	Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

GUIDERIUS	The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS	Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;
	Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure
	He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS	But we saw him dead.

BELARIUS	Be silent; let's see further.

PISANIO	[Aside]	It is my mistress:
	Since she is living, let the time run on
	To good or bad.

	[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward]

CYMBELINE	                  Come, stand thou by our side;
	Make thy demand aloud.

	[To IACHIMO]
		  Sir, step you forth;
	Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
	Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
	Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
	Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

IMOGEN	My boon is, that this gentleman may render
	Of whom he had this ring.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	[Aside]                 What's that to him?

CYMBELINE	That diamond upon your finger, say
	How came it yours?

IACHIMO	Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
	Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.

CYMBELINE	How! me?

IACHIMO	I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
	Which torments me to conceal. By villany
	I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel;
	Whom thou didst banish; and--which more may
	grieve thee,
	As it doth me--a nobler sir ne'er lived
	'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

CYMBELINE	All that belongs to this.

IACHIMO	That paragon, thy daughter,--
	For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
	Quail to remember--Give me leave; I faint.

CYMBELINE	My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
	I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
	Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.

IACHIMO	Upon a time,--unhappy was the clock
	That struck the hour!--it was in Rome,--accursed
	The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would
	Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
	Those which I heaved to head!--the good Posthumus--
	What should I say? he was too good to be
	Where ill men were; and was the best of all
	Amongst the rarest of good ones,--sitting sadly,
	Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
	For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
	Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming
	The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva.
	Postures beyond brief nature, for condition,
	A shop of all the qualities that man
	Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
	Fairness which strikes the eye--

CYMBELINE	I stand on fire:
	Come to the matter.

IACHIMO	All too soon I shall,
	Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
	Most like a noble lord in love and one
	That had a royal lover, took his hint;
	And, not dispraising whom we praised,--therein
	He was as calm as virtue--he began
	His mistress' picture; which by his tongue
	being made,
	And then a mind put in't, either our brags
	Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description
	Proved us unspeaking sots.

CYMBELINE	Nay, nay, to the purpose.

IACHIMO	Your daughter's chastity--there it begins.
	He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
	And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
	Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
	Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
	Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
	In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
	By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
	No lesser of her honour confident
	Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
	And would so, had it been a carbuncle
	Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it
	Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
	Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
	Remember me at court; where I was taught
	Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
	'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
	Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
	'Gan in your duller Britain operate
	Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent:
	And, to be brief, my practise so prevail'd,
	That I return'd with simular proof enough
	To make the noble Leonatus mad,
	By wounding his belief in her renown
	With tokens thus, and thus; averting notes
	Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,--
	O cunning, how I got it!--nay, some marks
	Of secret on her person, that he could not
	But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
	I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon--
	Methinks, I see him now--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	[Advancing]             Ay, so thou dost,
	Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
	Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
	That's due to all the villains past, in being,
	To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
	Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
	For torturers ingenious: it is I
	That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
	By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
	That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie--
	That caused a lesser villain than myself,
	A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple
	Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
	Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
	The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
	Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and
	Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
	My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
	Imogen, Imogen!

IMOGEN	                  Peace, my lord; hear, hear--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
	There lie thy part.

	[Striking her: she falls]

PISANIO	O, gentlemen, help!
	Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
	You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help!
	Mine honour'd lady!

CYMBELINE	Does the world go round?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	How come these staggers on me?

PISANIO	Wake, my mistress!

CYMBELINE	If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
	To death with mortal joy.

PISANIO	How fares thy mistress?

IMOGEN	O, get thee from my sight;
	Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
	Breathe not where princes are.

CYMBELINE	The tune of Imogen!

PISANIO	Lady,
	The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
	That box I gave you was not thought by me
	A precious thing: I had it from the queen.

CYMBELINE	New matter still?

IMOGEN	                  It poison'd me.

CORNELIUS	O gods!
	I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.
	Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio
	Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
	Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
	As I would serve a rat.'

CYMBELINE	What's this, Comelius?

CORNELIUS	The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
	To temper poisons for her, still pretending
	The satisfaction of her knowledge only
	In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
	Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
	Was of more danger, did compound for her
	A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
	The present power of life, but in short time
	All offices of nature should again
	Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

IMOGEN	Most like I did, for I was dead.

BELARIUS	My boys,
	There was our error.

GUIDERIUS	This is, sure, Fidele.

IMOGEN	Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
	Think that you are upon a rock; and now
	Throw me again.

	[Embracing him]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
	Till the tree die!

CYMBELINE	                  How now, my flesh, my child!
	What, makest thou me a dullard in this act?
	Wilt thou not speak to me?

IMOGEN	[Kneeling]               Your blessing, sir.

BELARIUS	[To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]  Though you did love
	this youth, I blame ye not:
	You had a motive for't.

CYMBELINE	My tears that fall
	Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
	Thy mother's dead.

IMOGEN	I am sorry for't, my lord.

CYMBELINE	O, she was nought; and long of her it was
	That we meet here so strangely: but her son
	Is gone, we know not how nor where.

PISANIO	My lord,
	Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
	Upon my lady's missing, came to me
	With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
	If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
	It was my instant death. By accident,
	had a feigned letter of my master's
	Then in my pocket; which directed him
	To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
	Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
	Which he enforced from me, away he posts
	With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate
	My lady's honour: what became of him
	I further know not.

GUIDERIUS	Let me end the story:
	I slew him there.

CYMBELINE	Marry, the gods forfend!
	I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
	Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
	Deny't again.

GUIDERIUS	                  I have spoke it, and I did it.

CYMBELINE	He was a prince.

GUIDERIUS	A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me
	Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
	With language that would make me spurn the sea,
	If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
	And am right glad he is not standing here
	To tell this tale of mine.

CYMBELINE	I am sorry for thee:
	By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
	Endure our law: thou'rt dead.

IMOGEN	That headless man
	I thought had been my lord.

CYMBELINE	Bind the offender,
	And take him from our presence.

BELARIUS	Stay, sir king:
	This man is better than the man he slew,
	As well descended as thyself; and hath
	More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
	Had ever scar for.

	[To the Guard]

	Let his arms alone;
	They were not born for bondage.

CYMBELINE	Why, old soldier,
	Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
	By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
	As good as we?

ARVIRAGUS	                  In that he spake too far.

CYMBELINE	And thou shalt die for't.

BELARIUS	We will die all three:
	But I will prove that two on's are as good
	As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
	For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
	Though, haply, well for you.

ARVIRAGUS	Your danger's ours.

GUIDERIUS	And our good his.

BELARIUS	                  Have at it then, by leave.
	Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
	Was call'd Belarius.

CYMBELINE	What of him? he is
	A banish'd traitor.

BELARIUS	He it is that hath
	Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man;
	I know not how a traitor.

CYMBELINE	Take him hence:
	The whole world shall not save him.

BELARIUS	Not too hot:
	First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
	And let it be confiscate all, so soon
	As I have received it.

CYMBELINE	Nursing of my sons!

BELARIUS	I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee:
	Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
	Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
	These two young gentlemen, that call me father
	And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
	They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
	And blood of your begetting.

CYMBELINE	How! my issue!

BELARIUS	So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
	Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
	Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
	Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
	Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes--
	For such and so they are--these twenty years
	Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I
	Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
	Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
	Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
	Upon my banishment: I moved her to't,
	Having received the punishment before,
	For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
	Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
	The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
	Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
	Here are your sons again; and I must lose
	Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
	The benediction of these covering heavens
	Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
	To inlay heaven with stars.

CYMBELINE	Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
	The service that you three have done is more
	Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children:
	If these be they, I know not how to wish
	A pair of worthier sons.

BELARIUS	Be pleased awhile.
	This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
	Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
	This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
	Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
	In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
	Of his queen mother, which for more probation
	I can with ease produce.

CYMBELINE	Guiderius had
	Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
	It was a mark of wonder.

BELARIUS	This is he;
	Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
	It was wise nature's end in the donation,
	To be his evidence now.

CYMBELINE	O, what, am I
	A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
	Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
	That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
	may reign in them now! O Imogen,
	Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

IMOGEN	No, my lord;
	I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
	Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
	But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
	When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
	When ye were so indeed.

CYMBELINE	Did you e'er meet?

ARVIRAGUS	Ay, my good lord.

GUIDERIUS	                  And at first meeting loved;
	Continued so, until we thought he died.

CORNELIUS	By the queen's dram she swallow'd.

CYMBELINE	O rare instinct!
	When shall I hear all through? This fierce
	abridgement
	Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
	Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
	And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
	How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
	Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
	And your three motives to the battle, with
	I know not how much more, should be demanded;
	And all the other by-dependencies,
	From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
	Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
	Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
	And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
	On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
	Each object with a joy: the counterchange
	Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
	And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.

	[To BELARIUS]

	Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.

IMOGEN	You are my father too, and did relieve me,
	To see this gracious season.

CYMBELINE	All o'erjoy'd,
	Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
	For they shall taste our comfort.

IMOGEN	My good master,
	I will yet do you service.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Happy be you!

CYMBELINE	The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
	He would have well becomed this place, and graced
	The thankings of a king.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I am, sir,
	The soldier that did company these three
	In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
	The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
	Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
	Have made you finish.

IACHIMO	[Kneeling]          I am down again:
	But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
	As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
	Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
	And here the bracelet of the truest princess
	That ever swore her faith.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Kneel not to me:
	The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
	The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
	And deal with others better.

CYMBELINE	Nobly doom'd!
	We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
	Pardon's the word to all.

ARVIRAGUS	You holp us, sir,
	As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
	Joy'd are we that you are.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
	Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
	Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
	Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
	Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
	This label on my bosom; whose containing
	Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
	Make no collection of it: let him show
	His skill in the construction.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Philarmonus!

Soothsayer	Here, my good lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Read, and declare the meaning.

Soothsayer	[Reads]  'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
	unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
	piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
	shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
	years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
	stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
	his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
	peace and plenty.'
	Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
	The fit and apt construction of thy name,
	Being Leonatus, doth import so much.

	[To CYMBELINE]

	The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
	Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
	We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
	Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
	Answering the letter of the oracle,
	Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
	With this most tender air.

CYMBELINE	This hath some seeming.

Soothsayer	The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
	Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
	Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n,
	For many years thought dead, are now revived,
	To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
	Promises Britain peace and plenty.

CYMBELINE	Well
	My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
	Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
	And to the Roman empire; promising
	To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
	We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
	Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
	Have laid most heavy hand.

Soothsayer	The fingers of the powers above do tune
	The harmony of this peace. The vision
	Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
	Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
	Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
	From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
	Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
	So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
	The imperial Caesar, should again unite
	His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
	Which shines here in the west.

CYMBELINE	Laud we the gods;
	And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
	From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
	To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
	A Roman and a British ensign wave
	Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
	And in the temple of great Jupiter
	Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
	Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
	Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.

	[Exeunt]
	LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE

FERDINAND	king of Navarre.


BIRON	|
	|
LONGAVILLE	|  lords attending on the King.
	|
DUMAIN	|


BOYET	|
	|  lords attending on the Princess of France.
MERCADE	|


DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	a fantastical Spaniard.

SIR NATHANIEL	a curate.

HOLOFERNES	a schoolmaster.

DULL	a constable.

COSTARD	a clown.

MOTH	page to Armado.

	A Forester.

	The PRINCESS of France: (PRINCESS:)


ROSALINE	|
	|
MARIA	|  ladies attending on the Princess.
	|
KATHARINE	|


JAQUENETTA	a country wench.

	Lords, Attendants, &c.
	(First Lord:)


SCENE	Navarre.




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT I



SCENE I	The king of Navarre's park.


	[Enter FERDINAND king of Navarre, BIRON, LONGAVILLE
	and DUMAIN]

FERDINAND	Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
	Live register'd upon our brazen tombs
	And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
	When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
	The endeavor of this present breath may buy
	That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
	And make us heirs of all eternity.
	Therefore, brave conquerors,--for so you are,
	That war against your own affections
	And the huge army of the world's desires,--
	Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
	Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
	Our court shall be a little Academe,
	Still and contemplative in living art.
	You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
	Have sworn for three years' term to live with me
	My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes
	That are recorded in this schedule here:
	Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names,
	That his own hand may strike his honour down
	That violates the smallest branch herein:
	If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do,
	Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.

LONGAVILLE	I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast:
	The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
	Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
	Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

DUMAIN	My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
	The grosser manner of these world's delights
	He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
	To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
	With all these living in philosophy.

BIRON	I can but say their protestation over;
	So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
	That is, to live and study here three years.
	But there are other strict observances;
	As, not to see a woman in that term,
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
	And one day in a week to touch no food
	And but one meal on every day beside,
	The which I hope is not enrolled there;
	And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
	And not be seen to wink of all the day--
	When I was wont to think no harm all night
	And make a dark night too of half the day--
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there:
	O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
	Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

FERDINAND	Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.

BIRON	Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:
	I only swore to study with your grace
	And stay here in your court for three years' space.

LONGAVILLE	You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

BIRON	By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
	What is the end of study? let me know.

FERDINAND	Why, that to know, which else we should not know.

BIRON	Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense?

FERDINAND	Ay, that is study's godlike recompense.

BIRON	Come on, then; I will swear to study so,
	To know the thing I am forbid to know:
	As thus,--to study where I well may dine,
	When I to feast expressly am forbid;
	Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
	When mistresses from common sense are hid;
	Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath,
	Study to break it and not break my troth.
	If study's gain be thus and this be so,
	Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
	Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.

FERDINAND	These be the stops that hinder study quite
	And train our intellects to vain delight.

BIRON	Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
	Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain:
	As, painfully to pore upon a book
	To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
	Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:
	Light seeking light doth light of light beguile:
	So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
	Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
	Study me how to please the eye indeed
	By fixing it upon a fairer eye,
	Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed
	And give him light that it was blinded by.
	Study is like the heaven's glorious sun
	That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks:
	Small have continual plodders ever won
	Save base authority from others' books
	These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
	That give a name to every fixed star
	Have no more profit of their shining nights
	Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
	Too much to know is to know nought but fame;
	And every godfather can give a name.

FERDINAND	How well he's read, to reason against reading!

DUMAIN	Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!

LONGAVILLE	He weeds the corn and still lets grow the weeding.

BIRON	The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding.

DUMAIN	How follows that?

BIRON	                  Fit in his place and time.

DUMAIN	In reason nothing.

BIRON	                  Something then in rhyme.

FERDINAND	Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
	That bites the first-born infants of the spring.

BIRON	Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast
	Before the birds have any cause to sing?
	Why should I joy in any abortive birth?
	At Christmas I no more desire a rose
	Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
	But like of each thing that in season grows.
	So you, to study now it is too late,
	Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.

FERDINAND	Well, sit you out: go home, Biron: adieu.

BIRON	No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you:
	And though I have for barbarism spoke more
	Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
	Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore
	And bide the penance of each three years' day.
	Give me the paper; let me read the same;
	And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.

FERDINAND	How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

BIRON	[Reads]  'Item, That no woman shall come within a
	mile of my court:' Hath this been proclaimed?

LONGAVILLE	Four days ago.

BIRON	Let's see the penalty.

	[Reads]

	'On pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this penalty?

LONGAVILLE	Marry, that did I.

BIRON	Sweet lord, and why?

LONGAVILLE	To fright them hence with that dread penalty.

BIRON	A dangerous law against gentility!

	[Reads]

	'Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman
	within the term of three years, he shall endure such
	public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.'
	This article, my liege, yourself must break;
	For well you know here comes in embassy
	The French king's daughter with yourself to speak--
	A maid of grace and complete majesty--
	About surrender up of Aquitaine
	To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father:
	Therefore this article is made in vain,
	Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

FERDINAND	What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.

BIRON	So study evermore is overshot:
	While it doth study to have what it would
	It doth forget to do the thing it should,
	And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
	'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.

FERDINAND	We must of force dispense with this decree;
	She must lie here on mere necessity.

BIRON	Necessity will make us all forsworn
	Three thousand times within this three years' space;
	For every man with his affects is born,
	Not by might master'd but by special grace:
	If I break faith, this word shall speak for me;
	I am forsworn on 'mere necessity.'
	So to the laws at large I write my name:

	[Subscribes]

	And he that breaks them in the least degree
	Stands in attainder of eternal shame:
	Suggestions are to other as to me;
	But I believe, although I seem so loath,
	I am the last that will last keep his oath.
	But is there no quick recreation granted?

FERDINAND	Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted
	With a refined traveller of Spain;
	A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
	That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
	One whom the music of his own vain tongue
	Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
	A man of complements, whom right and wrong
	Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
	This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
	For interim to our studies shall relate
	In high-born words the worth of many a knight
	From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate.
	How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
	But, I protest, I love to hear him lie
	And I will use him for my mins